#somebody’s gotta eventually

[undead-cypress]

“The case has been keeping you apart, you guys just need to bone”

[soup-child]

Even if Trudy isn't a robot Timmy definately is like her husband's an inventor who works (probably unsupervised) in their basement thats why timmy's 0.5 and that's why they're homeschooled legally he does not exist

[yakool-foolio]

Pin arrived ^_^

(Along with another one but I’m savin’ that one for a special day in about *looks at calendar* a month n a half.)

[lonelyplanetfag]

fun fact i got on a call tn cuz i thought itd make me feel better cuz ive been rly fucking miserable lately n usually that helps but in all honesty it made everything one million times worse n im so sad abt it

[edupunkn00b]

Overruled, Chapter 3: Prosecution Rests

Day 3 @loceitweek Law School - WC: 1709 - Rated: T - swearing, discussion of nausea, suggestive

Prev - Prosecution Rests - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Despite the sedating effects of whatever that creep had dosed him with, Janus had slept fitfully through the night. It hadn’t been much of a surprise when, after he finished half a cup of vegetable broth, some tea and a few crackers, his head had wobbled against the soft backrest, eyelids drooping.

What had surprised Logan was how readily Janus agreed to rest a while longer before making the trek back to his own apartment.

Perhaps that’s what had made the new chill in his waking demeanor sting so.

“I am already sufficiently in your debt, Logan,” he'd said stiffly as he prepared to leave, frowning at the wrinkles in his slacks and smoothing down his soft golden hair. “There’s no need for an escort at four in the afternoon.”

Logan nodded, pushing a smile onto his face, grasping for a bit of humor. “Of course, I did not intend to imply you might get lost in the woods on your way home.” He gestured to the bright autumn sunlight pouring through the kitchen window and smiled. The warm glow softened the edges of his disappointment. At least a little. “It’s simply a lovely afternoon for a walk with a companion.”

Face pinched, Janus looked down as he tightened his laces. “Perhaps...” He straightened, gaze bouncing between the sunny living room, Logan’s tie, and the door. “Perhaps another time.”

“Another time, then,” Logan agreed. He shouldn’t push. The events of the evening–and Janus’ recovery the next day-had forced a peculiar intimacy between them. He watched Janus tug at his sleeves, a wordless plea for grace and dignity. 

Logan nodded. “As a favor to me…” His smile quirked, “Would you be willing to text me when you get in?”

“I will. But only as a personal favor to you, of course.” A hint of a smile splash across his face, made even brighter with a burst of sunlight as he inclined his head. “See you in class, Necktie.”

~~~

“And then he just left?”

As promised, Logan called Greg later that evening with an update. “Not even a goodbye kiss?”

“Oh, stop,” Elvin laughed in the background. Logan had felt atypically lost and he’d jumped at the chance for another opinion. “Don’t listen to him, Logan. That was not the time to make your move.”

“Thank you, Elvin,” he’d laughed back. “At least someone’s got some sense on this call.”

“Bullies!” Greg cried. “Bullies, the both of you!” He finally cracked, a full belly laugh exploding out of him. The soft smack of a kiss told Logan he’d quickly made up with one of his ‘bullies.’ “I bet that didn’t stop you from thinking about it, though,” he added in that smug but empathetic way Greg had perfected.

“Perhaps,” Logan conceded with a smile. “It would be dishonest of me to deny there had been parts of caring for him that were… quite pleasant.” Janus’ soft smile when he’d placed the cloth over his forehead, the gentle rise and fall of his chest each time Logan eased him back to sleep with a song… “He’s… he’s remarkable.”

“Oh…” Elvin whistled. “You’ve got it bad,” he murmured. “You stayed up half the night with this guy, then held him while he puked his guts up and you still call him ‘remarkable?’”

“Puking up your guts on a first date is something to remark on,” Greg deadpanned, pulling a little chuckle from him.

“That’s a bit exaggerative,” he murmured, and, for the third time, opened the message Janus had sent him for the third time that evening.

Personal favor, 👔. 🏠

Logan imagined his little smirk as he hit send. And then his likely collapse into bed.

“It wasn’t even a proper date.” He locked his phone and set it facedown on the counter.

“You’re right,” Greg said. “So when are you asking him out?”

~~~

”So,” Jack began, “How was he?” He winked lasciviously as though Janus needed the extra context.

“Allow me to sit before your interrogation into my sex life,” he muttered, shaking his head with a fond eye roll. “And a little louder, please,” he sighed, prying off the lid to his coffee and dumping in several fingers of milk. “I don’t think the table in the back heard you.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jack whispered. “I said,” he smirked, then raised his voice. “How good of a lay was Lo—“

Janus flung himself across the table and covered his mouth. “I swear to god, Jack, I don’t know why I put up with you!”

His friend shrugged, grinning broadly behind Janus’ hand.

“What even makes you think we hooked up?” he hissed, easing his hand away from Jack’s mouth, one eyebrow raised in warning.

Surrendering, Jack held both hands in the air. He waved a white napkin for good measure. "I stopped by your place Saturday afternoon after I hit Blick's for more tequila." He lowered his hands, palms up, as though Janus had just made his case for him. "Stood out there for a solid fifteen minutes," he grinned, taking a slow, suggestive sip of his ice coffee.

"Did it occur to you I might have been busy?"

"Yes," he laughed. "You were either getting busy at his place or getting busy at your place."

"And I repeat, Jack," he shook his head and replaced the cap on his coffee. "You are completely incorrigible."

"It doesn't make me wrong." Jack shrugged and shook his drink, settling more of the noxious caramel syrup he added by the liter each morning. "So… how was he? Is he as take charge in the bedroom as he was at the party? Or did he turn into a soft little puppy dog once you got that necktie unknotted?"

Hiding his flush behind his cup, Janus blew away the steam seeping through the sipping lid, then took a slow sip. Setting down the cup, he finally looked up at Jack, relishing the impatience in his smile. "He was a perfect gentleman," he demured. "I slept on his couch and he made me soup in the morning for my upset stomach."

"That's it?"

"When exactly did you expect us to get to fucking, Jack?" Janus rolled his eyes, less fondly this time. "When I was unconscious or after I purged?"

"Prosecution rests," Jack bowed his head. Blessedly, he dropped the topic and let Janus finish his coffee in peace. He drank quickly, before the coffee cooled enough to taste the brew. The almost burnt aroma was a sorry imitation of the rich scent embedded in Logan’s apron. When he’d finished, he stared at the cup, idly wondering where he bought his beans.

