#the ‘well now you can’ is a stupid joke

[prlssprfctn]

AU, where Bruce accidentally gets de-aged (physically and mentally), and the first person he bumps in is... Red Hood.

To Jason's defence, he didn't connect the dots at first. He was just patrolling around his usual turf, thinking of nothing in particular, when he saw a small child in a ridiculously serious suit, sulking around Crime Alley. He looks distraught, and considering that he looks rich, it is no surprise - that is not a place for him. So, he is either lost or something happened, right?

He takes the helmet off, as he usually does when he is dealing with kids (they got scared easily) and carefully approaches a brooding baby.

'Hey, shrimp. Where are your parents at?'

That said shrimp turns around, his big blue eyes looking confused and lost, and Jason thinks he looks awfully familiar.

'I am not shrimp,' he protests instantly, pouting at him. 'And they are somewhere... here. We just left the movie theatre together!'

Jason glances at the abandoned movie theatre, back at the little rich boy with a familiar frown, and it clicks. This is his fucking dad. Suddenly, a kid - but it is fucking Bruce Wayne, for sure.

'Was watching Zorro by any chance?' Jason still asks, just to be sure that he is not going insane.

Bruce - and it must be him - beams at him.

'Yes! This is a great movie, by the way.'

Oh, hell. At least, he didn't witness his parents' death just yet. Jason wasn't sure he would be able to deal with his father being so small, and mourning his mom and dad. He would probably cry himself at some point.

'Hey,' Jason calls out for him slowly, squatting down; God, who would've thought that this little shrimp would become so tall and big in the future. 'Aren't you... You must be Thomas's kid, right?'

Okay, yeah, Jason is going to lie to this kid. Because there is no way he manages just to steal Bruce as a stranger to bring him back home; it is still a kid, even if it is his father. Right?

'You know my dad?' Bruce tilts his head, little fingers tugging on the hem of his jacket; suspicious.

'You could say that,' Jason nods. 'Alfie... I mean, Alfred called me. Asked me to pick up a kid, since Thomas and Martha got an urgent call.'

Fuck his life and stupid life choices. What the hell he was even doing? He looked like a mugger; or like a psycho. But Alfred was his best bet - he could call him, after all; ask, well, support his idiotic made-up story.

'No one calls Alfred Alfie but my dad,' Bruce pouts in a very, very spoiled manner.

'Well... I do. We served together in the army,' he blurts out.

His armour, apparently, is enough a proof for the kid to nod slowly.

'Okay. But you gotta take off your strange mask first,' Bruce folds arms on his chest.

...???

Did this kid just agree for an unknown man to take him home? Like this? Who could've thought that this pouty child would become the most paranoid man alive in the future?

'Uh, why?'

'So I can remember your face and do an identikit, if you turn out to be a bad guy,' Bruce smirks stupidly. 'Duh.'

Jason is going to cry. This kid is so cute.

'Yeah, duh,' Jason huffs, but despite his better judgment takes the domino mask off as well. 'Go on, take your time. My identikit should be the prettiest, shrimp.'

Bruce... gawks at him. His eyes are comically wide now, mouth open, and then, he jumps a little closer to him - oh, God, he is jumping when excited? - putting his hellishly cold hands on Jason's cheeks.

'Woah. You look like dad.'

'Uh,' Jason nods awkwardly, and because he is an idiot, adds a joke: 'We are brothers, actually. Just don't talk much.'

...Apparently, little Bruce can't take jokes. Because he lets out an adorable gasp, and throws himself on Jason as if they knew each other for ages now.

'Uncle? That's so cool. You look like Zorro!'

Damn this little kid, and this stupid family. Damn Joe Chill and the night he killed this kid's parents. Damn it all. Bruce might be an asshole sometimes, but he was so... cute and innocent.

'Thanks, shrimp,' Jason slides a domino mask back on, picks up little Bruce with one arm, and grips a helmet with another. 'Come on, let's go home. Alfred will make your favourite tiramisu.'

'You know my favourites?!'

Jason sniffles.

'Yeah. Yeah, I do, kid.'

If he gets so emotional over this kid, he has no idea how worse Dick is going to be once he finds out.

Oh, this is going to be one hell of a night.

