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sundrop-writes · 4 months ago

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BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless.

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.

That night, you had become his hero.

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.

He tried not to act like it.

But on nights like this, it was just so hard.

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.

Again - he was hopeless.

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.

“Y/N, uh-”

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.

…

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.

His little secret piece of you.

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”

And what else could he do but obey?

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.

He was a man of simple, divine tastes.

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Stiles, please.”

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.

Though he knew that would never fucking happen.

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.

But what would they smell like?

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.

He could always imagine the other aspects so well.

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.

Fuck. He had fucked up.

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.

…

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.

The only problem?

Hang to dry.

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.

…

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.

Focus, Stiles. Focus.

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.”

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

#sundrop writes #stiles stilinski x reader #dylan o'brian x reader #dylan o'brien smut #stiles stilinksi smut #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf smut

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mellowyellow236 · 3 months ago

Text

How would the TWST boys act when they had a crush on the Reader/Yuu?

All are meant to be interpreted as romantic except for Ortho, who is a wingman for his brother in his part. Some characters might be a bit OOC. Reader is GN but will be referred to as pretty/beautiful. Minor TW for Rollo having yandere tendencies.

If anyone has anything to add or any questions, please leave an ask or comment! Requests are open if anyone wants :) Everything is under the cut

Heartslabyul:

Riddle Rosehearts -

Not the best person to have liking you.

He’s not mean or anything he just... Has no idea what to do with himself at any time.

And it’s very obvious.

He thinks that if he’s very, very specific about you following the rules, you’ll praise him and thus that’ll mean you’ll like him.

He’s… Trying his best.

“Off With Your Head!” You felt the metal clamp around your neck as you heard the echo of the words. Turning around, you saw the small redhead with his hands on his hips, face already flushing. He grabbed the drink you were holding, the surface of the coffee moving as he pulled away. “On a Tuesday, one can only drink lemon tea past 3:14 in the afternoon!” He huffed, before using his free hand to pull you away. “If you don’t know the rules, I’ll just have to teach them to you. Come on, there’s some tea in the garden. I have a book of rules I could read to you.”

Trey Clover -

He’s housewife material, he’ll bake for you

“Any boy can be babygirl but it takes a man to be a single mother” vibes

I never know what to say to him he’s just a normal person who likes cooking

On a complete side note if you ever go to NYC, go to Alice’s Tea Cup. It’s this tea house that’s kind of close to Broadway, at least last time I went pre-COVID, and it’s so good. I have the recipe book from there and the pumpkin scones are the best.

You walked into the Hearslabyul kitchen, smiling at the smell of apple pie. Trey was baking, and the dish had just come out of the oven. He smiled, but then slapped your hand away when you tried to grab it. “Not yet, it needs to cool first. If you really want something to eat, we have leftover blueberry scones in the fridge.” He said, looking away to get the serving plate. You touched it anyway, pulling back as you burned yourself. He looked at you and sighed, taking you by the arm to get an ice cube on it. “Burnt hand teaches best, I suppose... It shouldn’t be that bad of a burn. If it gets any worse, I’ll put some cream on it...” He said, before kissing the burn. “And a get-well-soon kiss, of course.”

Cater Diamond -

He’s a silly boy, but also an angsty one

If he genuinely likes you, he’d probably try really, really hard to be the “perfect guy”

And also to try to hide how into you he is because he’s scared you’ll leave him

Those moments when his guard drops are probably the sweetest, though

“Ah, that was fun! Well, Cay-cay’s all yours for the rest of the day. What do you wanna do now?” Cater said, having just turned off his livestream. You were behind his phone smiling at him. You were going to recommend getting a drink at the Monstro lounge, but saw how tired he was. He smiled at you when you asked to just hang out with him at home. “You do, huh? Well, there’s a new movie we could watch.” When you raised an eyebrow, asking if it was for Magicam, he just chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. A remake of an old classic. I want to watch it with you. I’m sure that you’d be able to make anything good, just by being there.”

Ace Trapolla & Deuce Spade-

They’re together because I feel like you can’t make one fall for you without the other. It’s a ‘buy one get one free’ deal.

Ace would be a nightmare to have in love with you.

He’d try his best to flirt, but mainly through really bad dirty jokes and pickup lines.

Or, by inserting himself into your life as much as possible in an attempt to force himself into a place of importance for you

Duece, on the other hand, would be an angel.

He attempts to be an old-fashioned gentleman, like holding open doors and getting you flowers.

Are those roses from Heartslabyul’s garden? Maybe. Just don’t snitch on him to Riddle.

You weren't entirely sure how you got yourself into hiding in a cabinet with Ace and Duece, but here you were, avoiding the Riddle currently screaming his head off about how someone had stolen the roses currently in your arms. You had a hand over Duece’s mouth as he muttered apologies, trying to get him to shut up, before Ace leaned in and whispered “Hey, Prefect?” You gave him a look, to which he said, “Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see!” He asked, voice rising in volume as he tried not to laugh, to which Duece slapped him on the arm and cried, “Don’t be so loud! You’re going to get us caught!” Ace only laughed harder, until the door to the cabinet opened. You took a dash out of there with your roses, the two bumbling baffoons behind you, the yelling housewarden already collaring them.

Savanaclaw:

Leona Kingscholar -

He’s a fun man

Well, not really, but his attempts are very fun for Ruggie.

He’ll just drag you away and force you to cuddle with him.

You’ll probably end up cutting class, but do you really care when it’s with the clingy lion man?

Throwing money at you with no regard to the amount he gives or the reason he does it is the other attempt.

If he can prove that he’s better at taking care of you than the lizard, he can win this round.

And get a better lover than his brother, but that’s the secondary goal.

You were just walking in the garden when you felt someone trip you, causing you to land half in a bush. Before you could turn around to tell off the person responsible, they grabbed your waist and pulled you to them on the floor. “It’s nap time, Herbivore. Shut up and let me sleep.” When you told him that he was the one who invited you here and you’d have to skip your next class to stay, he just huffed and rolled his eyes at you, pushing a pouch in your hand. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. If you’ll be like that, take this and you can get whatever you want in your lunch period. Fair deal if you’ll stay.”

Ruggie Bucchi -

Would never ask you out on a date, he’s scared.

The best treatment that you get before he’s sure you’re not going to be mean to him is that he doesn’t pawn your gifts off for cash.

Afterward, he’ll be a bit more affectionate

Maybe even give you some of his food...

Also, hyena courting stuff; Shadowing a potential partner, taking a step forward and then taking a step back, and other stuff like that.

You heard the laughing of the beastman before you were able to see his face. He had been following you around for most of the day, but every time he’d take a few steps forward, he’d taken a few back after a second. Now, though, he had his head on your shoulder. “Hello, Prefect. Look what I got!” He said, showing you a donut he had probably gotten from Sam’s. “You want a bite?” He asked, when you nodded and took a bite he bit onto the other end, giggling away. “What, was that really enough to fluster you, Prefect? Shishishi, I should try doing this to you again.”

Jack Howl -

Jack asks you outright if you feel the same way he does, especially if you two are friends.

Finally! A confession!

He doesn’t want to make your friendship weird, so he wants to tell you that it’s happened and either find a way to get over you or have a happy relationship.

Very much “Worst they can say is no, best they can say is yes” kind of man

Aside from that, very loyal and sweet to you before he realizes that he likes you

Also, a pinch of an old-fashioned gentleman in him

Jack had called you out earlier that day to go on an evening walk with him, and so here you were. You were in the mountains, walking at a fairly slow pace. You neared a big tree as the sun set, and Jack took a deep breath. He took your hand, ears on high alert and tail looking undecided between if it wanted to cower beneath his legs or wag excitedly, and said, “Prefect, I like you very much. Please go on a date with me.”

Octavinelle:

Azul Ashengrotto -

Oh no

He has two moods when it comes to the person he likes; Annoyingly showoffish and annoyingly terrified of you.

Somehow, it’s sometimes both.

He would talk very loudly about how well he was doing as a businessman his contracts and how much money he’d made.

And then you touch him and he just stops functioning.

“Oh, look, Jade! Another new high this month! We might even be able to expand!” He cried, glancing at you again and again. This had been happening every time you visited Monstro Lounge; A song and dance of Azul fishing for compliments that he seemed to hate, if him leaving the room every time you complimented him had anything to say about it. This time, you grabbed his wrist as you spoke, telling him how he was doing a very good job. You watched him turn a shade of red and blue, stiffening up as he muttered out a response. “Thank you... I will keep your response in mind.” The moment you let him go, Jade stepped in to talk to you as the octopus-mer ran away once more.

Jade Leech -

As the more put together of the two moray eels here, he gets the ‘classier’ side of the coin.

Moray courting rituals of wrapping together is often described as a dance, so he’ll try to dance with you.

Aside from that, I can see him subtly teasing you about yawning in front of him, even if you don’t understand why.