It turned out Jack was just waiting him out. He tapped Janus’ empty cup with his own until he looked up. "The real question is…" He held Janus' gaze, his teasing smile grown serious. "Did you want something to happen?"

~~~

"Good morning, Janus." He shivered at the sudden low tone next to him.

He looked up from his textbook and nodded with a weak smile. "Morning, Necktie," he said before eyeing the seat next to him. He was currently sitting where Logan had the first week of class.

"Early bird gets the chair?" he chuckled and Janus shivered again, sending an accusing glare at the thermostat. 

"Capital Offenses isn't offered until next term," he said, the twitch in his lip the only crack in his stern expression.

Logan laughed again and settled next to him. "Thank you for the text, by the way." He gave Janus a sidelong glance, bright blue eyes peeking past a little tuft of espresso dark hair. "How are you feeling this morning?" He turned, elbow resting on their shared armrest, and smiled. His hand hovered inches from Janus', near enough to feel the warmth pouring off of it. "You've got your color back," he added, eyes dancing over his features.

Janus silently cursed the blush blooming over his cheeks. "I'm feeling wonderful," he said, struggling to tear his eyes from Logan’s. "One hundred percent back to normal."

Warm relief filled Logan's voice and his hand inched closer. "I'm glad to hear it," his lips stretched into a crooked grin. "I hope that asshole hasn't soured you on the idea of going out again." He cocked an eyebrow, gaze dancing between his eyes and lips. Janus leaned closer before he could stop himself.

Logan's smile grew. "Are you free this Friday night? I've heard excellent things about the Shakespeare revue on Fifth "

"Logan, I…" Janus stared at Logan’s hands, his pale, strong fingers and carefully manicured nails. Warm. They'd been so gentle in their care, so sure. Janus had struggled with his tea that strange, sunny morning, but Logan had simply steadied the cup in their shared grip until his hands had stopped shaking. 

They were nothing like Gabe's hands had been. Gabe’s hands had been lithe but rough, the hours spent in his family's workshop marking time with little nicks and scars and calluses in his skin. He’d been able to fix anything, and even at rest, his fingers had twitched and twirled, seeking out something to mend or sand, dancing through the air. And over Janus’ body.

If they were nothing alike, why did Logan's remind him so?

Why was he even thinking of Gabe, anyway? It had been years. Gabe was gone and whatever drug induced dream he'd had that night needed to go the way of all dreams and leave him be.

"I like to cultivate an air of mystery, but you seem like a really decent guy, so I'll let you in on the secret of me." Logan leaned closer, eyes fixed on his.

"I don't do 'love,'" he said as kindly as he could manage. "Love is for people who don't know any better."

His voice wavered at the end and Logan stared back, brow furrowed and his head tilted, a falcon surveying confusing prey. Or a prosecutor looking for a chink in his defense.

"We can be study partners, we can be friends. We can even have a go in the sack.” He gave a little shrug. “I’d be more than game for that, but… I'm nobody's lover. And I'm nobody's boyfriend."

His throat threatened to close up but he pushed on, choked voice thinning to a whisper. "If that's what you're seeking," He picked up his pen when the instructor entered the room "Look elsewhere."

[onearmedlegend]

'Cause nobody wants to go it on their own

And everyone wants to know they're not alone

There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere

There's gotta be somebody for me out there

~GOTTA BE SOMEBODY BY NICKELBACK~

Billy was beyond sick and tired of trying to find someone. He had a person back in California, but knowing that it would come tearing down eventually already put a damper in the relationship. It was just a matter of seeing who’d break down first and cut the other loose.

Turns out Neil was the catalyst.

Trey was always a hopeless romantic; he loved giving roses and kisses on the knuckles at first greetings. It was nice to be loved after a long day of being pushed around by his father.

He also loved to write Billy letters. Pages and pages worth of declaring his undying love. Some of them were poems Billy swore could have been made into love songs.

And Billy kept those letters. They were sweet. He’d turn on the light after everyone was asleep and reread them.

One night, he was so tired that he fell asleep reading them. So, he didn’t hide them in time for Neil to come bursting into his room with sweat already falling down his face.

Panic and cold set in before Billy realized Neil was staring at five love letters, from a boy, sprawled along his bed covers.

With a huff, Neil turned around, opened Billy’s door, and stated, “Pack up.”

A week later, they were out of the house and trekking towards Hawkins, Indiana.

It was utter bullshit, and everyone else knew it. Max didn’t say goodbye to her father, Susan didn’t get to have a last meal with her girlfriends, and Billy couldn’t apologize to Trey and give him a goodbye kiss.

He wasn’t ever going to find someone like that again.

Neil pulled Billy aside before the first day of school, grip tight on his shoulder.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

Billy gulped. “Yes, sir.”

He patted him on that same pained shoulder and grinned maliciously. “Good, now go take Maxine to school.”

He tried. He tried, okay? Girls would bat their eyes at him and slap his arm playfully. They’d chew their gum and wink, hoping he’d follow them around. Or they would think he smiled too lovingly at them, and they’d prance behind him.

That stupid Steve Harrington came into Algebra 10 minutes late.

Billy shouldn’t have looked up, because then he wouldn’t have seen that shine in Harrington’s eye or that charm in his smile.

Harrington took his seat in the front. Then he proceeded to spend the entire class time cracking one-liners at the teacher. And this got the rest of the class to giggle at his will.

Billy mentally punched himself.

Max went missing. Neil told him to go find her; she was with Harrington. And three other boys her age. Nope.

He took his fight out on Harrington. If Billy was to feel pain, then he’d give it to the guy that reminded him of what he abandoned back in Cali.

Months went by, and the two didn’t talk. Billy knew when he walked by Steve Harrington in the hallways based on his shiny rich shoes.

They glared and nodded at The Palace parking lot. Turning up his music was the only way to forget Harrington was two spots down.

Billy would drop Max off at the movies instead of going in with her, especially because Harrington was to be their residential babysitter for the night.

Except one night, Neil is out late with Susan. Some dinner with his coworkers.

Billy didn’t hear much.

But Max was out at a movie with those nerds she spends all of her breathing time on. Billy decided to take a nap. He forgot to set an alarm, so when the doorbell rang and woke him up, he ran downstairs and ripped the door open in record time.

Max hit his shoulder as she walked inside. Harrington was with her. Billy choked on his spit when their eyes met.

Steve cleared his throat and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Movie was over, and I drove her back.”

“I see that.” Billy could tell he wanted to say something, and he admitted it—so did he. But where do you start with an apology for almost beating someone to death.

“Well, see you.”

“Whatever.”

Billy slammed the door in Harrington’s face.

That was how things usually ran. Next semester started, and they barely saw each other once basketball ended. Billy didn’t mind.

At first.

Billy missed having stare-downs. He missed giving Harrington a nudge when they saw each other around town with the kids. He missed shoving the guy around. He missed the actual half-conversations they’d managed to have.

What the hell is this.

Then Harrington graduated. Then Billy felt like his senior year was going to be boring as fuck.

Billy saw him at Scoops Ahoy, from afar. He never wanted to get too close. He wanted to apologize officially for his actions.

He couldn’t figure out what to say, though. So, he pulled a paper out from the back of his notebook and started writing.

Harrington,

I’m sorry I beat your face in. I was stupid and it was stupid and this is stupid.

Billy groaned and crumpled up the paper. He rubbed his face repeatedly, creating a rough red burn.

What do you say.

Then the summer happened. He was possessed by some creature and killed people. He even tried to kill the thing himself by standing up to it once and for all. Then it would kill him. Then he’d get redemption for himself.

He felt good about seeing that Max lived. Those other stupid kids. And Harrington. Thank God.

