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morningfears · 4 years ago

Text

Drag Me Down

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18!

Summary: You and hockey player!Calum have an interesting relationship. Is it flirting? Is it harmless fun? Regardless of what it is, it landed you an ice skating lesson that ends in so much more than a new skill. (Featuring prompts [yes, I’m still writing those] 1 and 3 for @thesubtweeter | Semi-public sex? (I mean, the rink is empty but in an ice rink)

Word Count: 6k

As unusual as it was, even for a Saturday morning, the campus ice rink was empty. It sat devoid of life and silent, save for the sound of your shoes hitting the concrete floor, and you clutched your jacket a little tighter to your body as you felt a chill rush over you. Though you’d only been in the building a handful of times, and only ever on game days, it was cooler than you’d ever felt - something you attributed to the lack of occupants milling about the vast space - and you almost regretted the outfit you’d chosen for your meeting (you weren’t sure that you could call it a date, though you desperately wanted it to be one) with Calum.

You felt slightly self-conscious, dressed in a black skater skirt with a white t-shirt tucked in and a jean jacket a friend had painted for you thrown over top, and wished you’d gone for something more practical - like jeans, maybe a nice sweater - but when you spotted Calum leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs, you didn’t have much time to agonize over your decision. He was dressed comfortably, in a pair of black jeans and the green Empathy hoodie you longed to steal from him, and watched as you crossed the empty space to meet him. It was then, the look he gave you - a slight raise of his eyebrows, a quick swipe of his tongue over his lips, a ghost of a smirk - that made you decide that, no, you didn’t regret your choice at all.

You wouldn’t admit it, not out loud, but if it got Calum to look at you like that, you would gladly put up with any amount of frozen limbs.

You felt a slight charge in the air as you approached him. It was an ever present tension, always there whenever you were around Calum, and it was almost too much for you to handle. The air felt thick with electricity, an underlying current that made your heart begin to beat just a bit faster and the butterflies begin to swirl in the pit of your stomach as goosebumps pricked at your skin. It was instantaneous, the only response to his gaze you seemed to be capable of, and you were both aware of it.

Your head felt muddled with too many thoughts, all of them about Calum, and time seemed to slow as you closed the remaining gap between the two of you. You finally stood close enough to smell his cologne, a scent so heavily associated with Calum that you’d never again be able to smell it without thinking of him, and lost yourself in your proximity.

You hated the effect that he had on you, that he was able to turn you into a lovesick fool with one glance in your direction, because you honestly had no idea where you stood with him. Some days you imagined he liked you as much as you liked him, that he caught a whiff of your perfume and felt his heart pound in his chest and his cheeks heat with a bright pink flush. Others, you wondered if he was just enjoying toying with you because there was no way he could be as interested in you as you were in him.

On those days, the days where your thoughts ran in an unpleasant direction, you reminded yourself that Calum wasn’t like that. Though he was one of your university’s most well-loved hockey players, one of the team’s stars since his freshman season, and a well-loved figure on campus, he was genuinely a good guy. He had a big heart, bursting with love, and would never string you along.

Not when you made it so fucking obvious just how head over heels you were for him.

Although Calum was friends with almost everyone, and at least respected by those he wasn’t friends with, you never imagined that you’d find yourself counted amongst them. You ran in completely different circles, lived completely different lives, but the universe had thrown you together in Chemistry 101 and, well, who were you to question the universe?

You were almost ashamed to admit it but when you first met, on the first day of your chemistry lab, you expected Calum to leave all of the work to you. Although you found him attractive - your friends joked that they’d never seen you stare at anything that wasn’t a textbook that long - you assumed he’d be like everyone else, quickly realizing that you were a stickler for good grades and taking advantage of that. You assumed he’d be another asshole, ashamed to be seen even looking in your direction, however, you were sorely mistaken.

Calum was smart, brilliant, even, and driven. He worked just as hard as you did on lab reports and put in an equal amount of effort every time the pair of you put your heads together to figure out a new set of problems. You divided the out of class activities evenly and met an hour before lab to finishing compiling the work into one cohesive document. He took his studies seriously, just as you did, and you felt guilty for assuming the worst.

What made you feel even worse, though, was that you’d assumed the worst of him as a person, too.

You’d been paired with athletes before, football and basketball and baseball and soccer players, that were all incredibly difficult to deal with. They never spoke to you unless it was to ask for the answers to the online quizzes and you felt certain that Calum was going to be the same. But, to your surprise, he was incredibly easy to get along with.

He was quiet for the first few classes, observing you as you worked and only really commenting on the lab work, but when he figured you out - you later realized that that was what he’d been doing, deciphering you as if you were some sort of puzzle - he threw you for a loop.

Your relationship began with teasing remarks, little jabs here and there about how cute it was to hear the good girl swear when you made a mistake or how much he liked flustering you whenever he sat a little closer than normal, and pet names. You wondered, briefly, if those were just because he’d forgotten your name but that thought was erased when he wrote it at the top of a lab report before tossing it into the pile on the professor’s desk.

He’d been doing it for months and though you couldn’t exactly say you’d gotten used to it - hearing him call you ‘pretty girl’ or tease you for saying ‘fuck’ wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you got used to -, you’d come to expect it. His words still made your heart race and your face heat, especially as he seemed to grow bolder and bolder with each week that passed, but you knew that you’d miss whatever the pair of you had the moment it was gone.

You wanted to believe that he was genuinely flirting with you, that the compliments and pet names meant something, and that he had a genuine interest in you but your insecurities sometimes got the better of you and you wondered if he just enjoyed watching you trip over your own tongue whenever he got particularly bold. He could’ve had anyone, anyone at all, so why would he choose you?

But, as you attempted to ground yourself in the present, you realized that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask that question and risk putting an end to him doting on you. So, whatever it was that linked the pair of you, you resigned yourself to simply settling in for the ride and letting whatever was going to happen, happen.

And spending the day alone with Calum was what was happening.

You liked to believe that ending up in an empty ice rink with Calum was the universe, once again, meddling in your life. You hadn’t planned this, you’d intended to spend your day off on your couch with a bowl of popcorn and a bad movie, but those plans had gone up in smoke (not that you really minded) when you mentioned wanting to learn to ice skate as you and Calum waited for your professor to hand out the week’s lab assignment.

He’d spotted the bruises on your knees from a fall you’d taken at the roller rink, a collision with an overly ambitious teenager, and spent a solid few minutes teasing you - “You sure that’s what happened? Hm. If you say so, pretty girl.” - before accepting your explanation. As your cheeks burned from the insinuation (and the few fantasies that managed to nestle into the darkest gutters of your mind), he’d asked, “Do you just roller skate or can you ice skate?”

When you lamented your inability to ice skate, or inline skate, and expressed a desire to learn, Calum wore the brightest smile you’d ever seen. It was beautiful, truly happy and almost giddy with excitement, and you committed it to memory without even noticing. “Meet me at the rink on Saturday,” he instructed, “I’ll teach you.”

You were rendered speechless, surprised that he wanted to spend time with you out of class, and didn’t register that it wasn’t a question (though you both knew your answer would’ve been yes if it was). You nodded dumbly, too awed to dwell on the fear you held for ice skating, as you watched him take the assignment sheet from your professor. “I’ve got a friend who has some skates you can borrow.” He paused then, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling into a smirk, before he added, “This’ll give you an excuse to hold my hand.”

Though he said it jokingly, you both knew that his words held nothing but truth; you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to touch him - or have him touch you - and here he was, handing it to you without a second thought.

The moment you left lab that day, you were a mess of emotions. You were ecstatic, thrilled to be seeing Calum outside of class, and surprised that he wanted to see more of you. But, beneath your excitement, you were petrified. You always had an out, a solid limit to the amount of time you spent together, and you were worried that with no clock ticking away the minutes, you would do or say something that broke whatever spell Calum had to be under. You were nervous, unsure of what you could talk about and what he was expecting of you. You were also nervous about being on the ice.

You knew that you were going to spend your morning falling on your ass, in front of the man who occupied most of your thoughts, as your balance was shaky even as you stood on solid ground. And this was the first time Calum would be seeing you outside of class and the occasional game. He was used to seeing you dressed down, casual and comfortable for a long day of classes or after work, so you wanted to make a good impression.

The knee high socks you usually reserved for street skating and the heeled boots that you’d only worn a handful of times weren’t exactly practical but practicality was not on the agenda for the day.

The silence between you only lasted for a moment but as your thoughts moved at the speed of light, it seemed to drag on forever. Calum took his time drinking in the sight of you, his eyes lingering on the exposed expanse of thigh, and you tried not to let him see how nervous you really were as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip and waited for him to speak.

“You didn’t have to get so dressed up for me.” His voice held the teasing lilt you loved to hear, an amused tone that told you he took joy in the way your cheeks heated and your eyes dropped from his chest to the floor. “But you look cute, pretty girl. I like the socks.” Your flush deepened as you snuck a look at him from beneath your lashes and caught sight of the smirk that looked like it belonged on his face. After a beat of silence, of waiting for you to retort with something witty - a feat that you had yet to manage, though you desperately wanted to throw him off his game at least once -, he reached into his bag and handed you a pair of skates. “Here. These should fit you.”

He watched, his eyes shining in the bright rink lights, as you studied the pair of strawberry red ice skates - Moxi skates, the same as your roller skates - in your hands. When you grinned, he breathed a quiet laugh before turning and gesturing for you to follow him down the stairs. You trailed behind him, your eyes on his back as he headed for the bench, and only sat beside him when he patted the wood to his left.

He dropped his bag to the floor and pulled out his own skates, the hockey skates he wore with a sturdier boot and blade than the ones you were borrowing, before making quick work of lacing them up. Lacing your skates was the only ability you felt confident in so you worked alongside him, your fingers yanking the beige laces tight around your ankles, and failed to notice his gaze on you as you secured them.

“You could’ve had me on my knees.” When you shot him a bewildered look, your eyes wide and lips parted in confusion, Calum grinned and gestured to your skates. “I was going to be chivalrous and lace up your skates for you but it looks like you don’t need me,” he teased, a laugh leaving his lips as he watched you return to the task at hand and tie your laces in a bow. “But that’s alright. I can still dream of getting you on your knees.”

You bit your lip, cheeks burning as you chose to ignore Calum’s teasing words, and shook your head to clear it as you pressed your feet into the floor to test the fit of your skates. “Lacing skates is the easy part,” you answered with a shrug. “It’s, well, everything else that I’m worried about.”

As he always seemed to do, Calum continued on like nothing out of the ordinary had been said and nodded as he stood from the bench. “I would lie and tell you that I won’t let you fall but you’ve been known to call me on my bullshit, so, I’ll try my best not to let you fall. How’s that?” He offered you his hand, a laugh leaving his lips as you wobbled upon standing, and you did your best to hide the pout you knew was coming.

“Doesn’t really make me hopeful that I won’t be leaving with a sprain of some sort or maybe a sliced off finger,” you mumbled, hands still clasped in his as you tried to find your footing on the mat by the bench, “but I appreciate the honesty. Alright, let’s do this. The faster I fall, the less afraid I’ll be. I think.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” Calum began, his hands loosening their grip on yours as he took a half step back, “I could just let you go on your own, then. You could get a few falls in while I take a few laps and warm up.” He offered a nonchalant shrug, sparing a quick glance out at the ice, but you could tell that he was joking by the look in his eyes when he met your gaze once more and how his grip on your hands loosened but didn’t let go completely.

“Absolutely not.” You tried to sound stern, firm in your insistence that he remain by your side, but the words came out in a laugh as you tightened your hold on him. “If I go down,” you began as you lingered near the entrance to the ice, “I’m taking you with me.”

Calum laughed at your comment and shook his head as he watched you stare out at the ice with a concentrated frown on your lips. That was still fairly new, you were still finding your footing when it came to teasing him back, but it was welcome. He enjoyed it almost - but not quite - as much as making you blush.

He’d asked, as soon as the comments and little jabs started to veer into flirtier territory, if they made you uncomfortable. You’d assured him that they didn’t. When he asked for your permission to keep the comments coming, to keep flirting and teasing, you gave it to him enthusiastically.

You wouldn’t admit it, not out loud and not to Calum, but you loved the feeling his teasing brought you. You loved the burn you felt in your cheeks and the butterflies you felt in the pit of your stomach. You loved the way his shoulders lifted and he smirked after making you look away or lose your train of thought. You loved being left speechless, unable to do anything but giggle or bite your lip, and you knew that Calum loved it, too.

It was the best part of your week, and his, and you were both content with it being nothing more than a bit of fun - for the time being, anyway.

“If you wanted me on top of you, all you had to do was ask. Would’ve been much easier than all of this,” he said, gesturing out at the ice as he sent a teasing wink in your direction. He bit back his laughter as your gaze dropped to your feet and stepped out onto the ice, your hand still firmly in his grasp.

“Who says you’ll wind up on top?” It was said beneath your breath, a huff of words that you didn’t even have time to think about until they were already out of your mouth, but Calum heard you loud and clear. He raised his eyebrows, surprised by your retort, and laughed as he watched your eyes widen and your mouth drop open. “I… that’s not what I, I didn’t mean - fuck.”

“You didn’t mean fuck? Sure sounds like you did.” He knew what you meant, the smirk on his lips told you as much, but he was clearly enjoying watching you attempt to clarify your words. When you opened your mouth once again, only to find yourself unable to speak, he shook his head. “Relax, pretty girl.” His voice was soft, soothing but with an underlying hint of amusement, as he gestured for you to step out onto the ice. “I’m just messing with you. Come on, out on the ice. Don’t go stiff. Try to relax and don’t watch your feet.”

You tried to push the burning embarrassment you felt out of your mind as he pulled you out onto the ice, your hands intertwined as he skated backwards. He remained quiet, his eyes trained on you as you furrowed your brows in concentration and desperately tried to remind yourself not to stare at your feet. You tried to watch him, instead, and tried to copy his footwork but he made it look so effortless.

You struggled to stay standing and you were certain that you were holding Calum’s hands tight enough to cut off the circulation but he didn’t seem to mind. “Keep your knees bent and try to put your weight on the balls of your feet,” he instructed as he watched you attempt to shuffle your feet.

Calum bit back the teasing comments he wanted to make as he watched you attempt to keep your balance. You looked so focused and desperate to get it right that he didn’t want to shake the little bit of confidence you were managing to build. Instead, he said, “You missed the game last night.”

You nodded, slightly distracted as you tried not to lose your balance, and offered an apology. “I was planning on coming but I had to fill in for a coworker. Didn’t figure you’d miss me.” You shot him a smile, glancing at him from beneath your lashes, and he shook his head fondly.

“Can’t help it when the loudest supporter in the building isn’t here,” he teased. You felt your cheeks heat and you dipped your head to return your gaze to the ice as you allowed him to continue pulling you along.

It was no secret that you got into the games. It was almost expected that you and your roommate would be the loudest fans in attendance, ready to yell at any player or official or fan who stepped out of line, and he was right. It would be hard not to miss the pair of you.

“I just get passionate, okay?” You huffed a sigh, pretending to be annoyed by his teasing, but you’d heard from a mutual friend that he loved the support - and hearing you curse when someone hit him a little too hard - so you kept it up. “And, I mean, I need to get my aggression out somewhere.”

“Aggression?” Calum raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing that you were capable of any real aggression - your rants were never truly aggressive, never really angry, and always adorable to him, anyway -, and laughed as he nodded. “Sure. You’re aggressive and I’m the Queen.”

“Nice to meet you, Your Majesty.” Your words dripped with sarcasm but Calum’s face remained impassive as he watched your lips curl into a pout. “No one around here appreciates my sense of humor,” you grumbled, more for the sake of saying something than to actually complain.

“Your sense of humor is comprised of the worst puns known to man, jokes that only you understand, and sarcasm that you explain so you don’t hurt any feelings.” You gaped at him, feigning offense though you knew his description was accurate, and tugged your hands away from his grip.

“Wow. Okay, well, I think that’s my cue to try and skate without you holding my hand, thank you very much.” It was a struggle to keep a straight face, especially when he smirked as you started shaking the moment you let go of his hands, but you tried your hardest as you focused on the ice beneath your feet.

“Have it your way,” he hummed as he skated just far enough away from you to be out of your reach. “This’ll be a good time to teach you how to stand back up.”

“Are my puns really that bad?” You hadn’t moved more than a few inches as you wobbled on your skates. Calum remained close to you, always out of reach but close enough to move in if you really needed him, and laughed at your question.

“Yes. They’re shit. But they’re cute coming from you.” It was high praise coming from him - he gave compliments but they were often shrouded in teasing jabs - so you took it for what it was and grinned at him. However, before you could thank him - and maybe tease him for liking your awful puns - you felt yourself beginning to fall.

“Don’t flail,” he reminded you as he moved closer to reach out and grab your hand and stabilize you. “You’ll break-“ Before he could finish his sentence, your panic took you both down.

True to his prediction, Calum ended up on top of you. He reached out to keep the full impact of his weight off of you and you both groaned as your back - and bare legs - hit the ice while his hands hit beside your head. You were both quiet for a moment, taking in the shock of the impact, before he laughed. “Don’t land on your hands,” he instructed you. “You could break something.”

You barely heard the words that left his lips. You were more focused on the fact that his lips were inches away from your own. He was checking to make sure you hadn’t hit your head, his hand freezing as he grabbed your chin and lifted your head to look him in the eye, but nothing - not even a potential concussion - mattered when you could feel his weight on you.

“You could at least pretend that you’re not enjoying this.” It was a joke, the words laced with the teasing lilt you would never be able to disassociate with Calum, and it was said as he shifted a little closer to you. You held your breath and let your eyes slip shut, waiting for him to lean in and press his lips to yours, but after a moment of silence, you had yet to feel anything.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with sight of Calum smirking at you. “We should get up. Don’t want you to freeze.” It took everything you had not to scream in frustration as he pushed himself to his feet and steadied himself before reaching out to help you up.

Calum didn’t hesitate to laugh at the pout on your lips when you finally managed to get back on your feet. You weren’t happy with him, clearly, but he loved seeing you squirm as you shied away from his gaze. He wanted to leave you in suspense, to make you wait until the very end of the lesson, but you’d suffered enough. He knew that your legs were going to be bruised - just as your ego already was - so he gave in. “Come here, pretty girl,” he laughed, using his hold on your hand to pull you a little closer to him.

You kept your hopes to a minimum, half-convinced he was teasing you yet again, but to your pleasant surprise, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. It was a quick kiss, a barely there press of his lips against yours, but it was enough to send your heart rate skyrocketing and set your blood on fire. Your skin burned where his fingers touched and you found yourself warm for the first time since you stepped foot into the rink.

All too soon, the kiss was over. Calum pulled away from you and grinned at the way you blinked away the stars you’d seen. He gave you a moment to compose yourself before he released his hold on your hands and began skating away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Your voice had a whining tinge to it, more desperate for his touch than you would like to admit, and you couldn’t seem to stop the words that were spilling past your lips. “We were in the middle of something!”

“You catch me, you get another kiss. You came for a skating lesson, didn’t you?”

You both knew that you wouldn’t have said yes solely for the ice skating lesson and you both knew that you wouldn’t have worn the outfit you did without reason but it wouldn’t be Calum if he gave you what you wanted without getting something in return. So, you nodded.

Your pout slowly faded as you attempted to follow Calum around the rink. He never strayed too far from you, just far enough that you couldn’t reach out and touch him, and made conversation as you grew more confident on your skates. The pair of you talked about school and music, about movies and plans for your holidays. You asked about his friends and him about yours. It was casual, the easiest conversation you’d had in years, and you didn’t want it to end.

However, you finally saw an opening and decided that you’d rather return to the conversation later than miss your opportunity to kiss Calum again.

He’d been consistent in his speed, moving slow enough to remain near you but fast enough to put distance between you, but found himself slowing as he got lost in the conversation. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to notice how close he was but when you finally did, you grinned and moved in to grab his hand.

“I caught you!”

Calum glanced down at your hand in his and smirked, shaking his head when he realized that you had, in fact, caught him. “Well, I’m a man of my word.”

Just as he had done earlier, Calum brought his hand to cup your cheek and leaned in to press his lips to yours. This time, you were prepared. You pressed closer to him, desperately wishing you could feel his body heat, and lost yourself in his embrace. As your hands moved to tangle in his hair, his hands moved to grip your hips. He pulled you closer to him, pressing you tight against his body, and deepened the kiss.

You would’ve been content to remain there forever, desperate for a breath of fresh air but unwilling to take it as that would mean parting from Calum, but he knew that would be a disaster waiting to happen. It was hard enough to keep you both balanced, he didn’t think he could manage with even more of a distraction. So, he pulled away from the kiss and grabbed your hand.

Calum pulled you across the ice without a word, his hand warm in your own. You wanted to ask what he was doing but found yourself unable to speak. You felt tongue tied and fuzzy headed so you relinquished your control to him. When you made it back to the bench, Calum took a seat and pulled you down onto his lap. He immediately returned his lips to yours as his hands slipped beneath your jacket.

You sat there for what felt like a lifetime, your hands tangled in his hair as his moved from your waist to brush the tops of your thighs just beneath your skirt. You were content to remain there, just kissing him, but Calum had other plans.

Calum lifted you from his lap and gestured toward your skates. It took a moment for you to realize what he meant but when you saw him untying his own, you followed his lead. You made quick work of unlacing your skates and returning to cover to the blades before passing them to Calum. He shoved them into his bag, alongside his own, before he stood from the bench and slung it over his shoulder. He reached out a hand to you and guided you through the rink to the locker room.

It wasn’t ideal, and definitely not what you imagined your first time sleeping with Calum would be like, but you didn’t really have it in you to care as he dropped his bag onto the ground and crowded you against a set of lockers.

You didn’t care if you were technically in a public space where anyone could interrupt. You didn’t care that your body ached from your fall earlier. You didn’t care that the metal of the lockers dug into your skin.

The only thing that mattered was the feeling of Calum’s lips on yours, his hands on your skin, his body pressed against yours. You couldn’t focus on anything in particular, not when the feeling of Calum was so overwhelming, so you stopped trying to make sense of anything that was happening and just let yourself enjoy it.

You tugged at his curls as his hands dipped a little higher beneath your skirt. “This okay?” he asked, his voice muffled against the column of your throat. When you breathed your consent, he hummed against your skin and let his fingers explore the expanse of your inner thighs before his thumb brushed your slit over your panties.

“‘M glad you wore a skirt,” he confided, his voice quiet as he pulled away just enough to get a look at your face. “Makes this easier.”

“Glad I didn’t wear shorts under it,” you agreed, voice breathy and high as you gripped Calum’s biceps when his fingers nudged your panties to the side.

Calum didn’t bother to retort as he teasingly dragged his fingers along your slit. You took the time to return his kisses, pressing your lips to his neck and nipping at his warm skin. You felt like this was a dream and hoped desperately that you wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

Calum took his time teasing you, brushing his thumb over your clit and rubbing barely there circles before moving away. You weren’t surprised, it was just like him to tease you even as you were willingly giving him whatever he wanted, but you were frustrated as you begged him for something more.

He pressed his lips to yours to silence your begging - and the moan that he knew was inevitable - before he slipped a finger into your heat. He took his time, far longer than he should have given your location, working you open. You were grateful for his kiss as it kept you from making far too much noise as he worked his way to two fingers and began circling your clit with his thumb.

“Are you sure you want this?” He wanted to be sure, certain that you really wanted him, because no amount of flirting and teasing equaled consent.

“Yes, Cal. Please.” Your words came out as a whine, your lips parted as your hands desperately clung to his biceps. He nodded, glad that you were so enthusiastic, before he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled away to grab a condom from his bag.

It only took a moment for him to slip inside you. Once he bottomed out, he stilled for a long moment to allow you both time to adjust. When you started shifting, desperate to feel him, he began to move. It felt like hours passed, feeling Calum fill you in the best way, but you had no way of telling how much time passed as you felt yourself barreling closer and closer to your end. With his thumb on your clit and his lips on your neck, you found yourself unable to do anything but breathe his name.

Your orgasm hit you harder than any other ever had. You imagined it was the build up, the months of verbal foreplay that made the reality that much sweeter, and swore you saw stars as you cried his name. He followed after, his hips stilling against yours as he rode out his own pleasure, and he remained still against you as you both worked to catch your breath.

“That’s definitely not how I expected to spend my Saturday,” you informed him, your voice breathless as he pulled away from you and helped you steady yourself on legs that felt like jelly.

“If telling yourself that helps you sleep at night…” Calum tossed you a wink, his cheeks flushed from the exertion and his hair slightly damp with sweat. “But I don’t hear any complaints.”

“Shut up,” you huffed, biting back laughter as you adjusted your clothes. “No complaints, other than how sore I’m going to be tomorrow. Don’t know if you know this, but ice is really fucking hard and leaves a bruise when you fall on it.”

“Seriously? I had no idea. Come on,” Calum nodded toward the exit, his arm moving to wrap around your shoulders as his other held his bag. “There’s a diner near here.”

“Isn’t this a little backward? Sex and then a date?”

“Who said anything about a date?”

When you fixed him with a look, your eyes conveying the panic you felt in that moment, Calum grinned. “We’re not doing anything out of order. What do you call the skating lesson? Give me a little credit, pretty girl.”

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, Cal,” you huffed, your arms folding over your chest as you let him lead you out of the building.

“Get out of your head and live in the moment. Be aggressive.”

You huffed again, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as you reached out to playfully whack his stomach. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You have no idea, pretty girl.”

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Author’s Note: .....this got way long. Anyway. I had an idea and ran with it. I really want to go ice skating, my dudes. And hockey!Cal just....does something to me. Also the inspo for this. Oof. I’m sorry.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!) : @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985, @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @mindkaleidoscope , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog , @333-xx , @thesubtweeter

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free-pool-trash · 5 years ago

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talking too fast - peter maximoff

this is my first peter maximoff fic, i actually really liked writing for him and i wouldn’t mind doing some more for him and maybe even warren if you guys would want that? idk this blog is kinda dead rn but i liked this request/idea a lot so show it some love if you like it <3

comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

Request: Can you do like fake dating that end up in real love or something idk big cliché for our speedy boy. 'cause why tf not ksjdjdn

Word count: 3.7K (Jesus ok)

warning(s): swearing(it’s me, are we shocked? no), kinda angsty tbh, everyones a lil insecure but don’t worry it’s happy to end :)

(gifs not mine! he’s so cute oh my)

Peter Maximoff always had a tendency to go fast. That much could be seen in literally everything about him. The way he moved, the way he thought and if he was excited enough or angry enough, the way he spoke. You, of course, figured all of this out the hard way.

It had started out innocently enough, some of the younger guys, mainly Scott, had made fun of Peter for not having a girlfriend, Peter, in response to the teasing told them that he did. He definitely didn't, but they didn't need to know that. And that's how you found yourself in your current predicament.

Peter was sprawled out on your bed, his legs hanging off the foot of the bed as he whined, “(Y/n) please! I need to prove I have a hot girlfriend!"

Not looking up from the work you were doing at your desk, you laughed at him, "But Pete, you don't have a hot girlfriend."

The silver haired boy sighed audibly, lifting himself to sit up on your bed, at the same moment you spun around in your seat to face him.

"Nooooo…" He drew out and you shook your head in agreement, "No." You confirmed.

"But!" Peter shouted, pointing an accusing finger at you, a cheeky grin on his lips and his dimples peaking through.

"I do have a hot best friend!" He stated, wiggling his eyebrows at you, his grin turning pleading.

Peter was your best friend, ever since he'd joined the school of mutants he immediately became your favourite person and soon enough he'd claimed your best friend position. And vice versa.

You knew him better than he knew himself. So you also knew exactly what he was suggesting and you wouldn't lie and say that you never entertained the idea of being in a relationship with your doe eyed best friend, because you have, you've thought about it, you've thought about it way too much.

For that reason you shook your head furiously at what he was insinuating, "Pete, no."

He huffed, jumping off the bed and speeding infront of you, his eyes boring into yours.

"Come on, sweetheart! It's not like we don't act like we're dating already, it's foolproof!" He reasoned and you couldn't dispute that you and Peter did act like a couple, and often got mistaken as already being a couple.

But still, you just couldn't put yourself through that sort of emotional stress, you wouldn't do it for a total stranger so you definitely wouldn't do it for your best friend who you've been harboring a huge crush on for the bones of a year.

The risks it posed for your heart and your friendship with the speedster were just too high.

You couldn't help the laugh that fell from your throat as you watched Peter Maximoff, king of pranks and master of meaningless flirtations literally graveling on his knees in front of the chair you were sitting on.

"Peter just because we cuddle in the common room and you call me 'sweetheart' sometimes does not mean we act like a couple." right?

You told him only to be met by a frustrated whine, "Come on! I'm begging you! Just for like a week! Just to prove that I can get a hot girl to date me!"

You stayed silent, looking at him expressionlessly. Don't give in.

"Please!" He pressed again. Don't.

"Pretty please! Hey, I'll even let you set the ground rules??? Huh???" He tried to persuade you, although he was speeding through every word he said, if you weren't used to him you probably wouldn't have caught half of what he was saying.

Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

His hands grabbed yours as he pulled you both up into standing position, he held your hands softly and gave you the puppy dog eyes that he knew always made you almost melt before releasing a final pleading, "Please?"

Furrowing your eyebrows you let out the most dramatic sigh you could muster, but you couldn't hide the small smile growing on your lips "Fine, but you owe me."

You're a fucking idiot. You scolded yourself silently. But how could you ever say no when he looks at you like you're the answer to everything? God you were more screwed than you thought.

"Yes! God I love my girlfriend!" He told you excitedly, pulling you in for a tight hug and kissing your cheek.

When Peter left your room that night your head was spinning and you couldn't be sure how things would go tomorrow.