And feeding you plenty of mushroom dishes.

You were stuffed, that was for sure. Jade had invited you to Octavinelle a while ago, and now you were here, eating various mushroom dishes like your life depended on it. He was smiling, another one placed in front of you. “A shiitake and crab stir fry is next. Surely, you have room for more?” He asked, a small smile on his lips. He chuckled when you yawned, “Isn’t it a bit late in the season for that?” When you asked what he meant, he only shook his head and brought a filled fork to your lips. “Fufu. Just focus on eating for now, Prefect.”

Floyd Leech -

Hehe funny unhinged eel man

Moray eels like to cuddle, so prepare to be squeezed by him

Also, yawning or ‘gaping’ (Opening his mouth really wide) at you.

Honestly, I don’t have a lot of thoughts on him, he’s just a silly little guy.

��Shrimpy!” You heard cried behind you, Floyd flopping himself over you from behind. He yawned and pushed his head over your shoulder as he spread himself over you so his weight was all on you to hold up. “Whatcha doing?” He asked, smiling at you. Once you answered that you were on your way to class, he frowned, wrapping his arms around you before lifting you like a cat. “That’s boring! Common, Shrimpy, we’re going to find something fun to do!”

Scarabia:

Kalim Al-Asim -

For Kalim, I feel as if the second he knows he likes you, you will know he likes you because he’ll tell you outright.

Before he knows he likes you, everyone else will know he likes you.

Running up to you at every opportunity, constantly complimenting you, talking about you to everyone who will listen, etc.

Much like the other rich kids who aren’t used to being genuinely wanted for themselves and not their money in this school, Kalim will throw expensive gifts at you in an attempt to gain your favor.

“Prefect!!” You heard someone shout, running at you from across the field of the flying lesson you were in. “There you are! I’ve got something for you!” He said, smiling all the while. He kissed you on the cheek, and then reached into his bag, pulling out a golden bracelet. Before you had time to refuse, because it was the middle of a class where it could easily be lost or because of the outrageous price tag, he spoke up. “And now we match! Just like twins, see?” He had kept his ones on this time, and you couldn’t help but smile as he was beaming up at you.

Jamil Viper -

Jamil might not be able to show off often, but he does try to do so for you.

You’re busy and can’t cook? He’ll get you some food!

You’ve torn a hole in your gym clothes? He’s got a sewing kit on him!

Your homework is about to kill your GPA because Crewel seems to hate having breaks? He’s your guy!

All in all, he attempts to woo you like a mixture of a 1950s housewife and the stereotype of tutor love interests in media.

“-And that’s how to make a basic healing tonic. Any questions?” He asked. When you shook your head, he gave a small smile. “That’s good. I’ll help you clean up in here, and then I’ve got something for you back at Scarabia.” His hand brushed yours as he helped you clear up the papers that had been scattered around as you studied. “You mentioned wanting to try foods from the scalding sands, so I got a bunch of ingredients. I’ll make you a wonderful meal if you’d like.”

Pomefiore:

Vil Schoenheit -

Much like Riddle, you must deal with him being much more annoying as soon as he likes you.

Just this time, he’s annoying you about your self-care.

You don’t take multi-hour spa baths in the crummy bath at Ramshackle? Well, now you do at the much better baths in Pomefiore every week.

You don’t have a skincare routine that takes up half your morning? Yes, you do.

You will never be in better condition physically but he will continue finding new ways to push you.

He does it out of love because he wants you to always look and feel your best.

You opened the door to Ramshackle, looking at a mildly annoyed Vil. He grabbed you before you could protest, leading you away from your dorm. “Come on, Potato. I’m taking you to Pomefiore, and you’re going to get a makeover.” When you asked why, the third year just rolled his eyes. “You have bags under your eyes, and they seem to be from lack of sleep or stress, if your appearance when you came here was anything to say about it. So, I’m getting you a spa day and will teach you how to take care of yourself better. If you still can’t, I’ll just have to take you for spa time more often.”

Rook Hunt -

Rook is a walking love letter.

Constantly waxing poetics, and talking about how beautiful you are.

You forget something at home and the next thing you know you’ve got an arrow shot next to you and whatever you need as well as a heartfelt note is in a pouch tied to it.

And he’s just... There.

All the time.

He’s in your walls.

You sighed, having forgotten your potions textbook for the third time this week. Truly, your memory was your own worst- What was that? A thud had come from right next to you; An arrow with a paper gift bag tied onto it through a deep purple ribbon had been shot into a tree, going right past your head. When you looked into it, there was your missing textbook, as well as a note from the giver. ‘Dearest Trickster, it is a wonder to be in your presence. I do ask, please grace me with those eyes to my face. If only I had those, I would be happy to deliver you your books for the rest of my life.’ When you looked around, you saw him; The third year excitedly waving at you from the rooftop of the school.

Epel Felmeir -

He tries so hard to show you how awesome cool and manly he is.

Has the same vibes as a child showing their parents how good they are at sports.

“Hey Mom, look!” *Kicks a soccer ball and falls flat on his face*

He’s doing the best he can with the skills he has, give the little guy some credit

“Hey, Prefect! Did ya see that goal I made at the end?” Epel said, having just finished a Spelldrive game. He had come up to you as soon as he was done, and you smiled at him, nodding and telling him that he had done well. He puffed his chest out at that, looking like the cat who got the cream. “Of course I did! I’ll even give ya a ride on my broom after our next practice, so you can see what it looks like when ya playing. That’s be fun, right?” He said, smiling at you widely.

Ignihyde:

Idia Shroud -

Scared boy

Very, very scared boy

He will try to run from you any time he’s nearby.

If you manage to corner him, expect him to be very flustered.

Maybe you’ll get a sentence or two out of him if you keep trying...

Idia had been avoiding you for the past few days, and you had no idea why. So here you were, using the key card ortho gave you to work your way into the room of the hermit. He was hunched over his desk, eyes closed and breathing steady. His monitor was on, so when you walked over, you took the mouse out from him and went to save in his game before you closed it out. He stirred, muttering as he opened his eyes, “One more round, Orthohmysevenitsyouohimsorryicangonow!” He bolted straight up, hair flaming pink as he pushed the swirly chair back and ran out of his own room.

Ortho Shroud -

His big brother’s best wingman

Will come up to you and talk about how great his brother is

If needed, pulls up diagrams and chats like he’s giving a PowerPoint presentation on his brother’s ability to date you

“Prefect!” You heard a shout, the younger Shroud brother coming up to you. “I have something that you must see! You are aware of my brother’s affection for you, correct?” When you shook your head, he smiled, pulling up a presentation on his iPad. “That makes this much more difficult, but very well! As you can see here, one’s heartbeat increases when one meets with the object of one’s affections. This can be caused by a flight or fight response, which my brother does not usually suffer from when over a call with another. However, when your voice is there, his heart rate spikes dramatically! This means that I have reason to believe that he is in love with you. In this presentation, I will-”

Diasonia:

Malleus Dracona -

He is going to try to woo you with gems

And probably other dragon-courting rituals

I think that out of the beastmen and fae, he understands the least that you don’t get their courting rituals.

By the name he realizes that you don’t think you’re dating he’s already picked out the names of your kids.

“Child of Man?” You heard the familiar voice of Hornton call out to you in your garden. You smiled, turning around to face him. “It’s nice to see you again. I have a gift for you.” He said, holding out a golden necklace with emeralds sprinkled in. When you tried to refuse the gift, saying it was too expensive to get ‘just because’ he only shook his head and put it around your neck. “All the stars in the sky would be too little to give you, and every jewel in my horde pales in comparison to your beauty. If only you wear this, then you will surely compare to my father when you take your place at my side. Although, I believe you already do in both appearance and wit.”

Lilia Vanrouge -

Old fae bat man

He flirts with you, but it ends up being either too old-timey or too fae for you to understand

For the old-timey side; According to Wikipedia, “Gifts accompanied courtship in the form of a man proving coins, trinkets or clothing to the woman he is trying to woo.” So, he gets you various gifts, like coins, jewelry that he has, and whatever else you’re interested in.

I assume that because he’s such a long-lived fae, they range from ‘I found this stone in the garden’ to ‘Here’s a 1000-year-old artifact capable of destroying the world if you hold onto it wrong’

For the fae side; Male bats court by making various noises (screaming, honking, singing), flicking their wings/showing off how good they are at flying, and grooming the other party. I’m interpreting this as singing to you, playing with your hair, and trying to impress you in flight class.

Also, him humming old love songs to you and playing with your hair I can’t-

Lilia was sitting next to you on the couch, as you flipped through various movies on the television he had in his room. You were in his arms, with his hands in your hair, braiding wherever he could get enough hair to do so. “Hey, Beastie?” He chuckled as you sighed at the lack of familiar movies. “I really do care for you quite a bit. Also, there’s this one Halloween movie that came out a year or two ago. Terror is Trending, or something. We could watch that.” He laughed again and started humming. It seemed to be a classical piece. When you asked what he was singing, he said “Dichterliebe, Robert Schumann’s Op. 48., movement 11.” He smiled at you, and then laughed at your confusion. “Just put the movie on already, Beastie.”