Yeah, he felt good about dying then. But he felt sad. He wanted to hang out with his sister and make up for the shit he pulled these last two years. Hell, the whole time they’ve known each other.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Then he died.

Then he woke up.

A monitor was beeping at his side. His vision was blurry, but as he blinked it cleared up. The lights were blinding, Jesus.

What the hell. Where the hell. When the hell.

A nurse walked into the room with a plastered fake smile. But she asked how he was feeling.

Billy thought he said, “Who the fuck are you?”

What he actually said was.

Nothing.

People started coming in. Doctors, nurses, scientists? Everyone wanted to know what he remembered; what he saw, heard, smelt?

They wanted swabs of his spit for testing. He had to piss in a cup for testing, what the hell. After they were done picking and prodding him, an older man walked in.

He had a gravelly voice, good sense of humor, and something of a caring nature.

“Doctor Owens. How are we doing, kid?”

Billy glared.

“Ah, fantastic. Well, William, we’re going to keep you in here for a couple weeks. We good with that?”

Billy glared harder.

Doctor Owens chuckled and left the room.

Max came in a couple days after. Guess word got around. She ran in and hugged him tightly, apologizing for God knows what.

She pulled away, waiting for him to say something. Billy just smiled and waved her off.

“You can’t talk?”

Billy shrugged.

They spent a good, long time being in each other’s presence. A nurse brought in a notebook for him to communicate with everyone. So, Max would ask him how he was. Billy would draw a shit with flies. She would ask him when he gets out, and Billy would draw NEVER.

Max wasn’t pleased. She went home, but she promised she’d be in the next week or so.

The Chief came in. Asked how he was doing. Billy wrote, NOT GOOD. TIRED. The Chief nodded and took off his hat.

“Understandable. Did they tell you what happened?”

Billy shook his head.

The Chief sighed, took a seat, and explained what Billy wanted to be a nightmare.

The Robin girl came in. She had a box in her arms, so she dropped it on the ground. She folded her arms and bit her lip.

“How’s the bod?”

Billy snarled and wrote, FUCK OFF.

“So, it’s awful. Got it. Anyway. Brought you some books.”

She pulled out the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and Billy’s eyes widened. She laughed and placed them beside the bed on the drawer.

“Want me to read them to you?”

Billy ripped a piece of paper, crumpled it, and threw it at her.

She cackled as she waved goodbye.

Mrs. Byers came in. She brought in food. She winked and patted Billy’s hand.

“I was told by a little sibling that you liked lemon bars.”

Billy never loved his sister more. The thought freaked him out, but he was too busy stuffing his face with those dessert pieces.

Mrs. Byers clicked her teeth. “How are you, sweetie?”

Billy sighed, not wanting to answer the question anymore. But he grabbed his notebook and wrote, FINE.

Mrs. Byers definitely knew he wasn’t fine. But she didn’t push it. She just grabbed a lemon bar and held his forearm.

It was comforting.

El came in. She sat beside him, glaring. He glared back.

“You’re not good.”

Billy tried to laugh, but it was wheezy.

He knew he wasn’t a good person.

Not with how he left Trey without another word and came here to the middle of nowhere. He didn’t even send him a letter back.

Not of how much torture he put Max through all these years, especially these last two.

Not of Sinclair when he thought he was bad for Max and caused mayhem. Kid didn’t do anything wrong, Billy knows that.

He didn’t need to be reminded of beating Harrington, almost killing him last year. He wasn’t doing anything, and Billy thought he ruined everything.

Not of all the people of Hawkins when he was possessed and couldn’t fight it. All the confusion when he led them to that drasted place. Their screams when they were tied up.

He didn’t need to be told by a little girl that he almost fed to a large creature. A creature that would have literally eaten her alive.

He wrote, I KNOW. I’M A BAD PERSON.

El looked at his note and shook her head. “No, your body. It’s hurt. You’re tired. Have you rested?”

Billy laughed wheezier, and his coughs could be heard down the hallway.

Max came in that Friday.

Was it Friday. Jesus. What day was it anyway.

She brought in a deck of cards. For Solitaire, Black Ball, Go Fish. Just to keep him occupied in the middle of all the passing doctors to wear him out.

“Have you seen anybody else besides me?”

He nodded and wrote, POLICE CHIEF. ROBIN CHICK. MRS. BYERS. EL GIRL.

Max nodded. “Steve?”

Billy furrowed his brows and shook his head quickly.

“He hasn’t? He’s been wanting to check up on you.”

WHY.

Max shrugged. “He wants to thank you. And between you and me, I think he needs a guy to talk to.”

Harrington came on Saturday.

He looked like a literal kicked puppy; big brown eyes with a swollen purple bruise on the left. Fuck.

He took a chair and scooted it towards Billy. He sat down, stared at the wires hooked up to Billy, and opened his mouth.

Billy glared.

“Okay, I won’t ask you how you’re doing then.”

Billy let out a long, exasperated sigh. He took his notebook.

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYE.

“Oh, this.” Harrington laughed. “Russians.”

REALLY.

“Really. They got mean right hooks. That, and good poison to puke off of.” He laughed harder. “It was one hell of a high, though.”

Billy nodded and looked at his own hands. He didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t want to look at Harrington and want him.

Because why would he want Billy?

Harrington bit his lip and tapped his feet on the ground. “Hey, man. I wanted to thank you for saving us.”

Billy looked at the window, away from Harrington. Harrington’s hand squeezed Billy’s arm. Billy ripped his hand off, shook his head, and tried to face away from the guy he knew he’d love if he knew him more.

“Okay, I get it. You don’t think you deserve this.”

Billy felt tears slip from his eyes.

“But I say that you do. The kids say. Your sister. El. Hell, if the whole world knew, they would say, too.”

Billy wrote in his notebook. I WANTED TO DIE. I WAS READY.

Steve sighed. “I know. But—”

Billy glared over his shoulder. Harrington saw how red his eyes were.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

NO.

“Okay, good. Because I don’t want to go home.”

WHY.

“It’s too quiet there.”

They turned on the TV and watched it until the sun set. The nurse had come by for the night round and saw Harrington passed out in the chair. She almost tapped him on the shoulder, but stopped once she saw how Billy looked at him.

He didn’t want Harrington to go. He looked at the nurse and shook his head. She nodded and grabbed a blanket from the wardrobe they had set up by the door.

She made sure his medicine was replaced and running, tucked in his feet and poofed his pillows, and bid him goodnight. He waved at her with a gracious smile.

Steve finally looked peaceful when he slept. He looked like Sleeping Beauty, and that made Billy chortle.

He took out his notebook after a long time of staring. He started writing an apology.

Harrington,

I’m sorry for everything I ever put you through. I was an awful person. Hell, I probably still am.

My point is, I took so much of my anger out on you, and that wasn’t fair. I was so angry at how careless you were. Are.

But you care so much about everyone around you. The kids love you. Their parents love you. I think even that Byers dude with your ex loves you, too. That Buckley girl definitely loves you; you’re probably her best friend. I know her in school, she doesn’t have many friends to talk to.

Anyway, I appreciate all of what you’ve done with Max. You’re her second older brother. You’re doing what it’s hard for me to do. I’ll get there, I promise. Once I get out of that house.

Trey was my first love. He was amazing, funny, and charming. I loved him, I think. But I left him behind and I regret it.

Billy sighed. The pencil danced above the paper for a second. Then, he wrote the most heartfelt, honest words he’s said in years.

I’m not a good person. I know that. I want to be better, and I’m going to try. For the kids, for Max, and for you. Especially for you.

Because I want to love you. I want to take you out and dance with you. I want to kiss you on your doorstep and hope that you’ll kiss me back.

I understand that it will take time, and I want you to know that I want to wait. I can wait.

And I promise that I will love you.

Billy’s hands shook as he finished the letter. He looked at it once over before folding it and placing it on top of the Lord of the Rings.

He’ll give it to him tomorrow.

[cosmicdenro]

hope u guys don't mind me being a little queer sometimes and talking to myself in the tags, it helps clear my head since people can filter out rant posts easily

[biohazard-inevitable]