Maybe you were overthinking it? You'd hold his hand for a few minutes and try and convince a bunch of sixteen years olds that your best friend could successfully obtain a girlfriend and then that would be it. But did you really want that to be it? No, you wanted more, but that you already knew.

You'd set some ground rules with Peter to "protect the sanctity of our friendship" to which he'd laughed, but in reality the rules were to protect you from your own feelings.

Rule 1) No Kissing on the lips unless absolutely necessary

Rule 2) The lie would only be told to the students and not any of your colleagues (because you knew Peter's first stop would be rubbing your fake relationship in Warren Worthington III's face, they had some kind of light-hearted competition going on, you don't really know what it's about but you made it very clear to your best friend that you wanted no part in it.)

Rule 3) Peter cannot make comments about your fake sex life

Rule 4) You had to wear an item of Peter's clothing to, in his words, "really sell the story."

And the final rule was, of course, no telling anybody it wasn't real.

The next day you and Peter walked hand and hand toward the common room where you could already hear Scott, Kurt, Jubilee and Jean chatting and having fun.

"You're so immature you know that, babe" You whisper quietly to your "boyfriend" while bumping his shoulders with your own which was clad in the material of his silver jacket.

Abiding by the rules was all you were doing, you definitely weren't enjoying the way the sleeves were slightly too long so they covered your hands as far as your knuckles, or the way his scent covered you, that cologne he always wore which you happened to love the smell of and you definitely weren't enjoying the fact that despite the jacket being about two sizes too big for you it seemed to just fit. No, definitely not, you were just following Peter's rule.

He only laughed, "What's immature about wanting to show off my beautiful, stunning, hot, loving, smart, talented-"

You had to cut him off before he could say the word "girlfriend" because you weren't his girlfriend, and hearing it would surely make you want to cry, right there in the hallway.

"Alright Romeo, I've already agreed to your babyish plan to psych out some teenagers, you don't have to butter me up."

As you entered the common room, Peter's face broke into a mischievous grin and you had a deep feeling in your stomach that this little show was going to go way too far. Hoping that this wouldn't be the end of your little show wasn't serving you very well at the moment.

You were absolutely screwed.

"Hey, nerds." Peter called out, pulling you into the room slightly behind him.

"Seriously, Maximoff? (Y/n)?" Scott asked as soon as he noticed your linked hands, his voice was disbelieving, you were a little offended honestly.

What's wrong with me? You wondered, if a pubescent sixteen year old boy could find faults in you maybe Peter was seeing the same things? Maybe that's why he doesn't really want you to be his girlfriend.

It seemed Peter noticed your panicked train of thought as he let go of your hand and wrapped an arm around your shoulder protectively, "What's that supposed to mean, Summers?"

One of the things you loved about Peter was that he always defended you, even if you don't need defending he always has your back. But now wasn't the time to think about that, you could obsess about the feelings you so desperately try to hide for him later.

Noticing the growing irritation between the older 'couple' Scott shook his head, "No, nothing! (Y/n)'s hot, it's just, you two definitely aren't a thing."

At least they don't think I'm ugly, I guess.

He stated, crossing his arms as the other teens nodded in agreement. All except Jean who was looking at you suspiciously.

"Why not?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

As the two boys entered what was essentially a pissing contest about how Peter couldn't handle you which turned into how Scott couldn't handle Jean and as it went on and on, Jean entered your head.

'You're not really dating are you?' she asked you, something hiding in her voice, a question within a question, there was something more she wanted to say.

'Why's me and Peter being together so hard to believe?' You asked her in response, sure Jean was a telepath but you've mastered the art of manipulating what she could see when she peaked in your mind, which is probably why she was so confused.

Not that you really had anything to hide from her, what you felt for the man arguing with the teen in the middle of the common room was genuine and authentic, but better safe than sorry.

'It's just… Don't you think you could do a little better?" She pushed and then you understood that had been what she really wanted to ask in the first place.

The question made you angry, how quick they were to lessen Peter's worth. This wasn't just an issue with the younger X-Men, but with the older ones too. It seemed that nobody could appreciate Peter Maximoff for the amazing person and mutant that he is. You knew it made him insecure, he'd confided in you on so many different occasions about his self worth and because of this you'd developed a need to throw hands with anyone that treated him like a joke.

He saw himself as a loser, so he let people treat him like one.

Before you could respond to Jean's question you were interrupted by Peter whining in your ear, "Baaaaaabe, tell these guys we're together!"

Letting out a sigh to calm yourself, hiding your angry string of thoughts from Jean was exhausting, you let a small smile settle over your face and wrapped both your arms around Peter's middle, if they wanted a show you'd give them one.

"Okay kids, Peter and I are dating, we have been for the past while. We didn't say anything because we wanted to keep it on the down low but since it's out there now, yes, we are in fact, a couple." You confirmed, confidence clear in your voice, you were asserting the facts.

Peter nodded in agreement, a smug smile on his face, he looked so proud to call you his girlfriend and you felt a pang in your chest when you reminded yourself that it was only for show.

"How'd he manage to get a girl like you though? I don't get it." Scott piped up again and you couldn't hide the exhausted expression that crossed your face.

It got to Peter, the blatant disbelief towards him, you could tell his face fell ever so slightly before he regained his composure. So you squeezed him a little tighter.

"Well, he's sweet, he's caring, he's loyal, he knows me pretty much better than I know myself, he makes me smile and laugh, he knows exactly what to do when I'm sad and sure, sometimes he can be a little much and a huge pain in the ass but it's worth it." You told the group, squeezing Peter with every word you said, smiling at the little "hey" he let out when you called him a pain in the ass, the way he was looking down at you was so pure and loving that you completely forgot to remind yourself that it was just make believe.

Your description of your fake-but-wish-it-was-real-boyfriend received an "aww" from Jubilee and a smile from Kurt, Jean and Scott however, still looked apprehensive.

Keeping the red head out of your business was giving you a headache.

"Prove it." Scott challenged as you and Peter looked at each other in confusion, how were you supposed to prove it? These kids sure were ballsy.

"Kiss." Jean added and you couldn't physically stop your eyes from rolling and your lips from forming a smirk.

You were about to break your biggest rule, but you didn't care. The whole interaction with the teens had brought Peter's self-esteem way down and you could predict he'd be crying on your shoulder because of it later on tonight. You weren't going to deny him a kiss and you absolutely weren't going to embarrass him in front of Scott fucking Summers.

"Ok." You removed your arms from around Peter's middle and brought one hand to his cheek and let the other tangle in his Silver hair, he didn't miss a beat, immediately he pulled you flush against him and placed his hands on your hips, his movements were deliberate as if he'd been imagining kissing you for as long as you'd been imagining kissing him. You pushed that thought away, the truth that he didn't think about you that way hurt too much.

His lips met yours and you could've sworn you felt sparks flying from where your lips connected. The kiss was short but it was passionate and really, really, really good. His lips were chapped but soft and the way that they moved in sync with your own sent your head spinning and your heart flipping.

When you pulled away, Peter's lips chased yours and you giggled as he placed pecks on your lips multiple times before he finally allowed you to push him away.

If you weren't so caught up in the moment you would've cried, that was everything you've been wanting for so long, but it wasn't real. You didn't think about it though, it would get a chance to bring a tear to your eye later. When you're alone.

"Alright you're dating, Jesus, get a room." Scott scowled as he scrunched up his face in disgust at the display of affection he and his own girlfriend had demanded.

Laughing, you grabbed Peter's hand in yours and began walking back towards his room, you didn't feel like answering any more awkward questions and you needed a minute to recover from Jean's constant attempts to get into your subconscious.

Once you'd both entered Peter's room and shut the door behind you, you finally let your guard down with a loud sigh, flopping down on Peter's bed and throwing an arm across your eyes to block out the light.

"Jean's mind poking really is relentless huh?" Peter said, flopping down beside you.

"Tell me about it. She's persistent as fuck." You laughed, turning your head to look at Peter, who was already looking at you.

"That no kissing rule didn't last too long, couldn't resist?" Peter asked jokingly but you could tell that he wanted to know what caused you to abandon your number one rule.

Chewing on your cheek, you debated on whether or not you should spill all or just tell him what he needed to know at this moment in time. Going this the latter you sighed again.

"They were being assholes, I wasn't gonna embarrass you by saying no, was I?" Peter's smile was soft but it didn't reach his eyes, your voice was quiet when you added, "Besides, you looked like you needed a kiss."

His face was now turned to the ceiling with a thoughtful look adorning his features.

As you both laid side-by-side on the unmade double bed, close enough that your arms were touching but not close enough for your fingers to be intertwined, you, a hopeless romantic, hopelessly falling for your best friend as you wear his favorite jacket and lay on his bed. And Peter who looked like he was trying to figure out the universe's greatest mystery. As you laid with each other, a heavy silence settled over you both, until Peter turned his face back to you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Can I ask you something, (Y/n)?" Nodding wordlessly, you turned your entire body to face him, so that you were laying on your side.

"Am I really that bad?" He asked, his brown eyes staring into yours.

"What do you mean?" You asked him, you knew where this conversation was about to go, but he had a lot to say and you wanted to let him let it all out.

"All those guys back there, they didn't think I could really be your boyfriend… and hey they're probably right, you could do better. But is it really that unbelievable that someone could love me?" His last question came out cracked and tears filled his chestnut eyes.

Your own eyebrows furrowed now, you put your hand on his face and brushed the tear that slipped from his eye away. "No, Pete. What's unbelievable to me is that people can't see how fucking incredible you are." You told him, your emotions coming through in your voice, anger and sadness taking over.

"No," Peter shook his head, again returning his face to look at the ceiling before he went on, "they're right, I couldn't get a girl, especially not one like you."

That hurt, you have to admit that it hurt you so bad to hear him talk so badly about himself but what hurt most was the fact that Peter didn't want a girl that was you, no, just one that was like you.

"You have a girl like me, Pete." You reminded him sadly, turning your own face to the ceiling.

Who knew one outing as a fake couple would be all it took to make you fall apart? You did, you knew from the beginning.

Peter was upset, it was obvious by the way he spoke next, too fast and before he thought.

"No, I don't, not really. You're this incredible, pretty girl. You're talented and your mutation is useful and everyone loves you! I'm just this loser who people don't take seriously and pretty soon you're going to realize that and just leave like everyone else."

The pit of your stomach has never felt so deep before, it was so clear to you now, in his voice, it was there, he didn't trust you to stay. And that fact hurt more than any heartbreak of rejection ever could.

Sitting up on the bed, you looked down at him, fighting the tears that were attempting to gather in your eyes.

"I know you're not a loser, Peter. I know you're incredible and talented and maybe the best friend I've ever had. But if you think I'm shallow enough to leave you behind, for some preppy asshole, you really don't trust me as much as I trust you." You finished, tears falling freely as you got off of the bed and made your way toward the door before he sped infront of you, standing between you and the door.

His eyes were wide, like a deer caught in headlights, "That's not what I meant to say!"

You didn't say anything, just stared at him, tears falling and waiting for him to say his piece.

"I trust you more than anyone, you know everything about me, I'm sorry my mouth was going too fast and it came out all wrong." He was still rushing through his words but he took a deep breath before going on again.

"What I was trying to say is," he swallowed thickly, he was nervous, scared even, "you're amazing, you're my best friend and I've had this scenario running in my head of maybe being more than just friends. But I was afraid if I told you and you didn't feel the same you'd leave because of how awkward it would be."

Your heart was pounding, if you had a few broken ribs after this conversation you wouldn't be surprised, "oh."

"And when I suggested you be my fake girlfriend you were so reluctant that I figured I never had a shot. But then we kissed and I just can't come to terms with a kiss like that meaning nothing." He told you, hands finding yours, carefully.

This time it was you who was speaking before thinking, "I'm in love with you."

Hearing the words fall out of your mouth, your eyes widened, months of trying to hide the fact and you managed to let it slip out into the open without it even crossing your mind first.

Taking a shaky breath you decided to speak again and hopefully ease Peter out of the shocked state your declaration put him in.

"I didn't wanna fake date you because I wanted to real date you and I was afraid it would hurt too much. That kiss, it was real for me, I had kinda been wanting to do it for a while." You confessed to him, squeezing his hands that were still holding onto yours.

A smile overtook his face, his dimples showing and his eyes brightening, his face was lit up with what seemed like pure happiness like a puppy who's owner just got home from work.

"I love you too."

Oh thank God.

"I knew you couldn't resist." He added shooting you a cheeky wink before he pulled you against his chest, his face was so close to yours, your noses touched and his lips met yours again.

This time was different, though. It was real and you both knew it and both wanted it.

His fingers intertwined with yours as he pulled his lips away from yours, his boyish smile coming back as he rested his forehead against yours.

"So, um, do you maybe wanna be my girlfriend, like really be my girlfriend?" He asked, still nervous about asking you despite the fact you'd both just made your feelings toward each other perfectly clear.

"I'd love to." You replied, connecting your lips to his again.

Safe to say, fake dating Peter turned into a total shit show but you're really glad it did.

let me know what you think <33

#peter maximoff #peter maximof x reader #x-men #x-men x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #x-men days of future past #peter maximoff imagine #x reader #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader

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marvel-medigeek-fics · 4 years ago

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Marjan walked into the 126, sipping coffee to chase down the four Tylenol she'd taken before locking up her Jeep. She'd woken up with a pounding headache and the telltale signs of the second day of her period. Nothing she couldn't handle. After all, she'd never live down sitting out over something like this. Especially not when she worked with men and worked her ass off to prove herself worthy of walking alongside them.

She'd just avoid overdoing it. Easy enough.

The first call of the day had come in hot, with no room for extra pain. A load-bearing beam had been demolished, leaving two construction workers and the couple who lived there trapped under the rubble. All had survived, with only 2 broken legs between the four of them, and a few broken ribs. Could have been a lot worse, but they were all in a fair amount of pain, and Marjan couldn't help but feel guilty about her own pain. She attempted to push it down further and swallowed a few more Tylenol back at the station.

3 draining calls later, her headache was back with a vengeance and her cramps hadn't died down in the slightest. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse. She'd dealt with worse, of course, so this was nothing. At least that is what she kept telling herself. Marjan could smell Paul's cooking from upstairs and without realizing it she had unintentionally not eaten anything all day. And there it was, the source of her problem: hypoglycemia.

Paul was making turkey sausage rigatoni, one of Marjan's favorites. Paul, being the absolute dork he was, was singing along to the radio and using the spoon as a microphone. Mateo was doing the same thing with the salad tongs, and Judd was filming them and laughing. TK was laughing too, but probably because of something Carlos said rather than his hilarious colleagues. Owen was looking at his crew while doing paperwork and chuckling into his pen. Marjan leaned against the doorframe, trying to hold back a reaction to a cramp. Which were only getting worse.

"How much longer until dinner? I'm starved!" Marjan yelled over the country twang, almost making Mateo and Paul drop their utensils.

"10 minutes!" Paul yelled back, still dancing to the radio with his lower half.

Marjan took this opportunity to make herself more coffee. Not only was she hypoglycemic, but she was also exhausted. Not that she usually drank coffee, but she needed the bit of energy it was sure to give her.

"Whoa, Marwani, two cups? Who are you?" TK said, after saying a quick goodbye to Carlos when his radio went off.

"I'm tired, Strand. And can you blame me?" She was referring to one of her earlier saves today where she was the one to cut a hanglider out of a tree.

"Impressive, yes. It's still not like you to drink coffee." TK just raised his eyebrows and went back to chewing on his straw and sipping water.

"Yeah, Marjan, I thought you got your adrenaline from rescues. The natural way, as I believe you said once." Paul said, setting down the skillet of food. Mateo, setting down the salad, and Judd, setting down a roll of paper towels, both sat down after Paul. The whole table dug in. And even though Marjan had thought she was hungry, smelling the pasta almost made her want to throw up. But she took a bite, slowly forcing herself to choke it down. She forced a smile when Paul met her eyes in concern over TK's head. She was fine. She had to be.

After dinner and an agonizing hour of Paul watching over her like a hawk, Marjan finally escaped to the bathroom. Nausea from earlier had sort of subsided, but she still had to force down the bile in her throat. She just hoped there would be a call before she couldn't hold it down anymore. It burned a little bit, but not as much as the shame that lit her mind on fire. She breathed a sigh of relief when the Klaxons went off.

She ran downstairs, her abdomen still stinging with pain, but adrenaline was already beginning to dull it. The next call was a fire, which was great for forcing Marjan's mind off of her own selfishness.

"Whoa." The ablaze building lit up the dark sky. Sometimes it was pretty to watch something burn, but not tonight. 14 people were still trapped on the upper floors of the apartment complex, which was skyrocketing Marjan's adrenaline levels. Honestly, she felt great.

"We're going in!" Owen yelled it over the hiss of water pressure and the 6 of them went into the blaze. Usually, in a fire, everything seemed to be overwhelming, but today, the fire seemed dead silent. There was no crackle, just compressing heat.

"Austin FD, anybody in here?" Mateo yelled it through the door, his fist rapping against the wood.

"In here!! Help us!!" was the reply from inside.

"Mateo, Paul," Owen ordered, the two of them already forcing their way inside.

The remaining four trudged on. "Help! Please!! I'm in 654!! Please!!"

"Marjan, TK,"

"Got it, Cap!" TK chirped, "I'm going to kick down the door, back away if you can!!" The door flew open with a startling amount of force.

"Over here!! Under the table!!" The frantic voices called again and the duo moved to the terrified teenager.

"What's your name?" Marjan asked, biting her tongue so hard she could taste iron.

"I'm Mckenna."

"Are you the only one in the apartment?"

"Yes!" Mckenna cried out in pain, clutching her shoulder. There was a piece of glass embedded in her shoulder, and it was no wonder neither of them had noticed the shard. It was caught underneath her shirt, but since Mckenna had moved, so had the glass. Blood soaked the front of her blouse. "TK, gauze. Please." TK pressed the roll into Marjan's palm and she quickly wrapped up the wound with perfect precision.

"Let's get out of here." TK and Marjan carried Mckenna down the stairs. All three were lucky Marjan's legs didn't buckle, no matter how much they felt like they would. They passed Mckenna off to the EMTs and her sobbing parents.

"All good?" Marjan and TK asked each other at the same time.

Both of them nodded, and at least one of them was lying. Which would only become obvious when Marjan threw up into a trashcan immediately after passing the last victim, Alex, from the 8th floor off to the EMTs.

Judd happened to be the only one who noticed, which was lucky for her. "You okay, Marwani?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just shook my stomach around too much." Marjan forced her lips into a smile, to make Judd believe her. He didn't, but he knew better than to question Marjan when she had the 'fight me' glint in her eyes.

"Just take it easy. I don't want to clean up anybody's puke."

"Who says you would have to do it? Probie would." Even in excruciating pain, her quippy mouth was not impacted.

Back at the station, Marjan turned in early after convincing herself she didn't need any more Tylenol. She covered herself with every blanket in the fire station to no avail, she was still freezing. She moaned quietly, as to not alarm any more people she probably already had. She finally fell asleep with a dull sheen over her forehead.

"Marjan! Wake up!" TK was standing over Marjan when she woke up shaking violently. Her unwavering cramps had brought friends, but she bit her tongue again until she bled. Iron tastes better than pain.

"What?" Marjan groaned.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Of course! I'm fine!" She threw the covers off of the bed and stood up, blinking away dizziness and letting her eyes focus on her crewmates. Paul and TK were in the front, and Mateo, Owen, and Judd were making up the perimeter. Paul placed his hand on her forehead and shook his head slowly.

"No, you're not. You obviously have a fever. At least 100 degrees, if I'm not mistaken."

"You can stay here and sleep, Marjan, but you're not allowed on any other calls today," Owen said, his eyebrows heavy with worry and concentration.

"You're benching me, Captain?" Marjan looked at Owen with sad eyes. Her face was paler than usual and drenched in sweat. She looked awful.

"If he won't, I will." Mateo, who usually was painfully reserved about being bossy, put steel behind his voice. He looked like he was about to cry from worry, but his voice didn't shake and he stared Marjan down. His arms were crossed, and Marjan mirrored his stance.

"You can't bench me, probie," Marjan scoffed, before swaying and about falling into TK's arms. "I'm fine!"

"No, you are definitely not. Now sit down, before I send you to the ER for fluids." Owen locked eyes with her until she reluctantly sat down on the bed, her defiance waning. It was all gone the next time a wave of pain erupted through her abs causing her to scream. She grabbed the trashcan from the bedside table and puked violently into it.

"Go get Tommy. Now." Judd's voice was steel, and everyone else sprung into action. Leave it to Judd. Marjan groaned gutturally, a sound that broke Paul's heart. Marjan was his best friend and he'd never seen her in so much pain. So much pain that she was crying and moaning. And he had a hunch. McBurney's point.

"Ow, Paul, quit."

"You have appendicitis, girl, why didn't you say anything?" was Paul's reply, just as Tommy checked her out.

3 hours later, Marjan was out of surgery, and the entire 126 was sitting in the waiting room. They had done it for TK, and they'd sure as hell do it for Marjan as well. Grace had brought the entire station donuts because, in Judd's words, it was always an appropriate time to have donuts. No one had disagreed, and they all needed a bit of pick me up. Marjan having appendicitis had been a bit of a rollercoaster for all of them. Especially when they had realized her appendix had partially burst, which had caused a bit of perontinitus. Most of the 126 had been afraid she'd die because no one noticed the pain she had been in all day. It had been touch and go for a moment there and they were all a little on edge especially after TK's coma after getting shot. The incident was still fresh in all of their minds, and no one wanted to relive it. But here they were.

TK was pacing so much that he'd probably walked a marathon since they'd got here. Judd and Paul were moving too, both jiggling their legs like the world would end if they stopped. Mateo was completely still, hugging a pillow to his chest. And Owen was talking to Marjan. Her heart rate was good, ditto on blood pressure. She was just sleeping. Which fried everyone's nerves. If only she'd just open her eyes.

"One of the female nurses redid your hijab. Her name is Lily, and she says thank you for saving her sister, Mckenna. Small world, huh?"

She twitched.

"Guys!" Owen hissed and the other four men plus Grace moved quietly into the room. "Marjan?" Paul's voice sounded brittle, but he took her hand softly and squeezed it. Marjan's fingers curled around one of Paul's and she squeezed. Paul's tears shone on his cheeks as Marjan's eyes fluttered open.

"What happened?" She croaked out.

"Your appendix ruptured. We almost didn't catch it in time." Judd said over the deafening silence reverberating around the room.

"So that's why my Tylenol didn't work." She remarked.

"You were taking Tylenol for pain all day, and you didn't think to tell us?" TK said slowly, his fingers tapping on his elbows like he was disappointed. Maybe he was.

"I am female, Tyler Kennedy," Marjan said. "Think about it."

Paul stayed the latest with her because everyone else had early mornings. He sat in the chair beside her bed and held her hand. Paul had his appendix out when he was 22, and he knew how lonely it felt to sleep in a hospital room with no one watching over him. So he stayed and held her hand while she rested.

"I'm glad you're okay. You scared me for a while there." Paul whispered to Marjan.

"Me too, Paul. Thank you for staying with me."

"Of course."

"I have one more favor to ask, though."

"Which is?"

"Ice cream? Vegan cookie dough? Please?"

"In the morning." Paul shook his head fondly. "Everything is closed, and you should get some rest."

"Fine. I expect to see you here bright and early tomorrow with ice cream."

"I won't let you down." Marjan was already asleep by the time that he replied, snoring softly in time to her heart rate.

And of course, the next morning, Marjan awoke to vegan cookie dough ice cream on the bedside table along with a metal spoon and a giant get well soon card signed by every member of the 126, Carlos, and Grace. Along with a letter from Mckenna, who said Marjan could visit her anytime she wanted to, in room 216. Maybe being benched wasn't so bad.

#9-1-1 fanfiction #911 #911 lone star fanfiction #911 lonestar #marjan marwani #paul strickland #Paul & Marjan #sick fic #lonestar

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years ago

Text

04. The Apex Begins

AU Grace and Simon story. Takes place in the instance that they never got on the train, but crossed paths and became friends. But, for the sake of anyone who wants to view it as a series, I’ll number them. 2468 Words TW for violence, mental health discourse, unresolved trauma

NOTE: I wanted to sort of put the concept of “the apex” into the story without actually having a cult of children. I think that the circumstances of the train led to the philosophy going that far, but I still think that in real world situations, both of these characters would both 1. be prone to violence and 2. develop an us vs them mindset.

This was who they were together. Grace and Simon. She would venture into town, figure out some excuse, and he would meet her. They traveled the city together, taking whatever they wanted, because rich people sucked and if you owned a business, you were rich and deserved whatever happened. They got into scuffles with people who seemed to disrespect one or both of them. They instantly went into defensive mode over each other.

Neither was afraid to resort to violence, because that’s just what you did for friends. You did anything that they needed. You did whatever you had to do. That was a good sign of survival of the fittest. That was the proof that you were better than everybody else - that you were the apex of human evolution.

If you had to answer to people and were afraid to challenge them and fight for yourself and your loved ones - you were less than nothing. You were a “null.” Grace and Simon had decided that they would never be like that, and they didn’t have to be, because they had each other. He thought she was a true queen, and she trusted him with her life.

She lost her driver over it. That was one of the things that she did hate, because he sort of had to suffer for her to be able to have this solid friendship with Simon, and she loved her driver and everything...

But he wasn’t Simon, so he could be sacrificed. He had to be. She had come back to the car with a huge plug of her hair missing and she laughed it off and said that she had gotten caught on something on the train and accidentally ripped it out. That was actually partially true.

A woman on the train got herself into a fight with Grace. She was some college lady, making faces whenever Grace and Simon were talking too loud and practically snarling at Grace. Simon began to imitate her, and she sat there growing red in the face, obviously noticing them, but whenever Grace joined in to make fun of her as well, she got irate. They called each other names and Grace dared the woman to hit her, so... she was willing to sort of take responsibility for the fact that the woman came through on the dare and slapped her right in the face. Grace laughed, but also charged towards her...

The woman had taken a handful of her hair after an argument that escalated into violence, into her punching the woman in the gut while she clutched Grace’s hair trying to get her off, and it didn’t end until Simon had dragged the woman off of the train in a choke hold and threw her down on the terminal, ready to stomp the life out of her. The woman shielded herself with both of her arms, praying that this boy didn’t kick her. Fortunately for her, he didn’t. He wanted to and definitely would have after the way that she’d attacked Grace, but Grace stopped him.

She pointed to a surveillance camera, with her other arm blocking her face from it. She and Simon took off running, leaving an almost passed out (obnoxious) college student with a bruised midsection and holding a plug of hair in her fist. Simon stole Grace a mask not too long after. He had nothing to lose as far as he was concerned, but her family was well known in this place and she did worry about them knowing about this part of her life.

The driver had been going through months of covering for Grace, but this missing plug of hair - he had to take action. She’d told her lie and her mother stressed over all of her beautiful hair that they had to shave off, but she spun in that Grace was doing “the big chop” and going natural… Grace was kinda into that. She often had curly styles, but her hair wasn’t that type of curly, so work went into her look. Work that she hopefully wouldn’t have to go through for a while, now that she was starting her hair journey over. In her video chat with Simon afterwards, he thought it was an amazing look for her, so she quickly got over it.

The driver spoke with her parents, admitting that he allowed her to spend time with a friend in town sometimes, (he didn’t give them details about Simon specifically), but that he honestly thought that she might need some professional help, because she always came back banged up or covered in something suspicious. She’d freshen up and change in the car and clean out the backseat with extreme diligence and tell them a lie about where she had been. Well… This was not only news to them, but HAD to have been fake news.

They weren’t sure why he would LIE this way about their perfect child, but they knew he was, because there was no way Grace would EVER stand up against them.

“I think that she may need some serious help.”

“You are the help,” Mrs. Monroe told him.

“I’m not the kind of help that Grace needs…” He started.

“You’re right,” Mr. Monroe told him. “You’re obviously useless. Expect your last paycheck in the mail. We no longer require your services.” Whenever Grace was sent for, she passed the driver on the way to the living room. He looked sad and wished her well as they crossed paths. “Grace!” Her father called. She jumped and ran into the room. “We’ve let your driver go.”

She gasped and placed her hand over her heart, “Oh my God! What happened, Daddy?”

Her mother spoke, “He suggested that you need help. We gathered that he was insinuating psychiatric help, from the tales he was spinning about your behavior in the city.” Grace froze and touched the spot where the missing plug of hair had been. That must have been it. The thing that was about to lose her everything that she had formed with Simon… “Of course, we know that he is mistaken. We didn’t raise someone that weak or lazy.” Grace’s eyes were large and damp. She nodded. “IF you needed help… that would be very unfortunate. A lot of work would be down the drain.”

Grace’s throat was dry as she said, “I’ve told you everything that happens whenever I go into town. I;m not sure why he would say that I’ve done anything wrong. I would never embarrass you.”

Both of her parents advanced on her and she was frozen still, unsure of what would happen next. They both gave her a hug and told her that was the perfect response. “Imagine! Our daughter needing help, aside from the likes of the staff? I never thought that I would ever hear something so ridiculous,” her mother said, then quickly grabbed her by the chin harder than she knew was out of love and the threatening look in her eyes confirmed that much as she said, through the teeth of her smile, “And we’d better not ever hear such a thing about you again.” She nodded, terrified.

Mrs. Monroe let go of her face and Mr. Monroe simply gave her a look, the look that told her he knew that she was lying and he was disappointed in her. At least he wasn’t saying so. But, Grace was both relieved and shaken up.

So, they gave Grace a new driver, and Grace explained to him straight out of the gate the way it was going to work for them to function and him to keep his job. He was younger than her last driver, and didn’t mind letting her sneak off and enjoy herself. Her parents were total hardasses,so he understood her desire to get some time away sometimes. Plus, he had no idea the kinds of things she got up to whenever she left the vehicle. He didn’t know that the last driver was absolutely right and that she probably did seriously need some help. Unfortunately, she didn’t know it either. She just knew that she had to be more careful.