Silver “Vanrouge” -

The meeting scene from Sleeping Beauty

That’s it, that’s my idea

Due to the lack of inspiration, he gets a slightly longer drabble, though?

You were walking in the woods, pausing at a shallow river, singing to yourself. It wasn’t long until you heard a horse trotting towards you. You turned to face it, and Silver smiled as you did. “It’s nice to see you again, Prefect.” He said, getting off his horse to stand next to the river with you. He looked at you, gently humming the same tune as you were. He reached a hand out to pull you in, one hand in yours and the other on your waist. “Do you know how to dance?” He asked, already starting the movements. When you shook, your head, he laughed, spinning you around. “I’ll teach you. Copy my movements, but backward... 1 2 3, 1 2 3...” He started to dance with you, slowly going from repeating the pattern to singing lightly. He was softly smiling, staring at you even as your eyes were focused on your feet. However, it didn’t take long before his horse seemed to tire of this, pushing the two of you in. “Samson!” Silver cried out, now soaking wet and a bit banged up from shielding you from the fall. “And after I promised you an extra bucket of oats to come out here... No carrots for you tonight.” He spoke, looking at you as you asked him why he had done so. Silver only smiled and responded, “There was something strange about you, and I heard your voice earlier. You’re almost too beautiful to be real. I thought it was some mysterious being, a wood sprite or a fae. Truly lovely either way.”

Sebek Zigvolt -

He tries to protect you like the knight that he aspires to be

He will infodump to you about Malleous or Brair Valley or something else of the sort if you let him

Also, he’s half fae, which means fae/crocodile courting rituals.

Crocodiles mainly bump snouts as far as I can tell, so expect many boops from him.

Also, piggyback rides and playful nips if you get close enough to him

“And that is why Wakasama is the greatest mage in our time!” Sebek finished, still carrying you around the school. When you tried again to tell him it wasn’t needed, Sebek scoffed. “Foolish Human! You said that your leg was tired after running in flight class, and so you must rest your legs lest you injure yourself!” He said, bopping his nose against yours. “Besides, you must know by now that as a friend of Wakasama, it is my job to defend you as I would him! In not doing so, I would be committing a sin worse than just letting you walk by yourself! As such, I will accompany you to and from class from now on. Be grateful, Human!”

RSA+NBC:

Che’nya -

Che’nya will try to pull as many pranks on you as he can

Appearing in random places, taking little things from you, and other things showing up in random places you never put them.

All around being a little menace and trying to make your daily life as annoying as possible

You sighed, looking towards the floating smile next to you. It laughed, as you held up the empty pencil case, asking it how he expected you to be able to do your homework now. He only chuckled, the rest of his head and shoulders appearing. “Stay pawsitive, Prefect! No need to be so catty!” You rolled your eyes, to which the boy simply snickered and rubbed his head against your cheek. “Come on, my puns are purrfect!” He pulled a pencil out of seemingly thin air, letting you take it from him. “And I’ve got plenty of pens back at RSA if you’d like to take a weekend trip to see me.”

Neige Leblanche - Kinda angsty, but not much

He’s a sweet guy first and foremost, and his having a crush on you reflects that.

He buys you flowers, takes you on walks in nature, romantic stuff like that.

Maybe watching cheesy old movies with you and cuddling

He wants to be your friend before he dates you, though, and won’t make a move until after you can see what life would be like if you were dating him considering how famous he is.

He needs to make sure that you’re comfortable with the fame you’ll gain, and that you love him for more than just his popularity.

Neige sighed, biting his lower lips. He was situated in your arms on the floor of his dorm room, what you’d define as a cheesy romcom on the TV. The most interesting part was the man going through his DM’s next to you. He snuggled into you a bit more as you asked him what was wrong, to which he said “Just... Hate comments and stuff. They’re really mean sometimes. Saying stuff...” He took a deep breath again, and melted against you. “Thank you for treating me like I’m a normal person. It means... So much to me. I... Care for you so much.”

Rollo Flamme - Rollo's got yandere tendency's

Unfortunately, I can in no way see Rollo having a light crush on anyone

For him, I imagine it’s an ‘all or nothing’ situation

So, you’ll end up with a very obsessive and objectively evil wizard trying to win your heart by any means necessary

But this is not the post for that, so he’s getting toned down to fit into a little drabble

“Mon amour, how are you feeling?” Rollo asked you, coming into the area that you were lying in. You had been resting in the infirmary since coming back from the destruction he caused, and he sat on the edge of the bed. You turned away from him, closing your eyes and saying that you had no desire to speak to him. Rollo sighed, “Please, my dear? I am begging you, just talk to me.” You shook your head, but he took your hand and kissed your knuckles anyway. “Then I will wait for you to want to speak to me again. However, I do ask that it be soon. I cannot imagine my life without you, my dear angel, and I do not intend to live without you forever.”

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greengoblinswifey · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request a Nicholas Chavez smut? Pleaseeee🙏🙏🙏😫 I was thinking maybe something where they have A LOT of sexual tension, and like they flirt and that stuff

Lovvvvv u💗

Just Friends— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

warnings— lots of flirting and sexual tension, oral(f), hand job, praise kink, ass slapping and grabbing, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, L bomb, fluff?

a/n— love you too, hope you enjoy my interpretation. yes it’s very long as usual, i had to capture the essence <3

Nicholas had been your friend for years, the type of friend who felt as familiar as ‘family’ but kept you on edge with the kind of sexual tension that always lingered just under the surface. You’d been there through his rise in the acting world, tagging along to premieres and red carpets as his “bestie.” Of course, all of your friends saw the way you two interacted, flirting that went far beyond innocent banter, lingering touches, and the looks you exchanged that seemed to say everything except “just friends.”

The first time he backed you up against a wall was at one of his movie nights. The rest of your friends were in the next room laughing over some game, but you and him had drifted to the kitchen for snacks. Somewhere between grabbing popcorn and pouring drinks, he leaned in close, his arm resting above your head, caging you in.

“You know, you’re a terrible influence,” he whispered, his face just inches from yours.

“Oh really?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who’s about to be on his third cup of vodka.”

“No,” he murmured, voice low as his gaze fell to your lips, “I mean, the way you look at me.”

You felt your heartbeat quicken, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Your breaths mingled, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in closer, his lips an inch away from yours. But then he smirked, as if breaking the tension intentionally, and stepped back.

Moments like these happened all the time. Like the photoshoots you’d both do just for fun, candid snaps and Polaroids capturing the way you looked at each other. In one, you were staring at him, your hands on his shoulder while his was around you waist, pulling you close, and in another, he was giving you a look that made you feel like the only person in the world. Anyone who saw them would have sworn there was something going on, but you always waved it off.

In one instance, the two of you were back at his place after an event, still dressed up, the excitement of the night still thrumming through you. Nicholas loosened his tie, watching as you kicked off your heels and stretched out on his couch, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you teased, “and I might start thinking you’ve got a little crush.”

He scoffed, but there was a glint in his eye. “Oh, please. If anyone here has a crush, it’s you.”

You laughed, pretending to scoff, but leaned forward. “Oh, really? Because last I checked, you were the one who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves tonight.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to,” he replied, his voice dropping, and he took a step closer until he was standing over you. He leaned down, placing his hands on either side of you. “And what if I said I don’t want to keep my hands to myself now?”

Your breath hitched as his lips hovered near yours, but you weren’t about to break eye contact. “Then what’s stopping you?”

He lingered, his eyes scanning your face before dropping to your lips. “Just making sure you’re as ready as you’re acting,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through you.

You felt a spark ignite, leaning up just enough so your lips almost touched his. “Nicholas, if you’re going to do something, now’s your chance.”

He grinned, biting his lip as if savoring the moment, but he pulled back, leaving you on edge. “Oh, I will. When you least expect it.”

Another night, you were at a friend’s place for a get-together, squeezed onto a crowded couch beside Nicholas. Someone made a joke about the two of you potentially being a cute pair and you rolled your eyes, but Nicholas just smirked, sliding an arm over your shoulder.

“Guess they’re onto us,” he whispered, leaning close to your ear so you felt the warmth of his breath. “Or maybe you’ve just made it too obvious you can’t resist me.”

You raised an eyebrow, nudging him lightly. “Resist you? Please, I’m just letting you hang around so I don’t break your heart.”

He chuckled, playing along. “Oh, yeah? Because I seem to remember a certain someone texting me at two in the morning, needing ‘company.’”

You felt your cheeks flush, but you shot him a quick, mischievous smile. “Company,” you retorted, “doesn’t mean anything more than a little late night fun.”

He tilted his head, giving you that same intense, teasing look. “Oh, so I’m just ‘late-night fun’ now?”