New Recruit

Chronologically, this is part 16 Of The Dragon and The Fox Overwatch self insert fanfiction, though this is technically the beginning of season 2 so I will be calling it S2P1 and so forth, but…

Hello~ we’re BACK BABYYYYYYYY!!!!~~~~~ new adventures and new chaos waiting to unfold!!!!! And this is all of course @emile-hides ‘s fault, so you can thank him for the junkenstein revival of this series!!!

Oh also, link to part 1 here

“All-righty cyborgs and gentleman! This is your captain speaking!” Came the chipper, high voice from the cockpit of the shuttle that the two Shimada’s sat in, soft smiles plastered upon their faces as they indulged the whims of their pilot. “We are about to land at the Gibraltar base, the temperature is a lovely 21°C with delightful sunny weather!”

“You ready, Ibotei?” The elder asked, giving his brother’s hand a gentle, affirming squeeze.

“As I’ll ever be meeting government officals…” Zayne laughed nervously, leaning on his brother’s shoulder with a soft sigh as he looked up towards where Lena was staring back at them from the cockpit, having flicked on the autopilot landing.

“You’ll do great!” She affirmed. “I just know it! Captain Morrison really isnt that scary!”

“No kidding! That privledge went to commander Reyes.” Genji snarked. “Morrison is a big softie compared to him. Though I wonder, what exactly did you do to get a criminal record?”

“Oh you’ll both find out once we get inside! Morrison has the list!” Lena chirped innocently as the shuttle finished it’s landing sequence. “There are so many bright new faces for you to meet!”

With a quick flurry of taps along a keypad, the rear ramp of the shuttle hissed open to reveal a man in a deep navy colored uniform with short, well groomed hair as blonde as sunlight and calm, prideful eyes like the rolling waves the deepest ocean.

“Genji!” He greeted with a cheerful smile. “It’s been far too long! Glad to have you back with us, and you’re looking better than ever!”

“It’s good to see you too Jack.” Genji chuckled electronically as he approached the blonde man casually to geet his firm handshake. “It has certainly been a long time since we last met, and hopefully under better circumstances this time.”

“Well you seem perfectly healthy, so not quite a trip to Angela again, and more talkative this time!” The man- Jack- jabbed with a playful elbow nudge to the cyborg’s side before glancing over at the small man still hiding in the shadows of the shuttle’s cargo dock. “And that must be the brother you told us about? The one you’re vouching for?”

“Yes, though I wasn’t aware he had a record.” Genji chuckled softly, nodding his head in a gesture for his brother to join him. “I’m awefully curious of what such a record contains, though I have my suspicions on some things. Nonetheless, he is a good man, I know it. Besides, you were willing to take Cassidy on.”

Slowly, from the shadows Zayne walked, his gaze neevously angled at his feet as he joined his brother’s side, not sure what to make of the man before them.

“Well, Reyes technically took him on, but yes, I’m sure its no problem.” Jack chuckled before extending his hand to the youngest Shimada. “Hello, I’m commander Jack Morrison. Leader of the Overwatch.”

“I’m Zayne Shimada…” He mumbled, cautiously taking the hand offered which was returned with a firm shake. “You aren’t going to arrest me, are you?”

“Honestly? We should, if only for your mild acts of terrorism, but your brother is willing to vouch for you, and I’m willing to look past it so long as you are willing to make some agreements while we have you complete some paperwork but, we’ve had worse cases then yours as members.” Jack responded with a slight chuckle. “But its nice to finally put a face to the name! You’ll fit in just fine here, I’m sure of it.”

“If you say so.” Zayne chuckled awkwardly ad he was released from the handshake and Commander Morrison began to walk off towards the main building with a wave enticing the brothers to follow.

“So when were you gonna tell me you’re technically classified as a terrorist?” Genji jabbed as he skipped along after his brother with a shoulder bump.

“Mmmh, was hoping to wait about as long as you did in telling me you were still alive.” Zayne replied with a sly shrug and a smirk. “Possibly never.”

“Touchè.” Genji replied with an electronic hum. “How did it even happen anyways?”

“Lets just say back when I was working with Hanzo, we got into some… interesting situations and may have made friends with some Australians.”

“Australians???”

“I’m sure they’ll debreif you on my list of crimes once we actually get in there, and those who I committed crimes with.” Zayne sighed as he caught up to the Commander. “Though do know, the buildings I destroyed were corporations who had it coming.”

“The fucking WHAT-“

“Quite the brother you’ve got there Genji!” Lena snickered as she blinked over to catch up with the boys. “This year’s going to be a lively one for sure!”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was weird, walking through the halls of a military outpost freely, not having to sneak around camera blindspots, and strangest of all be escorted around like a guest by the head honcho! Zayne wasn’t sure if he liked it, though it was nice not to have to avoid guards like the plague for once.

Eventually, the group arrived at a small interrogation style office room, which wouldn’t be that strange if it werent for the enormous silverback gorilla sat at the other side of the desk, a pair of glasses sat newtly on his face and a bannana casually in hand. It felt like something almost out of a fever dream, and what happened next baffled the ninja even further.

“Genji!” The gorilla greeted with a toothy smile. “Good to see you again!”

“Ah Winston!” Genji responded cheerily without batting an eye. “Overwatch’s favorite monkey, how have you been?”

“Well- actually, and I hate to interrupt,” Zayne piped up, giving his brother a soft nudge. “Hes not a monkey, hes a Great ape. Very different groupings.”

“Okay nerd.” Genji sassed with a gentle smack to the back of his brother’s head.

“Oh I like this one.” The ape responded with a deep chuckle as he turned his attention over to Zayne before extending a hand to the young Shimada. “I’m Winston, a scientist here at the facility. I’m mostly here to hand you your paperwork and help walk you through it, though I admit I was also curious to meet the new recruit joining us! Oh and, Genji already informed me about your peanut allergy, and just know, I have a tendency to indulge in peanut butter from time to time, it goes very well with bannanas.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up.” Zayne chuckled softly. “Though, I’m still a bit amazed to be talking to well- a talking gorilla! How did that even..?”

“Well, I was born of brilliant minds and raised on the moon by humans! I could go into morefacinating details, but I’m afraid thats a subject for another time as its a terribly long explanation!” Winston laughed softly as he placed some paperwork in front of the young ninja. “Anyways, todays discussion is more about you and where you lay in regards to the team here at Overwatch, which, weclome welcome by the way! Its great to have you!”

“Thank you!” Zayne smiled softly, sitting down at the table. “I’m actually surprised how nice you guys all are! I was really expecting to be arrested almost immediately and locked away forever, at least until I called in some favors and busted out.”

“I’d have liked to see you try!” Winston chuckled. “But, no, no no. We’re quite the understanding group here, I mean, we’d need a bit of any talents we can get if we’re to take on the remnants of the omnic crisis! We cant really afford to be picky even if we wanted to!”

“Allright, well, this is going to be very boring!” Genji announced as he clapped his hands together. “I’m going to have Lena give me the rundown of your crimes if you’re alright being left with Winston?”

There was a subtle concern to his voice hidden amidst the playful tone as he rested his cybernetic hand on his brother’s shoulder, giving a hesitant squeeze to ask if he’d be alright. A squeeze that Zayne returned with a soft smile as he responded.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, just meet back up with me in whatever place you guys call a mess hall around here?”

“Of course Ibotei, see you soon.”

It took a moment for Genji to remove his hand from his brother’s shoulder, ever the loyal shadow that had guarded the young ninja during his time at the Shambali monastary, now finally having to seperate so his brother could fill out tedious paperwork regarding many, many crimes he had comitted, though in his heart he knew he was in good hands. After all, these were the hands that had caught him when he fell from the Shimada clan entirely.

“Alright, lets begin!” Winston spoke, adjusting his glasses as Genji left the room.

Boy, were they in it for the long haul.