[angelsndragons]

so my forever gm needed a break. given that this was my only in-person game and i wanted to retain that connection to my community, i volunteered to run the next campaign so she could take a break and just enjoy playing.

i decided to go with a module i knew, having been a pc in it a few years prior: storm king's thunder. i took her copy of the book and started reading.

and nearly threw it through a window in frustration.

for those of you who don't know, the core giant races in the book are very star trek hat-esque. they have Their Thing and that's it. almost all of the giant npcs are evil and out to destroy the world of smallfolk using their delegated hats. there was a shakespearean drama happening at certain points behind the scenes but nothing else in the book supported that level of complexity with the giants or with the scripted encounters in the book. okay so you're telling me a small goblin tribe has holed up in a cave system and when a bunch of villagers flee into said cave, they...take them all prisoner and go raid their village? after learning that the villagers were fleeing from a giant attack on said village? after learning that most of the guards are still in the village proper, defending the broken keep? really? nah, man, that's just not engaging with the goblins as a culture and people.

i think the worst offenders are the hill giants. they're given heinously low soft stats, are treated as nothing more than glutinous sacks of hit points, and they're the fucking butt of the joke. two hill giants can't navigate their way back to their home base after an attack (meaning that the players can't use said hill giants to scout and find the place either). they're tricked at every interval. the big hill giant plot is for the chief to eat literally any and all food her minions can bring her so that she'll grow to be the biggest giant in existence. yes, she too is treated like the butt of a joke for daring to think that that plan is good or viable. she's so fat (and the book goes into this over and over) that she can no longer walk and the wagon she's seated on is broken and hasn't been repaired. she is in fact so fat and so stupid that she forgets that she has a macguffin the party needs. oh and the book goes into great detail about how slovenly and disgusting her place is and then has the nerve throw in a "overbearing wife beats and bullies her husband" joke in there just to round out the misery. this whole ass culture of bad guys is treated like they are goddamn animals, not people.

needless to say i have chucked a great deal of this. the goblins are practical survivalists (we are small and easily squished, if we can't hide we go along until we can escape) and when ogres and giants moved in, they decided to follow orders to gather food right up until the party gives them a legitimate out. thanks to their intervention, this group of goblins are off the board as future enemies and will in fact be appearing as occasional help (one of my players decided they liked the goblins so much that they created a new character to be from that group).

the hill giants now have traditions surrounding food preparation and preservation that go back thousands of years and much of the small folk's current tech in that department is based off of hill giant innovations, which the party is learning about. their ancestors sleep in the hilly regions of the world, growing and growing together, their sometimes living bodies make up the very ground that the small folk walk on and find nourishment from. the hill giants, along with their stone and cloud brethren, are the only giants who remember that giants become one with the land. one amongst many slowly dying giant races and they choose to, well, not embrace it but find peace in it. they're still gullible and still view size as incredibly important but one's skill in the culinary arts can propel them to leadership. chief guh is a culinary visionary who perfected the art of preparing dragon meat and as giants and dragons are enemies beyond memory, that is quite the feat. will the party come to blows with her? i mean, maybe. but at least she and her people won't end up as 'dumb, slow, fat' person jokes.

framing is so important you guys. it's work but it is so worth it. i had my players spitting nails at the racist, isolationist elves whom the village the party was helping were counting on for survival. i had them tearing up as they decided to knowingly walk a group of orcs to their deaths at the hands of the racist, isolationist elves because it was the only way the elves would agree to supply the village through a brutal winter after the village lost everything. one elf, just one, was curious, if completely incorrect, about the outside world and mostly respectful to the pcs. one of the players is now penpals with him and has sent him a history of the sword coast he otherwise doesn't have access to because his people Do Not Care about the world beyond their borders. the campaign is richer for delving deeper into these cultures and people

Putting all tabletop players into a college level ethics class and forcing them to turn in a paper on moral philosophy before buying a new book

[laambfuzz]

—- lunch munch club. ft schlatt. ᝰ

summary: watching porn late one night when you come across an interesting video. you're taken by surprise when you see the main male star is also the man who's streams you tune into almost daily.