A mask helped, and because she had the body of a dancer, some counter culture street wear and a shaved head, people often seemed to think that there were two boys terrorizing them. Simon shaved the back of his head in solidarity, but she thought he did it to look “even more broody.”

Any time that Grace and Simon engaged with someone in conflict, Simon had a habit of taking something off of them and giving it to Grace. Her collection was getting pretty big. She kept all of the trinkets in her hope chest. The thing was just symbolic, anyways. She was never gonna get married and she wasn’t sure that her parents honestly expected her to.

Compromise only went so far with the Monroes. Grace had become brave enough to make suggestions in her sweetest voice without paralyzing fear, but she definitely still felt afraid whenever she did speak up. Being 14 and old enough to go to high school, she REALLY wanted to finally be able to go be with other kids! She wanted to meet other people and find out things that they had in common or whatever else teenagers did when they got to high school. And, fortunately for her, her father was sure that another recession was coming and didn’t mind saving a little on private instructors…

HOWEVER, she definitely wasn’t going to be allowed to go to Simon’s school (the school she’d suggested). So, they enrolled her into the most prestigious private school in town.

Whenever she found out that she would be going, she asked Simon if it was at all possible for him to go to that school too. After two full minutes of him laughing in her face, to the point of belly ache and tears, he cleared his throat, wiped his eyes and reminded her, “That place is for rich kids.”

It just so happened that she had read about this school and there were multiple programs in which less fortunate students could earn scholarships. She had known Simon for almost 4 years and had seen him be very good at many things that required mental intelligence and/or technical skill. He was good at creating things, building stuff, writing, photography.... There had to be something he was good enough at to gain a scholarship.

“There is literally nothing that I’m good enough at to get a scholarship into a school like that,” he said, while she was pacing and talking to herself about all of the things that Simon was great at, going down the list out loud to come up with a plan to get him into school with her. He rolled his eyes and went back to typing on the hand me down laptop that he’d gotten from her whenever her parents bought her a new one. Simon really appreciated that Grace thought so highly of his skills, but he knew that the school wouldn’t share her affinity for him or any of his skills.

She sputtered air through her lips - a habit that she’d had for many years, and then she looked up and said, “Write an essay about your family.” He tensed up, frowned and stared at her.

Grace smiled, put her hands behind her back and sauntered over to him. “It sounds painful right now, BUT this will not only give you a chance to get out some of the stress that you hold inside, keeping it all in, it’ll ALSO be just what those stuffy adults on the board need to have some mercy on us and let you into the school. I’ve read somewhere that it doesn’t help to hold things in. Think of it as... journaling, but for your future!”

Simon did journaling, sort of. He definitely wrote about his life, but translated it into fantasy, outside of his manifesto, of course. But, that wasn’t the point right now. “You think that telling people that I accidentally let my baby sister die, which caused my mom to become so angry at me that she devolved into this abusive and suicidal phantom that lives in our house, and made my father neglect me and her, up until he reenlisted in the military and left me to take care of somebody who absolutely hates me - is a good thing to tell a place with an upstanding reputation?”

She winced with every word he said. She had been around for most of that and had been the only person to see him through most of it. But, now, she was telling him exactly this. “I think that this kind of stuff, while atrocious and painful to US, is like a drug to them. They wanna take you and say, look how I’ve fixed this up. They want to take your pain and make it into a story that they can brag about.”

“And why would I want them to do that?” he asked, shivering at the thought of anybody else but her and Samantha to ever learn about his family issues. Journaling was one thing, but this was something different and it felt extremely uncomfortable.

“It’s not that you would want to do it. It’s that it would be a way for us to be in school together,” she said.

“It’s asking a lot, Grace.” He set the laptop aside and shook his head, “I wanna be with you. You know I do, but it’s really asking a lot.”

She lowered her head, nodded, and flopped down on the seat next to him on her cushioned reading bench. “You’re right. I’m so sorry that I suggested that. I guess desperation made me weird. I don’t see the point of even going to school and meeting other people if I don’t have you there with me. You’re kinda like the other side of me that my parents never let bloom. Me in a new school surrounded by all those strangers without you… That’s gonna be like me navigating life chopped in half. I know that I can't be my best there without “us.” I guess I panicked and didn’t think about what it would mean for you to have to think about the way your adults have done you.” She clasped her hands together, sputtered out some air, and rested her lips against them, silently praying for some type of plan or something.

He didn’t like the condition she was in and now he felt guilty. “Okay,” Simon said. He reached over and covered her clasped hands with one of his own and pulled her into a hug with his other arm. “I’ll do it.” He was shivering and she wanted to tell him not to worry about it, that it was too much to ask and if he didn’t want to, not to do it for her benefit. But, she was 14, and very selfish. So, all she did was smile at him and push some strands of hair from his face. Their faces were really close, but she didn’t really ever think about stuff like that. There wasn’t any “personal space” between them. He was her other half and that meant his personal space was simply an extension of hers. He had other thoughts about it, but he certainly wasn’t going to say so.

He blushed and grabbed his laptop. “I’m gonna work on it at home, though…” They told each other everything, but he didn’t necessarily trust himself to be presentable as he relived some of these things about his life. He didn’t want her to see him crying or having a tantrum or tugging at his own hair to redirect his pain. He wanted privacy to dissect his heart this way. He wanted discretion. He didn’t want to look weak. You couldn’t extend to the apex by being weak.

She was looking in the mirror and admiring her face, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil he was facing by agreeing to this. He understood. He often admired her face too, though he didn’t know how to tell her that the rest of them were a little luckier… She looked even prettier in front of you than she did in her reflection. She smiled at him and squinted her eyes, “What?”

“Nothing! I’m going now. Bye.”

“Until later!” she cheered. She had no idea how hard his night was about to be. She didn’t even ask… but he also didn’t tell her...

#infinity train #infinity train fanfiction #Nesha Fanfiction #AU Infinity Train #fics #If They Didn't Get on the Train #The Apex Begins #Girl That's Queuedt #Scheduled to post 12 hours before the end #Wonder if I'll have the motivation to finish it afterwards

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bangtanstrawberrycheesecake · 5 years ago

Text

S.Experiments (M)

➾ pairing: min yoongi x oc

➾ genre: step sibling, smut

➾ word count: 3k

➾ summary: It started from innocent curiousity. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3

chapter one:

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Soo Jin’s eyes were hopeful as she sat on Yoongi’s 75” x 36” inch single bed, fingers clasped on her cotton shorts. She gleamed with the curiosity of a sixteen years old girl and while she had a cheeky excited look on her face, Yoongi were exactly the opposite.

He had boredom plastered all over his face as he lay sprawled on his bed, hair still damp from shower. It was a little over 5 pm, he just went back from basketball practice, showered and his sister, correction, step sister, is already bugging him in his room.

If Soo Jin hadn’t known him well, she would have mistaken Yoongi’s cold look as a sign of annoyance but she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t a tiny bit annoyed at her. They were the best of friends, always has been even before their parents decided to get married to each other 5 years ago.

“Come on we’re best friends.” Soo Jin cooed, shaking Yoongi’s sides softly to urge the sixteen years old boy to speak up. “Yeah but that’s just weird as fuck.” Yoongi finally spoke, rolling his eyes when he sees her giving him her puppy eyes.

“Oh, come on it’s not like I’ve never seen it anyway. I see it all the time when I accidentally went inside the bathroom while you were showering. You always have the habit of not locking the door.” Soo Jin had her arms crossed by now, she wasn’t one to easily give up. She always gets what she wants and this time won’t be any different.

“Exactly? So why do you still want to see it. Just google it or something. Weirdo.” Yoongi replied coolly, although deep down his heart was beating 100 miles per hours. Can you blame him though? Soo Jin just said she wanted to see his dick. What the hell is he supposed to say.

“I want to see how it looks close up. Look it’s normal okay? Kids do this all the time where they pretend to be doctors and inspect each other’s bodies or something. Everybody has played that once in their life with their siblings, I’m just the unlucky one who was born as a single child. So now you have to play this with me because you’re “technically” my brother.” Soo Jin said in a matter of fact tone and Yoongi wondered what makes her so interested of this today. Were her female friends talking about dicks or something today at school and now she’s so intrigued to see one?

Soo Jin could sense Yoongi’s curiosity so she decided to just tell him the truth. “Okay so today Eun Ji told me she and her boyfriend did it and his ‘thingy’ were really hard and long and I know guys and girls has different looking thing but I’ve never seen a real one clearly before and I want to see it.”

Yoongi finds the situation hilarious.

This girl can’t even say dick out loud but is so yearning to see his? He almost let out a big laugh but decided to hold it in and it came out as a snicker instead. Soo Jin’s cheeks heats up and embarrassment filled her.

“Are you laughing at me?” Soo Jin mumbled, the tough act she builds were starting to tumble down and she push the laughing boy’s shoulder with her small palm. Yoongi won’t stop laughing, and Soo Jin grew even more humiliated than she was before.

“Look if you won’t show me I’ll ask somebody else. I know Namjoon wouldn’t mind.” That was all it takes for Yoongi to stop laughing and cut her off. “Don’t you dare.” Yoongi knew his friend had a soft spot for Soo Jin. Hell, she didn’t even need to tell Namjoon she was going to show hers and the boy would still whip out his dick in a second.

Yoongi didn’t know why but the thought pisses him off. All he knows is that he’d rather show his dick to Soo Jin if that means she won’t ask some other hormonal boys to do that for her. God knows what they’ll do to her in the heat of the moment.

At least Yoongi knows he won’t do anything dumb like the other boys would and it’ll be purely anatomy lesson at this point. Let’s say this is a way to protect his precious best friend/step sister from getting into dumb situations with other boys like Namjoon.

“Alright fin-.” Yoongi grumbled and he didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence when Soo Jin suddenly squeal and scream “yayyyyy” out loud. She’s already pulling down her shorts down before Yoongi can even change his mind. Yoongi choked when he saw a flash of her white cotton panties and his head automatically look away.

What the hell has he got himself to?

He felt a nudge on the basketball shorts he usually wore at home because it’s comfy af and before he knew it they were down to his knees. “Geez slowdown, will you?” Yoongi felt his cheeks heats up as he sat against the headboard with nothing but his blue boxers.

He was looking at the side, specifically on his LeBron James poster he pasted on his walls because he can feel himself growing hard and the last thing he want is looking like he was getting excited for this.

So Yoongi close his eyes and thought of all the boner killing thought he can think off in his mind and somehow it works and his dick turn flaccid. “Come on don’t be a chicken.” Soo Jin whine, tugging on his boxers and that sorts of trigger Yoongi’s man ego and he finally tug his pants down, exposing everything he have hidden underneath.

Yoongi still can’t turn his head and he’s still looking at his wall now, but he’s staring at his Notorious B.I.G album poster instead of the LeBron James one.

Even without looking he can feel Soo Jin’s stare on his dick and he heard her soft Oooooooo of awe.

The heat crept back to his cheeks because first, this was the first time anyone or a girl has ever seen his dick and second, well anyone in his situation would feel at least slightly embarrassed.

“Are you done looking?” Yoongi mutter and before he can get a reply he felt a soft poke on his dick.

A moan slipped out of his lips and he immediately whipped his head in shock.

He didn’t expect that.

“Yah! Who told you you can touch?” His eyes met her awestruck ones and Soo Jin let out a giggle. He wasn’t mad but he was definitely caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting her to touch it at all.

“Why is it so flaccid? Oooo it grew hard.” Soo Jin gasp as she saw Yoongi’s soft dick turn bigger and harder after she gave it a little poke.

“It’s because you touch it, stupid. It’s a natural reaction.” Yoongi retorted sharply because hell no, he wasn’t going to show that he was affected by this whole absurd situation. Soo Jin was still staring at his now semi hard dick in astonishment.

Even though she has seen it before when she accidentally walks in on him showering, it was only for a brief second and the glass door usually obstruct the clear view anyway. But now that she can get a super clear view of his dick, she can only gape in amazement.

His shaft was long and pink, and his balls were pink too, a contrast to Yoongi’s pale skin and the tip was bulbous like a mushroom head. Yoongi obviously didn’t shave so he had a small amount of hair around the base of his dick and around his balls. Yoongi’s dick definitely isn’t small. It complimented his figure nicely.

Soo Jin lift her eyebrow as she notices that Yoongi were looking at the sides again. He still has his blue Nike t-shirt on but he’s naked from down below. Soo Jin thought it’s not fair that he was the only one naked. She had been too busy admiring his dick to the point she forgot to strip herself too. So, she stood up from the bed and began pulling down her white cotton panties.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi could hear a rustling sound from the side before he felt a dip on his bed again. He felt Soo Jin tug his head to look at her and Yoongi literally screamed “what the fuck!” when he saw her sitting with her legs wide open in front of him in nothing but her T-shirt.

“You didn’t have to strip too!” Yoongi was sure his face was as red as a ripe tomato because he can see her hairless slit and it was the first time he saw one other than from the porn he watches. He didn’t even remember the deal was “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”

“Shut up don’t act like you’re not as curious about this as I do.” Soo Jin roll her eyes. Yoongi had been her best friend for the longest time and she know he never had any action with a girl so this was his first time seeing a pussy in real life too.

Yoongi felt all the blood rushes down south below as he stares at Soo Jin sprawled out in front of him with her legs parted. It was like his eyes were magnetized and he can’t seem to look away. Yup, he’s definitely rock hard by now.

“Isn’t it funny how our privates are so different?” Soo Jin rambled as she looks downward to her own pussy before using both of her hands to part open her slit, giving Yoongi a clear view of her tiny hole and clit. Yoongi’s mouth gaped open, it was his turn to look at her in amazement.

“So, this is my clit, this is my labia, this is my pee hole and this is the hole where you have sex in and where babies come out from.” Soo Jin was pointing to different parts of her genitals as if giving Yoongi a biology lesson on female genitalia and Yoongi swore this situation is absurd as fuck and he have always known his best friend is a weirdo but not to this extent.

But Hell, they’re already come this far and as a hormonal teenager Yoongi would be lying if he said he’s not as intrigued as her and honestly, he’s just as curious as she was.

“Okay so how the fuck can a baby come out of that tiny ass hole?” Yoongi commented, leaning in to inspect closer. Soo Jin’s eyes widen when Yoongi lean close enough to be point she could feel the air coming out of his nose when he breathes out on her slit. She felt the temperature on her body going up and she wonder if this was what it means to be turn on. Was she getting turn on at the sight of Yoongi so close to her pussy?

Soo Jin was oblivious that Yoongi was feeling the exact same way. Damn he could feel his tip leaking with precum when he caught a whiff of the scent radiating from Soo Jin’s pussy. It was a foreign smell and unlike any other scent Yoongi has ever smelled in his life before. Soo Jin was the one looking away now, her cheeks warm and pink.

She had her legs parted and her back was almost touching the bed except her arms were propping her body up. It was a tiring position and Yoongi must have notice it too because he’s pulling her up and urging her to lay on his pillow instead. Once she lay back down, it was Yoongi who was spreading her legs back open so he can go back to seeing her pretty pussy.

He was way too excited for someone who was so against this in the first place and Yoongi can only assure himself that this was purely anatomy lesson and there’s nothing weird about this at all.

“Do you wax?” Yoongi suddenly ask when he notice how hairless she was below and Soo Jin gave him a brief nod. Yoongi swore Soo Jin has a really pretty pussy and he have seen enough pussy in porn to know how a good pussy looks like.

Dirty thoughts flash past Yoongi’s mind and Yoongi had to literally take a deep breath and remind himself that this was his step sister sprawled out below him. “This is just anatomy lesson Yoongi. Anatomy lesson.” Yoongi chant in his head while he closes his eyes.

“Dinner is ready!”

They both heard their mom shouting from downstairs and they look at each other with wide eyes before Soo Jin yeeted out of his bed to put on her panties and shorts back on. “You go down first I can’t go down like this.” Yoongi whisper as he points to his raging hard on. Soo Jin nod shyly before she dashes out of his room and running downstairs to greet her mom, acting as if nothing had happened at all.

Upstairs, Yoongi were spraying his boner with cold water in an attempt to turn it soft. He doesn’t have time to jerk off so cold water is always the best choice. It wasn’t the best feeling to have your hard on sprayed with cold water but he had no other option.

#yoongi smut #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts yoongi #yoongi fic #bts smut

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serendipitioussurvival · 5 years ago

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Queen and Gentry - Steter

His life was empty without her, his chest always felt hollow without her. She enraged him like no other and made him feel so fucking vulnerable that he worried she was his weakness. In the same breath when she smiled at him so genuinely it made him feel like he could rock the fucking world. When she had been hurt, however, it made him feel like he was lost at sea in the middle of a typhoon or hurricane. And when he had been too lost in his thoughts it was her gentle calling of ‘Big bad?’ or ‘hey assface!’ that had him returning.

Oh. Fuck.

It started with small things; brief touches against his arm that could be mistaken for her trying to shoulder check him, or offering him meals and little desserts that she had made. Then she started to show up at his address - how she had gotten it made him proud and annoyed, it was his home dammit - and made sure he came to pack meets. Because she gravitated towards his side during pack meets so did Erica and Vernon until they, too, were scenting him as pack. It was insulting and beautiful at first until he began to feel the pack bonds with them form. Stiles had saved them, they followed her as if she were their alpha, and because she was including him - for whatever reason - he was a part of their small pack.

Because Peter rarely took anything without giving something - though that something was often in the form of scathing replies, sarcastic wit, and dramatic eye rolls - in return, he made sure to start ‘leaving’ books around on magic for the little Spark to read up on. It went from small things to a very real, very important thing the moment she, Erica, and Vernon stood up for him when Scott and Derek found out that he was teaching them how to fight and defend themselves, how to work as a unit. Scott, as expected, was pissed off that they - his pack - were doing something that would promote violence behind his back.

Derek was pissed off that his sired beta’s had not asked him to teach them, especially when he had tried before.

“You tried, sourwolf? I’m fairly certain that what you did was literally throw around three betas without giving them an idea of what they were supposed to do and or focus on, and then - when they were hurt, you broke their bones to get the healing factor to kick in faster!” Stiles raged, standing in front of the three betas with a glare that was equal to that of an Alpha. “Peter told them how to use their senses, how to get their healing to kick in faster without extra pain. He’s been at it longer, he’s been a Beta longer, he knows how to teach other Betas to control their shift and find their anchors.” then, with a fury that made her breathtaking, she rounded on Scott.

“And you! You expect everyone to just lay down and not cause a fight because you’re a fucking ‘True Alpha’?! You’re still a teenager, Scott, people will see that before they see you as the ‘True Alpha’ you’re trying to keep as a claim. What if another Gerard shows up, Scott, huh? What if he takes Erica and Vernon again, what if they decide that they want to shoot up some of our pack after they agree to a peace treaty? Huh? What then?!”

“We still have to give them that option for peace, Stiles!” he urged, confused as to hell why she was so adamant on siding with Peter when she normally was on his side with certain arguments. “Gerard was a mistake, but -”

“Allison was the one who shot them full of arrows!” Stiles was a spastic, energetic, and loud girl. Such was why her calm, curt, still fury was so worrying for those in the room. “Allison, Scott, and I love her like a sister, but it was Ali who shot them full of arrows, repeatedly, because Gerard manipulated her.”

“Gerard was evil-” Scott tried, angry for her bringing up Allison but also sad because she had.

“There are more people like Gerard than you know, Scott.” and maybe it was because his friend, his sister, was looking at him like he was a moron or a child, but it had Scott raging.

“People like Peter?! He killed people too!” and maybe that wasn’t exactly the right thing to say, because now Derek was edging towards Stiles, choking on her anger and wanting her to calm down because Erica and Vernon were tensing for a fight behind her.

“Peter killed guilty people who deserved to fucking die.” Peter had never had anyone he wasn’t openly manipulating angry for him. For Stiles to be so on his side, to agree with what he had done… “Peter didn’t take a human fucking girl from the middle of a Lacrosse win to beat her senseless so she could be made into a message to the Alpha and her werewolf best friend.” and to that the entire room stiffened.”You knew,” she spat, “You just didn’t want to believe it.”

“You-you're lying-” before he could finish the half-hearted attempt to regain control of the situation - his mind, honestly - Erica and Vernon both growled and shifted with intent to hurt him.

“No.” All it took was for Stiles to look at both of them for them to remain where they were and calm down, burning cinnamon cooling down and releasing its grip on the ‘were’s in the room. “Scott, are you ordering us as Alpha to stop these training sessions?” she was furious, but there was a calm acceptance to her that actually scared the ‘were’s. This felt like a charged moment, like whatever Scott said would change everything.

“I -” Scott wanted to say yes, he really did, but he understood the need for everyone to learn how to protect themselves. Ever since that lacrosse game, Stiles had quit and gone to some self-defense classes that a few of her dad’s colleagues were putting her through. Now she was learning how to fight werewolves from Peter and Scott - Scott only saw Peter as using this for an opportunity to turn his friends against him.

“He’s turning you against me, can’t you see that’s what he’s doing?” He tried again, needing his friend, his sister, to see reason.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is that an order, Alpha McCall?” it was in instances like this that Peter saw how truly remarkable of a wolf she would make. Her fury was calculated and directed with a level of intelligence that would make other Alpha’s blush. She knew just what to say to utterly demolish her opponent and she could say it with a ferocity that rivaled a raging Omega.

“No.” Scott bit out, shoving his hands into his hair to try and relieve the pressure that was building there.

“Good, then we’re not going to discuss what I do in my free time with pack members you neglect.” In a movement that could be taken as a challenge to any other Alpha Stiles spun around, openly rubbed her cheek against Erica’s, then Boyd’s, and finally, with a narrowed glare that dared Peter to try and deny her, rubbed the other side of her cheek against his previously scarred one. She smelled of rain when he actually moved his face into the motion, scenting her back despite how stunned he still was. “You are the Alpha, Scotty, but I am the Emissary and this is my pack.”

After that she and Scott got into arguments frequently, most of which devolved into screaming matches that had the other pack members flinching away from the table. Lydia and Allison were, surprisingly enough, on Stiles’s side, despite saying that Scott still had some good points to his arguments. Peter never needed to be dragged to another Pack meet again as he went willingly.

It was a month later that she called a pack meeting, asking for everyone to show up. When everyone - including Chris Argent - was present in the room - including one confused Alan Deaton - Stiles entered the loft smelling of Peppermint and ash.

“I’m adding one more to our pack.” and, as expected, confusion and alarm broke out.

“Who?” Chris asked her, drowning out the questions of ‘What have you done’ and ‘what do you mean?’

“Deucalion.” she stayed standing in the doorway, arms crossed, defiant and completely set in her decision despite the two shouts that were immediately aimed at her. Scott being the loudest. “You granted him mercy, but you also made him an Omega. Omega’s go fucking crazy, you really want to deal with a crazy Deucalion?”

“I agreed with her,” Derek told him when he stood by her side, surprising Scott further. “He learned how to fight while he was blind, Scott, he learned how to utilize his senses in a way I’ve never even heard of. Stiles, Erica, Boyd and I already met with him a couple times.”

“You already met him? You already decided on this without asking me, without-”

“It’s what I’m doing now, Scott. Pack meet, pack discuss, pack decide. I started checking on him to make sure he wasn’t losing his sanity, that was three months ago.” and Chris, god bless him, was the voice of reason right alongside his daughter and Lydia.

“Erica, Vernon, you’re okay with him joining the pack?” because he had been the one who had taken them captive and held them captive for months until Stiles had found them.

“He stopped Kali from torturing us,” Erica announced with a shrug from her spot on the spiral staircase beside Peter. “Honestly I think he’s the only reason I’m alive, Kali was especially pissed off that day. He’s… he’s not the same.”

“I think it’s because he got his eyesight back,” Boyd agreed, arm wrapped tight around Erica while she sat between his legs on the staircase, just a few steps below Peter. “If he tries anything, well, we’re a large pack, we can take him.”

“He’s another Alpha!” Scott distressed, “he could just kill me and take over the pack!” Stiles rolled her eyes and looked to Derek, as if asking for him to take over. Peter was too awed at the way Stiles had changed, at the way she seemed to no longer be trying to actively hide her true self from everyone and instead embraced it with conviction that had him hungry for her. When Derek put his hands up in a ‘It’s all on you’ motion she sighed heavily and turned her champagne gold eyes on Scott.

“Scott, no offense bud, but I could kill you, and take the Alpha spot. You don’t come to training, you don’t try to run with the others on the full moon, and you’re actively denying your wolf’s instincts.” of course he had, he never wanted to be a werewolf! “See, that’s exactly my point!” ah, this was the point where it would divulge into a screaming match. “You don’t want it, never wanted it, so you’re denying it while trying to keep the authority of it! You can’t be an absent leader, Scott!”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” it was funny how he became the flailing ones whereas Mieczyslawa was the calm, collected hurricane she was always meant to be.

“Scott, you don’t have Asthma anymore, you’re basically always fucking ripped, you can literally feel familial bonds, you’ve gained more attention from the female Populus in these past two years than you ever had, and you made first line as well as Captain of the Lacrosse team!” her hand slapped harshly into her chest and drew a flinch from those that cared about her. “You could still be asthmatic getting chunky with me on fast food and snacks spending every Friday night binging video games and sitting on the bench during lacrosse games while we lament about how we wish things were different. You found your anchor, your mom literally told you to fucking stick it to someone who could kill her because she believed in you. You’re only problems are because you’re denying that wolf side of you that you keep seeing as a monster!”

“Well why don’t you ask me to bite you then so you can be a wolf!” and there it was, the question Peter had been asking himself ever since she had denied him in the parking garage what felt like an eternity ago.

“Because it would hurt too fucking much to realize you don’t need me as much as I need you.” and that… well, Peter understood that. It brought the whole situation into perspective for him and brought a whole new understanding to her reaction when he had asked her. She didn’t want to be like him, that had been a truth and a lie, because if she turned into a werewolf she would’ve been like him. Bondless, alone and on the road to insanity that most likely would’ve resulted in her death. “Pack vote on Deucalion.” amidst the awkward atmosphere the majority vote was for Deucalion joining, Scott was too stunned to put his own vote in, let alone deny said vote.

Erica and Vernon flanked her when she took her leave, putting all attention on Scott as he stood, flabbergasted, in the same spot he had been in. Few people glanced to Allison, as if to gauge her reaction to hearing that - was it a confession? - declaration from her best friend toward her ex-boyfriend.

“Well, it was about time for that.” Lydia expressed with a dramatic sigh as she pushed away from the table. “It’s not a romantic confession, Scott, so don’t go thinking too highly of yourself. Honestly,” she smacked her lips and eyed the room with a hint of distaste. “I hoped she’s snap sooner or later, called me out at the Homecoming but didn’t care that she was hiding her real personality from everyone.” She sniffed derisively and flicked her hair over her shoulder, glaring at Peter with a tone of acceptance that hadn’t previously been there. “Hm.” and with that high pitched huff of approval and acceptance, she sashayed her way out of the room.

Peter wasn’t sure how he was supposed to actually react to the current scheme of things. Not only had Stiles openly declared that Peter was a part of her pack, but she would also openly fight Scott for his current placement in her scheme of things. Her pack, which consisted of Deucalion, peter, Erica, Vernon, and apparently Lydia. From the look that was shared between Chris and Allison, the two were in favor of what Stiles was saying. It was then that Peter made sense of the little touches she made sure to do to him, the way she made meals or gave him little baked goods. How she was always, always trading sneers with him and openly challenging him. The entire time she had been scenting him, considering him pack, showing him he had a place with her.

He was strangely touched and insulted that a teenage girl thought that she could force a pack bond on him just because she didn’t want to deal with him going omega crazy again. In the same breath he knew that wasn’t why she had done it, she would’ve told him outright if that had been her reasoning, instead she showed up at his house so often that her scent could always be found in some corner of his apartment, left a few of her jackets - there was even a cover she used when she showed up very suddenly declaring that she was going to use his couch to sleep and if he touched her she would wolfsbane mace him. He had been too stunned at her brashness to even react before she was curled up on his couch with a fluffy cover curled around shoulders.

When he had recovered he had wanted to bang his pots together, toss her off the couch, play the T.V at its loudest volume. Instead he found himself walking softly, barely using the oven, let alone the microwave in case the sound was too loud to wake her up, and checked on her frequently to make sure that she was fine.

Little tart took that as permission to do it frequently too. Still, through all this he only knew of Stiles being ‘Stiles’ - he didn’t want to make her presence seem permanent in his life by hiring a P.I to find out her real name (since none of her fucking friends knew it, thank you Scott) - and was utterly floored when it was Deucalion who called her true name out in the middle of a sparring practice.

“You’re doing good, Mieczyslawa, this time focus on the way the air feels against your skin. You’re not a werewolf, but you can feel the change, every human can. You just have to attune yourself to it.” she nodded and vanilla sprouted from her in her pleasure at having her true name called so perfectly. “I’ll go slow and progress the more successful you are.” another nod but neither were ignorant of the stares centered on them. Stiles was not a werewolf but she was doing better than Erica and Vernon when it came to the training Deucalion implemented. She was doing so well, in fact, that it often meant she was doing lessons with him on the side, or during breaks in between their training sessions.

She didn’t dodge the first time Deucalion shoved her though she did follow his movements when he stalked around her. After the first three shoves she managed to dodge or swipe his hand away, then after that she stumbled only twice, managing to keep up pace with him until he started using his werewolf speed.

“Okay,” she sighed heavily and settled into a stance, captivating them all with her pure ozone that leaked from her. “Deuce, try again.” to his credit he did without hesitation. Where she once fumbled she was now sure in her movements, where she was choppy she was now graceful, and the pace with which she moved had increased until both their limbs were nothing but blurs. “I’m fucking NEO!” she shouted in glee after the session, cackling madly with Erica at her side, questioning just how the fuck she had done that.