You shrugged, looking back at him with a challenging smile. “What can I say? You’re good for a laugh and a distraction.”

Nicholas laughed, pulling you a little closer. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

The “late night fun” you spoke of was just Nicholas helping you re decorate, watch your favorite tv show with you and continuing the banter.

Another time, you were at your apartment, watching a movie he had starred in on the couch. At some point, his arm settled across the back of the couch behind you, his fingertips lightly brushing your shoulder.

“You’re comfortable, right?” he asked, his tone smooth but a little too casual.

“Oh, absolutely,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “Unless you’re planning to do something that’d make me, uncomfortable?”

He smirked, his eyes dropping to your lips for a split second. “Only if you ask nicely.”

At a party, you’d both been teasing each other all night, throwing playful glances across the room. Later, in a quiet corner, he slid his hand down to your lower back as you leaned in close to talk.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think you like it when I drive you a little crazy.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, maybe. But it’s nothing compared to what I could do to you.”

His eyebrow arched, a grin spreading across his face. “Is that a promise?”

“Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out,” you shot back, biting your lip.

“Dancing, huh?” you teased again as he pulled your flush against him to the rhythm of the music, meeting his eyes. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

He shrugged, but his grip tightened ever so slightly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold you.”

Your heartbeat quickened, but you kept your cool. “You don’t need an excuse.”

His eyes darkened, his voice dropping lower. “Good to know.”

Another time, late one night after a fun evening, you and Nicholas were walking back to his car together. Your fingers brushed as you passed each other on the sidewalk, a simple touch, but it sent a shiver down your spine. As you both approached the car, he stepped in front of you, blocking your way for just a second before he opened your door for you.

His voice was soft, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it. “Are you sure you want to go back home alone tonight?”

You looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, and said, “Why? You worried about me?”

He stepped even closer, his lips almost brushing yours as he whispered, “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just not ready to let you go yet.”

After this, you were standing near a group of people at a Hollywood party, but Nicholas was leaning against the wall just across the room, watching you, his eyes following every move you made. When you turned to meet his gaze, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you staring at me?” you asked playfully, your voice carrying just enough edge to tease.

He didn’t break eye contact, his gaze darkening as he took a slow step toward you, his tone low. “Maybe. I’m just trying to figure out if the rest of them can see what I see.”

You took a step closer. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re mine,” he said, his lips brushing just barely against your ear as he leaned in close. “And I’m not sharing.”

“Yours?”

“Y-yeah, you’re my best friend after all.” You’d never seen him this flustered and you both just laughed it off.

The two of you kept playing that game, a series of almosts, leaving you both hungry for the moment one of you would finally make the move neither could take back. Then it happened.

The after-party of the event Nicholas invited you to was alive with flashing lights and the low hum of conversation as he scanned the crowd, searching for you. When he spotted you in the corner, his jaw clenched. You were backed against a wall, leaning into a conversation with some actor whose name he didn’t care to remember. Your gaze was all doe-eyed and captivated, the same way you looked at him whenever the two of you got a little too close.

Before he knew it, Nicholas was striding across the room, sliding between the two of you and placing a firm hand on your waist. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer, pulling you away with that possessiveness you’d never quite seen before.

As soon as you were away from the other guy, you couldn't help but tease him, looking up with a smirk. “What was that about? I thought we were just friends?”

“Friends, huh?” he murmured, a challenge glinting in his eyes. He didn’t let go of your waist, keeping you close as if daring anyone to interrupt again.

The two of you spent the rest of the night practically glued to each other. On the dance floor, you found yourselves moving in sync, his hands on your hips as you swayed, flush against each other’s body.The warmth and closeness, the way his fingers skimmed your skin, left you breathless.

By the time you left and climbed into the backseat of his car, both of you were a little tipsy, laughter spilling between flirtatious exchanges and you could feel your pulse racing.

As you stepped inside his house, you threw him a mischievous look, lips curling into a smirk. “You know, for all your big talk, you never actually follow through,” you teased, voice light and playful. “It’s almost like you’re scared.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, his gaze darkening as he backed you up against the door, one hand braced beside your head as he looked down at you, his mouth curving into a smirk of his own. “Careful now,” he murmured, his tone low and challenging. “Are you asking me to prove something?”

Your eyes widened, and you felt your heart hammering as you nodded slowly, almost daring him.

He leaned in, his voice a low growl against your ear. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

And then his lips crashed against yours, and suddenly, every ounce of that simmering sexual tension between you two exploded. His kiss was intense, consuming, and you found yourself melting into it as his hands roamed your body, pulling you closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you felt him press you harder against the door. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you tangled together, caught in the heat of the moment.

He scooped you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward his room, lips barely parting as he navigated the hallway. You could feel the rush of his breath against your skin, hear the steady, quickening beat of his heart as he laid you down.

As you both caught your breath, you looked up at him, lips slightly swollen from the kiss, and managed to say, “Wow. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Nicholas chuckled, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Likewise.”

His gaze softened slightly as he admitted, “I’ve waited way too long to do that.”

You smirked, leaning up to brush your lips over his again. “Well, you can do more.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he leaned back in, capturing your lips in another feral kiss. His hands were on you, warm and steady, slipping beneath your top and easing it off, then slipping off your mini skirt, leaving you in just your matching bra and panties. He paused for a moment, taking you in, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Wow,” he murmured. “Who’d you dress up for like this? Someone in particular?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Just—someone.”

“Who?” he pressed, a knowing glint in his eye.

You met his gaze and replied softly, “You.”

He smirked again, his fingers grazing over the straps of your bra before unclasping it, letting it slip from your shoulders. His eyes lingered as he gently pulled off your underwear, murmuring, “Lift your hips for me.”

As you did, he carefully slid it down, leaving you both breathless and wrapped up in each other, feeling that intensity settle into something unmistakably real.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, all naked for me, fuck,” he breathed, taking in the sight before him.

He leaned down, his mouth taking in your nipples and you gasped, feeling his tongue swirl and suck on it. Your hand went to his hair as he kneaded the neglected left breast and all you could do was moan as he continued.

“Mm— you like that baby? Yeah? You like when your best friend sucks on your juicy fucking tits?” he asked, in between sucking.

“Shut up and keep going.”

He did as he was told, then you felt a hand on your thigh, caressing you as you spread them open, practically begging him to touch you. You were soaked for him. A soft whimper left your lips as his fingers dipped inside your pussy.

“Jesus Christ, we’ve barely started and you’re soaked. You’re making a mess on my sheets, look.” Looking down you realized there was a large wet patch on his sheets and you closed your eyes, heat rising in your cheeks and between your legs.

“That’s okay baby, it’s gonna get even messier when I make you squirt all over it.”

You gasped and he took the opportunity to kiss you, slipping his tongue inside your mouth. His fingers began moving inside you rapidly, his palm grinding against your clit and making you feel pleasure beyond what you’d ever experienced before. Maybe it was the level of attraction and sexual tension between you finally overflowing, you didn’t know, but you were certainly enjoying it.

“Nicholas, I- I’m gonna—”

“Shh, I know baby, I can feel your tight pussy clenching around my fingers, cum for me.”

His mouth moved to your tits, suckling as his fingers curled inside you and you finally let go. You moaned his name as your pussy soaked his fingers, your orgasm taking you over so intensely that you were shaking.

“That’s my good girl, that’s it,” he praised, “finally being obedient for once.”

You rolled your eyes but they immediately rolled back, as Nicholas fell to his knees, his tongue on your clit. He laughed at your cockiness merging into pleasure, continuing to suck on your sensitive clit. He was a man starved, his mouth engulfing your pussy, making sure every part of it felt his tongue.

“God, Nick, I’m gonna cum again,” you whimpered.

“You taste like heaven sweetheart, cum again for me, I need to taste everything.”

He gripped under your thighs, slurping and sucking and soon, you granted his request, squirting in his mouth as he drank everything you had to offer. His fingers slipped inside your pussy and his tongue flicked your clit, guiding you through your high as you soaked his sheets, the patch growing larger and larger.

“I knew I could make you feel better than anyone else can,” he chuckled, sucking off his fingers.

Smirking, you leaned over to stroke his hard cock. He was decent. Oh, who were you kidding, he was fucking huge. Of course he was.

“Like what you see? You’re practically drooling baby,” he smirked. Soft whimpers left his lips as your warm hands stroked him and you spread the pre cum that was oozing from the tip.

“F-fuck, oh my god your hands feel so good around my cock,” he moaned, “as much as I’d love for you to stroke and suck me, I need to be inside you, now. I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

Your arousal grew as his body went between your legs, your eyes locked on each other with the whole world ceasing to exist. He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your folds, the sound of your pussy squelching filling the room.

“I’m gonna fuck you raw because you’re mine, is that okay?”

“More than okay.” A cocky grin tugged at his lips and your jaw fell open as he pushed inside you slowly, inch by inch.