~~~~~~~~~~~

And just for fun, here are the crimes as follows:

Breaking an entering

Multiple speeding violations

Grand larceny

Grand theft auto

International terrorism

Murder-for hire

Conspiracy to commit murder

Vandalism

Arson

Extortion

Acts of non-permitted Demolition

Criminal Anarchy

S2P2 here

[izzymalec]

love going through my old data, was looking for screenshots from it's always sunny, found a bunch of pirated books instead

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (1) | Only Human

In a world filled with humans and hybrids attempting to find balance with one another, you are but a simple human trying to integrate into the town on the property your late grandparent bequeathed to you. The town just so happens to have a small population of farming hybrids, with hardly any other humans around. 

“So you’re the inheritor…(Y/n)? (L/n)?”

“Yes, I have my I.D. if you want to check.”

“..Right….but the owner of the original property was a hybrid…you are not.”

“Not that it matters. But my grandfather’s partner was a Wolf hybrid…They both agreed to give it to me when they both passed.”

“I..see.”

It might be right to call it racism or maybe more accurately it’s specism and the townsfolk aren’t all that keen on hiding it. They openly sneer at you when you do come to town, whispering loudly about what they’ve heard, and rolling their eyes if you have the gall to ask them a question. 

“Can I get these bags of mulch in bulk?”

“...so what are ya talkin’ to me for? Just grab ‘em.”

“Your sign says to ‘ask for more at the front desk.’”

“...Fine dirt monkey. How much?”

It doesn’t bother you…sometimes. You mostly spend your days on your property, having picnics in the open fields you now own. Spending time renovating your cottage with all the custom plumbing and electricity you learn to install yourself. Wouldn’t want some unfriendly technician in town doing it instead. Anyways you get into the routine of sustaining yourself in your lonesome working from home and relying on your savings to help you enjoy your new life. That doesn’t stop until the one fateful day…you’re lounging on your deck when you hear something faint. It sounds like crying. 

“Waaaaa!”

It sounds like a child…which isn’t unfamiliar, after all your neighbors do seem to be a little family. Of course, they don’t want to talk to you but that’s fine.

“Waaaa!”

It sounds pretty intense but you’re sure it’ll stop soon. 

“Waaaaa! Somebody help, please!”

Now it feels wrong to ignore it any longer. You quickly fix yourself to head over, driving the tractor that you ride across your property to the fence that represents the beginning of your neighbor’s property. It was short work to hop over the fence and hear the crying persisting. Running to the back porch of the house, you see a little dog boy crying his heart out. 

“I heard you crying what’s wrong?”

The kid starts blubbering wiping at tears and snot on his face. After some calming pats between the ears and some promises to help you can get a clear picture.

“Mama fell ‘ver and she won’t wake up!”

You run inside to find exactly that. A dog woman face down on the floor while the soup on the stove boils out and whatever’s in the oven beginning to smoke. Stopping the appliances you flip over the woman in search of a heartbeat and breathing. Thankfully you find it and ask the little boy where you can lay her down. He points you to the bedroom down the hall passing by another bedroom and a bathroom. 

Once you’ve laid her down, check her temperature, and decide in your not-so-expert opinion that she’s suffering from a fever. Assuring the little dog boy you have him help you carry some cold water and a rag to place on her head. While making sure she drinks some water, you finally get to talking to the little dog boy who’s started to calm down now.

“That was real brave of you, good job for asking for help.”

“Big brother always said I gotta since I’m too tiny to do much myself.”

“Well, I thought you were very helpful and you don’t seem that tiny to me.”

“Thanks!” 

“No problem! My name’s (Y/n).”

“And my name’s Titan! By the way (Y/n) I’m real hungry!”

That’s how you ended up cleaning the dishes, Titan’s mother started and using what you could to make something new. You stuck with one of your old family recipes, relying on your memory the best you could to avoid another charred disaster. Eventually, you finish up able to set a plate in front of Titan who is more than happy to dig in. 

“More! More!”

“Okay Titan just a little bit more but you can’t eat it all we’ve got to save some.”

“Whyyyy!?”

“Because your mom hasn’t eaten yet and I’m sure your brother will want some when he gets home–”

“But he’s never aroun’ we’ll be waiting forever for him to come!”

Creak.

“Titan who is this?”

The new voice comes from a much larger dog man with a sturdy build, sun-kissed skin, and overalls barely hanging off his shoulders. His ears are narrowed back and his shoulders are hunched as he easily towers over you. With Titan’s help, you explain how you came to help and that his mother had fainted, likely from the fever she had. When you show him to her, his bared teeth and impending growl quiet down. Fussing over her as he checks for any sign that you might be lying. Finding that you’re not, he skeptically accepts the meal you made as you alternate watching over her and entertaining Titan–who’s far too chipper for a pup ready for bed. 

“Hey uh, wanted to apolog’ze for earlier”

“For what?!”

“Fer how I acted when you’re just helpin’ out.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I’m just happy no one’s hurt.”

“I’m also sorry for misjudging you. I think I had the wrong impression bout ya.”

As you continue to chat with the young dog man–Tank you both work together to finish up whatever chores his mom would usually do. Between you both Titan is convinced to finally get some sleep if it’s in your lap close to his mom. Tank suggests you stay over bashfully offering his bed if you need it. You decline, encouraging him to get some much-needed rest considering he was working on the farm tomorrow. 

“A-a-are you sure you don’t want to stay in a bed? I feel like it’s the least we could do.”

“No worries Tank, I’m going to watch over your mom until this fever breaks. Besides I don’t have the heart to move Titan now.”

“Fair I guess. Hopefully, I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“Yeah if I’m not still here in the morning you can come to my place anytime.”

His fluffy tail wags a lot harder than he likes at that.

“R-really?”

“Yeah, anytime!”

With another ‘thank you’ he’s off to bed. It isn’t until sunrise that the fever breaks and the dog-hybrid mother is coming to. Assuring her that her boys and the food she left in the oven are not burning the house she calms down to thank you.

“Oh thank you thank you I don’t know what I would have done without you!”

Where you’ll have to fight her off from her barrage of kisses, hugs, and propositions to stay long enough for her to cook something for you to take home, as much as you wanted to stay and indulge in her acts of thanks, you missed your bed and it was plenty exhausting now that you were being spoken to positively. Convincing her that you were such a short drive away that she didn’t need to keep you too much longer and after promising that she and her boys were welcome anytime you could finally go home. 

“You promise?”

“Yes, Miss Tiffany I promise, anytime you’d like.”

“Just not now?”

“Yes, not now so please get some rest!”

Back in the comfort of your home, everything is more or less the same except for the recently obsessed friendly neighbors who make all the quiet time you used to have nonexistent. 

“Wake Up! Wake Up! Let’s play!”

“Egh Titan how did you get in here?”

“Through your doggy door!”

“But I don’t have one!”

“Now you do!”

Thus begins the first few to fall for the lone human in this hybrid town. Hardly shy about their newly discovered attraction as they fill their dull hours up with time next to you. Lucky them as your neighbors they’re the only ones privy to your addictive affection and comforting scent. 

“Oh! I was about to drive over to drop off Titan!”

“What a coincidence! We were just coming over to have dinner at yours!”

“Huh?”

“Well, you did say we can come and thank you anytime!”

“So we figured why not now!”

“In fact, maybe every week we come over to yours and you come over to ours!”

“I mean I guess-?”

“Wonderful Titan, Tank clear the kitchen I’m going to make this dinner the best yet!”