Peter, however, was trying to remember how Deucalion had pronounced her name, tried to form it without being too obvious. He would never admit, even under the threat of torture, that he was jealous that Deucalion knew what her real name was and, from the way they were talking in another language that sounded harsh and beautiful, could also speak whatever language it was she was fluent in.

“It’s Polish,” Deucalion answered his unasked question when Erica and Vernon left with Stiles hours later. Peter tried not to seem too interested when he looked at Deucalion but felt his eyebrow twitching when the man was wiping his hands on a rag, grinning slightly every time he glanced at Peter as if he were amused. “Her name and the language.” he wondered how he knew but refused to ask it, he didn’t want him to think that Peter owed him for answering simple questions. If he elected to talk without being asked anything then that was his business, Peter was just enjoying his confusing day. “We looked into the human who taught a sireless Beta how to control himself, though we thought she was a Druid at first.” with a shrug Deucalion tossed the rag on his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can imagine our surprise and suspicion when we found she wasn’t a Druid and was purely human.”

Purely human? Yes, that’s what he had thought at first too.

“Then she trespasses onto our territory, charms Ennis, and takes our hostages before they can even be utilized.” yes, he had been shocked all to hell and back when she showed up at the old Hale House with two twitchy Betas and a ghost. The ghost being his niece whom he thought was dead, another one who had been abandoned like he had. She had recently gone back to South America - Beacon Hills was ‘too cold’ for her - but she and Peter kept in touch through Skype and phone calls.

“Erica says you stopped Kali from torturing them,” to his credit the Alpha sighed heavily and sank into the pillar of the porch. “Why?”

“Because Derek was supposed to kill them, if they perished before they got the chance then that was one less beta who’s abilities he could absorb.” He was honest, at least, so points for him. “Now… now I think it would’ve been a great loss to involve her any more than she had been.” it most definitely would have been, Stiles had the severity of loyalty that made her put her own life in front of those she cared for.

Peter didn’t expect him to be one of those people, especially since he could fucking heal.

“You stupid, idiot girl!” he panicked and clutched her tighter to his chest while Chris drove them to the hospital. “What gave you the right!? I can heal but you can’t you -” her pinched expression turned wry, even though the pain he was trying to drain from her but couldn’t because the little tart was somehow stopping him from doing it. “Let me take your pain!”

“You’re-” she groaned and shut her eyes tight, “So dramatic, it’s just a - just a bullet.” Just a bullet, yeah for him maybe! It had been intended for his heart but she had fucking jumped right in front of it and took it instead. He would kill her, he would save her first and then kill her and then bring her back just to kill her again for causing this pain in his chest. He hadn’t even wanted her fucking pack bond and now he could feel the pain she was denying him from taking through it and he couldn’t- “Peter, breathe.” and with her calm placations he raged. Her, who was currently bleeding profusely into Chris’s back seat, was going to tell him to calm down when she could be dying!?

“Fuck you.” he snapped, then - “Let me take your pain damn you!” her brows furrowed even deeper at that, as if she didn’t know why he couldn’t.

“I’m not - not stopping you from doing it.” and it was hard to tell if she were lying or telling the truth because her hummingbird heartbeat was fucking normal and that did absolutely nothing for his control. “An-anyway, hunting season, I just, rounded a mend when - someone took a shot.” she grimaced and sank into Peter’s hold. “Didn’t - didn’t-”

“My daughter and Isaac stuck around to try and find the Hunter while Peter and I rushed you to the hospital.” Chris finished when she started coughing, jaw tight every time he looked at her through the rearview mirror. “We were tracking the deer when we came around the cliff face overlooking the city when the shot rang out.” she sagged completely against him and nodded briefly, eyelids lowering slowly as the exhaustion set in. “The hunter used a 30.06 and that’s a common hunting rifle caliber. It’ll all be plausible.” Chris was impressed with her ability to come up with an alibi even through her pain, that didn’t mean he was calm. He didn’t have a werewolf’s sensory amplification but he could smell her blood as if it were covering him. The normally fair-skinned girl was now sickly pale with sweat making her hair stick to her forehead and her eyes - which were regularly black - now looked sunken.

“Peter, don’, don’ wolf out, kay?” she breathed, “‘m fine. ‘n don’ wolf out ‘n Scott, either. Chris, don’ le’ em.” she cleared her throat and hissed when Peter jumped out of the car the moment Chris pulled it up in front of the Emergency entrance. “Hi, ‘lissa!” she chirped when several nurses motioned for Peter to put her on a gurney, beaming even though her eyelids were drooping shut again. “Fancy meet’n you here.”

“I just thought I'd stop by.” Melissa offered through the tears that had started to shed at the sight of Stiles covered in blood. Chris was rushing in the exact moment they wheeled her away, leaving two panicking adults while another nurse tried to get answers from them. He took over easily enough, especially when Peter completely froze at the sight of her blood on his hands. Chris could only assume what was going through his head - he was certain that it had to do something with the darkest part of his memories - and didn’t want to push him too far less he snap and wolf out.

It was strangely easy to get Peter to one of the showers in an empty room they’d been led to so that he could wash his arms and hands. Nothing could be done for the shirt, but then again Peter would still be able to smell her blood. Erica and Vernon came later, breathing hard and immediately gravitating near Peter. Jeorek came minutes later and was immediately dragged away by Melissa and a doctor.

Peter was furious, he was sad, he was enraged and he was so fucking confused. He couldn’t take her pain but she wasn’t stopping him from doing it. She had taken a bullet meant for him and he was covered in her fucking life blood and he didn’t like it. She had placated him even though she were in pain and he didn’t fucking know what all of this meant.

He knew his bond that he had with her hurt, that it was aching and dulling the longer time went on - he wasn’t sure if that was because she was dying or because she was sedated, he hoped beyond hope that it was the latter. If it was the former he- well, he wasn’t sure what he would do, or how he would react. He knew, faintly, that his thoughts were calm and hectic, that he had underlying thought processes ranging from several ‘what ifs’ to dozens of ‘but this could happen’, none of it really went focused on for more than a second overtop the large, terrifying thought, of ‘She could die.’

She could die.

She was probably dying.

She was - and it was because of him - maybe not directly but indirectly. She, she forced the bond on him without asking! He had asked her if she wanted the bite and now she was taking him down with her and-

“Peter,” he curled his hands into fists and dug them into his abdomen, not wanting to look at them any longer, not when he could still smell the blood that had once coated them. “She’s going to be okay,” he looked up them, glaring at Chris and his calm freaking demeanor that had him wanting to rip his fucking throat out. “The bullet nicked an artery but she’s okay.”

“It wouldn’t have nicked an artery if she hadn’t jumped in front of me.” he growled, fists pressing tighter into his abdomen so he wouldn’t run them through his hair or into someone elses throat.

“You’re pack, of course she was going to jump in front of you.” Erica growled, pacing in front of Vernon - who was standing by the wall with his arms crossed across his chest.

“I never asked to be pack!”

“You never told her no!” Erica snarled at him, flashing her eyes and challenging him in a way that had his ass slamming right back into his seat before he could flash even a hint of fang. “She claimed you as pack over and over and you ever once told her no!” Peter rose with the calm fury he’d perfected all his life, truly on the edge now that this Beta, this beautifully protective and ignorant beta had tried to challenge him. HIM.

“I don’t want to be part of her pack.” he didn’t, he really fucking didn’t, not when she could get hurt and die at any fucking point, Spark or no. She could heal, she’d heal faster than a regular human, but she couldn't heal a bullet to the heart or head or throat. She was human and he couldn’t deal - he wouldn’t be able to take it if she died. Not when it made him feel every single one of his pack bonds burning all over again as his family died. As they suffered.

“Then tell her.” Jeorek challenged, arms crossed tightly to prevent himself from reaching for his gun to shoot the bastard that would dare leave his daughter now. “You don’t want to be a part of her pack then you tell that to her face and break that bond instead of letting it be drawn out.” how dare them, how dare all of them do this to him, try to keep him in a place he didn’t want to be!

He had stormed out with full intent to come back and tell her that he didn’t want to be a part of her pack.

He never did. Never went back or went to visit her despite every nerve in his body and every urge of his wolf telling him he needed to go see her, to make sure she was okay, to confirm that she was healing. Instead, he focused on researching what he could about the hunters that would dare hunt in Argent territory and avoiding the general populous.

Mieczyslawa, of course, had to take that plan and just fucking wreck it.

“You are the most idiotic mother fucker this side of Beacon hills.” Stiles Stilinski groused, standing in his doorway, looking as emotionally wrecked as she was physically. Damn him he couldn’t actually look at the brace on her arm that kept it slung against her chest. He couldn’t look at the bandages and wound dressing that peaked out from beneath her loose top. “You want to be emotionally stunted for the rest of your life? Fine. You tell me right now you want out of the pack and I’ll leave you alone, forever.”

“Just like that?” he snarked, claws coming out to impale the wall of his door, not that she could see it anyway. “After dragging me to pack meets for months and dragging me into your little group of misfits you’ll let me go, just like that?”

“Yes.” damn him he loved that she could tell the truth and lie all with a single word. He loved and hated that her eyes were like gold, burnt and broken but so defiant that it made him hate her all the more. “I won’t force you to be somewhere you don’t want to be, but only if you really don’t want to be there. I’m not going to take half-assed excuses or reasons, Peter. You’re a grown-ass man, if you give me some bullshit excuse then I’m going to tell you to fuck off until you give me a better one.” who the hell did she think she was. He didn’t need to give her a reason or an excuse. If he said he didn’t want to be in her fucking pack then that was all he had to say!

“I don’t,” he growled out, knuckle deep in his drywall. “Want to be,” cinnamon began melting with brown sugar, gold eyes turning to a dark russet brown in her acceptance and grief. “In your pack.” he expected her to fight, was ready for it, but that cinnamon and brown sugar turned too sweet, too rich for him to take too many deep breaths. She stared at him for a moment, then two until he was finally ready to snap at her.

“Fine.” his heart dropped to his stomach when she turned around and marched away, quickened steps doing nothing to take away her scent from his doorway. He hadn’t been able to bask in her scent for a week, hadn’t been able to see her or appreciate the small things about her habits that actually made him yearn for her. Now, with her scent so potent in his doorway, he found he wanted to just stand there, breathe her in even though it was physically painful to do so. Cinnamon and brown sugar, the too-sweet warmth that made his throat close up and his eyes burn. The scent that had built and built until it was overpowering her natural scent and leaving him with it saturating the area of his apartment.

The smell of her heartbreak.

He didn’t run after her despite every molecule in his body telling him to - if he were being honest it was because his body and wolf were telling him to go after her that he fought it so hard. He got three noise complaints that night and, by the morning, had a new living room table ordered to be shipped to him.

He thought she’d message him at least once within the next week.

She didn’t.

He didn’t hear anything until he dragged his ass with the conviction that he didn’t care, he was just trying to figure out what his Nephew and true Alpha McCall were planning, to the pack meeting.

There was no pack meeting, only Derek and - surprisingly enough - Cora were chilling out in Derek’s loft. They seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see them. Then, then there was anger. Anger from Cora.

“Now you show up.” she stalked towards him with a fury that was both impressive and confusing. Why it was directed at him he had no idea. “After a whole month, Uncle Peter, you are just now showing up?!” and then she was punching him right in his solar plexus, catching him off guard with how fast she went from confrontational to physical.

“Cora, he doesn’t know.” Derek groused, sighing heavily over the dozens of open books laid out on his table. “Stiles isn’t in Beacon Hills.” that, that had taken his breath away far quicker than Cora’s punch had. She wasn’t in beacon hills? Why the fuck wasn’t she in Beacon hills? Where was her father, what was being done, why wasn’t he - why couldn’t he -

Well, he wouldn’t really have to be informed if they weren’t pack, would he? He wouldn’t have been able to feel if she were near, not with the aching chasm that was once the bond between the two of them. Still, he had pack bonds with Erica and Vernon and nothing felt off, they knew where he lived and he hadn’t been told by them that Stiles was gone. He hadn’t seen anything in the news about missing persons and there was no way in hell that Scott wouldn’t be currently lording this over him if something had happened to her. Not when all his theories about Peter being the biggest asshole since fisting became a thing were proven true.

“Where is she?” he didn’t care, he didn’t care he didn’t care.

“France.” Cora bit out, “Chris, Allison, Erica, Vernon, and Isaac all went. You would’ve been with her, would’ve known, if you hadn’t screwed up somehow!” the rest was far too many expletives about his character, personality, and his lack of dedication to things he was attracted to in Portuguese for him to give much thought to.

“Deucalion went too, Peter.” that stung even though it shouldn’t have. He had told her he didn’t want to be a part of her pack, hadn’t visited her while she was in the hospital, hadn’t reached out to her first. Even so, even despite all that, Deucalion had gone and Peter hadn’t, not even to make sure she was safe, not to look over the betas who had become pack to him without even having meant for them to.

“When are they due back?” Cora shut her brother up with a glare when he went to answer Peter.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, Uncle Peter? Or are you scared?” the growl he centered on her was worthy of Alpha status. Peter, of course, did not do that. Not until it was nearing the two-month mark and the silence of his apartment was overwhelming. No amount of nights out could fill the silence, running never exhausted him as much as he needed so he could just pass out when he went home. Home that was now empty, home that was no longer home. Home with jackets that weren’t his and a cover that no longer smelled like Stiles, a place that no longer had traces of her or pack, a place that suddenly seemed much too big and much too quiet.

‘You’ve reached the voicemail of ‘Name here’-” he hated that her voice alone made his every limb settle, hated that it filled the ache that had been in his chest. Especially when she was snickering and giggling while trying to remain serious, he could practically see her in front of him making faces while recording the damn voicemail. “If you’ve important business, leave a message, if it’s important call again, hang up, and call again.” so, of course, he did just that, only it wasn’t Stiles that answered.

“I am unsure who this is, as you’re listed as ‘Big Bad’,” Deucalion rumbled, sounding as if he had just been woken up. “What is it?” Peter hung up.

Deucalion had answered Stiles’s phone, Deucalion who sounded as if he had been asleep had answered Stiles’s phone. Deucalion who had to be around Stiles for him to be near her phone, asleep, in Paris, together.

His cell phone vibrated in his hand, he actually hesitated to answer it when ‘Little Spark’ flashed across the screen. “Is everything okay in Beacon Hills?” a very groggy Stiles urged, causing his stomach to hollow immediately. She had been around Deucalion, they had to be in the same room, and they were most definitely sleeping together. But were they sleeping together, or sleeping together? Why did his wolf lament and his heart ache at the possibility?

“Why are you in France?” he countered, refusing to play to her tune and instead demanding she play to his. He heard the shuffling of covers and the creak of a mattress that was obviously of poor quality, and then her heavy sigh that had his anger rising.

“Why do you care?” she sounded so tired and defeated that he almost asked if she were okay. Damn the habits he had developed when she had been present in his life, like a leech or a tumor.

“The Pack meant to be protecting Beacon hills just ups and vanishes without finding suitable replacements? Fairly certain I should be aware of that much, at least.” not the wisest thing to say, considering the fact that she was frustrated with him.

“We have suitable replacements. Derek, Cora, Scott, my Dad, and the Police are all protecting Beacon hills.” He really should just leave it at that, lest she think he cares more than he actually did. Or showed that he cared as much as he did? He clearly cared for her, even if he didn’t actually want to. “I’m not - is there anything else?” didn’t have any time for him, did she? Not when she was busy with Deucalion and her pack in France.

“When are you coming back?” it was snapped and curt and definitely dangerous in ways that let on more than he had been comfortable with.

“I don’t know.” she sighed again, “Hopefully before school starts again.” he heard her heartbeat clearer and a muffled ‘Yeah, yeah I know, we’ll be fine. We’ve got time.’ and then another person joined her on the bed, or rejoined her. “Peter, was there something else?” she was dismissing him? As if he didn’t matter?

“Of course,” he purred, “wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with Deucalion.” he heard her intake of breath and felt minute satisfaction with the fact that she seemed so affected by his barb. Then he felt guilt, and not because he was wrong or because he had so obviously hurt Stiles, but because he could feel the protective anger through the bonds he had with Erica and Vernon.

“Too late,” calm, calculated, and with the force of a fucking freight train. “Goodbye, Peter.”

He crushed his phone when he heard the dial tone.

He contemplated flying to France just so he could throttle her and promptly decided against it incase she saw it as him going out of some kind of affection for her. Still, staying in Beacon Hills was out of the question. He needed to go somewhere, needed to get away from every memory that haunted him and the ghost-like laughter that tickled the back of his head. He had a plane ticket to Ohio booked and his bags all packed and ready in under eight hours with only one stop in mind. He just wasn’t expecting Derek and Cora to be skyping Stiles in their dining area.

“-ay, that’s what the Druid’s here are saying. They’re going to give me a sapling from their Nemeton to take to ours, it should purify whatever dark energies are polluting it and give it enough power to start being able to draw on the currents once again.” she sighed and ran a hand over her face, the black sling contrasting ominously against her skin and tank top she wore. “There’s also another Spark here, they’re apparently common, but not whatever I am. If we find out whatever it is that I am I’ll end up coming back once school is over and spend a couple months learning how to do… whatever it is that I do?”

“Stiles,” Derek began, concern clear in his tone and on his features. “You look like shit. Are you sleeping any?”

“Uh, I think we all got like four hours last night?” Erica pushed her way into the screen, glaring darkly at the side of Stiles’s face for even trying to lie.

“Stiles slept an hour and has been taking her Adderall left and right like they’re fucking hard candy.” Peter stepped further into the Loft without much thinking about it, his pesky wolf clearly wanted to see Stiles. “Hello asshole.” Erica greeted with a sniff then, with a level of sass Lydia would approve of, flicked her hair over her shoulder and stalked out of the screen’s frame.

“Yes, well, my shit sleeping habits aside.” Stiles groused, frowning angrily at her arm as she readjusted her sling. “That’s everything that’s happened so far. We’ve got another week or so and then we should be on our way back. I’ll have to plant the new sprout into the current Nemeton and purge whatever is blocking the energy flow before school starts,” she fidgeted a bit with her sling, then glared once Deucalion snapped at her to stop messing with it. In Polish.

Peter did not learn Polish for Stiles, he had learned it so he would know if they were talking about him to his face. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he could now perfectly pronounce her name. Hearing the two of them bicker at one another in Polish had him wanting to put his two cents in just so he could see her reaction.

“Stiles, find you a Euro boyfriend and get fucked.” Derek and Stiles, simultaneously, inhaled their drinks and fucking spat them everywhere.

“Cora!” they spluttered inbetween hacks, glancing at her in abject horror while Erica cackled like a witch in the background. “Not only is that a fucking awful idea, but I actually have to stay a virgin for the ritual I’ve got to do for the Nemeton Sapling.” not sleeping with Deucalion then, interesting - not that he cared either way. “And I’m not going to end up getting anyone in Beacon Hills after either. People aren’t interested in me.” she shuffled a bit in her seat, “None that I’m interested in, anyway.” He almost whined at how sad she sounded and caught himself from correcting her that plenty of people found her attractive. Every time he, Erica, Vernon, and Stiles went out she’d get multiple stares of lust from multiple men.

“Okay, what about Derek?”

“I don’t see him like that and he definitely doesn’t see me like that, even if my age wasn’t a factor in his decision making.” yes, she and Derek had come to a mutual fondness for one another after she rescued his Betas and, as such, were at a mutual understanding of the other. Cora huffed and crossed her arms.

“Well, then I’ll find someone from South America. You should date someone, Stiles, get you someone to temper you out or urge you on. You’re fucking amazing.” Peter wondered briefly if Mieczyslawa Stilinski was like a drug to Hale’s. Derek hadn’t liked her at first and neither had Cora, now both were friends and advocates for her. He loved it and hated it, they were his family and yet they were friendly with the one who had manipulated him into being in a packbond with her when he was fine with his solidarity.

“Am I not an option?” Peter drawled as he rose from his train of thought, having meant it as a teasing remark that came out much too curious for his liking. That had Derek and Cora both turning to look at him despite his attention resting solely in Stiles’s dulled iris’s.

“You’ve already made your choice clear and I’d rather not hear it again.” his choice? About her? Was he missing something? “Der, Cora, I’m heading off. Take care of one another and please watch out for my dad.” she hedged a moment before murmuring a quick goodbye and ended the call, leaving his niece and nephew to stare at him with a level of interest that had him defensive.

“Do you want to be an option for Stiles?” Cora, damn her, inquired with a gleam in her eyes that reminded him far too much of Stiles when she was teasing him. Of course he wanted to be an option, he always wanted to be an option when it counted for things that would give him a leg up in situations. Stiles, however, was like a laser straight through the fog of his bullshit that could cut straight to the heart of things with him. He hated that she had that effect over him, as well as the fact that she seemed to never react the way he wanted her to when he was messing with her.

Still, did he want to be a genuine option for Stiles? His life was empty without her, his chest always felt hollow without her. She enraged him like no other and made him feel so fucking vulnerable that he worried she was his weakness. In the same breath when she smiled at him so genuinely it made him feel like he could rock the fucking world. When she had been hurt, however, it made him feel like he was lost at sea in the middle of a typhoon or hurricane. And when he had been too lost in his thoughts it was her gentle calling of ‘Big bad?’ or ‘hey assface!’ that had him returning.

Oh. Fuck.

She anchored him, she anchored him and took the foundation of everything he knew and just wrecked it because she was his anchor.

“Uncle Peter?” She had become his anchor, she had somehow wormed her way into a bond with him and taken his interest in her motives to make him complacent with her plans! The devious little minx! She was his anchor, how the fuck - why was she his anchor? She was like a fucking hurricane, hardly anything about her was stable like an anchor should be! Why - what- “Uncle Peter!” he snapped his jaw and growled, brought back to reality by Cora standing right in front of him. At some point he had dropped his bags and was now breathing hard, heartbeat thundered through his ears and raising his rage.

“I’m leaving!” he snarled, grabbed his bags, and fucking ran. She was his anchor, Mieczyslawa Stilinski was his anchor and he -

Loved it. Hated it. Did she know? Had she intentionally -?!

It had taken him five minutes to get his temper in check and not put his claws through his steering wheel. No, he couldn’t deal with this, he couldn’t - he needed to get away. Time away would help, it’d give him the chance to put his thoughts in order. He needed time away from everything that reminded him of Stiles, he needed time away to try and get her out of his head and to get the festering wound that replaced where her bond once had been healed. Yeah, yeah, he would go to Ohio, he’d take that flight, now he just needed to get there.

He spent all of a month in Ohio before he could no longer take it. Every brunette he saw made him think it was Stiles, every time he heard the audio of any Marvel movies he immediately expected to hear ten facts about the movie from Stiles. Whenever he heard tinkering laughter, or smelled vanilla, he immediately thought of her and he couldn’t take it. His month away forgetting her had been spent in agony remembering every little detail about her. No one had her skin tone, no one looked as good with moles and freckles like she did, no one smelled as honest and sincere as she did.

No one reminded him completely of Stiles but everyone reminded him of the little things about her. He hated it, he saw her in everyone, almost like a ghost he couldn’t escape. It was why he was surprised all to hell that she greeted him at the airport, pale and with blackened eyes but sporting a smile that was absolutely mischievous. He should’ve been angry at seeing her waiting for him or even joy, anything but the sinking feeling that something was wrong, that this wasn’t Stiles. Not his Stiles.

“Peter,” she purred, eyeing him with a hunger that was not what he was used to associating with Stiles. “welcome back home.” he approached her slowly, suspiciously, and then out of a need to control the situation when her sandalwood and vanilla smelled burnt. “I missed you.” that sounded wrong, almost like whatever was in front of her was twisting her around in an attempt to twist him.

“Missed you too.” he drawled, willing to play the game so he could try and catch whatever this was off guard. “When did you get back?”

“Week and a half ago,” her pout was adorably wrong, whatever this thing is was trying too hard to be her. “I missed you.” she went to hug him when her whole body froze, fury and abject horror clashing like tidal waves. “Not him,” she growled, clearer now than earlier, “Not him you fucking -”

“Stiles?” her eyes shot up to look at him, one black and broken while the other was her champagne gold. It was like she was frozen in that moment, half her features contorted in fury while the others were contorted in pain and sorrow. Something was possessing her, clearly, and she was fighting it so valiantly but -

“Yes,” she drawled, black flashing to bleach white as a single tear fell from her eyes, “but none of my loved ones.” his phone rang the same moment the lights to the entire airport shut off, encasing Stiles and the way black bled into her gold as the last image of her he’d see for a while.

“What the hell,” Peter ground out as he answered his phone, lights back on and Stiles nowhere to be seen. “Is going on?”

“I assume you’ve met the Nogitsune, then.” Chris sighed through the phone, “Are you injured?”

“No,” what an insulting thought, “but I do believe that she agreed to a full possession just now.” a very sharp, angry ‘What?’ came from the backseat of whatever vehicle Chris was currently driving. “Nogitsune, then we’ll just need darling Alpha Scott McCall to bite her so we can recapture the Fox.” if only it had been that easy. Stiles, possessed or no, was still Stiles in that she took everything they knew and just flipped it right side down.

“Oh,” the Void Stiles cooed, eyeing Peter with hunger and distaste. “You’re so lucky, little wolf, you have so much anguish and pain that I’d grow fat if I fed off of you.” she sighed, wicked gleam in her eyes glittering roughly against the low light in Derek’s loft. “Not my loved ones,” she mocked, irritation mixing like ash with her scent.

“Which is why you were able to break Noshiko’s tails, but now why you can’t hurt me, Jackson, or the twins.” gold eyes flicked to him at that, surveying his features for some hint of a lie before she broke out in a wide, malicious smile.

“You don’t know. You didn’t leave the pack and Beacon Hills and her, because you didn’t know!” he hated that whatever he had said was the wrong thing, hated that it brought it such glee. “She was so sure! Beautiful, turgid little pieces to my game. Erica, tell him, tell him what little Stiles told you.” it was cooed in a faux sexy sneer with hands that were not supposed to be grabbing at her hips the way they were.

“Stiles doesn’t love with just a little of her heart, she loves with everything she is. When she heard the story of how the twins were abused it reminded her too much of when her mother got sick and she vowed to give them a better chance at life, to show them kindness.” Erica began immediately, smile like poison when Void Stiles seemed to deflate with how easy she began spilling the secret. “She sees what she could’ve ended up as in Jackson, alone and trying hard to be noticed, to do everything perfectly. She hates that she sees that in him and hates that he hates her, but she still wants to show him that he’s enough.” Void actually looked a little angry at how easily these dark secrets were being exposed, even if the reactions of those around them would have normally satisfied it. “You, she would’ve helped you originally with your plan, Peter. She’s said so multiple times to anyone whose cared to listen to her. Then she fell in love with you, and you told her to fuck off.”

Void seemed energized at his reaction to that particular bit of information. When had she told him of her feelings? When had he told her to fuck off with said feelings? Why did his chest feel like it had dropped into his gut and his heart had stopped dead?

“She chose you.” Void cheesed, “She chose you but you didn’t choose her! Oh! She would’ve went insane before I’d even gotten a hold of her if she didn’t have her pack.” disgust was in its tone even as its eyes slipped to the doorway and it began grinning awfully when Noshiko and her daughter appeared. “Now it’s a party! Tell them, Noshiko, how you summoned me and then betrayed me, tell them how this was the necessary outcome!” it threw her arms wide in indication of the scene, it was then that Derek and Scott struck, resulting in Derek being thrown into a pillar and Scott latching onto his friends arm with his teeth.

The oni appeared the moment Stiles’s skin dried up and cracked, advancing immediately on the downed girl before the Nogitsune could leave her.

“No!” Peter roared, launching himself at one of them to buy her time. He didn’t think to do so he just naturally threw himself in front of her, threw himself at the danger so he could give her time. He couldn’t think about her confession, nor his denial of it, nor why he felt so fucking hollow. Chris and Deucalion immediately took up arms to assist while the twins - startled as they were - tried to launch themselves into the foray, slivers of pack bonds shimmering in their chests that felt so sweet they ached.

Try as they might two Oni broke through just in time to place its hand into a fist by her face, catching the escaping Nogitsune Firefly. One Oni stayed behind as the rest converged into one to check Stiles, even as her skin began falling away like a clay outer layer to show a pink-skinned Stiles with frazzled hair and wide, tired gold eyes.

Unlike the rest, however, it drew its knife down the length of Stiles’s bitten arm and promptly disappeared, leaving Stiles to fall to the ground and break the rest of the clay that had been around her body - including the mark that used to be on her arm. Scott’s bite, too, was gone, with no blood as evidence that it had ever been there in the first place.

“Stiles!” Jeorek cried, clutching his daughter to his lap so he could search for a pulse and relaxing only when he found one. “C’mon baby girl, wake up.” he pleaded, tapping his fingers against her cheek a few times to bring the light back to her wide-open eyes. It didn’t sit right with Peter, seeing her looking up with dead eyes as if was a foreshadow into her future. He didn’t care that he was projecting his turbulent feelings to those around him, didn’t care that he knew this feeling as the panic and desperation he felt when his family had burned, knowing he felt no familial ties to the spark.

“H-hey pop,” she greeted, voice raw and barely above a whisper.

#Steter monthly prompts #September 2019 #September 2019 prompt #steter #female stiles #always a female stiles #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale #Angst #lotta angst #Prompt was angst and couldn't refuse #meheh #unresolved feelings #courtship fail?#full hale pack

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pandawritesmanythings · 5 years ago

Text

Halfrid // Part 2

Platonic!Loki x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your life has always been dictated by the fact that you are smarter than most adults. This has made you antagonize many of them, it isn’t your fault that you are just citing facts! However, when the god of mischief becomes your friend, are there enough facts you can cite to prove his innocence?