“Oh my god,” you moaned in unison.

Nicholas moved slowly, his touch tender but full of that same intense energy that had been simmering between you two for so long. As he pressed into you, it was like the culmination of every teasing look, every playful comment, every stolen moment, all building to this point.

You gasped softly, feeling the thrill of finally crossing that line. He stilled for a second, his forehead pressed against yours as he whispered, “You feel so perfect.” His hand found yours, fingers interlacing as he held on tightly, grounding you in the moment.

You exhaled shakily, barely able to form words. “Worth the wait?” you managed to tease, a small smile playing on your lips.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. “Better than I ever imagined.” He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his voice soft but full of meaning as he added, “You’re everything I wanted.”

With every thrust, the intensity built, the shared glances and flirting making each moment feel like the answer to everything you’d both been waiting for. It felt like more than just a moment, it felt like finally, the reward for all the pent-up desire and all the time spent dancing around what had always been between you.

Nicholas began moving with a more intense rhythm, each thrust deliberate and purposeful. The pleasure seemed to crest with each movement, both of you lost in the heat of the moment. His voice came out low and husky as he murmured, “You feel so damn good. I knew you would, with that fucking mouth of yours.”

A shiver ran through you as you whispered back, breathless, “And you— mm, you look so hot above me.”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned down, his hand sliding to your hip, steadying you as he picked up the pace even more. “Cum all over my cock,” he urged, his voice barely a whisper but filled with a mix of tenderness and demand. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

The pleasure built up, and with one final hard thrust, you let go completely.

“Nicholas,” you moaned, biting his shoulder in the rush of release.

“Ow— I’m so attracted to you,” he said, kissing your neck, “I’m not done with you yet, I want you to ride me.”

Without another word, you switched positions and you straddled him as he sat up, his back pressed against the large bed frame.

“You are breathtaking, you know that?” he said, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I need you so bad,” you whimpered, sliding your pussy along his cock.

“I need you even more baby, now sit.”

Slowly, you sank on his cock feeling him slowly fill you up.

“You’re s-so big, god, just stretching me out,” you gasped.

You began riding his cock, your tits bouncing and his eyes went to them, mesmerized by the view before him. His lips went to your nipples, sucking as he grabbed your ass, guiding you to take his dick deep.

“Keep bouncing on my dick baby, just like that, don’t stop.”

Your bouncing sped up, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you.

“I’m close, I- I can’t hold it,” you screamed.

“Don’t hold it beautiful, let go for me, cum on my cock,” he demanded.

With a moan of his name, you draped your arms around his neck, grinding against him as your orgasm washed over you. He held onto you for dear life, his hands grabbing your ass as your pussy clamped around his cock and your juices soaked him.

“Good girl, that’s my baby,” he moaned, “I want my baby to cum one more time, turn around and ride my cock again so I can see that fat ass bounce.”

You whimpered as you turned around, his cock still inside you, the feeling of it swirling inside you making your head spin. He slapped your ass, startling you.

“God, this fucking ass. Could you tell when I’d let my hands brush over it? How I’d have my hands on your lower back teasing lower and lower?”

You couldn’t even form coherent words, the feeling of him so deep inside you was the only thing you cares about.

“Bounce that ass on my dick,” he added, slapping your ass harshly.

Your ass slammed onto him, little moans leaving your lips as your hands were on his legs, propping yourself up.

“Fuck, fuck fuck, oh my god Nick,” you cried out.

“That’s it baby, moan for me, scream my fucking name. You waited so long for this, make it fucking worth it.”

His hips began thrusting up, meeting your ass as he kept slapping your ass cheeks moving from left to right, willing you to bounce faster.

“This tight pussy is just gripping my cock. I’ve got such a good view. It’s just sucking me in, so tight around me,” he moaned, watching your pussy glide on him.

“You feel so good, filling me up so much,” you croaked out.

He grabbed your ass, his hips still slamming against your ass, the sound of skin slapping making his cock even harder. Suddenly, your knees gave out and he continued thrusting up into you.

“Give me one more sweetheart, cum on my cock, soak these fucking sheets,” he demanded.

Your fingers dug into his legs and you soaked his cock and the sheets, your orgasm ripping through you like a sharp knife.

“What a horny little girl, so good for me, now it’s my turn.”

He held you down, his hand going to the back of your neck and pushing you into the mattress as you arched your back. He slammed into you harshly, slapping your ass and moaning your name as he chased his orgasm.

“Shit, where do you want my cum princess?”

“Inside me, please Nicholas, I need your cum inside me,” you begged, gripping the soaked sheets.

“Fuck baby, are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m s-sure, just please, I need your cum in me, now.”

You didn’t have to tell him a third time, he pressed you into the bed, his cum filling you up, the warm feeling making you both moan in content.

“Yes, yes, shit,” he whimpered, his voice shaky.

He flipped you over, your body landing on top of him and he quickly plugged your pussy with his cock again, preventing any of his cum from leaking out.

The two of you lay there, bodies entangled, your head resting on his chest as you both caught your breath. Every unspoken word, every stolen glance over the years, had led to this moment, and the weight of it felt as satisfying as it did intense. The quiet between you was comfortable, filled only by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

Nicholas’ hand trailed gently up and down your back, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “That was a long time coming,” he murmured, his fingers brushing through your hair. “All that teasing, all those ‘just friends’ glances, guess it had to break eventually.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, feeling his warmth and the closeness of the moment settling around you. “Guess you’re not as good at resisting me as you thought.”

He chuckled, pulling you a little closer. “Can you blame me? You’re impossible to ignore.” He paused, then pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his expression growing a bit more serious. “You’re amazing, you know that? And, that was amazing.”

As he spoke, his eyes softened, and he looked at you with a depth that made your heart skip a beat. “I love you,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, but carrying the weight of everything he’d been holding back.

Your breath caught as you met his gaze, eyes wide in surprise. But the sincerity in his eyes, the way he held you close, made everything fall into place. “I- I love you too, Nicholas,” you replied, your voice just as quiet but filled with certainty.

He smiled, his hand cupping your cheek as he drew you in for another kiss, one that was slow, tender, and filled with the promise of everything yet to come.

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 10 months ago

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Anyway, while people are discoursing about men and not sharing Shubble points, here’s the actual advice I got from watching the stream bc I think that probably needs to be spread more. Shubble elaborates it much better but if you can’t watch it’s better than nothing.

Physical abuse is not just hitting or kicking, anyone causing physical pain intentionally to you without consent is physically abusive, regardless of how that manifests or if it seems silly.

Pressuring someone into using a safeword on something that’s not, like, a mutually agreed thing and is just something one partner wants is controlling and creepy.

Partners who push at the edge of your boundaries and avoid safewords are abusive.

A partner insisting you’re remembering things wrong and making you seem crazy is abusive (specifically, it’s gaslighting)

Grand romantic gestures from the beginning can very easily be a sign of abuse, as abusers use it to endear themselves to their victims.

Controlling behaviour and refusing to break up while also refusing to make changes is possessive and unhealthy at best.

Abusers will manipulate things to make it seem normal to those outside of their victims- by being kind and helpful even as they neglect their victim, by pressuring their victim to treat their abusive behaviour as a joke, ect. It’s often very hard for an outside observer to know if something is abusive, and making assumptions off of what you know in front of closed doors isn’t helpful.

It’s very hard to tell that you’re being abused, and you'll often still retain affection for your abuser for a long time- this is normal, and this isn’t your fault if you wanted to stay friends.

Even if an abuser is struggling with their own problems, taking it out on you is not acceptable. People can be bottling up their emotions and struggle with depression and past trauma and that gives them no excuse to hurt you.

If your partner relies entirely on you to take care of them, and support them financially, that’s financial abuse one way or another.

Abusers tend to hurt more than one person, and their actions escalate without outside influence (be it intervention if possible or something that keeps them away from victims if not.)

Listen to your gut, if you think a relationship is bad. Even if you’ve been through this before, sometimes you can’t realise in it, but you’ll feel it subconciously.

Also, Shubble is being supported by friends who helped her cope and went through different but similar things. She's specifically mentioned right now keeping the stories anonymised, but she might change her mind, if I interpreted the last bit correctly. She's doing alright, she's healing, and it sounds like she's being believed by her friends, at least most of them. I wish nothing but growth and healing for them, and wish them the best moving forward.

#Shelby shubble #I will not say I’m not guilty of this but I’m genuinely suprised I haven’t seen anything summarising this #I get it the immediate response is anger after denial innit #But I think this is far more important

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nyxs2 · 20 days ago

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Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 3/?)

The fire consumes everything it touches, turning what was into ashes. Curiously, Silco also leaves a trail of destruction in his wake.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, dirty talk, degradation, public sex, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, creampie, blood and violence, biting, threat of death, choking, canon-typical Silco violence, death of secondary characters being referenced, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut). Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1

Part 2

Pay attention to the tags. If you're uncomfortable with violent situations or explicitly intense acts, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Once again: this is NOT a fluffy romance. Our protagonist has her own issues, and to be clear, while there are violent themes, Silco would never harm his dove. You have been warned—proceed at your own risk.