“Yes’m!” “Yes’m

The Dog hybrid family next door is all too eager to take up all of your time. Since the moment you moved in they’ve been eager to truly get to know you, woefully settling with the distant wafts of your scent during a favorable breeze. Unlike others in the town their curiosity for the human was a positive one blaming it on their all too friendly instincts they couldn’t deny the urge they got to close to the distance between you two. But alas everyone in the town was so averse to the idea they were pushed off the desire for far too long but after your sweet words and intentions, they’d be foolish not to return the affection. 

“(Y/n) if you’d like me to cut the grass, I don’t mind.”

“That’s really sweet, Tank but I told myself I wouldn’t allow myself to sit back and let others do all the work.”

His tail droops at that. “Ah I see.”

“But you won’t tell me to go away will you (Y/n)? After I made that doggy door and everything.”

“You just chewed a hole in my door and I’m not saying you can’t stop by Tank I just don’t want it to be because you’re doing more work.”

His tail is wagging a mile a minute again. “I don’t mind if it’s for you!”

With your canine hybrid neighbors so close it’s hard to forget you were ever left alone. Now quiet and sometimes confrontational trips are filled with at least one member of the family accompanying you. Willing to bargain at stores for you or impressively growl when the cashier’s being a tad too snippy. It does make you nervous when the tiny Titan politely asks the nosy bird-woman who had the nerve to whisper about you to a ‘nice chat’ in the alley between the store. Returning with tufts of feathers and blood in his baby teeth. Or how Mama Tiff will oh so politely mention her bloodhound heritage at the fox bullies that hang around your car. Or when Tank all too eagerly pulls you into his side when he finds you cornered by the snake librarian.

“Back off my human!”

After any confrontation, you’ll ask your questions. Head on or round about they’ll all only smile at you, tail wagging wildly behind them. As if they’re proud of the slight fear in your eyes when you ask what that was about.

“We just want to protect you! You are only human after all!”

Part 2: It's Here!

[evilminji]

Waaaaait a fuckin second >.>

You know the Agricorps? Where Obi-Wan almost went?

Where generations of JEDI YOUNGLINGS who "aged out" may have gone, along with the OTHER Corps? Such as the Explorer corps? Who are probably off in Force knows where, poking at rocks, going "hmmmm, yes, it appears..... I am HELLA fuckin lost."???

THEY? Are not "jedi" as far as most people think of them.

JEDI are the whooshy swooshy dudes with the lightsabers, right? The KNIGHTS! Fancy robes and live in the temple.

J'onn, who is a farmer, that got assigned by... somebody? SOMEBODY after it all went to SHIT around here? Yeah, J'ONN isn't a JEDI! What the fuck are you talking about? He grows space yams.

Buuuuut you're wrong! Ain't'cha? J'onn sure fuckin IS a Jedi. He went to Jedi school. Grew up in the temple. Probably looks up one day, in the middle of the fields, as the force tells him "take the fucking jedi logo off your overalls NOW" and?

Whooop! Naked J'onn! Oh dear, lost his overalls in the compost heap. Unfortunate.

Time to gather the kids he's technically not allowed to have but no one ever checks on them so screw the rules! Honey! We gotta leave! Yeah, all of us!

Cause like???

Look me in the eyes. Look me in the FUCKING EYES. (o.o) (as I stare creepily into your soooul~) and tell me Papadapaline would even fuckin REMEMBER the Corps.

Sure, eventually, he might. If he finds the crumbled note he threw somewhere. But they're not "important" right? Not like the KNIGHTS. The WARRIORS, in his eyes.

Because? He is a SITH.

And the Sith value POWER.

Not education. Not agriculture. Exploration or hyperlane maintenance.

And HEALING? Medicine? Psssshhhhh. Only in so far as they can twist it! What use is the Corps to him? They are NOBODIES.

Buuuut? Funny thing about nobodies? They tend to be the most dangerous sort of all. The tiny spark. The well placed word. That one form filled JUST were you hoped it would not be. The Force LOVES nobodies. They are the butterflies that blow galaxies apart. Bend and reshape destinies. Steal somebody's stapler.

They are not Jedi, they are Corpsmen.

Order 66 wouldn't effect THEM.

@spidori @hypewinter @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @mayfay

[thefoxtherapist]

hiii! i saw you were taking requests for wuwa and was wondering if you could write general cuddling headcanons or scenarios for jiyan, calcharo, scar (idk if he’s a cuddle type guy lol), and/or any other characters of your choosing. can have already established relationships

tysm 💜👾

Thank you for the request! I hope you like it! I'm still learning the characters so go easy on me o7

-Scar actually strikes me as somebody overly clingy if given the opportunity. If his schedule allows for it, there's almost nowhere else he'd rather be.

-He's pretty brash about his wants and needs, he doesn't hesitate to take what he wants. And yet, his approach to relationships and intimacy differs from this. If his storytelling is to be believed, I think he'd be hesitant.

-But the moment you open your arms when he comes home? Scar's arms are around your waist in seconds. Always a bit too tight, face buried against you in one way or another. It can be bruising at times, or the complete flipside of far too gentle.

-With Scar its rarely big spoon/little spoon. He prefers when you're laying on your back, either on the bed or the couch. He likes to lay partially on top of you, his face buried in your neck, body half on top of yours like a protective shield. Your arms around him, holding him tightly.

-If he can't breathe because he refuses to remove his face from your neck or hair, then he's cuddling correctly!

-You know those memes that are like (brooding edgy guy) "and what were you up to-" "killing..." "we were cuddling." YOU CAN'T DO THAT WITH HIM! Scar will PROUDLY announce everything you two were doing. IN DETAIL.

-He's a proud man. And you've eaten his hair. Ultimately, 7/10.

-Jiyan gonna hit you with "I'm too busy right now, I'll make it up to you." then never make it up to you. The weight of the world is on his shoulders and to some degree he put it there himself.

-You gotta drag his green ass into bed, I'm sorry. But once he's in bed, he will stay there. The thing about cuddling with Jiyan is that it isn't just cuddling? It's also nap time. He's tired, he's overexerting himself, he's fighting a bazillion internal and external wars.

-He likes being the big spoon (you slept on his hair accidentally ONE TIME). Jiyan is a bit tense as his arm wraps around you, his other arm under the pillow. At first his chin will rest against your head, he'll sorta look over you.

-Eventually though he'll relax, his chest will loosen, his grip will loosen, and his face will drop into the top of your head. His breathing gets quieter, calmer. Every time he breathes out a lil hard, there's a gentle breeze that rustles the sheets. But it keeps the temperature perfect.

-It is at this point you could turn in his arm if you want to, bury your face into his chest. Jiyan is fast asleep and happy to hold you as he finally gets some rest with his lover. He's a bit of a snorer though, sorry.

-3/10 on a normal day, but once you get him into the freaking bed, he's so comfortable to nap with and snuggle so 9/10 once hes in there. Good luck though.

-So the edgy brooding guy I mentioned in Scar's section, that is Calcharo. Most of the people who work for him, or even know him, don't even know he has a partner. This is to keep you safe.

-But because of this, physical intimacy is often put aside for safety. He isn't a fan of it, I doubt you're a fan of it. But Calcharo puts those he looks out for pretty high up on his priority list.

-You have a secret knock. And when he knocks in that secret way, he's quick to push by you and into your home. He's quick to check all the locks before he even says hello.

-But his hello is picking you up and bringing you to the nearest soft surface. Your back hitting the couch cushions, him still holding your thighs as he pretty much lays on top of you at a bit of an awkward angle.

-Calcharo tends to kiss and cuddle, it isn't just a relaxing snuggle, he wants to get his kisses in too. Each one gentle, almost tired, as he peppers your face in small kisses. He's a bit like, yes I am saying this to be silly, a puppy.