— tags: smut, lunch club!schlatt, munch schlatt, mentions of oral, schlatt does porn (duh), open ending.. so we can expand upon this if we're interested.

authors note: hii! the two ideas i had originally can wait, because the lovely @fanficfox posted something about lc!schlatt doing porn and it struck me with inspo. so! everyone say thank you fox, and i hope you all enjoy! ♡

it's not uncommon for you to have some time to just yourself and the stash of porn videos that pop up on your twitter feed

twitter algorithm knows what to give you these days, which is nice. it saves you the hassle of finding a good account

but perhaps twitter knows you a little too well, when you're recommended a video of a guy eating a girl out

and you're intrigued of course, because who doesn't love that? especially when the camera is on her chest, helping entice you into the experience. as if it were you

the video is already a few seconds in by the time you click on it, and you're introduced to the scene with obscene moans escaping the girl

you can see her thighs tremble around the head in between her thighs, her free hand reaching out to run her fingers through the male's hair

you can hear muffled groans from in between her thighs, and you watch as the head moves back slightly, taking a breath

"god sweetheart, you taste so fuckin' good. could stay down here all night and take my sweet time with you."

that's when a shiver runs through your body, because oh. that sounded like.. and you supposed when you looked at the figure of the male, and the hair..

no. you were being stupid. of course you were. why on earth would schlatt of all people do porn. you know what he's like, he wouldn't

but oh, he would. and when he raises his head from beneath the girl's thighs with his lips glistening with her slick, you're frozen

it's as if your mind has short-circuited, because what the fuck?? you have so many questions; why was schlatt doing porn, why was he not making it subtle, why was he fucking good at it?

you don't have time to focus on your own questions, because your eyes are drawn back to the screen. you watch as his slim, naked body crawls up the bed, getting closer to the camera, licking his lips slowly as he groans

"words can't describe how good that was. need you to taste yourself, baby."

and with that, he's leaning over the camera to lock lips with the girl

immediately you close the tab. your whole being is flushed, and you feel hot inside for many reasons

you felt like you shouldn't have seen that, like you were.. intruding. which was stupid, he put this on the internet, there's nothing private about that

you decided you'd sleep it off. or that maybe this was a bizarre dream you'd wake up from not too long from now. anything but clicking back onto it

and yet only 10 minutes later, you had re-opened the tab

the next evening, schlatt is streaming and you try to watch it like normal. as if last night didn't happen

but you couldn't

now, every time he makes a suggestive joke or comment, you're transported back to last night

when he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck mid-stream, you remember how he looked doing it in the video, before he crawled towards the camera

when he licks his lips after taking a drink, getting the remnants of whatever liquid he had consumed from them, you can only see him licking the girl's slick off himself

you felt insane, like you couldn't act normal about it

and maybe it was part of the insanity, but it felt like he knew.

maybe you were just psychoanalysing his every move now, but you could've sworn he was never like this before.. he was

you decided to test the waters with a few donations littered throughout the night

when he has ordered food in and was wolfing it down, there were scraps and sauces across his lips

"are you always this messy? i thought you liked to take your time with things."

when he's reviewing a video and he's talking a lot over a particular section

"you ever been told you talk too much, or do people usually like that?"

or, when he's playing a poorly made hide 'n' seek game with fans

"i'm not sure you're as good at hiding things as you may think."

"oops, 'things' autocorrected in."

every time schlatt hears one of your donations come through tts, he feels a shiver run down his back

he knew his little side hustle wasn't exactly locked behind security, it was just.. out there

maybe he was overthinking it, reading too much into your donations for no reason

either way, he's noting down your name on a sticky note on his desk for next stream for.. reasons.

[kashverse]

if there is one child that must be appreciated, it is latte. a good latte deserves cute latte art, just as much as you deserve to witness the absolute chaos that will unfold when you put your boyfriend and a delicate artform in the same room. because, naturally, you—being the genius that you are—decide that these two gifts to humanity must be combined. your boyfriend, with all his charm, skill, or in some cases, sheer unrelenting ego, should absolutely try his hand at making tiny, adorable masterpieces in steamed milk. what could possibly go wrong? …a lot. a whole lot. but you’re in too deep now. the class is booked. the milk is frothing. and your boyfriend? oh, he is about to take this way too seriously.