Warnings: None

A/N: Thanks for the support on the first part. I’m not sure how this one came out, but I’m having a lot of fun writing this! Feedback is always appreciated!

PRESENT TIME

Fury looked at you as if had grown a second head.

“You sneaked past me? Past security?”

“In my defence, I was a curious nine-year-old. I had no concept of boundaries.” You put your hands in the air and tugged at the table as your cuffs stopped you.

“And don’t you think that maybe the sceptre started manipulating you? We barely figured out how it works.”

You had thought about it. It was a possibility that more than once had crossed your mind. You had looked at every angle, searched every corner. There was no possible way that you were under some sort of influence.

“No. There’s no way.”

“How would you be able to know?” He pressed for information.

“You’ll just have to trust me in this one agent Fury.” You said with determination.

“That is hard to do, especially considering that it is the representation of mischief and lies who could be behind this.”

You hit the desk with your fist. “Is that why he’s up there? Literally fighting the thing he’s most afraid of? To try and trick you? To try and destroy you?”

A shaky breath left your lips. Fury just silently looked at you, he didn’t really know what to make of this unusual situation. But the fact that a literal teenager was defending on of earth’s most wanted enemies was the most baffling part of the whole thing.

You sighed. “I just wanted to help. I just wanted to know why he did what he did.” You slumped in your chair. “My search for knowledge brought me here…”

“Do you regret that knowledge?”

That snapped you. “No! Of course not!” You straightened up. “Not in a million years. His burden is one that I am so happy to share. People told me to be curious, to learn things, to understand the world around us. But if there is no one else in that world to understand, is it worth it?”

NEW YORK 2012

You sat with your back pressed against the glass. On the other side, Loki did the same, the only difference being that he had extended his legs and you pressed yours against your chest. You head slightly tilted to look at him through the glass.

“So… Who exactly are you?” You broke the silence.

“Who do you think I am?”

You took a second to think. “Are you that Harry Potter dude? My friends are obsessed with him but I honestly don’t see it.”

Loki had an idea of who you were talking about, but most of all, your nonchalance amused him. “Snape, I believe he is called?”

“I guess, I’m not the one to ask about Harry Potter facts.” You giggled.

“Ah well, I guess we will have to find another topic to speak about.” He didn’t know why he was going along with her antics.

There was nothing particularly interesting about this kid, he thought. Besides her quick thinking, there wasn’t much more he could exploit. He told himself that if she could reveal even the slightest information about who she was or if she had any special abilities, then maybe she could be of some use to his own benefit. Yeah, that was it.

“I know! Let’s guess things about each other!” You beamed. “I’ll start guessing your name!”

Oh right, he hadn’t told her his name. He was going to, but you probably already had heard of who he was. And something inside him didn’t want you to confirm who he was. He didn’t know why, but that’s just what he wanted.

“Alright, try.”

“I think your name is Thomas.” You smiled.

Loki cringed visibly. “Norns no. Who would curse their child with such a name?”

You held your stomach as you laughed. “Many do! It is a very silly name, right?”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Well, I believe you look like a Halfrid.”

Your face went blank for a second. “Hal-Who?”

“Halfrid. Don’t you agree?” His smirk only widened, knowing he had confused you.

“That is the weirdest name I have ever heard… Is that even a real word?” Your sense of reality seemed to have been shaken.

“Yes, where I come from is not that weird of a name.” He laughed at you.

“Well, then let me tell you of a name that you have never heard of.” You challenged with your chin raised.

“You think there is a single name in the galaxy that I have not heard?” He leaned closer to you as you challenged him.

“There is no way you have heard it.” You smirked at his defiance.

“Alright, say it.”

You smiled wickedly remembering exactly how your friend had taught you to say it. She was a Hispanic girl in your class, and she told you that even though the name Maria was 50% of the female Hispanic population, at least another 25% was made of the most unusual names in existence. It was particularly hilarious when it was a substitute teacher the one who tried to pronounce her first and last name.

“Douglimar Carmela Carrabos.” You said, accent almost perfect.

“Duglymer Cormella Karabos? What sort of monstrosity is that?” He said in a choppy Spanish accent.

“The name of a poor classmate of mine.” You giggled.

“Point taken.” He raised his hands in defeat.

“Okay, so now favourite color.” You did him a once over and raised an eyebrow. “I may not be mistaken to believe that your favourite color is green?”

He smiled at the child’s guess. “Well, although I am fond of the color, in reality, I prefer gold.”

“Then why don’t you wear it?” It seemed so simple to her if he likes the color he should wear it. That’s what she did if there is something she liked unless it was hurting herself or someone else, there was no reason why she couldn’t talk about it or show how much she liked it.

Loki, however, furrowed his brow. He had never truly thought about it. Why didn’t he wear it? It was something that ran deeper than it just being a color. He knew he could be risking spilling details about him if he tried to explain to the girl the reason for his attitude. So easing his expression he just looked at her with a controlled and unreadable expression and answered her.

“It’s too shiny to wear in the sunlight.”

She didn’t buy it, and he knew it. But she shrugged and let it go.

“Alright, if you say so. What about mine?” She asked tilting her head in a questioning manner.

He gave her a quick look and tried guessing, but seeing that her shirt had an array of different colours, he didn’t know if to securely pinpoint one.

“Well, I would be inclined to say blue, because of your skirt and stockings. But your shirt could tell another story.” He slyly responded, to not get himself in a pickle with the girl.

“Smart boy! In fact, I love all the colours! All of them are beautiful. Which is why I try to wear them all, every week. Even poop green, I have a really ugly poop green sweater that I always wear with my overall. I should show you one day.” She smiled.

Loki had a keen interest in this child. She was so different from the children of Asgard. Not that he had that much contact with any of them, but you were different from the ones he got to make acquaintance with. You had a carefree expression, not being afraid of just… living. You wore the colours of the rainbow, and yet still, you could also wear the ugliest of colours. And without seeing you in that ugly sweater he could already tell that when you wore it you did it with pride.

The girls he had known in Asgard were proper and shy. You were expressive and carefree. Your words may not feel that deep nor psychological at first glance, but in them, he could dig down and see a wisdom that was weird for a nine-year-old.

Princesses in Asgard were afraid of him. You, however, talked to him as if you had known him all along, looked at him as if he was worth anything at all. You weren’t scared of him, and that was something he never thought to be even remotely possible.

There was a silence that settled between the both of you, but it wasn’t awkward or heavy. It was just a simple enjoyable silence.

“But, for real…” You broke the silence. “Who are you?”

Your eyes… Loki had never seen such sincerity in someone else’s eyes. He felt something stir inside him, an old forgotten memory. Something so deep buried down in his mind that dusting it and bringing it into the light made him feel dizzy.

“I-I…” Why was he stammering?

He composed himself. “Who do you think I am?” He repeated the question he had asked her earlier trying to divert her attention.

She was just staring. You searched. Searched deep into his eyes. You tried to find a clue, anything that gave away who he was. There was only one thing that she could guess, it was an instinct, something in her gut that told her it was so.

“Are you Loki?”

PRESENT TIME

You looked at the wall. Fury leaned forward, urging you silently to continue.

“So? What did he say?”

You keep quiet for just another moment, knowing fully that you were getting to his nerves.

“Really, agent Fury?” You leaned forward, defying him. “You know very well what he said.”

You relaxed your posture and leaned back into your chair. However, your serious expression never left your face. “In fact, I know for a fact that you know what he said to me. How? Because your guys told me. You watched and rewatched the security tapes because you just had to know if he let any information slip his lips.” You accused. “So why are you asking me if you already know the answer?”

Fury remained silent. He knew you were right, so it was better not to dawdle on it.

“Alright. Then, let me ask you a better question. Why do you think he didn’t lie to you?”

Your serious facade broke. As much as you claimed to understand Loki, there were so many things you still couldn’t understand. And it ate your insides.

“I don’t know…” Your shoulders slumped. “I have no idea. A-and I hate it because I have given so much thought over what went on that day and I am still no closer to figuring out. Why…?”

Why had he not introduced himself from the begging? Why did he go along with your antics? Why did he make you finally understand the meaning of the word friend? Why? Why? Why? A million of those always rushed through your mind, and you could barely answer a couple.

“If you want me to say what you want me to say, then maybe he was just trying to play me. Maybe he just wanted to take advantage of me. Maybe he was waiting on something that I could say that would solidify his plan. Or maybe he just wanted to know who my parents were to see if I was worth kidnapping. Who knows?”

“But is that what you believe?” Fury asked, fully immersed in your way of arguing this antagonist’s case.

“No. Of course not.” A small smile crept onto your lips, your eyes lost in nothingness. “I mean, Loki can be a pain to deal with sometimes. But in all the time I’ve known him… I know I would trust him with my life if it came to it.” You focused again in agent Fury’s face. “And, that kind of trust doesn’t come out of nowhere.”

“You do realize what he did shortly after, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m not blind. I know exactly what he did, not only because it is one of the most striking events that happened in New York since 9/11. But also because I have been making a ruckus in my mind trying to figure out how did it get there. Why did so many people have to die? Many points show us that this could have been avoided.” You debated if to tell Fury your next point. You had not yet made him understand how you got to this level of knowledge. Would he even understand?

“My men have also been very analytical about this situation. But what makes you think that a fifteen-year-old can know more about this than us?” He questioned.

“Honestly, the fact that your guys were just looking at one point in time tells you how unprepared they were to tackle this subject. They didn’t even question Loki nor kept him in custody long enough to find his motives! How could you be certain that their investigation was thorough?”

Fury thought that was a good point. And knowing that HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD, for God knows how long, could explain why a fully fleshed out explanation never landed on his lap.

“Well, it may be what you say. But we are running out of time kid.”

Just as he said it the whole bunker trembled. You held onto the chair your hair bouncing, fear in your eyes. The light flickered, it seemed about to turn off.

“What the heck?”

“What are they doing up there?” Fury quickly got up from his seat and walked towards the door in a hurry.

“Wait! I have to help them, please!”

“Kid, you are not a superhero. I need to check what’s going on up there. You need to stay here and figure out a way to tell me the short version of your story. Because if you don’t, your friend can either die or live as a hero, or remain a villain.” He finished slamming the door as if to prove a point.

You were so tired. Mentally and emotionally. It just wasn’t fair. The fact that your whole life had revolved around trying to show everyone how smart you were, only for them to look at you in disapproval. His were the only eyes who had looked at you and listened, laughed and believed your words. Even if they were the stupid comments of a nine-year-old who thought hers were the best comebacks in the history of ever.

Thinking back on it, knowing what you know now, you wondered if you ever were that smart. Your brain remembered you being clever, but honestly, you now cringed at the words you had said to the weasel behind the glass.

You smiled at that. Your departure from him that day had been perfectly timed. If this was a movie your father probably would have found you before he answered your question. But life gave you another mystery to solve.

You would have to ask him when he returned. Why did he go along with an annoying know-it-all nine-year-old?

That was… If he even came back alive.

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. Your friend. Your best friend. Your only true friend. You had to get out of here and give it to him. It was the only way.

You took a deep breath in and tried to remember all you could from the rest of the day to try and summarize it to Fury.

It was honestly a pain since this was more than 6 years ago, so how could you remember every detail?

Still, you tried. Your mind walking back to your past self and seeing as clear as you could what had happened after you had guessed who he was.

NEW YORK 2012

Loki expected a reaction, a scream, a flinch. Anything. But you just staring at him was not exactly what he had in mind.

Your eyes didn’t look at him with the judgement, fear nor resentment that many others looked him with. There was only curiosity. And a slight level of cuteness that Loki didn’t want to admit thanks to your tilted head and slightly pursed lips.

“So…” You finally started. “You are… Evil?” You slowly tried to wrap your head around that fact.

It did make sense, in a way. Since the first thing you felt after looking at him was fear. His evil smile honestly freaked you out, but there were mixed signals to you.

He had complimented you, listened to you and talked to you without complaining about you being annoying a single time.

He opened his mouth to answer but the sound of boots alerted you both and you snapped your heads towards the door. As it opened you scrambled to your feet and you noticed that Loki was already up.

“(Y/N)! Daughter!” You heard your father’s voice.

He came in the room, his eyes frantic and filled with fear. His body becoming rigid when he saw the unnerving man standing behind you.

You, however, just smiled and bounced on you feet wiggling your fingers at him nervously. “Hi, dad."

"I told you not to go near the bad guy!” He reached for you and took you by the shoulders starting to lead you out of the room.

“But it was blondie who left me-” You tried to excuse but he didn’t let you.

“I don’t even want to know how you got past the door! Did you figure out the combination? How? You are just nine! The possibilities for it are endless!” He kept ranting desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

Just as the doors were closing behind you you turned and waved smiling brightly at Loki.

“Bye Loki! See you next time!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING-?”

Your father’s shouts were cut short as the door closed behind you. Loki wasn’t able to hear more of the argument or of your father’s ranting. Which was, in all honesty, a relief. You obviously hadn’t inherited your brain and charm from him. Maybe your physical features, but he didn’t know much about him to make any solid conclusions.

One thing was for sure, your dad was just a regular agent, so there wasn’t much to exploit there. Not that he would want to kidnap you, he had already decided not to hurt Barton’s family, so why would he come even close to hurting you now that he had a notion of who you were?

He refocused his mind. This had been a nice distraction, but he knew why he was there. He knew why he was going along with this plan and he wasn’t going to let a mere child distract him from his goal.

He had to finish what he started, and yet there was something inside of himself that wandered, all the while he did his escape.

All the while The Hulk caused rampage in the helicarrier.

All the while he opened the portal to the Chitauri.

All the while he flew across the destruction that New York had become with the invasion.

All the while he was finally smashed to the ground and immobilized.

And all the while he was taken into custody back to Asgard…

That made his brain flash your innocent smile.

To be continued…

#loki odinson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #loki #loki friggason #loki fandom #long reads

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mf-despair-queen · 6 years ago

Text

I’ve Put A Spell On You - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 11,207

Summary: Stiles is revisited by the witch that lured him into a sexy night a year ago. But, this time, she’s back for him - not the souls of kids.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral (both receiving), Public-ish Sex in a Bathroom, Doggy, Teasing, Bondage, Sexy Finger Sucking, Dirty Dancing

Notes: I honestly don’t think this came out as well as I wanted or hoped, but it’s still rather cute. Happy Halloween! Sequel to Hocus Pocus.

Stiles walked out of his bathroom, rubbing a towel through his hair. Tossing it aside, he pulled the red shirt over his head, his blue plaid pajama pants dragging along the carpet. Pulling back the blankets, he crawled into bed, covering his legs up to his waist. He grabbed his alarm, setting it for his early morning wake up call. Before he clicked off his lamp, the boy sighed, his eyes falling to the date.

October Thirty-First.

He felt familiar pressure against his legs, turning to spy the black cat he inherited making her way up his body until she was curling up on his side. Stiles smiled down at her, petting the silky black fur of the cat. “Tomorrow’s the day, Salem,” he whispered, expecting no response. “Halloween.”

The cat looked up, meowing through a yawn.

Stiles chuckled, the light fading from the room, He relaxed into the bed, the cat purring against his side. He felt her body rise and fall as she slept, sleep beginning to wash over him. One final thought race through his always active mind before it shut down for the night. I wonder if something interesting will happen this year. Will she come back?

The tingle in his shoulder went unnoticed when the clock hit midnight - officially making it Halloween. Mischief night was upon Mischief himself because he didn’t know the things he thought about so often was already beside him.

Salem was gone when Stiles woke up. The boy panicked when he realized he overslept his alarm, rushing to get changed for school. He didn’t take the time to find his cat for the last year, bouncing around while pulling on his Nikes, his bag in hand when he left the room. The shower running in his room wasn’t a sign that something was amiss, the man speeding away to school to get through a long day of tricks, treats and flying toilet paper through the halls.

At the end of the day, the McCall pack was gathered around their Alpha and human’s lockers, discussing their plans for that night. Part of them didn’t want another odd occurence to happen again considering the witches they had seen, resulting in bits of their soul drained. A year since then, and no one could predict what was going to happen. There had been no immediate signs that they had returned, but the night was still young.

“Are we sure that a giant Halloween party isn’t a bad idea?” Stiles asked sarcastically, his normal pessimism present. “You’re planning to have the entire student body together in one place. Isn’t that like… the optimal place for these witches to show up and have a feast available.”

“There’s safety in numbers,” Scott reminded the human. Stiles scoffed, shaking his head. “You’ll be there, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Stiles groaned. “It’s a Lydia Martin party. Everyone knows those are the best.”

“Well, thank you,” Lydia said proudly.

“How did you get Derek to agree to use the loft again?” Allison asked. “Last time we had a party there, he wasn’t too thrilled about it.”

“What Derek doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Lydia hummed, picking at her nails. Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically, slamming his locker shut. Lydia saw what he did, huffing. “Don’t give me that look. He’s down in Brazil visiting Cora. He won’t even know.”

“We’re going to die,” Stiles sighs. “We are so dead.”

“But you’re coming?” Scott asked again.

“Yes!” Stiles screamed, flailing his arms. “I will be there! Did you need a ride?”

“No. I finally got the bike fixed so I can head there myself.”

“Alright. I’ll catch you guys there.” Stiles paused before he turned to leave, staring back at your friends. “You’re sure this will work? If they do come back and we are all together… I don’t know if we can protect anyone. You know what happened last year. They will have a field day with how many souls are sitting in Derek’s loft.”

“It’ll work,” Scott reassured. “We will be together and we won’t fall for any of their tricks this year.”

“Alright,” Stiles sighed. “If you think so.”

Stiles waves goodbye to his pack, heading for his powder blue jeep. His mind raced, recalling the way he had been lured into the woods just a year before, the stories he was told as a kid no longer stories. They were a nightmare called reality and he had been in the center of it. Before tugging the door open, he turned to the treeline of the Beacon Hills Preserve that were near the school, straining to try and hear any sort of whisper of song that blew through the wind, tempting him towards the decayed, weathered house that held no resemblance of life. They had checked the house many times and it seemed to be falling apart more than it seemed someone lived there.

Driving down the road, his heart pounded, a sense of dread beginning to settle over the Stilinski boy. The closer he got to his house, the more unsettled his stomach sat. He felt like he wanted to vomit, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was his overly active mind thinking back on what happened over and over again. He kept reminding himself how it felt to realize that the young witch he encountered had used him, using him and his soul for energy. Yet, it made him sad to think that he was just a pawn. He thought the time was special and he never had felt better - though it wasn’t the best feeling to wake up alone, wondering if it was real or a dream.

Then again, it never felt good to wake up in bed alone after sex. He didn’t want that to happen again.

Stiles killed the engine when he pulled into his driveway, collapsing forward with a groan against the wheel. The horn honked loudly under his weight, a noise of discontentment filling the cabin of the jeep. “Why can’t my life be normal?” he asked himself, banging his head a few times against the horn. He knew normal wasn’t in his vocabulary, and he was glad to have the supernatural in his life. But, sometimes, it made his life overly complicated when he just wanted a day to be a teenager. He wanted to go to a party, get drunk, dance like a fool, and maybe even let loose the pent up hormones that were raging in his male body in many different ways in many different positions with a beautiful girl.

Kicking the door open, he slid out, taking one last look at the woods behind him. “I swear, let today be simple.”

His dad wasn’t home, probably shutting down some teenage punks that were doing all sorts of misfit around the town. The Stilinski house was quiet, almost creaking in age. Shoes were left in the doorway, the door locked behind Stiles when he walked in. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder while walking up the stairs to his room, the wood squealing uncomfortably under his heavy footsteps. The house whined around him, a cold chill running down his spine that made him stop just as he reached the top. Stiles glanced behind him, trying to see if something was amiss, the same unsettled feeling looming over him.

But there was nothing.

A shaky breath left his mouth, Stiles running towards his room quicker. If something was there, he wanted to take refuge in his room. He kept a stash of mountain ash there just in case as well, so if something supernatural was stalking him, he would keep them out with that. Before opening the door, he glanced down the hallway, trying to determine if he was being paranoid or not. The hall seemed darker than normal, Stiles’ heart racing.

Pushing into his room, his backpack fell at the site before him. His eyes found another pair, but it wasn’t that of the cat he practically adopted so long ago. You were sitting on his bed with a book in your lap that once sat on his bookshelf, wearing nothing but a plaid button up and panties - well, more of a thong that allowed him to see the sides of your butt sitting on his blue duvet. Your hair was draped over one shoulder and your face was free from any sort of make up. You looked comfortable in the safety of his room and, for a second, Stiles could have mistaken you for a normal person if he didn’t know any better.

“What the hell?” he asked aloud.

“Stiles!” you screamed happily, placing the book aside. You jumped off the bed, preparing to walk closer to him, finding Stiles backing away into a wall. He grabbed a cross from his table, holding it out in front of him in your direction. You stopped, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Stay back!”

“Stiles,” you sighed. “That has no effect on me. I hope you know that.”

Stiles’ face dropped, looking at the wooden cross. “But, that’s what I read-”

“Myths are meant to be proven false,” you told him, placing yourself back on his bed. “Most of the stuff you will read on witches is false anyway.”

“Well, that makes me feel fantastic,” he murmured sarcastically. He looked around his room, finding empty bags of chips and candy wrappers littered the ground, cans of empty soda on his desk and his bed messed up. “It looks like you raided my kitchen. What the hell?”

“I was hungry,” you grumbled.

Stiles moved to place his bag on the chair near his desk, keeping his distance from your slimy touch. He didn’t want to feel weaker than he already felt in your presence - even if you weren’t gnawing at his soul yet. Just seeing your beautiful face again made his stomach plummet. “What are you doing here?”

“Reading?” you asked, confused.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I can see that. Reading and eating all of my snacks. But why? How? Why the fuck are you back and in my room?”

You giggled, standing up again. Stiles swallowed thickly, failing in keeping his eyes on your face. The top buttons of his flannel were undone, showing off parts of your breasts. His mouth watered at the sight of your collarbone, his lips wanting to kiss at it. The bottom of the shirt rode up with every movement of the arms, showing the black thong you wore. He caught sight of your ass at one point, the thong not hiding your rounded cheeks. Stiles’ fingers itched, leaving him to scold himself.

“Stiles, I never left you.”

“What?” he asked, throat going dry. It made his question raspy and choked.

“I didn’t break in or seek you out today. I’ve been here this entire time.”

Stiles looked confused until the realization set in. “Salem…”

“Exactly. I’ve been living with you since last year. Just… not in this form. I could only take this form again today. It’s Halloween, Stiles. I take my human form on Halloween.”

“Aw hell,” Stiles groaned, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening!”

“Don’t be such a worry wart. It’s not a good look on you. And trust me, Sti. You are a god looking man.”

Stiles felt his face heat up, massaging his temples. “I’m worried because I’m not very keen on getting my soul sucked out again.”

“Oh,” you hummed, sitting back on the bed. Stiles noted the sly smile on your face that looked humored at his reaction. “You figured it out.”

“You figured it out,” he mocked. “Yeah, I figured it out.”

“Well, don’t worry about it so much. I’m not here to suck out your soul.”

“Then why are you here?” he pressed. “Why me? Shouldn’t you be out there luring some kid out to your house with your wonderful voice, singing them a song until they are dead and gone? Shouldn’t you be finding some hopeless fool to give you what you need in every way possible?”

This time you frown, a crack in Stiles’ heart forming. “Is that what you really think of me? That I’m just some killer?”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

“Yes, I have killed, Stiles. I have sucked the souls out of so many kids, you wouldn’t be able to keep track of them. Yes, I sing to attract kids to us so we get a meal to keep us strong. But last year, that changed. My power, my health, my well being. It doesn’t come from the need to suck out someone’s soul. I don’t need to feed on unsuspecting children that are lured in by my song. They aren’t what I need to exist and stay strong.”

“Then what do you need?” Stiles pressed.

“You.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped, unable to come up with a response. Instantly, his head shook from left to right, denying what you were saying. “There is no way. You aren’t feeding on my soul-”

“I don’t need to eat your soul,” you deadpanned. “Last year, after we fucked,” Stiles grimaced unnoticeably, “I marked you.”

“You marked me?” he questioned.

“You know exactly what it is,” you laughed. “I’ve seen you check it out before.” Stiles’ hand moved to his shoulder, thinking about the black outline of a cat that was pressed into his skin like a tattoo. “Exactly.”

“Nope.”

“Yup,” you said, standing up. You moved towards him Stiles trying to back away. He yelped in surprise when you tugged at the bottom of his shirt, the man trying to resist when you tried to pull it over his head. The sleeves got caught on his arms and almost choked around his neck before it was torn from his skin, tossed aside. His arms tried to cover his bare torso, almost embarrassed to be in front of your piercing gaze without it, though you had seen more than this already. He was turned around, your fingers tracing the black cat outline. The touch was soothing, the tingling he had wrote off all day diminishing instantly. It was almost like he needed you, the lost feeling buried inside vanishing. Feeling you against him was warming and comforting.

Stiles let out a content sigh before blinking his eyes open, scrambling away from you. His chest heaved and his honey orbs were wide, licking his lips in thought. “What did you do to me? What does this mean?”

“I marked you.”

“I get that!” he hollered. “What does that mean?!”

You sighed at him, glancing away, keeping your eyes on the floor. “When a witch marks someone, they choose them as their significant other. Only by being with that significant other do we retain our power.”

“So, you are feeding off me.”

“Not like you would think,” you told him. “I don’t eat your soul. I thrive off of you person. By being with you… romantically. Being by your side gives me strength. Without you, I would perish.”

Stiles was conflicted. His head told him to push you away, letting you perish. Without him, you were nothing - and that meant one less supernatural threat in the world. But, his heart told him to keep you in his arms forever, that you didn’t deserve to die. And part of that was selfishness; he wanted he feel that exilheration that came from being with you last year over and over again. He enjoyed being with you - and especially enjoyed the sex. But, you had used him, gaining power you had lost from being locked away by the nemeton for so long by sucking out his soul during said sex. How could he forget that?

“I didn’t ask for this,” he claimed.

“I know,” you told him. “And by no means do you have to abide by it. We make the decision when we feel it is time. And I… I liked being with you last year. That’s why I marked you and returned to your side. I stayed by your side until this moment. It is your choice, Stiles. If you agree to it, I will stay and I will give you anything you want. But, if you say you don’t want me here, I will disappear at the end of the night. That mark will vanish and you will go on your merry way. I can’t mark that decision for you.”

“I-” Stiles started, unsure what to say. “I don’t know right now.”

“Alright,” you whispered.

Stiles glanced at you, finding you sitting back down on his bed, picking up the book. He shook off the guilt inside him, a knot gnawing at his insides. He quickly turned away, not wanting to sink deeper into his thoughts than he already was. It was like the Adderall wasn’t helping at all. He couldn’t focus on anything knowing that you were there and that your life was in the palm of his hand. He didn’t know what to do. Hell, he didn’t even know if you were actually telling the truth. His gut churned, something that told him you were truthful. But how could he know for sure.

His hand went back to his shoulder, trying to ease the burn that returned. Without your tender touch to his skin, he was hurting. The yearning for something unknown returned, a piece of him gone with the wind. His eyes prickled with tears, the man rubbing his jaw to fight back the loss inside. Trying to ignore it, he turned to the clock, seeing the time had passed faster than he could have imagined. Ruffling his hair, he walked towards the closet, cursing at himself as you watched.

“Fuck, I’m going to be late,” he murmured, digging around for the bag with the costume he had prepared for the costumed Halloween party Lydia was throwing.

“Late for what?” you asked, perking up.

“Lydia’s Halloween party,” he said quickly without realizing for a second who he was talking to. He stopped on his way to the bathroom, turning to you. “Shit. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Why? I love parties!” you hollered, jumping off the bed.

“I bet you do,” Stiles mumbled under his breath. He watched you walk over to his closet, clearing his throat when you bent over and he had a full shot of your backside. You were digging through a pile of clothes, leaving the male confused. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready. Duh,” you laughed as if it were obvious.

“What?” Stiles asked, shaking his head and flailing his hands. “No, no, no! You can’t come with me! That’s just asking for disaster!”

Holding a dress in your hands, you turned to look at the spasic man that was frantically waving his arms around. “Why not?”

“Well, I…” he started, his mouth snapping shut. He pondered to himself. He wasn’t sure what was happening. His mind was still jumbled from finding you perched on his bed when he got home without warning. Now, you were here. What was he supposed to do? If he left you at his house, there was a chance you would run amuck while he was out having fun and he would have no way to stop you. On the other hand, if he brought you to the party, you were entering a smorgeshboard of souls that you could devour. But, you would be within reach and with Scott there, Stiles assumed you could be stopped if something got out of hand.

One lone witch couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Fine,” Stiles huffed. Your face lit up. “It’s a costume party so… do you even have clothes?”

“Stiles, I’m a witch. I’m always in costume,” you teased. The human rolled his eyes, groaning in exasperation. “Yes, I have clothes. I will be ready.”

“Alright. Good. Just, get ready and we will… we will go party. Just two people, a guy and a girl - a very pretty girl - going to a party. Together. Dressed up.”

“Stiles,” you cut in, stopping his rambling. “I got it.”

“Right,” he muttered. “ I’ll just go change now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to change together?” you teased, unbuttoning the top button of the flannel your wore. Stiles’ gaze lingered on your heavily exposed chest, his teenage hormones rampaging inside him. You shrugged one of the sleeves off your shoulder, showing off more skin. Your eyes were shadowed as you glanced up at him through your lashes, giving him a sly but adorable smile. “You can even help me undress.”

“I’m going to get dressed now!” Stiles yelled, running into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind him, shielding your laughter. Stiles groaned, the evidence on the table that you were playing with him, but it didn’t make things any better. A sheen of sweat coated his skin and no matter how much he tugged at his shirt, he couldn’t cool down. He had more problems than just the hot flashes he was having that would require a few extra minutes on his end. “Hey, Y/N. Take you time getting ready. I have a… problem to take care of first.”