-If you don't push him off and get him outta his gear, he will sleep like this. Look at that man, he's tired. But the second you push on his shoulder, he's off of you. Very respectful man, my beloved. But he'll follow you to your bedroom, dropping gear on his way. His weapon beside your bed.

-8/10. He's back to giving you kisses and he hasn't undone his boots yet.

[ghoulphile]

I just read one where somebody was talking about how the ghoul would be able to smell if the reader was on her period and on another note…imagine if he could smell that she’s aroused by him. him telling her to cut that shit out and her being like what are u talking about????

“pheromones, sweetheart. ain’t a man in the wasteland who can’t smell ya right now, ghoul or otherwise” 🫢

ok ok ok but hold up!!! that is one of my fave tropes for ghouls besides the whole marking with cum to stop ferals 🥴 my personal hc is that ghouls have enhanced senses so better everything.

maybe you’ve gotta rub one out while you’re traveling together bc you just can’t help it anymore - you’ve been clenching your thighs and shifting and trying to ignore it but if you hope to get any sleep, you’re gonna have to take matters into your own hands.

you’re quiet as a mouse, perfunctory in how you play with your clit and fuck yourself with your fingers. you wanna be as quick and efficient as possible. after all, he’s on the other side of the blown out wall after all, murmuring to dogmeat and stoking the camp fire.

the most you’ll allow yourself are these little hitching breaths, praying the slick sound of you playing with yourself isn’t audible among the noise of wasteland nights. and when you finally cum with a bitten of choke of breath, stumbling on weak knees to plop across from him, he barely glances your way.

his face might tilt oddly but he doesn’t say anything so you think you get away with it. and because you think you’re sly, you start doing this pretty regularly. every time ends the same, you sitting across from him sweaty and buzzing with satisfaction, him quietly contemplating you before turning his attention away.

except… you push too far eventually.

you’d slunk your way back to the campsite after riding your fingers, slick still stuck in the creases of your knuckles (you wiped them clean, or rather as clean as you could in the middle of the wasteland, but tattered rags only do so much). the flames of a low banked fire dance in the abyss of his eyes with a firefly glow. his stare is more intense than ususal, and you fluster.

fuck. he knows. doesn’t he?

then he’s asking you to hand him something, and you do - only for him to strike rattlesnake quick. rough fingers drag over the delicate skin of your wrist, digging into your thudding pulse point.

“what-“ your wide eyes snap up to his, and you shake your hand. his grip is like steel. “let go!”

“see, funny thing is, i don’ think you really want me ta.”

“the hell is that supposed to mean?”

a sound rumbles from his chest, full of grit and gravel; bourbon heat. “don’ play coy with me lil girl. i’ve been smellin’ how wet you get for days.”

your heart stops, eyes squeezing shut and face turning away. his gaze lingers like a physical caress as it drags down your cheek, snagging on the tuck of your lip between your teeth.

he laughs, rusty and mean. “oh, sweetie, you think i ain’t noticed by now? didn’t hear all those precious lil sounds you made? that’s real cute.”

“i-i’m…”

sorry.

“how’s about you give me a practical demonstration, yeah?”

he tugs at your wrist, brings your hand close to his face. you feel the puff of his breath. the slick drag of his tongue as he laps at the webbing between your fingers, chasing after the remnants of your slick.

“think i’m owed that much for all the teasin’.”

[gamblersdoll]

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐒?

ghostface! todoroki who plays out your sick fantasy.

mask kink, p in v, finger sucking, nipple sucking, fear tactic.

“are you sure you want to do this?” todoroki questions, a stoic but somewhat worry on his face. “what if something goes left and i hurt you?”

“you wont hurt me, baby.”

“what if you forget that we are doing something like this and you freak out?” he presses, fidgeting with his fingertips and avoiding eye contact.

“baby, if youre worried so much we dont have to do this.” you remind, kissing his cheek and a small smile. “i wont force you to do anything you dont want to do.”

“yeah, but i wanna make you happy, thats what im supposed to do.” he sighs,rolling his eyes at himself.

“and you are either way it goes.” you scratch his head, a soft groan from his throat as you dig your nails into him. “ill be happy and love you either way this goes.”

“okay,” he nods, tilting your head up and kissing your lips. “gotta go to the store for dinner, feeling like soba tonight.” he says, standing up and holding you for a minute. “love you.”

“i love you too.”

you eventually hear the downstairs front door close and lock, sleep taking over your body and you fluttering your eyes shut into a resting place and feeling your body start to drift away.

but, maybe an hour later, something does wake you up. a sound of something ruffling around, could be birds in the attic or maybe another fucking squirrel got into the dryer again. but, your sleepy brain not working right, you pull yourself out of bed and look at the time.

‘ten forty three.’

shoto isnt home yet?

walking downstairs, you turn the dryer light on, there wasnt any chipmunks or squirrels in there. and yet, you still hear noise from somewhere.

‘click!— front door open.’

your heart races a bit, looking over to the door to see what apparently is a man in all black, with a ghostface mask and he just stands there. you chuckle, rolling your eyes. “okay, shoto, you actually want to do this?”

no movement, just the man you think is your todoroki standing in place.

“helloooo?” you snap your fingers in his face, still no movements from the masked man, but scoff and fold your arms. “shoto, again if you dont want to do this—“

finally, the man who wasnt speaking, pulls out a small amount of rope. which was weird, todoroki doesnt really like ropes,being the fact it’s easy to get rope burn. you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise, your overthinking starting to save you. “are you not todoroki..?”

he shakes his head no, putting up five fingers.. and your legs do all the running on their own. he wasnt chasing you, no. but it still is fucking creepy.

that damn boy probably left the door unlocked!

you lock the door to the bedroom, scrambling to find your phone. you unlock it, dialing the number to his phone, and it picks up.

“todoroki— someone broke into—“

“no todoroki shoto here, little girl.” the other line says, making your heart drop and tremble within fear of somebody, something hurt him and was doing the same with you. “do you like scary movies?”

oh, thats how this fuck wants to do things? textbook definition?

you swallow thick, feeling rage and yet fear within your bones. “adore them.” you spit, peering out the window curtains.

“okay, lets play a little game then.”

“whats the name of that one big killer in silent hill?” the line asks, waiting on your response.

“pyramid head.” you confidently reply, getting a satisfactory chuckle. “if youre going to kill me, give me better questions so it means something.”

“ohh, youre so mean, what about your poor shoto?” he asks, a coo behind his words. “if you get all of them right, ill tell you where he is.”

you chew on your nails, anxiety pulling over you. you grunt, an approval of his mind games with you. “okay then, who was the first killer in scream?”

that almost threw you off, but you knew who it was. “there wasnt just one killer for that first girl.. casey was her name.”

“oh? mind to share with me and shoto?” he asks, you have to hold your tongue to try and not sacrifice his life on accident.

“billy called the girls phone, stu killed the boyfriend, billy killed the girl.” you say, knowing that you’re right about all of it, it was simple really.

“oh, what makes you so sure? how can you tell?” he asks again, curiously trying to see if you would second guess yourself. anyone would, especially in the scream movies. but you werent stupid, you watched enough of those movies to realize that mistake.

“billy was more fueled by rage and revenge, causing his movements to act erratically, stu was just there with him.”

“bingo! next question..” he cheers, a pause in the line. “in the paranormal realm, was it the conjuring that goes first, or annabelle?”

“annabelle, then conjuring.” you say, hearing a dissatisfied voice. “what?”