"I heard that Silco seems to be sponsoring a prostitute."

The bottle on its way to your lips stopped midway. Kate's words echoed like thunder, even though they had been spoken in an almost murmured tone. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for a sentence like that, not even the most horrible, bitter drink Zaun had to offer.

Beside you, Kate seemed almost uncomfortable. There was no accusation in her voice, but something about her tone overflowed with sadness, perhaps even anguish. The kind of look that made it clear she already knew the answer even before making the statement. She still insisted on visiting you, despite the apparent control Silco had over the brothel.

The brothel, which until two months ago had been your refuge—a place where the outside world and all its horrors were muffled by artificial lights and drunken laughter—now felt more like a prison. A suffocating space filled with glances you didn't want to interpret. That's why, on the night Kate showed up, you suggested going somewhere else. Somewhere Silco's shadow didn't hang over you.

Vander's statue was a landmark. For many, it symbolized the resistance and hope that had long since vanished. A kind of silent guardian of Zaun, a reminder of better days. Some people even wished the metal structure would come to life, that Vander would return to protect his people. But to you, that monument meant something deeper. Vander had saved you once. You'd made a promise to him—a promise you had yet to fulfill.

"Yeah... I heard about it."

"It's you, isn't it?" Kate shot back immediately. Her voice was soft, almost delicate, like a confirmation rather than an accusation.

You couldn't look at her. The thought of being called Silco's prostitute made something inside you churn, heavy as lead. Dealing with him in the privacy of a room was one thing, but carrying that title... it made you feel dirty in a way no amount of long baths could wash away.

"How did you find out?"

Kate sighed, fiddling with the ballerina pendant on her necklace. She always did that as a way to calm herself, an almost involuntary motion. "I did my research."

"You should've been a cop, not a designer." you tried to joke, but the humor fell flat, hanging in the air with no response, no laughter. Kate didn't take the bait. She simply said your name, with a sweetness that hurt, like she was trying to soothe a wounded animal. Reluctantly, you finally looked at her. That's when you noticed the worry etched into her green eyes, a worry you didn't feel you deserved.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice hoarse, almost harsh. "It could be worse. Silco could've just kidnapped me."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still in danger."

You let out a low grumble, almost childish, like a petulant kid trying to dodge a scolding. She was right, but you preferred to live in ignorance.

"If I figured out who the 'prostitute' was, others can too. And if the chemical barons realize Silco has any interest in you, they'll try to use you to get to him."

"I know how to protect myself, Kate."

"From pickpockets and creeps, maybe. Not from assassins."

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

The words escaped your mouth with force, your voice laced with irritation, hitting a sharper tone than you'd usually use with her. You stood from where you'd been sitting at the foot of Vander's statue, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control. But, if you were honest with yourself, the idea that you still had control was a cruel joke. Overnight, your life had taken a turn you hadn't planned for—or asked for. To say you were angry would've been a massive understatement. And now Kate was pressing all the wrong buttons.

"Come with me to Piltover."

Her voice was firm, serious, but there was something more. A kind of unshakable hope glimmered in her green eyes as they locked onto yours, as if she could see something you couldn't. And there was something else... something that made your stomach twist. Affection. "Alright, so the place I'm staying in is the size of a shoebox," Kate continued, a small, awkward smile appearing on her lips, "But we can make it work together. Silco has no power in Piltover."

Those words. That tone. That damn hope. They doused your anger like a bucket of ice water. What remained was pure, raw shock as you stared into her emerald eyes. You saw it. The resolve. The conviction. And damn it, she was willing to risk everything... for you. Suddenly, it all made sense: why she kept coming back, even knowing the risk. Even indirectly challenging Silco. Because, in her mind, you were worth it.

Kate spoke your name again when she noticed your mind wandering for too long, her tone sweet as honey. "Please, come with me."

At some point, the lines had blurred for Kate, and considering Silco's actions, this practically put her neck on a silver platter. Bile rose in your throat, and you wanted to vomit.

"It's better if we don't see each other anymore." your voice came out dry, cutting. The tone was rehearsed, even if you hadn't prepared these words. You took a step back, putting space between the two of you. "Whatever you think we have, it's nothing more than professional."

Kate's eyes widened, shock written across her face as if you'd slapped her. The pain that followed nearly made you falter, but you pressed on. You had to, for her sake.

"I can't believe you're naive enough to think I feel something for you, let alone want to run away."

"What?" Kate whispered, her voice barely audible, but you saw it. You saw her eyes start to glisten with tears.

"I pity you." your voice was a venomous whisper. "Falling for a prostitute? Seriously? Kate, I expected better from you."

"Why are you acting like this?" her voice trembled, heavy with pain. "This isn't you."

"What do you know about me?" you shot back, your voice as sharp as shattered glass. "Oh, come on, sweetheart... it was all an act. Did you really think I cared? It was in my best interest to keep some naive girl paying my way. All I had to do was say a few sweet words."

She called your name again, her voice breaking, a final, desperate attempt to pull you back from the edge. A futile attempt.

"But now I don't need you anymore."

You saw it. The exact moment the first tear slipped from her eyes, just before Kate turned and ran. Without another word. Without looking back.

You stood there, motionless, like an extension of Vander's statue. Frozen. Empty. Guilt weighed on your shoulders like lead, but you didn't allow yourself to feel anything beyond the void. If Silco was horrible, you were a monster. Maybe that's what you deserved. Maybe, in the end, you and he were cut from the same cloth.

But your self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Breaking hearts, are we?" Silco's voice resonated in your ears, low and dripping with acidic humor. "And here I thought you were the merciful one."

The surprise lasted only a second when you heard his voice—low, laden with that familiar arrogance that made the air around you feel heavier. For a moment, you almost believed it was just in your head, a ghost of guilt or confusion tormenting you. But a single glance was enough to confirm it wasn't your imagination. Of course not. It was obvious Silco would know where to find you.

Especially since you'd abandoned the brothel in the middle of your shift. Someone had likely informed him that his latest acquisition had walked out unexpectedly.

The scent of burnt tobacco hit you before you fully saw him, and you closed your eyes briefly, trying to control the surge of emotions bubbling up inside you. Anger, frustration, maybe even a touch of resignation. You inhaled deeply, as if the tobacco in the air could numb whatever was consuming you. But it was futile.

The bottle was still in your hand—a bitter consolation. You lifted it to your lips, letting the liquid burn its way down your throat. The mediocre alcohol was doing its job but was nowhere near enough to drown out the chaos in your head.

"How long have you been spying on us?" your voice came out calmer than you'd expected, a stark contrast to how you felt inside.

It was impressive, even to yourself. You should've been furious; after all, everything in your life had started crumbling because of him. Because of his manipulations, the insidious control he wielded over everyone and everything around him. The last month had been hell, and Silco had been the chief architect of your downfall.

And yet, here you were. Talking to him. Not smashing the bottle over his head.

"Long enough to understand what you're trying to do." he finally said. His voice was calm, but it carried an undertone of subtle disdain, as if the situation were almost amusing to him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Silco move slowly, leaning against the base of Vander's statue. He crossed one ankle over the other, assuming a relaxed posture that seemed devoid of any threat. But you knew better. Beneath the casual façade, there was an almost palpable tension, like that of a snake ready to strike at any moment.

"Driving her away, keeping her safe... all so I have no reason to go after her." he continued, his eyes boring into your back, savoring each syllable in a way that sent a chill down your spine. "Such nobility on your part. A shame it's all for nothing."

The words hung in the air between you, as dense as the cigar smoke swirling around him. You wanted to retort, but your throat went dry, the words catching somewhere between pride and fear. He knew. He knew exactly what you were doing. And worse, he seemed to find it amusing.

Without warning, he pushed off the statue and took a step toward you, closing the already narrow gap between you. Your heart leapt in your chest, but you stayed rooted to the spot, your hands gripping the neck of the bottle, channeling your fury into the inanimate object.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Drinking won't make it go away." he said, his voice now almost gentle. Almost. The soft tone only made the harshness of his words cut deeper.

You barely had time to process the emotions boiling within you when Silco reached out and took the bottle from your grasp. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your fingers stretching out in a nearly desperate attempt to reclaim it. But he held it out of your reach with an ease that made your blood boil.

Your gaze locked onto his, and like a thread on the verge of snapping, you finally broke. It was as if everything you'd been holding back had been unleashed all at once, a storm of emotions sweeping away any control you had left. Before you could even think about the consequences, your body had already made the decision.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the space, the liquid spilling onto the floor in a dense pool alongside the faint clatter of the cigar falling. A small fire ignited mere inches from your feet. It was that sound, along with the smell of smoke, that finally pulled you back to reality.