A blush appeared on his cheeks when he heard your faint giggle through the door. “Whatever you say, Stiles.”

Stiles huffed, placing his costume aside and discarding his clothes in his hamper. He didn’t need to get the magazines he kept under his sink for emergencies when his thoughts were filled with you, the man sitting on the toilet to pop off a quick one first.

Stiles rushed to get dress when he was done, checking himself in the mirror. The hat was adjusted over his silky hair. The shirt was tight against his frame, Stiles adjusting the badge on the right side. The left read ‘Police’ in white lettering. A set of handcuffs he stole from his dad hung from his belt, a gun holster with a water gun sat on his hip and a fake police baton was against his leg. Stiles grinned, thinking about how good he looked as a man in uniform - well, a police officer in uniform.

“Hey,” he called, cracking the door open before he walked out. “Are you ready?”

“Yup! Just waiting on you!” you called back to him. Stiles took a deep breath before walking out. He stopped short, his eyes growing wide and his jaw dropping to the floor. The black spaghetti strapped dress you wore with the orange lace up the left side hugged you beautifully, curved around your breasts to show them off but keep them concealed. The skirt flared out and draped against your thighs in spikey patterns that made the style work. Your arms were covered in sleeves that ran from the mid bicep to your wrists, leaving your shoulders and hands free. Your hair seemed to curl against your shoulders, a black witch’s hat with orange band around the bottom of the cone shape sat atop your head. On your feet were just some black ankle boots. You spun for him, showing off your outfit. “Well?”

“Holy-” he started, shutting himself down before he uttered something ridiculous and vulgar. “Let’s go.”

“That doesn’t tell me how I look, Stiles,” you pouted. You walked over to him, a hand running down his muscles arm that was built from lacrosse practice. “You look good.”

Stiles swallowed, licking his lips. “You too,” he said quickly. You gave a small smile, your hand dropping from his arm to make for the door. Stiles frowned at the loss of contact from you, his heart and stomach clenching. Slowly, his mouth opening to continue saying, “You look beautiful.”

You stopped at the door, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Thank you,” you told him, voice sultry to his ear. “Now, come on. I want to party.”

Stiles knew this night would be a long one and he was afraid he would make at least one bad decision before the end of it.

The party was roaring when he walked in fashionably late with you at his side. You squealed the second you walked into Derek’s loft, disappearing into the crowd despite Stiles’ extensively long lecture in the car about what you were to do. You broke the first rule in zero-point-five seconds: stay by Stiles’ side. His attempt to stop you was in vain, your smaller frame disappearing into a sea of sweaty teens in costume bouncing to some crappy techno music, alcoholic beverages in hand.

Stiles groaned, headed for the bar. Danny passed him an open beer, Stiles leaning back on it to scan the dance floor. He wanted to relax, but his nerves were wracked, wanting to ensure that nothing was going to happen. He wanted to find Scott and tell him what had happened, warning him that you were here. Stiles wanted to be prepared for whatever was going to happen. His honey orbs flitted over the crowd, memorizing the face of each vibrant student that glowed under the blacklights. Lips glowed with the phlorescent lipsticks, phosphorus paints lining some people’s face, arms and legs. Stiles struggled to find you within the blinding colorful light and strobe effects.

𝅘𝅥𝅮I’ve put a spell on you, and now you’re mine𝅘𝅥𝅮

𝅘𝅥𝅮You can’t stop the things I do, I ain’t lyin’𝅘𝅥𝅮

Stiles’ head whipped around, trying to find the source of the singing. No one else seemed to hear the alluring melody, going about their dancing, kissing, grinding, and whatnot in a carefree atmosphere. Yet, the song called out to him, the beer left on the bartop so Stiles could weave through the crowd to find the music that overtook the techno beat.

𝅘𝅥𝅮I’ve put a spell on you, and now you’re mine𝅘𝅥𝅮

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, a spotlight directed at your form in his eyes to show off your swiveling hips and twirling body. You danced to the beat, eyes meeting his in a dark, electric match. Your skirt flew around as you danced, your ass shaking and your chest bouncing. A single curl of the finger gestured him forward, a charming smile making him grin.

All inhibitions were lost to your skillful moves. Stiles stepped forward, his hands on your waist. The naturally clumsy man, normally unstable when dancing, moved in time with you, rocking his hips back and forth with yours. Your chests were flat to one another, hearts pounding against your ribs. Your arms circled his neck, hands playing with the hairs on the back of his neck. Your hips ground against his, dancing together as if nothing else mattered around you.

You turned in his arms, your hands reaching around to caress his face. Your backside ground against his pelvis more, the pants he wore suddenly beginning to feel thin and tight. His head dipped down, lips brushing against your neck that made you mewl for him, tilting your head away to give him better access. Your bodies rubbed together in a heated array of limbs, grinding together in a sexy sway. Stiles’ fingers tingled, his shoulder twinging with a fiery heat.

𝅘𝅥𝅮I’ve put a spell on you, and now you’re mine𝅘𝅥𝅮

You were suddenly pushed away, Stiles growling. “What the hell are you doing to me?” he snapped.

“I’m not doing anything,” you told him.

“I don’t believe you,” he claimed. “This is what you did last time. You sung, you lured me in, and you used me. You fed off my soul while I was enchanted by your beauty. That’s what you are doing now. You’re using me for my soul and to get you in here for everyone else.”

“Stiles, I was trying to hurt anyone, my singing would affecting more than just you. It’s supposed to lure people in for me to feed, but is that happening? No!”

“I don’t believe you,” he rasped, taking off the police hat and running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I don’t get what is going on!”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone. If you heard me singing, it was because I’m yours. I chose you, Stiles. I told you this. Only you are affected by it. I just wanted to dance.”

“No. I don’t believe it. It’s not true.”

You frowned, stepping closer to him. Your hand ran up his body, Stiles catching your wrist before it got very far. You met his eye, staring at him with bright eyes. “How can I show you I mean it? I’m not here to hurt people, Stiles. I came back for you. So, let me show you.”

Stiles licked his lips, feeling weak while holding you. But, it was different than the last time he spent time with you. He didn’t feel weak physically or mentally. He felt weak emotionally. It wasn’t the soul sucking sensation that he didn’t understand until later. It was in his heart. He wanted to see what you were planning. He wasn’t sure why. He felt so sure that you were doing something against his will. He wanted to cast you away and never look back. But, he was aroused and intrigued and he wanted to know what you would show him. He briefly remembered the time you spent together, and that was what kept him from pushing away completely.

“Please, Stiles.”

Your whisper was the final straw for him. All conviction that you were playing him was gone, replaced by a deep arousal and fascination. He leant forward, his lips on yours in a smoldering kiss that made you melt into his hands. The kiss was short lived, your bodies pushing through the crowd to find a vacant place that allowed solitude to do somewhat unspeakable things. With Stiles knowing the layout of the loft, he was able to lead you to the closest unoccupied bathroom, shutting the door and locking it while you flicked on the lights.

His back was pressed into the door, your lips attacking his once more. You let him take control of the kiss despite keeping him secured to the door itself. His lips wrapped around yours, starting in slow but heated embraced that dragged down, disconnecting with a resonating smack. When they connected again, your lips were parted, Stiles’ tongue swirling around yours messily. The tip traced the outline of your cheeks, earning a moan that vibrated both of your bodies. Open-mouth kisses were steamy, hands roaming bodies happily. Noses bumped and teeth clashed with the hasty kisses. Stiles’ head tilting to get better access to the kiss.

He was pushed away from the door, your hands directing him to the toilet. His lips stayed n yours in a hungry kiss, your tongues battling playfully between your parted lips. Before pushing him back, your hands fiddled with his bottoms, popping the button with ease and dragging the zipper down tauntingly slow. The loose police slacks he wore dropped in a loud clink with the handcuffs, his boxer briefs falling shortly after. Stiles broke away at the sudden chill, his lower half exposed. His cock was erect, the tip blistering red with a glistening of precum seeping out of the slit. It twitched for attention, wanting to feel something around it, touching it - caressing it - loving it.

You pushed him back onto the toilet, leaning over him to leave a lingering kiss to his lips. His lips, swollen and red, remain puckered when you backed away, pushing his thighs apart to crouch between them. His gaze was hazy when he opened them to look at you, watching you remove your hat before starting. A small, dainty hand wrapped around the entirety of his length, stroking him slowly at first. Stiles’ noises were a bit disgruntled, the pleasure beginning to slowly build up, pumping through his veins one ounce at a time. His heart was speeding up and his stomach was tightening, though that was partially from anticipation for what was to come.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped, biting his lip. You looked up at him innocently, Stiles growling in his throat. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

You laughed, moving closer to him. One hand ran up his thigh casually, feeling the man shiver to your touch. He watched your tongue poke out, grazing the swollen tip like a lollipop, lapping at it happily. He was trying to remain patient, longing for you to do more than kitten lick the slit to taste his precum. His stomach churned and his sight was red with lust. The lure from before was nothing but a memory - a figment that was long forgotten. He wasn’t worried in that second that you may or may not be gaining more power from him, sucking out his soul. He just wanted more.

Your lips wrapped around the head, hollowed cheeks sucking powerfully at the tip. Stiles moaned loudly, not regretting the sound he made. He watched you suck, feeling your tongue smooth over the bumpy underside that was more sensitive than the rest of the tip. You circled the tip, mewls vibrating around him before your began bobbing along his length. Your hand stroked what wouldn’t fit in the mouth, your head and hand moving in time together. Your tongue slid up and down his shaft, finding the pulsating vein that was filled with ecstasy. Your mouth watered when it pulsed against your taste buds.

Bobbing faster and deeper, your hand wasn’t needed. Deep throating Stiles was natural to you, the tip hitting the back of your throat. His hips bucked upwards instinctually, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth and down your throat. One hand continued to grip at his thigh, scraping against his skin, while the other slid under him to fondle his balls. Your mouth made a slurping sound when you bobbed around him, your wet lips pressing to the moist length between them. Stiles’ hand threaded through your hair at some point, the curls now curling between his fingers as he tugged at it, helping to guide your mouth around him.

Stiles’ loud groan filled the bathroom, his head falling back with his eyes closed. His cock twitched between your cheeks, strings of his hot, white seed shooting down your throat in strong bursts. You mewled, swallowing every last drop that he released. The hold on your hair tightened, Stiles grunting your name on repeat, spilling the last of what he had built up onto your tongue. Not a single drop escaped, your tongue passing over your lips to catch any drop that may have slipped out just in case.

Stiles pulled you to your feet swiftly, turning you to face the mirror, your body slumped against the sink. You could see his dark eyes staring at you through the mirror, the hat on his head darkening the stare slightly with a shadow covering them. He disappeared from your sight, your skirt lifted and your thong dragged down your legs. Your legs were nudged apart, his still erect shaft sliding through your soaked core.

Stiles leaned forward, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “You like it hard, right?”

You felt the air leave you lungs. “Y-yeah.”

“Good. Now, make some noise for me while I fuck you.”

“Yes, please,” you squeaked weakly.

Stiles shifted backwards, the tip finding your entrance without aid. When he pushed back forward, he was sliding deep into you cock hilt deep with a prolonged moan from you. You slumped further onto the sink, pushing your ass out against him. His hips circled against it for a few moments before pulling back to start his movements. The tip nearly came from before he slammed back tino you, earning a loud moan - almost scream.

His hips collided with your backside in a quick, steady rhythm, your butt jiggling every time. Your hands held the sides of the sink to keep upright, your head spinning from the pleasure. He wasn’t slow. His cock pistoned in and out of you, the clapping sound floating through the sexy, steamy air. The tip was magnetized to your sweet spot, every slide in allowing him to hit it with optimal amount of pressure. He kept hitting it, making you moan happily.

“Moan for me,” he rasped, smacking your ass to make you moan. Your head fell forward, nowhere to hide the noises you made. Stiles seemed to approve because he sped up, pounding you harder so your body slid against the front of the sink, the sweaty sound of skin on skin getting even louder, echoing off the walls. You were tugged back to meet his thrusts, moan after moan falling from your mouth. “Yes, just like that.”

You weren’t going to last longer. Stiles made you see the stars. Fireworks popped every time he hit your g-spot, your body shaking. If the sink weren’t in front of you, you would have fallen to the ground with weak knees and an aching pussy that was ready to be claimed again. The symphony of sounds around the bathroom was music to your ears, but nothing was more distinct and pleasant to hear than Stiles’ uneven breathy moans. The thrusts were growing sloppy, indicating his nearing the end, and you were ready to feel him filling you up witht he same warm liquid you swallowed.

He was losing control when the doorknob jiggled. Stiles growled angrily, the hands he had on your waist tightening. “Occupied!” he called in a harsh tone. The fierceness of his voice broke you, a loud moan escaping your mouth. Your walls closed around him, hugging him more than the angle allowed before. Your juices spilled out around him, coating his shaft in layers of arousal. The tightness of your core made him choke on air, his eyes closing in bliss. His seed, less powerful than before, was shot into you, mixing with your juices. Your walls milked him dry, the man slumping against your back to finish his orgasm, short thrusts used for both of you to ride out your highs.

You giggled after a minute, making Stiles look at you. “Occupied,” you joked, making Stiles roll his eyes.

The man quickly moved away from your, leaving your panties on the sink next to you. You watched him in the mirror redressing himself, cursing himself under his breath. You frowned at what you saw, knowing he was regretting what had happened. You were afraid to ask.

“Stiles?”

“Sorry,” he murmured. He was conflicted. He enjoyed it - he really did. But, you were still a witch. How could be believe after the history you had together that this was something more than a soul sucking fiesta for you - that every touch you shared was powering you up for the night?His head and heart battled with neither side winning. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Why?” you whispered.

“I…”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have a logical answer. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t know what to believe. He didn’t know anything.

So he left.

The man grabbed a new beer, hoping the alcohol would dull his activate senses. Thoughts were running a million miles an hour in his head. Nothing seemed to make sense and he didn’t want to think about any of that right now. As much as he wanted to figure out what was happening, he didn’t want to figure it out. He wanted to relax. He didn’t want to worry about you and what you may or may not be doing. He didn’t want to think about how he felt. He didn’t want to remember the times he spent with you in such intimate ways. He didn’t want to think about you at all because right now, all he could see when his eyes closed was your bright and shining face. It made him feel sick - sick with want.

“Stiles!” he heard behind him. Stiles turned to the teen wolf himself who was shoving through the crowd towards him, dressed in a doctor outfit. “There you are!”

“Hey,” Stiles sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles glanced at his friend before sipping the drink, hoping it would hit him fast. “You remember that witch?” Scott nodded. “Well, she’s here.”

“She is?”

“Yup,” Stiles huffed. “She was in my room when I got home. She has been with me this entire time. She was Salem.”

“The black at you had?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied. “She said that she’s not here to eat souls. She’s not here to do what she did last year. She apparently chose me to be with and she can only survive by being by my side. But I don’t know if she’s just fucking with me or not. I can’t think straight around her.” Stiles took off the police hat, placing it on the bar while he ruffled his hair. “There is something about her that makes my mind go blank. I’m just so drawn to her. Earlier, I swear she was singing, just like she did last year when I walked into the woods and met her. But, the singing only affected me. I was so enticed the second I saw her and I just… what the hell do I do? What is right?”

“She’s here right now?”

“Yeah,” Stiles choked. “She was in the bathroom last time I saw…”

“Doing what?” Scott asked. Stiles flushed, Scott narrowing his eyes on the human. “Really? She could be potentially using you again and you sleep with her?”

“I couldn’t stop myself!” Stiles protested. “I told you. I cannot think straight when I’m around her. One minute we are dancing, the next I push her away because I think she’s playing me, then I find myself kissing her. I couldn’t stop it. It just kind of happened and now I’m freaking out because I’m confused. I’ve never felt like this around a girl. Being with her literally feels right. I feel so complete and my heart feels full and my body is warm. Then I walked away and… I feel like I’m missing something. I don’t feel good. I feel sick and cold like my heart had stopped. It’s like a piece of me is gone. My shoulder burns where this stupid mark is. And this time, I don’t feel the way I did last time. When we were together before, it felt like part of me was dying. I felt weak physically because I was drained. But, I didn’t have that same sensation. I don’t think she was feeding off my soul. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what to do and I don’t know what to think, Scott.”

“Stilinski has a crush,” Danny spoke up. The two boys turned to the shirtless man behind the bar. “What? It’s true.”

“No. I don’t have a crush,” Stiles denied.

“Well, then you wouldn’t be upset if I tell you that Colby is hitting on your girl?”

“What?!” Stiles snapped.

“Yeah. That girl over there is the one you came with, right?” Danny pointed towards the crowd, Stiles whipping around to see the cocky lacrosse player leaning smoothly against the wall in front of you, trying to lay on the charm Stiles knew he had. You held a smile as you talked to him, Stiles’ heart frozen and dropping into his stomach. He didn’t know what you were discussing, but he knew he didn’t like it. A fuse was lit, Stiles growling lowly.

“Fucking Colby.”

“Stiles, calm down.”

“I told you he liked her,” Danny mumbled.

Scott shook his head, grabbing his friend’s arm. “Relax, Stiles.”

“I’m going to beat his face in,” Stiles huffed. “Who gave him the right to talk to her?”

“Are you saying this because you don’t want her talking to him because she is a witch? Or because you don’t want him talking to her?”

Stiles didn’t answer, breaking away from his friend to make his way towards you. Scott threw his hands up, keeping an eye on his friend just in case things got hairy. Knowing that you were there, Scott was being apprehensive, prepared to jump in at any time. Something told him that Stiles was right and you weren’t there to hurt anyone. If you were, you would have done something by now, the people around being lured to your side so you could drain their souls. But, you only focused on Stiles, your eyes drifting to the spazz from afar. But, Scott remained on his toes, seeing as the main brain of the pack was flustered beyond belief from his frazzled emotions. Mostly, he wanted to make sure that Stiles didn’t get hurt - emotionally and physically.

Stiles stormed up to the much taller lacrosse player, hearing the things he said to you. “If you want to, we could dance a bit. Maybe get to know each other. A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone on Halloween.” Colby reached forward to swipe a hand through bits of your hair, Stiles glaring at the man. “Maybe when we are done, we can get out of here and go somewhere a bit quieter, just the two of us.”

“I appreciate the offer,” you told him. Stiles felt his heart sink, his body feeling heavy. He knew you weren’t there for him. You were using him to get access to your next meal so you could survive another year. And it broke his heart a bit without him knowing. “But, I’m not interested.”

“Excuse me?” Colby asked. Stiles smiled slightly at the angered man. “No one turns this down, sweetheart.”

“I’m not interested. I’m sorry,” you huffed. “I already have a guy I like and you’re not him. I’m not here for you or anyone else. I just wanted to have some fun. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to relax.”

“Then I can help with that.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m not interested.”

Stiles’ heart lifted when he heard your words. He didn’t know why, but your words warmed him. It made his heart flutter, his stomach rampaging against him. He stopped in his tracks taking a second to gaze at you. Your eyes showed your disinterest in the lacrosse player’s failed flirting. He could feel your annoyance. And the entire time Stiles stared at you, he felt the familiar warmth inside of him bubbling like a potion. You were truly beautiful in his honey eyes, every aspect of your mind, body and soul appealing to him. He yearned to pull you into his arms, holding you close so Colby couldn’t lay a finger on you. Stiles wanted to be the only one you looked at, the only one you felt and he wanted you to be the only girl he held.

His tongue passed over his lips, the realization setting in. I like her. A lot. Even if you had lied to him, he felt something deep inside. You had a real connection with one another. He hadn’t stopped thinking about you for the last year and you had been by his side the entire time. Now, you were back, and he wanted to embrace that. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to repeat your actions from the prior year. He wanted to be with you. Your denial with Colby showed that you weren’t there to destroy the town, to kill someone by sucking out their soul with your alluring voice.

He had been wrong to judge you. He believed you. And he wanted you.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that,” Colby pressed, reaching forward towards you. That’s when Stiles stepped in.

“She said no, Colby. So back off.”

“Stiles,” you mumbled, surprised to see him after he left you alone. Your hand met his strong met, your heart jumping. The skin on skin contact tingled. Stiles glanced down at you, his eyes showing how he felt. He nodded at you discretely, making you smile. Sinking into his side, Stiles wrapping his arm around you slightly. The butterflies roared, making your body feel more powerful than before.

“Fuck off, Stilinski. We were having a conversation,” Colby sneered.

“It was a pretty one sided conversation,” Stiles told him sarcastically. “She told you to lay off. She isn’t interested.”

Colby looked back and forth between you both, scoffing. “Stilinski? Really, sweetheart? You can choose someone way better.”

“I’m sure he has a bigger dick than you,” you snapped. “At least, a dick that could please me. Because he has. More than once. And I want it many, many more times. He gives me life.” Stiles knew you meant it literally.

“I doubt that,” Colby huffed.

“Look, I told you I wasn’t interest. And that’s the truth. I came here with Stiles. I plan to leave here with Stiles. I don’t care about anyone else here.”

“Well, you can just leave with me and I will show you a real good time-”

“She said no!” Stiles growled, shoving Colby back. “Just lay off my girl, man!”

“You don’t deserve a beauty like her,” Colby growled. “You’re a nobody!”

“I’m better for her than you are,” Stiles argued. “You’re just a dumb jock with a small dick that thinks he can charm his way into any girls pants. But guess what. She’s too good for you. You’re a nobody. Where as me, I can actually show her a good time. She’s mine, Colby. Get over it.”

Colby pushed Stiles, who pushed him back. “You want to fight, Stilinski? Let’s fight then!”

You slipped between the two males in a flash, a hand pressed to Colby’s chest. “Stop it,” you huffed. A powerful force was released from your hand, pushing Colby back into a table of food, salsa, punch and chips covering his fake leather jacket and greasy greaser hair. Stiles gaped at the simple magic you used, feeling you take his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes please,” Stiles mumbled.

He allowed you to drag him out of the loft, Scott sending him a look that told him to be careful. Stiles nodded at him, following you out to the jeep. Roscoe rumbled to life, pulling out of the parking lot and racing down the road.

“Stiles…” you started, unsure what else to say.

“Did you mean it?” he asked, turning to you as he drove. “That you weren’t interested in him? That you only liked one guy? That you weren’t there for others?”

“Of course,” you told him. “If I wanted to hurt anyone, I would have done it, Stiles. You wouldn’t be able to stop me if I actually wanted to do something. My singing is powerful. My magic is powerful. I can put you under my spell in a snap and you wouldn’t even know it.”

“Like last time,” Stiles huffed. “I was so taken by you, I didn’t even know what was happening.”

“Exactly. I lure people in, Stiles. That’s how I deceived them so I could keep my power. But, not anymore. I chose to be here to be with you. When you turned up last year unexpectedly, I didn’t expect to enjoy myself as much as I did. Yes, I drained your soul somewhat. I won’t deny that. But what we did… it meant something to me. It was so much better than anything I’ve had and I don’t want to give that up. I want you. You’re special and I only want that. The only spell I cast was by giving you that mark so that I am yours and you are mine.”

Stiles drummed his fingers on the wheel before he spoke up. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“I don’t blame you,” you laughed. “I didn’t give you much reason to believe me. I drew you in, I toyed with your mind, I fucked you, I fed off your soul, and then I left to feed on children. I lied to you. Yeah, I wouldn’t believe me either. But, if I was just going to come back and feed on children, would I have come back to you?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugged, looking over at you. “Maybe I just had a very tasty soul and you couldn’t get enough of me.”

You laughed, nodding at him. “You actually had a very tasty soul. It’s sweet and tangy.”

“Really?” Stiles asked.

“Oh yeah,” you hummed. “Rather delectable if I must say. But, that jealous side of you earlier? I have to say, Stiles. That was incredibly sexy.”

“Was it now?”

“Oh yeah,” you mused. “Seeing you stand up to that asshole, defending me. Being a little dominant to defend your girl. Definitely a turn on.”

Stiles choked on air, shifting in his seat. “You don’t say.”

“You know,” you began, lifting the end of your dress. Your fingers passed over your covered core, already wet. “That little rendezvous we had in the bathroom wasn’t enough for me. I could use a little bit of jealous Stiles in my life.”

Stiles took a deep breath, his knuckles going white as they squeezed at the wheel. “Fuck, what do you do to me? How do you just manage to make me feel like this?” he asked. “I just feel so complete and eager and God, I am ready.”

You laughed, leaning over the police scanner to kiss his cheek, Stiles sighing happily at the tender kiss. “It’s because you love me. And I’m all yours.”

“My own personal witch?” he asked.

“You could say that,” you teased.

“God, I love you,” he rasped. You smiled. Pulling him into a kiss the second he parked the jeep in his driveway. He barely had time to kill the engine before he was turned in his seat to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. Your tongues tangled between your cheeks, your hands threading through his hair over and over until it was a mess of locks. His hands were attempting to pull you over the console, wanting to roam your body.

The kiss broke with a noisy smack, the windows of the jeep beginning to fog over from the heated aura you were producing. “House. Now. I’m tired of denying that I want this. I’m tired of waiting. Fuck, I want you. I want this. I believe you, Y/N. I want this so bad.”

“Then stop talking and take me, Stiles. I’m all yours.”

Dragging you up the stairs in the house was a no brainer. Stiles was glad his dad still wasn’t home since he was stripping himself of the police costume on the way down the hall, your boots coming off and your hat floating to the wood flooring, forgotten in your future misdeeds. Stiles shut the door quickly when you entered his room, the man pulling you into his chest to place a sensual kiss to your lips. Your arms wrapped around his waist, sinking into the kiss he gave you. You let him control it, his lips dragging along yours before breaking away, delving into another kiss instantly.

The kisses got more heated, Stiles head tilting to either side so he could mash his lips to yours perfectly. The sparks were flying every time they connected, the residual sound of their connection growing louder and more frequent. The smack of lips was prominent, echoing through the crisp air of the bedroom. Tongues battled playfully with Stiles winning every time, trails of saliva stringing you together when you pulled away for bursts of fresh air.

The dress melted from your form, pulled over your head and discarded carelessly. Honey eyes narrowed with dilated pupils, taking in the nearly nude body before him. You stood in just a pair of wet panties that he wanted to rip off you, literally. With each step he took forward, you stepped back until your legs connected to the bed. Stiles pushed you into a sitting position, taking your wrists in his hands.

“Keep them here,” he told you, slowly pulling off the arm sleeves you were wearing. Your hands were left extended before you, wrists touching slightly. You watched Stiles remove the handcuffs that dangled from his belt, the key placed on his bedside table. The metal clanged as he wrapped them around your wrists, letting them fall into your lap clasped together. He took the arm sleeves you wore before, tying them together before wrapping it around your head, your vision going pure black. You let him do what he wanted, enjoying the touch the man gave you. You were enthralled by it, relishing in the bliss it gave you already.

Stiles leaned into your ear, the hot breath making you shiver. “Lay down,” he demanded with a husky voice. You moaned, doing ask he asked. Your bare back was laid to the mattress, your bound hands resting to your stomach. Your legs, dangling over the side of the end, were pushed apart, the thong you had on snapped from your waist. The thing strap on the right side was torn, the silky material removed from your lower half immediately.

Two fingers ran through your folds, Stiles’ ears perking up at your loud moans. The tips probed the entrance, dipping in slightly before pulling back out. “What do you want, Y/N?” he asked.

“You,” you told him through a whining mewl. “I need you, Stiles. Please.”

“You still like it hard and fast?” he questioned.

“Yes,” you moaned. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember that night together so clearly. I’ve dreamt of it because it was that good. That amazing. I always asked myself what I would do if I saw you again because I was mad you left after that. I thought I would hate you but man, I lied to myself. I want to feel you, all of you, only you.”

“Please, Stiles,” you cried. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Stiles grinned, slipping the two fingers into you. He watched you back arch when they spread your apart, opening your entrance to the air around you, scissoring your pussy quickly. The tips curled to scratch at your sensitive walls, the fingers squishing in your wetness with his quick thrusts. He watched the way your breasts jiggled with the thrusts of his fingers, your chest heaving for air. His free hand darted out to grab one, fondling the mound and the hard, boisterous nipple between his fingers. The combined effort made you moan louder than before, urging him to do more.

He pulled out, despite your noisy pleas. The hand sayed on your breast, the fingers that once pushed into you are a rapid pace, finger fucking you into heaven, were placed to your lips. Stiles grunted when your lips parted, taking the two digits between them. Your tongue swirled around them, sliding along his skin to taste yourself. Your lips puckered around him, swollen and red from the relentless kissing you had done upon arrival to his room. They parted when he pulled his fingers free, the pads smoothing over your extended tongue until they flicked off the end of it.

You could hear the rustle of his clothes when he backed away, the loss of body heat leaving you cold and lonely. You wished you could watch him undress, only your imagination left to wonder what he was doing. You could picture the way he unbutton the shirt the rest of the way since he had gotten half of them off on the trek down the hall. You thought about how he would shrug the fabric off his broad shoulders and down his bulging arms that were muscled from lacrosse. You saw his lanky fingers undoing the button on his pants, pushing them and his Calvin Klein’s down his legs until his cock was springing free slapping his stomach so a single string of precum connected the tip to his wonderful happy trail of hair that led to his giant package. You wanted to see him in all his naked glory before you would drop to the ground, sucking his cock happily.

His cock slid between your folds, your back arching off the bed once more. Your hands clawed at your stomach, unable to claw at anything else around you. You whimpered for him, waiting for him to fll you like you wished. He slid in once, bottoming out before he pulled out completely. You felt a void, getting filled for a half second before it was ruined. He did it repeatedly, taunting you with the action. You were being teased, toyed with before you got the main course.

“Please, Stiles,” you pleaded. “Don’t tease me.”

“But I love hearing you whimper for me,” he murmured deeply. You whined, a mewl laced throughout it. “Don’t you like my cock filling you up repeatedly.”