“are you sure about that? thats what you want to go with?” he asks, was this his trick again or were you wrong..?

“thats how they go, it wouldnt make sense if they were reversed.” you shout, hearing a small chuckle.

“you lose.” he says, the line ending and hands grab at your shoulders, a scream coming from your throat as you thrash and writhe in his hands.

he kneels down on your forearms, wrapping the rope around your body and hands as you still struggle. he was bigger than you, your legs and knees only able to kick air and some small parts of his back. you try to pry your way out of the rope’s confines, his hands starting to paw and push up at your clothes and your heart drops.

is this how it’s supposed to be? your boyfriend supposedly dead and you get the short end of the stick?

you look away, not bothering to watch yourself be ruthlessly taken by a masked killer who just happens to also be a fucking creep. you feel his hands on your body, warm but cold hands on your stomach.

warm and cold ?

his lips attach to your nipple, you jumping from the temperatures in his mouth. he mustve eaten something cold or something. or, maybe he had taken some kind of medication that makes him cold?

he swirls his tongue, his breath being pushed onto your skin, and the temperature of his breath is colder—

fucking todoroki, its been him this whole time.

your nerves relax all the way, getting the best confirmation of your lover being the one who has you in his reigns, his mouth on your nipple, and the one who is pulling his cock from his pants.

you wouldve thought it was someone else, since he shaved his shit apparently. he hears you chuckle, looking up at you. you try to bite back another, just imagining a ghostface mask staring up at you while positioning themselves against you— meanwhile knowing their identity.

“please dont kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel.” you feign fear, feeling his hands push you into the ground deeper and feeling his cock slip in, moaning about it. your clit jumps for a second, twitching from the cut pubes prickling against it for only seconds at a time.

the masked man kneels, pulling your body back and forth along his length as he hears your yelps and moans, them being elongated. the mans’ gloved fingers find their way into your mouth, you sticking your tongue out as he thrusts his fingers down and out your throat. his glove gets wet, soaked with your spit and you gag slightly when he has you throat his fingers.

his pace gets meaner, too honestly. his hips smacking against your rear and his other hand holds the ropes on your back, steadying himself and you. deep breathing can be heard through the mask, sometimes feeling the air become a little warmer but then colder. wet squelching and slaps of skin reverberated through the room, some of your hair becoming disheveled and ass becoming sore and red.

your moans becoming whiny, a light drenching of your essence and creamy rings along his cock as you curl your toes, “fuck—hah!”

the masked man breathes deeper as well, his hips slowing down as he stills inside of you. you feel his own ejaculation inside of you, making your folds slicker than any lubricant ever. the masked man lays you down, untying your restraints and pulling his mask off.

tuffs of red and white hair show themselves, and a worried shoto. “are.. are you okay—“

you bonk the top of his head, hearing a ‘ow’ after that. “what the hell, todoroki!” you squeal, shaking his arms. “what kind of idea was that?!”

“well.. you said that you wanted to try something new..” he says, his own hands on your shoulders shaking them.

“i know that much— but you scared the fuck outta me!”

“sorry.. how did you figure out it was me?” he asks, confused and worried eyes that stare and burn into yours. “was it that noticeable?”

“your palms are two different temperatures, and your mouth was cold.” you point out, pulling your shirt down and rubbing your wrists. “i almost didnt, because of the rope and the phone call— hold the fuck on, who answered the phone then?”

“uh.. midoriya?”

a knock comes to your front door, its about eleven twenty four at night. especially after tonight, todoroki walks you to the door, just in case you were still worried about anything. you weren’t worried in the slightest.

you unlock and open the door, green patches of hair the first thing you see. “uhm— hi there.” he says, the freckled boy rubbing the back of his head and a nervous chuckle.

“hi there, ghostface.” you say, both men tensing up and you fold your arms.

“well!—“ he starts, nervous and scrambling for an answer. “in my defense! todoroki cane to me about it and i wasnt trying to scare you too bad! i hope i didnt..”

“both of you did, so both of you can get beat up.” you say, watching izuku hand todoroki’s phone back. “but.. i guess i give credit when its due.”

“i hope i didnt cause any trouble..”

“you didnt, but its getting late.” you remind, the three of you saying goodbyes and a thought comes to you. you turn to tell izuku, “izu!”

he turns back and responds with a distant ‘yeah?’ wide eyes and a smile.

“annabelle comes before the conjuring, take more notes!”

[yandecifi]

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back —

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.

[heartfullofleeches]

[+18]

V and fuckboy playboy/wingman male Darling-

Hear me out-

Darling is the son of some other loaded family that has close ties with V's. The two cross paths at a gathering and their parents urge them to make friends. Darling plays video games. V plays video games. They exchange numbers with some persuasion from their folks and set up a time to play something together although begrudgingly on V's end. V ends up having a better time than he expected, but right before he really starts to enjoy his time with Darling - he tells V he has to head out.

"Nice meeting you, dude. We gotta do this again. I got a girl coming over and I gotta bounce."

And just like that V's hopes are crushed. He's still learning about his attraction towards guys, but - Darling was sorta cute....

"oh....so you have a girlfriend."

Darling laughs.

"Nah, man. Haven't found the right girl...or guy to tie me down yet, plus I'm just enjoying the single life for now.... I can send pics after we're done if you want. She's totally chill and likes when I show her off."

Pictures?.... V agrees - thinking not much of it. He goes back to playing and eventually it slips from his mind. Hours later he receives photos of what looks to be a topless girl in a dimly lit room. She smiles big at the camera - eyes and upper face blocked from sight by the shaft of the bastard with her cheek pressed to his inner thigh. He still had on the same pair of sweats V had seen him in earlier that day. He only met this guy not even twenty-four hours ago and now he's seen his dick. Even worse - there's a pretty girl with her lipstick and spit all over it in the same picture. V's pissed - yet the image magically appears in one of his porn holders later on."

"what the hell...."

"My bad! I thought you might like it. You don't seem like a guy who gets a lot of action... If you ever want to meet someone, just give me a call. I know a lot of people who'd be interested in a rich brat like you."

This guy.... he acts like he's any different. V thinks Darling is a freak to put things lightly, but its not like he has other people to hang out with. As the two hang out V sees that Darling isn't as bad as he first seemed. He's still a horny, inconsiderate prick most days - but he's still the best thing V has to a friend and cares for V in his own way..... Still sends V dick pics he sweats were for someone els.

Darling is genuinely surprised that V has never been with someone. Sure, he doesn't seem like he gets that much attention, but he was sure V had at least kissed someone once. The topic comes up when Darling tries for the hundredth time to hook with up with one of his flings. He's always sending V evidence of the nights he spent with strangers. Oddly enough - V only ever complains about the videos and photos when they don't have darling in them as well.

"Damn.... I know you're a pain in the ass sometimes, but you're cute I thought somebody would've looked past that.....

V hates with Darling says shit like that. He's not used to people flirting with him and... and it gives him false hope. "Shut up....

"So, think she's cute? I can give her your number~"

"I don't want it."

This sucks.... By now, V's fully aware of his crush on Darling - and he fucking hates the bastard for what he's doing to him. If Darling is so concerned about him seeing people why doesn't he just take V out instead. He jerks off to everything Darling sends him wondering when he'll get his turn. V has some solace in the fact Darling rare sees any of his partners twice. V has been with him and always will be with him longer than any of them have. He just has to be patient.....and ruin any chances Darling has of being with anyone else.

V nearly jumps out of his skin reading one of Darling's numerous drunken texts.

"Hey, man. Totally speaking out my ass here, but would you ever be down to have a threesome sometime ;)"