Your arm was raised, caught firmly in Silco's grasp. His fingers wrapped around your wrist with enough force to stop you but not to hurt. You realized just how close you were to his face—mere centimeters away from striking him.

And that's when you saw it: his face. For the first time, Silco looked genuinely surprised, frozen in place. His good eye was wide, as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. It was almost impossible to imagine a man like him with such an expression. But the moment didn't last. Like a mask falling and quickly being replaced, his expression shifted in an instant. The shock gave way to his familiar façade of coldness and absolute control.

You, however, didn't back down. There was no regret in your eyes, no hesitation in your movements. Your emotions were a haze, but you kept them locked behind a hardened, defiant expression.

"Leave her out of this, Silco!" you said, your voice low but carrying a weight that cut through the silence like a blade. The words were laden with something you couldn't quite name—anger, sorrow, perhaps something deeper. "I'm the one you want? Well, here I am, right in front of you."

The words hung in the air, echoing in the space between you. Silco didn't respond immediately, but his eyes didn't leave yours, as if he were analyzing every nuance of your expression. Searching for something—maybe doubt, maybe fear.

In a swift, precise movement, he pulled you forward, erasing the distance between you until your body was pressed against his. The heat radiating from you was palpable, even through the layers of clothing, and the subtle scent of alcohol mixed with your perfume filled his senses, igniting something you couldn't quite interpret.

His other hand moved just as firmly, gripping your chin with enough force that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. The touch was almost rough, a blend of control and anger that reverberated through you down to your bones. Silco's mismatched eyes burned with a fierce intensity, so piercing it seemed impossible to look away.

"Don't test me." he growled, his voice low and laced with latent danger. "My patience has its limits."

And then, with calculated abruptness, he let you go. The movement was so sudden that you almost stumbled backward. He stepped away, creating space between you as if he needed to regain composure, though his arrogant demeanor remained intact.

"What are you going to do?" your head tilted slightly to the side, your tone laden with challenge. "Kill me?"

You weren't naive. His threats weren't empty words. You knew Silco was holding himself back—why exactly, you weren't sure. Perhaps it was the mounting tension between you, an invisible thread that seemed to pull you closer to something as destructive as it was inevitable. Anyone else who dared to attack him would have already lost an arm, or worse.

And yet, you didn't back down.

"Or maybe with me, it's different." your voice dropped to a sharp whisper as you took another step forward, so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "Because you know, Silco, that no matter how much you threaten me, I doubt you have the guts to actually do anything to me."

Silco's eyes narrowed at your words.

"You think you know me, don't you?" he shot back, his voice laced with disdain. "You think you understand what I want, what I'm capable of."

"Then tell me if I'm wrong."

It was you who closed the distance between the two of you, ignoring the crunch of glass shards beneath your feet with each step or even the crackling fire nearby. The phantom of his grip still burned on your wrist, but you didn't rub it. You wouldn't show weakness—not now.

Every muscle in his body seemed tense, ready to strike, but he didn't move. He didn't raise a hand to push you away, nor did he take a step back. Instead, he let you approach, let you bridge the gap until you were so close you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

"You're right. With you, things are... different." he admitted, his voice now almost regretful, as though confessing something he hated to admit even to himself. "But don't be mistaken. I'm still the man who built an empire on blood and fear, and I wouldn't hesitate to remind you of that if necessary."

The shadows cast by the light made Silco's silhouette even more intimidating. His orange eye seemed to pierce into your very soul, devouring you, like staring into the abyss and having it stare back.

"Go home." his face was mere inches from yours, close enough for you to see every line, every scar etched into his marked skin. He was trying to maintain composure; that much was clear. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

You raised your chin, your body radiating a fierce pride that defied any implicit threat in Silco's words. Any sense of self-preservation had already been smothered by the chaotic mix of emotions boiling inside you: burning anger over Kate's situation, frustration with Silco's manipulations, and, above all, the overwhelming attraction clouding your judgment.

You knew you were tempting fate at this point, provoking the beast, pushing Silco to a dangerous edge. But honestly? You didn't care. Maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted to see how far he would go, how much he could tolerate your words before finally losing control.

"I didn't think a simple fuck would destabilize the great Eye of Zaun this much." your voice dripped with sweet venom, every word as sharp as a blade. You saw the muscle in Silco's jaw tighten, and it only fueled your audacity, like pouring gasoline on a fire. "A whore was enough to make you lose your grip... how pathetic."

The words came out drenched in scorn, and you savored every syllable as though you were exposing an open wound, pouring salt on it with relish.

You barely had time to react before you were slammed against the wall, the cold surface digging into your back with force. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and before you could even try to recover, Silco's hand was at your throat, squeezing just enough to send a wave of panic coursing through your entire body. Your mouth opened instinctively, searching for the little air you could manage to pull in, your chest rising and falling in short, desperate movements.

Your hands shot upward, but not to fight him—you knew that would be useless. Instead, you grasped his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin with force, your nails leaving small marks. The touch was deliberate, as if trying to remind him that you would still fight back, even if the odds weren't in your favor.

"You want to know what's pathetic?" he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You." his thumb pressed firmly against the pulse point on your neck, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat beneath your skin. "I could snap your pretty neck and leave your body here for the rats to feast on."

The words were cold, cutting like steel against your skin, but there was something else beneath them. A suffocating heat seemed to hang between you, an almost palpable field of tension. It was dark, twisted—a desire that seemed to want to consume you both. Your breaths mingled in the closeness, a suffocating dance of anger and something more, something neither of you was willing to admit.

"Keep talking." he murmured, his voice dripping with dangerous, lascivious undertones. "I want to hear what insults that pretty mouth of yours will throw at me."

Your body betrayed you in the worst possible way. The initial fear that had tensed your muscles began to shift, the adrenaline coursing through you dulling the pain and heightening every sensation. Your heart pounded in your ears, each beat echoing like a warning of how precariously your life hung in his grip. But it wasn't just fear making your heart race—it was him.

Silco was close. Too close. His body practically covered yours in that position. His scent filled your senses, erasing any remnants of rational thought. His eyes burned into yours, that hypnotizing contrast—one eye filled with the intensity of anger, the other an empty abyss, equally devastating.

And then you saw it in those piercing mismatched irises. Hidden beneath the anger. An unmistakable flicker of desire. It was raw, overwhelming, and dangerously familiar. You recognized it because you felt the same. Your body seemed to plead against your will, the proximity igniting something dark and unspoken between you.

Your lips parted, and the words slipped out in a rough whisper before you could stop them.

"I hate you."

Your voice broke, but not from weakness. There was weight in it, a hatred so dense it seemed to poison the air around you—a hatred for everything he was and for everything he made you feel. A hatred for him, but perhaps an even deeper hatred for yourself, for wanting him despite knowing how wrong it was. You hated him. You wanted him. And in that moment, it was impossible to tell where one feeling ended and the other began.

Silco's fingers tightened around your throat just enough to send another wave of alarm through your body. His eyes—those mismatched irises that burned with something dark and ravenous—studied you intently. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, revealing the jagged edges of his teeth, a threat and a twisted invitation all at once.

"I know you do, dove."

He leaned in closer, the distance between you shrinking until his nose brushed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the scarce space separating your lips. Silco's free hand moved upward, gripping your jaw firmly, though his thumb traced the delicate line of your cheekbone with an almost cruel gentleness. It was a stark contrast to the strength of his grip around your throat, and that duality sent heat coursing through your veins.

He pressed his body even closer against yours, pinning you completely against the cold wall, as if he wanted to crush you there, as if he wanted to make sure you had nowhere to escape—as if you belonged to him. Every inch of his presence was overwhelming, suffocating. You felt the weight of his thigh shift, sliding between your legs and applying an unrelenting pressure that stole any breath you had left in your lungs.

And then he claimed your lips.

It was a shock—a collision as overwhelming as the shove against the wall. His lips crashed into yours with a force that shattered any remnants of resistance you might have had. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was raw, primal, a clash of teeth, tongue, and desire that had been restrained for far too long. He kissed you as if he wanted to devour you, as if every part of you needed to be consumed until there was nothing left but him.

You tried to regain control, but there was no space for it. He allowed no room for anything but his all-encompassing presence, the way he took everything you were, claiming the right to possess every piece of you. His fingers around your throat tightened—not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you aware of his power, enough to make you feel it.

His touch was possessive, almost as if he were branding you, inscribing his presence onto you in a way that no one else could erase. And as he deepened the kiss, you realized, with a mix of anger and fascination, that he was getting exactly what he wanted.

Your hands, which had been gripping his wrists in a desperate gesture, slid downward to clutch at the rough fabric of his vest. You pulled him closer, ignoring the pain that radiated through your body. There was something strangely comforting in the brutality of his touch.

The kiss wasn't a gesture of affection; it was a collision of wills, a clash of searing fury and uncontrollable desire. It was a war with no victors, only the promise of mutual destruction. You matched his every advance with equal intensity, every bite and scratch an attempt to wound him, to leave your mark on him just as he was leaving his on you.