“Yes, but I want it to stay inside me. Please,” you cried. “I love this dominating spirit, but please. I need you to fuck me. Please, Stiles. I need you so bad. Don’t tease me. Just pound me hard and fast until I’m cumming all over your cock.”

“Is that what you really want?” he asked, shoving in before he vanished again. You nodded quickly, hair flying around in the process. “Alright. I want to hear you scream.”

The next thrust into you, he stayed. His cock pistoned in and out of you quickly, pounding you into the mattress while he stayed with his feet planted to the carpet. Your hips clapped together with a resonating frequency, smack after smack of skin filling the room with your moaning screams. His fingers dug into the sides of your thighs, your legs wrapped around his waist to push him into you deeper. The tip hit your sweet spot every time he pushed into you, making your head fly back in ecstasy. The lack of vision amplified the pleasure, your body shaking in happiness.

“Yes! Just like that! Oh my god!” you screamed, your arms extending above your head while your back arched more. Stiles groaned, watching your body jostle with his powerful thrusts, breasts bouncing with his movements.

“I forgot how much I missed this,” he groaned, snapping his hips into yours. He was pushed as far in as he could go, his balls hitting your folds as he did. Your walls convulsed around him, making it harder to move but adding the the pleasure he felt. He pushed through it, his cock twitching and pulsating through your walls into the blood in your veins. “The bathroom earlier wasn’t enough at all. God, I could do this every second of every day and never get tired of it.”

“Oh, Stiles. Please. More!” you moaned.

You were pulled closer into him so he could piston as fast as possible, his eyes closing to chase his high. He was weak, the arousal in his system too much for him. Watching you squirm from what he was doing, hearing you moan and scream his name, and feeling his cock entering and exiting your snug, wet pussy was making his stomach knot. The feeling she felt for you, his denial replaced with acceptance, ignited the fire, knowing that you were there to be with him. He didn’t have the same weakness as the prior year. He felt full and complete and he was going to revel in that feeling as long as he could.

His will didn’t last long. You were quivering against his sheets, letting out an elongated moan of his name. Your walls hugged his shaft, juices splattering around it in bursts of pleasure. Your fluids coated his length, your toes curling into his backside and your head flying back. The warmth and moisture of your core became too much for the man, his thrusts slowing to a gentle push when the climax came. His seed shot off inside of you, mixing with your juices in strings of scalding hot white drops. The coil he had was gone, exploding into fireworks from a sea of flames your bodies produced. His pushes slowed, your tight walls milking the last drops fro the tip of his length, greedily taking every last drop he ejaculated.

Stiles fumbled to remove the handcuffs and makeshift blindfold, moving you properly into his bed. His body collapsed next to you, your head resting on his chest. The blankets covered your forms, your legs tangled together under the sheets. Your hand rested to his heart, feeling the quick beats slowing to a normal pace under the tips. Your moved to trace the cat mark on his shoulder once, feeling his shiver to your touch.

“Sleep, Stiles,” you told him, seeing the man beginning to doze when you looked at him.

“The last time you told me to sleep, I fell asleep and you were gone when I woke up,” he drowsily spoke up. “I don’t want you to turn back into a cat. I want you to stay here. With me.”

“Don’t worry,” you mused, running a hand through his hair that was wet with perspiration. “I will always be by your side.”

Stiles wanted to retort, but he was drifting - fast. His eyes went hazy, going dark before he knew it. The last thing he saw before he fell into a restful sleep was your beautiful eyes staring back at him with a tale of love, his body full and warm instead of cold and weak like last time. His soul was bright, feeling alive with you in his arms.

He just wasn’t ready to see his cat again.

The sun was what woke Stiles up, peeking through hs blinds directly into his eyes. He groaned, draping his arm over his orbs to shield them from the bright rays. He shifted, stretching his stiff limbs. He was fully rested after the eventful Halloween night of topsy turvy events. He recalled everything that happened, wondering if it was all a dream. Had you really been there? Or, was it all a spell he placed on himself wishing for something to happen?

He knew it wasn’t a dream at all.

He remembered the frantic thoughts of what was true. He remembered the lure to the dance floor. He remembered the bathroom. He remembered the jealousy. And he remembered the bedroom.

Blinking his eyes open, he expected to see the black cat by his side. But the pressure against the side of his body wasn’t that of a cat. His head turned, jaw dropping to find you sleeping beside him. The blanket had fallen off your chest, exposing your breasts to him - perky nipples and all. He slapped himself a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but you never faded.

Stiles smiled, not caring about morning breath or that you were sleeping. His body turned and his lips pressed to yours in a fiery kiss that woke you up. Your moaned into him, one arm wrapping around his neck. Your eyes fluttered open when he pulled away, licking his lips.

“You’re here,” he whispered.

“I’m here,” you replied.

He leaned in to kiss you again, unknowingly falling for the spell called love. Still, he knew that he was all yours. He had been since he heard your voice.

And you were his. And you always would be.

𝅘𝅥𝅮I’ve put a spell on you, and now you’re mine𝅘𝅥𝅮

Errthang Tag 2.0: @catcrown21; @voidkitsune24; @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone; @savage-stilinski; @twilightparker; @rumoured-whispers; @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname; @caitsymichelle13; @addicttotw; @fox-lau; @xmadwonderland; @kaelyn-lobrutto24; @lobrien; @kal-pal; @espermirror; @nowthisiswaar; @belleknows; @ashpie97; @mixedupsammy; @dylobrienlover; @newtosaur250; @bandsweyhey; @offthewallspidey; @livinginadreamersparadise; @tommyswolves; @ashotofblues; @bilesbilinskix; @danathewitchywoman; @thisismexxo; @you-all-have-guns; @soulaura-canavel; @bojabee; @obrienswxlf; @feelingsareharddd; @xoitsjustmexo;@supernaturaltakeover; @suggsmate; @cassiee867; @lara-stilinski; @barryallenplease; @herscrunchiehairtie; @bottleoffirewhisky; @jadalecki-jackles; @evansesdust; @everythingthatisrandom; @puppiesarehappiness; @ixlovexpeterxparker; @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed; @tenseoyong; @jadav5; @mischiefandi; @myrandomzshit; @disbestiles; @mxtchsbxtch; @dafine18; @avadakedabitch; @girlwiththerubyslippers; @xpinkyprincess; @ssweet-empowerment; @jackles-jadalecki; @dobseventeen; @dylnobrien1911, @redstringlovers; @brien-odylan; @xxxxdelenaxxxx; @katlovey14; @deajm2116; @loverofwaytoomanythings618; @megreadss; @nooneelsethandacre; @dvlob; @rubyocampobitch; @lolitskatttttt; @debaucheryfinest; @mrsmitchrapp; @withinyourstars; @redsalv20; @kwaldorfff; @thegirlwhoimagined; @sellinxhs; @preciousnewt

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randomkposts · 5 years ago

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The crack twilight shipping conversation

E :-"I took care of those girls who spread rumors about you"

"What girls?"

"Not important "

I have back flashes of this kid and I'm like yo she scares me.

K : Jane is terrifying. Just not in the same way to Bella as she is to others.

"We are going to Yellowknife, so you can see the northern lights at this time of year! They are glorious! This guy has agreed to fly us."

"Jane, I don't- wait, why is he shaking"

"Juicebox is also excited to see the northern lights"

Shaking man: "Absolutely ecstatic"

"I made sure that all the warm clothing fits your size! It's even real fur! "

Crack twilight ships

K - E, Crack AU, where Jane is the one who imprints on Bella, going after James for crime, and Bella has to deal with the insane situation of "I think I was kidnapped by a child, and the child is trying to woo me."

Except Jane's Idea of wooing is terrifying and surreal, and has some pretty bizarre stuff to try to impress her.

"Jane-"

"But let's double check!"

E -OMG

K :-”Jane, why do you always give people such strange nicknames? Quickmunch, O delicious, lunchmeat, mosquito bait, and now juicebox?

Except for Jaccob, who you just called stinky

Why do you call him that?

-Because he just is

He doesn't smell any worse than any other athletic teenage boy. You haven't even seen him since he got sick.

Hey, does she have a nickname for Bella, you think?

E -Jacobs sweating furiously at all these vampires

K -It's because he's a wolfy shapeshifter, but for story purposes, Jane has no Idea, just that she hates Bella's childhood friend.

Alec, who is back in Voltera, but Jane talks on the phone too, assumes she's being possessive of who Bella spends time with, and views him as a rival.

He tells her that.

E - The fact he face times this stuff. Supportive bro vampire.

K - Don't kill the rival Jane. Bella will be crying, and you don't want to spend time with her mourning. Maybe take her on a trip, and get some personal time

E -She does, but also scares ppl to give them cool shite.

K -I had a crack thought once, where I thought what's the randomest most out there mates I can give vampires. , where Jane's mate was a random old man that she met in the food chamber, was like ,"wait don't kill him!" It became quite a debate.

Alec's, on the other hand, was a toddler he met on a job, where a lady had been vampired, and had bad control. The kid wasn't even related to the target, just on a walk in a bad place and time. He can't get the face out of his head.

Neither of them are decided on who has it worse.

But Bella being shippable with almost any vampire in the series has way more potential for comedy.

Still, question, does Bella ever come to return the affection?

Edward is hundreds of years older than her, but looks roughly around her age. Staying beautiful, and around his age was something Bella found important to her in their relationship.

Jane, for all she is also centuries older than Bella, can not easily be mistaken for a young adult. Admittedly it could be claimed, possibly by dwarfism, but given that physical appearance is important to Bella, and plays a part in her affections to other people, how would that play into any potential relationship with Jane?

K - God, weird how what starts as crack, leads me to wonder about real questions.

If that random old man is in fact Jane's soulmate in the crack mate's verse, should she take her mate in the form she finds him, or eat him and hope he reincarnates. Is there only one possible match, or are there potential matches walking around that finalize when conditions are met? Is the old man, at his age, fit to be a mate to a centuries old vampire of a young body? What if he's amnesic. How would that translate to vampirism?

Should Alec keep tabs on the toddler who could be his mate, or let them go and hope for another chance encounter?

E -Probably yes, even though you are aware she is older than you, she is mature maybe *I debate on that due to they stay in that state forever* but you can't get over the fact that is a child's body

K -If Alec chose to keep tabs, when would be the time to reintroduce himself? And how?

E - I say let them go, cause this is a bit too close with the Renesmee and Jacob kind of thing

Hmmm I say reincarnation is kinder?

K-Is reincarnation even real, or a hope?

How would you find them?

E -They have vampires, werewolves and shit, but does reincarnation really draw the line?

First off how did they even know they were mates?

K -It is, though I can't see Alec child napping the toddler, and raising them himself

Some voice in their head screams "Mine!"

Edwards was just weird, because he thought his voice meant " my meal"

E -Bwhahaha

Oh God Eddy

K -The Cullens are unusual in that they turn people in life threatening situations.

Still,Carslie and Esmae certinally had some affection between them, before she commited suicide.

Why did Rosaline get Emmet turned again?

Beyond the bear wound, I mean?

She doesn't seem the type to go out of her way to do something like that for just anyone.

Maybe it was blurred by the blood, and the need for control, but something about him called out to her, I think.

"Rosalie confessed to Bella that she saved Emmett from dying because of his innocent look, dimples, and curly hair that reminded her of her best friend Vera's child, Henry, and that ever since the day she saw the baby she always wanted a child of her own just like him."

Somehow, I doubt she looked much at the appearance of someone covered in blood. She is trying to resist killing after afromented bear mauling.

That sounds like a post rescue justification.

E - True. Always wondered about that.

K - Anyway, I think he might just send Gianna, or something to guard the kid for a bit, if he decided to keep tabs. Gianna is just glad to be temporarily spared, and hopes that job success may mean Alec turns her into a vampire, or at the least, doesn't kill her.

E -Shot, i would make sure that kid have the best life ever if that means he doesn't kill me

K - But anyways, to a vampire who is not rescuing a human from a dangerous situation, or abstaining in general, sometimes they get a sense of "Mine!" About humans they see.

Jane, as a member of Voltri, where mates are occasionally found like this, has heard, and does not question, and in fact jumps on the opportunity.

Her human smells delicious, and is resistant to her gift, and absolutely perfect. Now, how to not kill her, while making Jane the center of her world.

That kid has aunt Gianna, who is not really an aunt, but is... A family friend now, and full intent to make the kid happy.

Gianna is a dead secretary as of Breaking Dawn, I think, But Alec has a need for the human, so he can borrow her.

She's well aware of her morality, at this point.

Also, get rid of that James guy, who found Bella while she was hiking in the woods, in this verse.

E - Yeah lets get rid of him!

Honestly the image of a grown asa man getting his ass handed to him by some 12 year old cracks me up.

K -While Bella might find inclination to view Jane romantically, possibly, sexual orientation may be an issue for her.

In cannon, Bella had the higher sex drive then Edward, and would have prefered that to marriage, indicating she may have a higher sex drive then romantic inclination.

Book Bella didn't show much interest in women, and I don't know what way she swings in this AU, but either way, that Jane has the body of a child would probably complicate things in that aspect.

Would Bella be exploring cross orientation here, or having a crisis for her finding a sex drive for someone who's body is closer to a childs then an adults?

Both would be complex issues.

-It does!First she takes him out with mental fire, then she fights and tears him up, in hopes of impressing her would (will) be mate!

E -Crisis at the sex drive, cause again kids body, and I'd be hella creeped out. And orientation since I haven't seen her show much interest in woman so that's a lot of issues for her to start on

"And here we see the alpha female show her dominance by obliterating the high male in order to impress her mate"

K - Its kind of weird to even talk about it, yes.

But it would come up in this context

Bella herself, would probably be creeped out

Jane, might be less so, due to being centuries older than her, and living in a different time with different marriage standards

E - Bella is like "oh honey no, that's. ..no"

K -Jane was born in England around 800 A.D, the daughter of an Anglo-Saxon woman and a Frankish soldier.

She was 12-13 when transformed.

Let's bump it up to 13, because while both are far too young for being burned at the stake, 13 is slightly more

----

Was reading this

----

"Contrary to Victorian beliefs that pale, delicate women were the most attractive, Brown says that actually, muscles are key. It's the earliest known example of #fitspiration:

"All women would be healthier and none the less beautiful if they possessed firm muscles and strong limbs; this scarcely any one could controvert."

Even if she wants to consign herself to a life of singledom: "And if a girl never intends to marry she should be none the less mindful of her health."

Brown explains that women are often less inclined to discuss sensitive maladies than their male counterparts. But that's wrong.

"Young women should learn that to neglect disease is to create more," he stresses.

"Secondly, they should appreciate the fact that, though they may get very little sympathy from either the other sex or their own, there is no execuse for not taking their complaint boldly and sensibly to that quarter made for them, namely, their doctor."

---

And this guy sounds kind of radical for the time, and possibly today even, for some, but why does that last line still feel relevant to today's attitude of women's health.

#Twilight #crack shipping #Random K #A conversation with my friend #we share ideas #and worldbuild #bella x jane

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scarlettlawyer · 5 years ago

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Some Tracking Ghosts Comments!

@renegadewangs LOL YOU THOUGHT THESE POSTS WERE OVER?

(Okay, okay, to be fair, this one is comparatively brief and only discusses like 3 things. It’s no attempt to be comprehensive in any way. XD). So here it is, me touching upon a couple of things related to Tracking Ghosts~

I wanna talk about Sam Specter! I wanna talk about how the information revealed about him in Tracking Ghosts changes things.

Prior to reading Tracking Ghosts, it had crossed my mind that the ending of Lifting Spirits could almost be seen as kind of... disregarding and disrespectful in-universe to the real Sam Specter. Lex is expected to continue to adopt his name, his face, but obviously no kind of consent for this was ever given by the real Sam (and obviously he kinda can’t give consent for it, being dead and all), and I highly doubt the real Sam would have appreciated it. I don’t think he would have appreciated the ending where his murderer got to wear his face again. Sam Specter was murdered and had his identity stolen. None of the characters ever confront or consider the moral implications of the Lifting Spirits ending where that murdered man’s identity continues to be made use of without his consent.

But honestly it’s something that, although it belatedly occurred to me it didn’t actually really bother me in the slightest - I’m still 100% satisfied by the Lifting Spirits ending and I’m more than willing to brush the whole awkward implications of “uh, Sam was still, like, a real person who died” under the rug. That being said, on some level perhaps it really didn’t do the real Sam justice.

See, Sam Specter was always a bit of an “empty character”, too. He’d always kind of existed in the story only as one of the identities the phantom had stolen, and had served no purpose beyond that. We never meet the real Sam and his actual identity and life hold no direct relevance to the plot prior to Tracking Ghosts.

This is perhaps part of why the moral implications of Lex continuing to use the identity never get raised and are not relevant to the story or its readers - because we are never invited to think about or care about the real Sam.

So part of what’s great about what Tracking Ghosts does with his character is that it gives Sam substance; we learn more about the kind of person he was - the REAL Sam. He gets afforded consideration as a character and the real Sam is the reasoning behind the main plot being set into motion.

So this is the first result: it fleshes Sam out as a character. He’s still dead for the entire duration of the series, we still never actually get to meet the real Sam... but we know more about him. There’s something else that hugely fleshes Sam out though, and that brings us to the second effect I want to talk about:

The real Sam Specter as a distinct and independent entity from the Phantom’s portrayal of him.

That’s one of the major kickers here: there were aspects of Sam and his life that the Phantom never had any clue about. He was then, by definition, portraying Sam inaccurately the entire time and in many respects had the wrong conception of Sam as a person. Even the parts that might have been “accurate” could have been accurate for the wrong mistaken/misguided reasons. Even if it’s outwardly identical, it still creates some difference internally.

This therefore distinguishes the real Sam from the fake Sam that the Phantom portrayed.

The impact of this is twofold in how it affects BOTH characters and their positioning in the story. The real Sam gains independence in the story as an individual, now finally divorced from the Phantom’s version. This goes a huge way in helping to flesh him out as a character now that we must apply new ideas and thoughts about him that cannot be applied to the “Sam” we saw in Haunted Specters. The story acknowledges him more directly as someone who lived, and then was killed (even touching upon that murder itself).

This goes both ways.

Prior to Tracking Ghosts, we are led to believe that the Phantom’s impersonation is pretty much spot-on to the Real Deal. Why wouldn't it be?

I’ve spoken in previous Analysis Posts about how in Haunted Specters there really seemed to be this ongoing question regarding “Sam Specter”’s personhood and how much/to what extent he should be treated and considered as an independent individual. Part of the driving factor behind this is that the impersonation is supposedly identical to that of a real man who lived, which is why there’s almost this inclination to treat the fake Sam as real - in some twisted way it’s kinda like you’re meeting the real person who used to have this name and face, etc etc. Note that the alleged ACCURACY of the portrayal is part of the conundrum behind this: “Should we treat “Sam” as, well, Sam? If it’s outwardly identical to the real person, then...?”

I then finally came to my own conclusion in a later analysis post: that “Sam” was a trap of sorts - that anything directed at him, to some extent, really was directed at the Phantom the entire time. “Sam” exists to ease Bobby, Simon and even the reader into letting their guard down, however slightly. It sets them up to be more susceptible when the illusion - the “trap” is pulled back and we - and the characters - really are suddenly expected to start being invested in the Phantom more directly as opposed to the go-between of the persona.

I realised that it was never about Sam - Sam was never relevant back then. The real Sam was totally irrelevant to the story prior to Tracking Ghosts. As I said in that analysis post I’m sure - “it had always been about the Phantom”.

We spend soooo much more time with “Sam Specter” as opposed to Sam Specter. But if the Phantom wasn’t even portraying him correctly in the first place... This further reinforces just how much it was never about Sam, and just how much it was all about the Phantom.

Because “Sam Specter” is a mere product of the Phantom’s misconceptions.

“Sam Specter” is a made-up portrayal by the Phantom of a person who technically never actually existed, since the person it’s based off of is somewhat different from “Sam”.

The Phantom obviously didn’t know this, and THOUGHT he was portraying with complete accuracy, but that doesn’t change any of this. It doesn’t change the fact that the discrepancies between the real one and the fake one mean that the fake Sam then becomes an invention born of how the Phantom chose to portray him. This inevitably makes the entire persona inherently connected back to the Phantom moreso than a persona he actually was portraying with more accuracy.

This is important because of just how invested the Phantom is shown as getting into the role. He’s getting invested into a persona that, to some extent, he made up.

Of course, it’s worth noting that besides the glaring oversight(s) and slight errors, “Sam” was probably otherwise a completely accurate portrayal. What I’ve written does seem to exaggerate any discrepancies, but however slight, I do find them very noteworthy for the reasons I’ve outlined. But the other dimension(s) to the real Sam’s character would have a flow-on effect to other aspects of how the real Sam behaved and his internal thoughts and motivations, which, even if it didn’t lead to outward errors in portrayal meant that the Phantom would have probably had this whole construction of Sam’s internal thoughts and motivations that were sometimes wrong too.

It banishes any remaining illusion we might have that Haunted Specters and “Sam” ever had anything to do with the real Sam, narratively speaking. No, even if we try and treat “Sam” as separate from the Phantom, he’s now way more closely connected to the Phantom than he ever was to the real Sam for the characters and audience.

“Sam” might not be quite Phantom... but he’s not 100% like the real Sam, either. He’s someone new, slightly different. You might ask: Just who did Simon and Bobby agree to share an apartment with? Who was “Sam”, really?

Moving along, a brief note about Calisto! :D

So, ahaha, on my second readthrough of the series this scene stood out to me as slightly... OOF:

She looked up at him with wide brown eyes. Only a teenager. He wasn’t blind, nor stupid. She held genuine affection for him, he could tell. Affection he couldn’t return, because he’d never felt that way about anyone or anything. She’d gotten mad at him for that, once. Then, ultimately, she’d decided to let it be. If she couldn’t have his affection, no one would. Indeed, no one would.

And it’s just. Well. You know, Benny.

So I’m like ahhh... oh man. This is awkward, huh.

(“Entire life” MIGHT be a bit of an exaggeration, but... they meet as teens, Mirage SPECIFICALLY names herself in reference to him in her career, she still cares about him in the series and is not shown as being interested in anyone else prior to the Lang stuff in Tracking Ghosts. So... yeah. :P)

But then Tracking Ghosts comes around, and Calisto is Incredibly Chill. She is an absolute trouper. She KNOWS about Benny, and she does not seem to mind at all. If anything, it greatly amuses her. She is a true friend. As Lex’s friend, she looks after him, and wants to keep him safe. FRIENDSHIP

And that really is a great outcome, because I’ve already made it abundantly clear just how invested I got in Mirage - Calisto - and how I just want her to be happy. She does seem pretty content. If she showed any sign of being like... internally unhappy about the whole Benny thing, it would have been very upsetting for me. But nothing like that happens, and I’m so glad. Let the former spy girl be happy. :’)

Another thing I’d like to mention that I just found... really funny, is the sheer amount of times that Lex was referred to in the Tracking Ghosts narrative as “the former phantom”, “ex-phantom”, etc etc.

You see, he is never, not ONCE referred to as such in the series prior to Tracking Ghosts. In Lifting Spirits he’s pretty consistently just Lex, or Alexander. When I was using the “former phantom” terminology in my analysis post(s)... It was in this sense of “here’s how I’m laying it out, to specifically draw attention to the fact that this man connects directly back to the phantom he used to be, even though the story never actually phrases it this way.” Like, I’ve spoken before about the big distinction laid out by the Lifting Spirits narrative between Lex and the Phantom.

To an extent, the way it’s discussed in Tracking Ghosts ultimately becomes the synthesis of sorts, and resolves some of the tension.

The phantom is the thesis, Lifting Spirits’ Alexander Luster Jr is the antithesis, and then, of course Lex is still Lex, but the Tracking Ghosts narrative, through both its phrasing and content, creates more of an alignment.

The “negation” of “the phantom” in Lifting Spirits is done out of a necessity to help demonstrate that the man that’s present now deserves another chance. But come Tracking Ghosts, that goal has already been achieved, and so the narrative is now completely free to draw parallels, direct comparisons, a line of continuity and the like. Even when a comparison is supposed to demonstrate how DIFFERENT he is now (see: Lex being completely unable to leap across the water, showing just how much he’s no longer the Phantom who made that fearless Dual Destinies leap), it’s still a direct acknowledgement that he was that man through virtue of its existence.

Tracking Ghosts is, well, it has so much in it, so there’s so much more I could say! But I think these were the main things I wanted to chat about. :D

And I’ll just finish the post off with this:

Chapter 41:

“Aside from that, acting pleasant towards you would be a manipulative façade, which would not exactly count in my favor either. If you want me to be true to myself, I cannot give you anything better than a wiseass.”

Chapter 45:

“Not to mention, a father who’s a bit of a wiseass.” “Hey, now. Just because I’m always right doesn’t mean I’m a wiseass.”

Like father, like son.

#long post #(definitely not as long as the Other Posts though LOL)

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spoopysammymoose · 6 years ago

Text

So... my tiefling character is deciding to act out like a teenager, since she never really had the chance growing up...

DM: The chapel seems to still be a wreck, rubble is strewn about and the pillars still show damage from Argynvost's assault. But the stained glass has been replaced and repaired. On it a stunning depiction of Tatanya ascending into the sky. Sergei is there but an ugly smear of red obscures his image, the red runs down to the frame. In the distance Ithil can hear the sound of an organ.

Ithil: In the back of her mind, Ithil wonders who would have had this made, as she was sure Strahd would not have had Sergei included at all. She looks for a moment at the image of Tatanya with a smile, glad that she really was gone from this place. Ithil continues on, heading towards the sound of the organ.

DM: The organ music gets louder as she wanders down the main corridor leading to the front door. The music seems to flow from an open door to the left, a decayed dining hall last you knew. The music is somber but fast, like a melancholy waltz.

Ithil: She continues to head towards the sound, having not heard this sort of music before. It was.... sad... but deep and beautiful.

DM: You walk past the main junction without incident, the grand stair case lies empty and the front door is closed tight. You stand before the room with the music, the doors closed. You can smell the sickening mix of delicious food, rot, and dust.

Ithil: Ithil goes towards the doors, pausing with her hand near the handle for a moment before opening it. She opens it slowly, not wanting to disturb the sanctity of the playing.

DM: The music washes over you, making you feel almost warm. But that warmth is quickly replaced by a chill of fear as your eyes unwrap the scene before you. The table is set for a small dinner, five figures sit at the table in various states of decay, their dinner rotting before them. The candles of the table are brightly lit, illuminating their demise. One was speared by an arrow through the eye. Another seems to have had their heart ripped out. A third lies face first in a bowl. A forth lies chained to their chair, their whole figure wilted and thin. and a fifth still struggles in their chair. Iron straps bind him to the chair. At the head of the table a figure sits with his back to you, his black cape hiding much of his figure. He plays the organ with vigor, pouring his whole body into the music. The music ends with a flourish of his hands, leaving you in deafening silence. For a moment, all is still, then with a sweep of his cape he stands and turns to you. His face contorted in fury. Strahd Von Zarovich.

Ithil: Having been noticed, she feels her mouth break into a nervous grin and she fully enters the room, looking around at the gore. "Love what you've done with the place..."

DM: His face seems to calm a bit, and he silently walks to his bound prisoner, placing his hands on the vampire's shoulders. "Much has changed about this place, but it seems your meddling has not, Ithil." "My servants lie dead and a soon to be bride has gone missing, I can only assume your hand was the cause of this." You notice despite his calm voice and inviting expression, his nails dig deep into the vampires shoulders.

Ithil: Her smile brightens and she begins to shrug off her layers of cloaks onto a nearby chair. She gives a bit of a shrug and finds a bit of the table to lean on. "Ah, it seems you do know my name afterall. We never really talked the last time that I was here." She studied the wall a bit. "At that time though I'll admit I was quite a bit weaker and stupid... well, you could say I'm stupid for being where I am right now after what I've done but.... I don't regret it." Ithil's eyes wander over to the organ. "You play beautifully, that was something I did not know."

DM: Strahd: "I make a point of learning all about those that have killed me. As for your intelligence I can only assume you're cunning, at best, an imbecile at worst. Whether luck or skill has influenced your deeds, only time will tell." He glances at the discarded cloaks with a disinterested gaze. "The music is something I have been working on for years now, a tribute to Tatanya. But I fear it will never be perfect."

Ithil: Her eyebrow raises at that. "Music will never be perfect, as nothing ever is, but we take things as they are and enjoy them while we can. So... you really did love her." She pauses for a heavy moment. "I don't blame you for that, I was even moved when her soul appeared. She was beautiful and gentle... I wish I had known her. We knew Ireena but... she was definitely different."

DM: "She, WAS perfect. The music, and Ireena were only a pale reflection. As well as Marina, Vela, and the rest." He releases the vampires shoulders, leaving deep claw marks. "She was mine, and mine alone. And you took her from me; for that I will destroy you piece by piece." He looks up at you, anger deep in his eyes. "But you know that, so why are you here? Have you given up all hope of escape this time? Surely you would at least put up a fight."

Ithil: She hisses, her own claws digging into the table and her eyes snapping over to him. "Don't think me a coward or a lunatic! For those I am neither. You would be gravely mistaken if you think I am not holding back fear or a desire to start firing off my spells. Those are natural impulses and I could definitely entertain you with a fight if you wanted. But I am not here for that." She takes the Staff of Power and throws it next to her cloaks. "Fighting you on my own would be an instant death, though apparently many of your servants were not so much of a challenge." Ithil actually laughs out loud. "The one in the dungeons mocking the wizard with the one he had killed, he was already seized by the prisoner by the time I showed up and I stood right in the open. He didn't even see me there." She steps away from the table and crosses her arms, a snarl still on her face. "My original plans were only to help my party's friend when I came here, however I got tripped up on how many innocents had already been captured by this place. If I let them be, then I likely would face elimination by my own allies." Her eyes close for a brief moment and she attempts to relax herself. "Sometimes I hate the part of me that is a demon, usually its whispers don't take hold of me so readily but this time it has. My first time being trapped here broke a major part of my teachings though I shouldn't be so surprised. I didn't have the best Master. The scars on my back are proof enough of that." Her blank eyes open once again. "But that doesn't matter, what matters to me is that because of this place, my beliefs on vampires and the undead are confused. I should hate them, but I don't. My confusion keeps leading me here."