It was twisted, and you knew it. The hatred you felt for him was intoxicating, burning inside you like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. But what was worse—and you hated to admit it—was the fact that a part of you wanted this. You found a strange solace in the shared violence, as though, in some perverse way, it was the only truth between you. This contained violence was a language you both understood perfectly.

Your teeth sank into his lip with force, and the metallic taste of blood spread between you before he finally pulled back. "You don't own me." you whispered breathlessly, resting your forehead against his.

His hand slid down, gripping your thigh with bruising strength as he hitched it up to his waist. You gasped, feeling the hardness of him against you, a visceral reminder of how much he wanted you. Silco pressed his body even closer to yours, the cold wall at your back seeming to vanish against the searing heat of him in front of you.

"Not yet, dove. Not yet."

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco chuckled darkly at her feeble attempt to slap him again, his eyes glinting with humor as he once again grabbed her wrist. However, he released her grip without much resistance, watching curiously as her hands slid downward once they were free. He reveled in the way her hands shook as she fumbled with the clasps on his pants, anger and desperation rolling off her in waves and clouding her ability to complete a simple action that she could do even with her eyes closed.

He grabbed her hands, stilling their movements. With deliberate slowness, he guided them to the fastenings of his trousers, showing her how to undo the clasps and zippers. His hands covered hers, helping her slide the fabric down enough to free him, revealing the hard length of him, already straining towards her.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he felt her fingers brush against him, the slightest touch sending sparks of pleasure racing up his spine. He was so hard it almost hurt, his cock throbbing with need. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her in the most primal way possible.

But first, he had other plans. With a sudden movement, he grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until she was wrapped around his waist. He pinned her against the wall, the rough brick scraping against her back. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt out of the way, revealing the lacy edge of her stockings.

"Look at you," his mocking tone, as if he were not equally thirsty. "So desperate for it, so needy. You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could see?"

He rocked his hips forward, grinding his hardness against her core dress. The friction made them both gasp, pleasure sparking through their veins. Silco's hands slid higher, cupping her ass, kneading the firm flesh.

"I should make you beg for it." the whisper left his lips, his breath hot against her ear. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn't. He was too far gone, too consumed by the need to have her. Right there, at that exact second.

"Don't you dare." her voice tried to be threatening, Silco realized, but at that moment her threat sounded more like a plea than anything else. "Otherwise I..."

"Otherwise, what? You are not in a position to make demands."

Despite his words, she did what she always did. She ignored him. Her eyes rolled back with a boldness only she could muster as she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to wet each one before returning them back down. She fingered him, spitting, with some difficulty due to the awkward angle. Silco's head fell forward, falling onto her shoulder as she continued to pump him. His hands returned to her thighs, adjusting his grip to keep them steady. Then when she adjusted him against her entrance, Silco couldn't help but hold his breath.

The sensation was almost too much to bear, the tight grip of her walls around him sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He gritted his teeth, fighting back a groan as she sank down onto him, inch by torturous inch. For God's sake, how he missed that.

But even as his body reveled in the feel of her, his mind was racing with dark thoughts. This wasn't lovemaking, not by a long shot. This was a fuck, plain and simple, a coming together of two people driven by anger and lust and a desperate need to hurt each other. It was twisted and wrong and so fucking good that it terrified him.

His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her down onto him, burying himself as deep as he could go. The angle was brutal, almost painful, but it only served to fuel the fire raging inside him.

He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that made her cry out. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a physical manifestation of the dark hunger that consumed them both. He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her writhe, that had her clawing at his clothes and screaming his name.

"Mine." his voice murmured, more to himself than to her. It wasn't a statement of possession meant to irritate her, since she seemed so absorbed in her own pleasure that she didn't even notice the words leaving his lips.

His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her tightly as he thrust into her, his movements hard and fast. Silco could feel her body tensing above him, could hear the way her breath hitched in her throat as she neared her peak. The knowledge that he was the one pushing her to this point, that he was the one making her lose control, filled him with a sense of satisfaction. He wanted to break her, to shatter her in a way that only he could, so, remake her in his image.

But even as he thought it, he knew it would be an almost impossible task. She would never give in to him. Not easily. She was too wild, too defiant, too stubborn to be tamed. And God help him, but that was what attracted him. That fire, that passion, that refusal to submit even in the face of his worst brutality. It called to something deep within him, something he'd thought long dead.

That's why he wanted to try. Someone who had been a revolutionary was anything but someone who gave up easily.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, his mismatched eyes boring into hers with an intensity that bordered on frightening. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown with lust and something else, something darker that he couldn't quite name. It unsettled him, the way she looked at him, like he was her salvation and her damnation all rolled into one.

He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. He bit down hard, leaving a bruise in the shape of his teeth. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, mixing with the salt of her sweat. It was a heady combination, one that made his head spin and his cock throb with need.

And then she was coming, her walls clamping down around him like a vice. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the rhythmic squeezing of her muscles pushing him over the edge. He let out a guttural groan, his hips losing their rhythm as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his seed.

For a moment, they were frozen in place, their bodies locked together in the aftermath of their release. Silco could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, could hear the ragged sound of her breathing as she tried to catch her breath. And for a fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to hold her like this, to wake up next to her and see her sleep-tousled hair spread out on the pillow.

Well, if everything went the way he planned he would see this scene.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The post-climax sensation that always followed those moments left you vulnerable, as if every layer of yourself had been stripped away, leaving you exposed and defenseless. This time was no different, though the intensity was greater. It had been quick, physical—an explosion of mutual rage converted into something far more primal.

Your body ached, especially your back. The constant friction against the rough wall during the act had taken its toll. And yet, there was no regret. You had wanted it—the brutality, the intensity, the force. Silco's body also bore the signs of weariness; you could feel it in the way he leaned against the wall, seeking support for both himself and for you. His arms still held you, firm but no longer tense—just enough to keep you close.

His arms tightened around your waist for a moment, holding you firmly against him as if trying to prolong the contact, before slowly lowering you back to the ground. Even then, he kept one arm around your waist, his open hand pressed against the curve of your lower back, steadying you until the trembling in your legs subsided. No words were spoken.

After what felt like an eternity, you began adjusting your clothes. Each movement was mechanical, automatic, as though your mind had shut off, unable to process what had just happened. Across from you, Silco did the same.

Without the sexual intensity or the anger that had dominated the air minutes ago, the silence now felt even heavier. A kind of emptiness that made room for dangerous thoughts to take shape in your mind. But you didn't want to think. Not now. Thinking meant facing the consequences, and you simply didn't have the strength to deal with that yet.

You turned to face him. Silco, as always, seemed ready to say something. But before he could open his mouth, before he could release a single word or give you that smug smile that always made your blood boil, you struck him.

Your slap wasn't as strong as you wanted—it was all your exhausted body could muster—but it was enough. Silco froze for a moment, his eyes widening more from surprise than pain, but he said nothing. He didn't react. And somehow, that infuriated you even more.

Without waiting for a response or reaction, you turned and walked away.

[...]

The following days passed. The path to the brothel, the routine, the people you crossed paths with—it all seemed normal, yet strangely distant. Neither Kate nor Silco appeared, and you were grateful for that. Still, the peace was an illusion. Your mind offered no respite, replaying the memories of that night every time you closed your eyes. The touch, the anger, the desire, and, finally, the emptiness—it all returned like a silent torment.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the movement around you. It was a physical jolt—a body colliding hard against yours—that finally pulled you from your trance. The impact was so abrupt that you nearly fell.

"Hey!" you snapped, irritated, but the person was already gone, running into the growing crowd around you. It was only then that you realized something was wrong. Urgent, desperate voices overlapped around you.

"A house is on fire!" someone shouted, the phrase ringing out like an alarm. "Hurry!"

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your legs began running, following the crowd heading in the same direction. As you turned the corner, the chaos came into full view.

The flames danced wildly, consuming the modest building like ravenous predators. Thick smoke filled the air, burning your nose and throat, making it difficult to breathe. People ran back and forth, some coughing, others carrying buckets of water in a frantic attempt to contain the fire. Children cried as adults tried to organize some form of aid. It was pure chaos—stifling and inescapable.

You stood there, frozen, your eyes locked on the fire that seemed to grow with every passing second. But then, another jolt brought you back—this time, more deliberate.

When you turned, you found a figure that seemed out of place amidst the surrounding chaos. She was tall and muscular, with an imposing presence. The red cloak she wore draped over her shoulders, concealing her left arm in an almost calculated way. She wasn't looking at the fire—she was looking at you.

"Silco sends his regards." before you could react, she dropped something to the ground.

Your breath hitched. The world spun. Pain bloomed in your chest, spreading like poison as realization set in. A necklace with a ballerina pendant. You knew that necklace.

And it was covered in blood. Part 4

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