DM: Strahd puts a hand to his chin, pondering. He slowly begins to circle the table. "So, here you stand. Weapons discarded but my servants humiliated and my play things escaped. Your teachings muddled and your curiosity... " Strahd picks up a rotten apple. "... Ravenous." Strahd lets the apple tip out of his hand, it hits the ground with a sour squish. "It is strange that Exethanther cannot quench your confusion, instead you have sought out me... your captor, your lord, your undoing. If I were a less patient man I would be satisfied with snapping your neck here and now, or even turning you, finally becoming a monster so much of the world thinks your kind was born to be. Perhaps that's what you desire..."

Ithil: Instead of revealing any form of fear or distaste, her lips curled upwards in a devilish grin. "Ah but just simply killing me now would be.... so boring." Absentmindedly, she approached the table again and began to flick something on one of the corpses. "I have sought Exethanther near three times now. The dark gods have their appeals but... even some my other half finds horrific. We recently have slain a broken man there whom had accepted every gift the gods put forth. His mind was lost, it's not something I desire. His own profession lies in necromancy, and while he amuses me, I understand him. It's the vampires I can't figure out. Escher seeming to have been completely bound to you and now out there with that other group, also being led by our lost companion." She smirks. "And to think my group hated her so for practically doing what I am now."

DM: "She was a fool, then and now. Kept safe solely by means beyond even me. Escher... " His lips curl in disgust. "A coward seeking only the lavish things he desired in life. He will rot in a prison of his own making, I will see to that." He waves his hand away, dismissing the thought, Strahd sets his eyes on Ithil gesturing at her with his outstretched hand. "Ironic that you, of all people think vampires difficult to understand while you stand defenseless before me. I struggle to understand your intentions Ithil, you argue against lunacy yet I can assure you that you will not leave my castle alive." He circles closer, lifting up the dead figure in the bowl for effect. He drops the head, its impact shattering the bowl. "Killing you outright would be terribly boring and a disgrace for how much strife you have caused me... perhaps I should have you brought before your allies and kill you there."

Ithil: She watches him, her eyes bored. "I have no intentions of fleeing either, for I know what happened last time, even though I am uncertain if Bucephalus has indeed returned to you." Her head tilts onto her shoulder, "I'd apologize for some of my previous discretions except I desired a bit of revenge. I did not have many blows against you in that final battle and I must say I carried quite a bit of anger for my last moments almost being a fish.... flying through the air." Ithil's expression becomes unamused for a moment before she shakes her head and brushes it away. "I'm willing to trade.... some information in return for some answers. Whatever you decide to do to me afterwards.... or before...." she sighs sadly, "I honestly do not care what happens to me. But I have to warn you... do not underestimate my allies." Her gaze is steady. "I spent all of last night in one of the north towers, undisturbed and left to be well-rested. Security could be... better here." Ithil holds back a small giggle. "Afterall I guess my presence here and my activities over the last day have shown some obvious weaknesses here. I don't want to be so bored."

DM: Strahd laughs. "Your life in return for an... interview? I must say I am surprised, but this has held my interest. As for the castle, most dare not venture here and those that do often have my invitation." He has finally circled around to Ithil, standing between her equipment and her. "I will tell you all you want to know Ithil and perhaps you might do a better job at defending my castle from intruders..." His eyes seem to spark, inviting you in. Give me a wisdom saving throw.

Ithil: 11

DM: The eyes fill you with peace and you feel yourself relax next to him. Strahd smirks and turns away and takes a seat at the head of the table. He steeples his fingers and looks at Ithil. "Ask me whatever you desire, Ithil."

Ithil: She blinks a couple of times, and feels inclined to walk towards him. One of her feet takes a step. "My questions may make no sense to you or any who hear them but they will satisfy my own curiosity and that is fine with me." Her bright eyes find his dark ones once again. "The soul of the one you chased. You loved her, truly, I can see that and my words mean no offense. I must ask, over the hundreds of years, did you ever try anything different from just making her one of the undead?"

DM: Strahd stares at you, his expression unreadable as he ponders the question. When he speaks it is with a grave seriousness. "I loved her truly. She could never accept me for what I am, not for the reasons that you might think. This land that is my prison and my kingdom... is against me. I attempted to court her when Berez was once prosperous... Patrina was her name then... dark hair that desperately wanted to curl but I could see the beauty within her." Strahd's gaze drifts upward, lost in the past. "The villagers feared me, so to did the Elves. I won her hand, true then, but it was not to be. The Dusk Elves, in their great wisdom, stoned her to death, to prevent me my prize I had strived so much for. They feared her a vampire." A flash of anger passes of Strahd's face "I tore their village from the earth, cursed every member, and left them to the snakes. For the Dusk Elves... they would never see a child again, as I'm sure your aware."

Ithil: Her expression remains blank except for her mouth momentarily popping open. "It's true of the curse... none of us were willing to listen before but the dark ones have been the actual source of this curse since the start. Feeding on misery and intervening to cause more of it." She almost laughed. "I see our fates were of being naïve. We deserved to be brought back here for our actions in haste." She shakes her head to stop herself from rambling on more about it, and puts a hand to her face. "Maybe things could have been different at one point, this much time having been passed if they didn't disturb the outcomes. When.... or did you actually become aware that the dark gods you made a pact with are continuing to feed off of your emotions?"

DM: Strahd gestures vaguely to the air. "I knew from the moment I became Vampyre, a stalker of the night. They are not without a sense of humor though, near the edges of Yester Hill, when the sun rises, my homeland can be seen in all its shimmering glory..." Strahd's voice becomes wistful, enjoying the sight of it in his mind. "But I know it cannot be... it lies so far away from Barovia yet its there. They must give me hope, or I am worthless to them. They are gleeful in their torment of me, I know that now."

Ithil: She cocks her head like a bird, curiosity spiking again. "Homeland? I believed Barovia to be that for you." A couple more thoughts came to mind. "And it seems they have given you a few more things to chase, with the hag and that soldier that I've heard have been causing problems."

DM: "No, I came to this land as a conqueror, dispelling my enemies as easily as I do now. Armies fell before my might and they fled to this place. After their slaughter I made it my home." Strahd cocks his head at mention of the hag and soldier. "I created them, dragged to Barovia through hubris and theft. Without strife, the Dark Powers would discard me." "A queen sent her armies to me, now they wallow in this land, slowly being whittled away, day by day, year by year."

Ithil: Ithil nods. "Her I met, angry woman, very rash. I didn't much care for her." She waved her hand, "Anyways she's not too important herself.... So the gods would discard you? How would that take place?"

DM: Strahd smiles. "I'm afraid that information is beyond even me. The gods are ever mysterious and cruel. For all I know they plot me another bride."

Ithil: She looks down at her hands. "I have no more to ask, I thought I was confused when in fact I was merely lacking very basic information in the first place." Her shoulders begin to shake, but when she looks up, she is just laughing with tears stinging at her eyes. "The world of people, of humans, I should have stayed well away from it. The jester gave me hope but he was just like the others, gone, whenever I needed him the most. 10 years of looking. I guess in perspective of time that's nothing. 10 years of trying to do good and I manage to continue to jump blindly into situations without weighing out all sides of them. Meant to hate you while we support Exethanther as he hunts down humans to use in his own projects. Killing a Beholder that was trying to run a government by controlling people but unleashing riots that may have killed more people than we tried to save. Last time I was here, I personally turned over the wizard that helped us during the battle to the lich..." Ithil's voice trails off. "I deserve this fate laid before me, this much I know and I accept it." Her face turns to him. "I think I know why I couldn't seem to leave this place." She wouldn't let her face betray it, but despite all that she said and all that her mind tried to scream at her, she felt bad for this monster in front of her, though perhaps it was merely a side-effect of the charm.

DM: The monster in front of her smiled, humored by Ithil's ramblings. He rises from his chair and begins to approach her, calm and confident. "You need not bother worrying about the past, the adventures you've had, the people who have suffered, it doesn't matter. This land is a land of trades, what you get you must sacrifice for. You have done so much for this world and its people. It's time to start doing things for yourself. " Strahd brushes the hair from Ithil's forhead, his hand trailing to her neck. "We are not monsters, simply those cursed to rise above the weak. I offer you that gift, to rise above, Ithil. Accept my lineage..."

Ithil: She felt her body burning, from embarrassment at the closeness of the vampire and anger at herself for all the thoughts that crossed her mind. Every ounce of sense left in her mind screamed at her to run, back away, just say no. But none of that was what bubbled to the surface. Ithil wanted an escape, even if it was mostly from herself. "Y....yes....." With those words she couldn't bear to look at him, she had fallen to exactly what he wanted.

DM: Strahd leans in close, his presence like ice. He can feel her heart beating faster as he pulls her closer into his embrace. The hold is gentle, for there is no escape now. He brushes the hair away from her neck, savoring the moment of victory. His fangs sink into Ithil's neck with ease and a faint tremble runs through her. Heat rises within Ithil as her blood is drained away, her senses fading. The room seems to spin, the rotting feast, the dead guests, the restrained vampire, all a blur. Darkness tinges her vision but before she faded she felt dripping on her lips, blood, from Strahd's wrist. He had stopped drinking and she had not even noticed. Her last image before her vision fades is Strahd's cold eyes and his smile, as blood runs down his mouth.

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #curse of strahd #strahd #strahd von zarovich #vampire #vampires #tiefling #demon #devil #barovia #ravenloft #transformation #turn #bite #turned

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oumakokichi · 8 years ago

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I hope it's not a bother but- Mind telling us why Byakuya Togami got so high in you DR ranking ? I like this character a lot, so I would be interested in what you think of him, as I love your metas and writing so much!

It’s absolutely not a bother! I don’t think I’ve ever had achance to write much about Togami before, so this should be fun.

I would honestly consider Togami one of the DR characterswho has grown the most over the course of the entire series. His arc ofcharacter development is consistent while remaining believable, and I honestlyfind myself enjoying all the new content that’s been provided on him—even hisscenes in dr3, while short, were enjoyable, and I’m incredibly interested inkeeping up with the DR: Togami novels and finding out more about the Togamifamily in general.

Honestly, it was a surprise when I first realized just howhighly I would rank Togami’s character. I hadn’t really thought of him as oneof my favorite characters before—certainly, I didn’t think he would be when Istarted dr1. He’s rude, blunt, absolutely merciless towards others’ feelings,and it didn’t seem like the narrative would be able to pull off him achievingany development or growth without it feeling stiff and unrealistic. However…really, he just grew on me at some point.

I like the fact that the narrative isn’t afraid to callTogami out on his bullshit. When he crosses the line in Chapter 4, he nearlypays the price for it. His complete dismissal of people’s feelings andattachments to others as completely untrustworthy and not even worth his timenearly gets him killed, and this fact honestly shakes him to the core.

Togami is someone who was raised to compete in death games. Not in the sense of a literalkilling game, but yes in the sense of being forced to compete from a young agewith his siblings for which one among them would become the prodigy and heir tothe entire Togami family. Losing out in those competitions meant essentiallythe same as death: Togami had to be prepared for the possibility of himself orany one of his siblings getting removed entirely from the family register andcut off as if they had never existed in the first place.

This kind of do-or-die, kill-or-be-killed mindset wasengrained in him almost from birth. It’s the most important reason why he viewseverything in the killing game as a zero-sum game, and why he refuses to trustor rely on absolutely anyone around him—again, until Chapter 4, when thismindset by which he has abided almost all his life is the very thing thatalmost gets him killed. Realizing just how close he came to dying and how badlyhe messed up all because he was unable to adapt and take emotions and affectioninto account, he’s forced to change his viewpoint and make some improvements tohis behavior, because otherwise he wouldget himself killed for real.

He’s not someone who’s accustomed to the idea that hisviewpoint—particularly a viewpoint that has essentially been keeping him alivein a highly competitive, cutthroat world of competition and betrayal andsuspicion amongst his siblings—could possibly be wrong, but dr1 Chapter 4 was ahuge wake-up call for him. He adjusts, he acknowledges his fault, he even apologizes (albeit, crudely, in thetypical Togami fashion). And he does, incredibly enough, improve. From Chapter5 and onward, it’s impossible to deny that Togami becomes a real team player,acknowledging how other people’s emotions and thoughts might influence them indifferent ways than himself while still remaining believably aloof,self-assured, and calculating.

One of the things I like best about Togami and even aboutdr1 in general as well is that Togami’s comments about suspecting and doubtingothers in the group are not entirely wrong.Like Ouma, Togami is someone who absolutely knows that blind optimism andnaivete will only get you killed in a life-or-death situation like a killinggame. He refuses to hold hands and believe in the power of friendship withoutfirst getting to know the people around him—and the problem is, he can’t bringhimself to actually get to know them until much later, around Chapter 5 or so,because of how much paranoia the killing game inspires.

Whereas Ouma’s viewpoint is never quite acknowledged by anyof the other characters as being correct or having a valid point (except, occasionally,by Kiibo, but usually the other characters just sort of go “haha, look at the poorrobot, he doesn’t understand social cues” and don’t pay him any attention),Togami’s viewpoint is validated by Kirigiri, of all characters.

Kirigiri understands better than any other character in dr1,arguably better than any character in the entire DR franchise, that you can’tafford to take blind optimism or complete and utter paranoia to either extreme.She has a line as early as Chapter 1 of dr1 about how trusting people tooblindly and implicitly is just as dangerous as doubting anyone and everything.Having one of the most level-headed, intelligent, and perceptive characters inthe cast acknowledge that Togami’s not simply saying everything for the sake ofbeing an antagonistic asshole lends his words a certain degree of credibilityto the other characters and to the players as well.

I’m honestly impressed with the way Togami has matured as aperson. Actions speak louder than words, and his actions ever since the laterchapters of dr1 have consistently shown time and time again that he really doesregard the rest of the survivors as friends. In dr3, the characters mostresponsible for helping to save everyone at the end are Juzo, Kirigiri—and Togami,without whom none of the characters would have discovered that the killing gamewasn’t actually being broadcast, and who acted quickly enough to send help to theFuture Foundation and to Jabberwock Island.

Togami is someone who simultaneously makes valid pointsabout the necessity of doubt, suspicion, and self-preservation in a killinggame, while also never getting a free pass from the narrative. Asahina,Kirigiri, and even Naegi are all more than willing to let him know when he’scrossed a line. When shown concrete proof of the fact that his viewpoint wasnot only mistaken but also dangerously intolerant of other people’s feelings,he genuinely does change for the better.

He’s developed from a relatively closed-off, arrogant, cynicalteenager into someone who, while still certainly more dubious than some of hisfellow survivors, is willing to pitch in and do what he can to make sure they all stay alive. While he’s not quite asbrilliant as Kirigiri, he’s still fairly smart in his own right, and hisresources and considerable abilities to dedicate himself to a task make him anasset to the dr1 survivor group.

What people tend to forget often about Togami is that whilehis family is certainly his backbone, he prides himself more than anything onhis own personal achievements. He is the reason his family should be a proudand upstanding name, not the other way around. From his own perspective, he earned his position as the Togami familyheir—went through hell for it, in fact. He’s capable and determined in his ownright, and that’s why even the discovery of the Togami family’s downfall isn’tenough to shake him. The Togami family fell, but that does nothing to sway hisdetermination to rebuild it and make it even better than its former glory. Inthat sense, he reminds me quite a lot of Kyouya Ootori from Ouran, who was verysimilar in wanting to actually outshine the legacy of his family.

Anyway, these are most of the reasons why I find myselfliking Togami. It’s true that other characters are perhaps more fun or moreinteresting—but he’s gone very high on my personal ranking just because of thesheer amount of development he’s had. I’m at the point where I enjoy seeing himin just about any DR spinoff at all nowadays, and I’m pleased that he stillfeels like himself while having changed and improved his behavior so much.

I hope I expressed myself well enough! I’m really glad thatyou enjoy Togami too, anon! Thank you for giving me a chance to write a littlebit about him!

#dangan ronpa #danganronpa #dr #byakuya togami #togami byakuya #my meta #okay to reblog #togami's gone from the asshole friend who makes everything worse #to the very tired asshole friend trying to keep everything together #honestly i love him a lot #anonymous

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mixedfeelingsproject · 7 years ago

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Anonymous

Where are you from? Seattle, WA

How would you describe your race/ethnicity? Biracial white/Japanese-American

Do you identify with one particular aspect of your ethnicity more than another? Have you ever felt pressure to choose between parts of your identity? When I was little I wanted to know more about my Japanese side. I think this is because my father, who is a third generation Japanese-American, didn't talk about his heritage a lot if at all, but my white mother pressed that that part of my family history is important. And even though I grew up in a rural white community, I was always told that my Japanese ethnicity was "cool" or "different"(in a good way), so I felt comfortable exploring it. But I also felt compelled to explore my white heritage too because my maternal grandfather constructed a family tree leading back to Norway, Germany, England, and Wales. In my teenage years I really embraced this and did Norwegian folk dance alongside taking Japanese Language lessons. But I always felt like I had to carefully balance the amount of attention I allotted each side of myself - not because of external pressure, but rather because I didn't want to make one side of myself feel more important than the other. I wanted them to be equal because I felt that was important. But as I've become more aware of issues like racism, cultural appropriation, and privilege, I've had times where I've waned in identity - on both sides. I remember being heartbroken and not wanting to continue studying Japanese because of how Japan conducted itself in China during WWII and race issues in the country today, I felt ashamed. But I've also been upset at the vicissitudes of white privilege and violence against POC (I was sheltered from that growing up). Whether I strongly identify as one or the other isn't fixed for me, it waxes and wanes depending on context and what I am feeling at the moment.

Did your parents encounter any difficulties from being in an interracial relationship? Lol, not that I know of? My dad is pretty Americanized in a heavily Asian area, so none of his behavior would come off as "different". I think that helped them blend in a little. But my mom told me that when she announced to her dad (my grandfather who happens to be pretty damn racist) that she was getting married, my grandpa asked what his last name was (this was over the phone): Mom: "It's Watanabe." Grandpa: "Whatta-what?! Janet K, what the hell are you getting yourself into!" At this point my mom was used to this kind of response from my grandfather as he was kind of a raging mess and didn't really deserve her attention anyways, so she just laughed.

How has your mixed background impacted your sense of identity and belonging? I grew up really damn white. And by that I mean really damn whitewashed. This is not only due to the location in a rural area outside of Seattle, but also that my dad is whitewashed, and my mom is white, and I'm white-passing (we were also very very Christian). But I always knew I was Japanese. I just never - NEVER - experienced racism because of it. Only until recently have I experienced any aggression towards me on the basis my race and most of it was online. I think something that helped preserve my Japanese identity in the face of all this whiteness I grew up around is the fact that my family hosted Japanese Exchange students, a total of seven from when I was a child and have no recollection to high school. I'm close friends with the two we hosted when I was a teenager. And they all marveled at the fact they were in America staying with ethnic Japanese, even though we were Nikkei (ethnic Japanese outside of Japan) and didn't speak Japanese (by the time the second Japanese student came along I had visited Japan and my Japanese was pretty good). And yet I knew I didn't really belong in Japan after I had gone there for the first time, since they called me Amerika-jin (an American), and not Nikkei-jin. But the Japanese people I do know are warm and welcoming towards me, and consider me a part of their culture, just not a part of their society (and that degree varies depending on the person and how well they know me). But I never felt this way in white circles - unless I brought up my last name. Then I was suddenly the Asian one, or at worst, the "exotic" girl. But this didn't really bother me much as a lot of that stuff flew over my head; I didn't realize how that could be damaging not just to myself, but to others and the community at large. Now I'm more sensitive to it because of that. In all honesty where I belong doesn't trouble me as much as others because I'm okay with just being myself. But lately I've realized that's part of my white-passing privilege, and furthermore I'm feeling alienated by my country because of the way it's moving.

Have you been asked questions like "What are you?" or "Where are you from?" by strangers? If so, how do you typically respond? Haha so many times! It never bothered me because they left it open-ended for me to answer. It was the rare that they were more rude about it, although I don't think people should keep asking us "what are you" as that's pretty demeaning and there are better and more nuanced ways to ask us about our background. The more far-flung guesses I more so laugh at because they are so off the map, and in all cases I just say I'm Japanese and White. However, now that I'm a full grown woman, I've been privy to the issue of Yellow Fever (which I have very much been a victim of), which when I'm talking with men makes me more keen on withholding my ethnicity as from experience I get the instant "ooooh you're an Asian woman" vibe. Bleh. At one time when I was living in the city I was debating on converting to Islam, and in my more serious phase I was wearing hijab more and more often. I got asked by one man who was from East Africa where I was from, and he was surprised (and a little embarrassed lol) when I told him I was from here. That's why I decided against wearing the headscarf at all unless I decided to take Shahadah and become a Muslim (that's another story for another place and time). Also, another story, a friend of mine who is French-Canadian and Alaskan Native often gets mistaken as my sister and vice-versa. We used to work together at a small store so we'd always laugh at this and joke that we were very very very very very very very very distant cousins from back during the age when the ancestors of the Native Americans crossed the Ice Bridge from Russia/Asia to Alaska. Lol.

Have you experienced people making comments about you based on your appearance? Nope, because most people assume I'm white through and through or if they have a suspicion, they typically keep it to themselves. UNLESS I'm wearing kimono; I hate Yellow Fever so much man... I also have a hair loss disorder and that's more noteworthy in gossip about me than anything else.

Have you ever been mistaken for another ethnicity? The most common guess is Chinese, Japanese being the second, Native American third. I've even had someone ask if I was Turkish (which makes me roflmao now because my current boyfriend is Turkish)! And no, that latter question was not while I was wearing hijab, and the lady (Fatima was her name) was super nice :)

Have you ever felt the need to change your behavior due to how you believe others will perceive you? In what way? In Japanese circles I change my behavior a lot, but I think this is due to how the study of the language has created a separate identity within me. This is really common for multilingual people, to have, say, a "Spanish" presentation of themselves alongside their "English" presentation, and even a "Turkish" presentation of themselves while speaking any of those respective languages. But I know I try harder to blend in when I speak Japanese. I don't pass as Japanese in Japan for the most part, but the minute I start speaking I do (I don't have an accent when I speak Japanese and hence I sound native lol). So that helps and I want that, but at the same time it's the potential of eliminating my white side and my American upbrining that makes me say "Hanbun Nikkei-jin" (half ethnic Japanese) instead of "Hanbun Nihon-jin" (half Japanese). If any experience I had in white/non-Japanese circles, I would have to say that I have to clarify that I am a Japanese-American, not strictly Japanese; the fact I have a Japanese last name makes this distinction difficult for the non-Japanese/Japanese-American. No, my mom isn't from Japan, she's white as hell and my dad is a third generation full blooded Japanese-American whose only voluntary tie to Japan is grilling mochi over the stove. This in turn makes the other (including my boyfriend's mom lolol) believe I'm somehow "less Japanese", not because I'm half, but because I'm not a direct import from Japan (see what I did there? No? Haha okay). To me that's not okay, so then I start speaking Japanese and they're like "oh you're really Japanese!" Which, okay, thanks, but I had to learn this - which leaves me back at square one. Honestly this is where I get pissed off, but it's an incredibly complex issue that most people - even the "woke" ones - aren't familiar or even open to discussing. So then I frame it as "I want to reconnect with my relatives in Japan someday," which makes the other party respect me more because of the noble aspect of it (and I do want to reconnect, that's one of the major reasons I have undertaken the language). But funny how I have to be a hero in order to be taken seriously and not be seen as a weeb.

What positive benefits have you experienced by being mixed? I love being mixed! I wouldn't have it any other way. I've always loved being different somehow, mainly different in mind and spirit, but I do enjoy the complex - albeit sometimes frustrating - experience I have because I'm mixed. I love my Japanese side and my white side, even though my Japanese side is more fraught with scars from the Internment and subsequent poverty/second-class citizen mindset from my father, I still prize it as a unique history apart from Japan and apart from white America. But I also know that that part of my family extends back into Japan in some fashion and that the history there is long even if it's undocumented - it's in our genes. Likewise with my white side. In a way being mixed has given me not one, but two paths of history to explore, connect, and learn from. It has made me more open minded and paved the way to understand that people don't have to be one or the other, they can be both. I love diversity. If I'm in a mono-racial/cultural/religious place, I get hella bored and even depressed. Diversity makes me alive. The fact that I'm racially and cultural diverse in my very existence makes me feel alive.

Have you changed the way you identify yourself over the years? I've realized that I don't need to "appease" any side of me internally. That also goes for externally. I've come to identify myself more as a human with a more interesting experience than some; the more you get to know me the more I'm apt to tell you my story as a biracial disaporic. So in a way I'm more conservative about how I identify myself to strangers, especially men. But I'm still proud of my Japanese heritage, specifically my Japanese-American heritage. And I'm still proud of my white heritage, the Norwegian (gimmie that krumkake), German (omg my grandma's apfelkuchen will forever be my downfall), English (I still see them as shitty colonialists sorry lol I leik tea and Jane Austen at least), and Welsh (the dragon is pretty damn cool not gonna lie) side no matter how much I knock white people, I'm proud to be part of that heritage. I think learning more about the bad parts of history on either side of my background (Like the xenophobic Japanese attitude and then the English colonial rape and pillage of Africa) has given me a more clearer picture too on how I identify with these parts of myself. Do I cherry pick? Absolutely. But I still acknowledge the wrongs of each side in history. We're all human. Let's identify as that first.

Are you proud to be mixed? Hell yes!

Do you have any other stories you would like to share from your own experiences? I want to share two stories: one about how my Japanese side holds me accountable, and then the Yellow Fever one. I'm gonna start with the latter as I want to end on a high note, but also because I think it's important for people to realize the impact of Yellow Fever has on Asian and Asian-American women, including those of us who are not fully Asian.

At my first job in a huge corporate company away from home, I felt kind of lost in a lot of ways. A company veteran who I will call James was always willing to help me, and in the beginning it was great. By the way, James was 12 years older than me, married (to an Asian woman), and was expecting a kid when this all started to go down. I told him I liked video games, to which he invited me over to meet his wife and play games. this was fun and dandy, we complained about work when we needed to and whatnot. He was overall a good friend, except when he started to send me texts with "you're my little angel" and some really suggestive picture of a nude angel. He also would talk about how hot Kpop and other Asian stars were, having photos on his computer and phone. He was also very crude and constantly talking about how what a cute little Asian girl I was. I got a lot of attention at that job - it was a male-dominated company as it was - but James was by far the most vulgar. He would even whisper "jokes" about fucking me and how he was sick with Yellow Fever shit into my ear. Being young and inexperienced, I was scared and felt that if I told someone, I'd be going behind this back. I now know that I should've done that from the get go. It all came to a head when I began dating a man I'll call Leo. Leo was the same age as James and I met him outside of work. When James learned about Leo - and the age thing - that's when the sexual advances became more lewd. By then James's child was born, a boy, and he would send me pics of his genitals saying "look it's just as big as mine". James eventually confessed he had feelings for me, despite everything he had in his life. "You like games and you're a cute little Asian girl!" He kept wanting to know about Leo and I's sex lives. One day I was called to the Manager's office: corporate was on the phone, asking me about James and his behavior. Soon after, I was whisked into the office next door to write some paperwork up, and there is a opaque sliding window in the wall that connects the two offices. I got to listen to James respond to corporate's questions. He denied all. The manager took pics of his texts on my phone as proof. Good thing I left soon after - I learned later he was fired. After more than a decade with the company, James was gone. Apparently I was not the only one; I didn't even file the complaint. But how James talked about me in the Asian fetish context not only made me feel scared but also that I couldn't trust men to not be attracted to the "Asian" part of me. TL;DR - Douche of a man helps me at my first job, but then makes sick, sexual jokes about Yellow Fever and how hot I am because I'm Asian, I was too afraid to speak up, but then someone else files a complaint and I give enough evidence that gets him fired after I leave the company. Yellow Fever has real consequences and they're all bad.

The second story will be shorter, it's basically how since I was young, I was obsessed with "gypsy" culture. I now know better to call it Romani culture. Before I realized the implications of how Romani nomad culture has been appropriated in the West, I eagerly latched onto the Boho embroidery on dresses, bangles, and crystal balls in an effort to be a "gypsy". I didn't realize the oppression these people faced and that the word gypsy is a slur, even though I still greatly respect their culture. Once I learned that the Romani were lumped into the Concentration Camps of Germany during WWII, and that the discrimination against them was bloody, horrific, and compounded by recent cultural appropriation, I realized what I was doing - and that I remotely knew how it felt. My grandmother was incarcerated in Minidoka in an Internment Camp during WWII, and the modern day cultural invasion of Japanese pop culture in spaces like Hanami made me realize how harmful my wanton taking of Romani culture was. In short, the struggles felt from my Japanese side help keep me accountable to other groups. I no longer say gypsy, or dress like their revered witches, or claim to be Romani simply by the way that I dressed - and to all Romani people, I apologize for appropriating your culture. I know better now, and I respect your history even more. Next time I want to partake in your culture, I will ask first, and respect you if you say "no". Because I know what it feels like when a group says "no" and the other party doesn't respect it. TL;DR - Young girl appropriating Romani culture realizes her wrongful actions because of how the oppression of the people mirrored her own Japanese-American family struggle, girl apologizes and now is more sensitive and respectful of the culture that she still is keen to learn about. Being mixed is awesome, I wouldn't have it any other way.

#mixed #japanese #european #identity

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