now, if there’s one thing sukuna cannot stand, it’s being patronized. and somehow, standing there, all six-foot-something, surrounded by people who gasp use stencils for their latte art makes him feel violently disrespected. oh, you think he needs this? you think he can’t make art out of steamed milk? please. his hands were carving flesh into art long before this instructor was even a twinkle in their ancestor’s eye. but if you thought he’d refuse to participate, you don’t know sukuna well enough. no, he takes this as a personal challenge. he learns. he perfects. and when he finally presents his latte art, it’s a perfectly detailed demon face, sharp-toothed and menacing. “oh, uh… cute pitbull!” you say, nudging him before the instructor has a heart attack. sukuna nods sagely. yes. pitbull. definitely. but when it comes to adults he despises? oh, he’s petty. that one customer who dared to critique his “overly aggressive aesthetic”? congratulations, buddy, you just drank a latte cursed with an ancient sigil. sukuna watches them sip it with a smirk, arms crossed, utterly delighted with his petty vengeance. “how’s the flavor?” he asks, smug as hell. the customer just blinks, confused. they’ll probably have bad luck for a week. or diarrhea. who’s to say?

choso, on the other hand, has an existential awakening. at first, he’s simply fascinated. art… can exist in coffee? he stares at the swirling crema, eyes widening as he processes this revelation. the instructor barely explains the basics before choso stands up, dramatically setting his cup down. “this,” he announces, “is a reflection of the fleeting nature of life.” people murmur in agreement, assuming he’s some kind of deep, artistic genius. but oh, no. he’s spiraling now. “you create it, admire it, and then—destroy it with a single sip. isn’t that cruel? isn’t that… life itself?” you have to physically drag him out before he turns the workshop into a philosophical symposium on the ephemerality of human existence.

geto, meanwhile, is here for a completely different reason. does he need to learn latte art? no. does he want to? also no. but can he use it for his own agenda? absolutely. he skips right past the cute heart and bear designs and learns how to write with milk foam. the next thing you know, you glance at his cup and see “JOIN ME” written in elegant cursive atop a matcha latte. “are you serious?” you ask. he just smiles.

“art is meant to convey a message.”

“your message is cult recruitment.”

“my message is inclusion,” he corrects. you have to sit him down and give him a long lecture on why recruiting followers through artisanal coffee is not ethical. he nods solemnly but then winks at the barista like you didn’t just spend fifteen minutes trying to knock some morality into him.

toji, on the other hand, is struggling. “this ain’t for people like me,” he jokes at first, grinning. but five lattes later, he is no longer grinning. his first attempt at a heart? roadkill. the second attempt? roadkill that got run over twice. “babe,” you say gently, looking at the cup.

“don’t,” he warns.

“i just think—”

“DON’T.”

legend says he’s still in the kitchen at midnight, aggressively steaming milk and muttering “stupid fuckin’ foam” under his breath.

meanwhile, gojo…is fighting for his life in this class. he learned latte art off of tiktok one time and now thinks he’s god’s gift to coffee. he enters the workshop smug, flicking his hair and winking at the instructor like he’s about to change the game. and for a while? yeah. he’s decent. he gets the basics down pretty quickly and flexes at every given opportunity. but then. then. some sixteen-year-old prodigy casually creates a mona lisa on their latte. gojo short-circuits. his hair literally stands on end. “this is war,” he mutters. and now he’s hyper-fixated on beating this kid at latte art, muttering “i’m the strongest” while aggressively swirling his milk foam.

but then, there’s nanami, the epitome of poise, precision, and patience. he treats the class like it’s an artform—because to him, it is. he listens intently, follows instructions meticulously, and in just one session, his latte art is restaurant-tier. and it doesn’t stop there. every morning, without fail, he hands you a latte with an intricate, handcrafted design. a heart. a tulip. one time, even a self-portrait. your local café is begging for you to convince him to quit his job and work for them instead. he refuses, of course. but now? well. you kinda can’t start your day without a perfect latte from nanami’s personal, high-precision coffee service.

[archangeldyke-all]

Hello! I really REALLY love your writing, can I please ask for more ranvika and reader? Maybe about before they got together, how reader and ran make out around her and what she thinks, or when she walked in on them having sex, and her fantasizing about them? Or really anything you wanna write about them

HEHEHEHEHEHEH yeah let's do it

men and minors dni

sevika's always had a little bit of a crush on ran, though she'd rather die than admit it.

ran is annoying. they're always joking around and making sevika laugh when they're both supposed to be working. out of all the gang, ran's the least intimidated by sevika's scary scowl-- just snorting and rolling their eyes whenever sevika tries to scare them into shutting up. and they're always touching her-- an annoying poke in her shoulder when they pass in the hall, an excited smack on her back when they win a fight together, and worst of all, a kiss on sevika's cheek when they're drunk and sevika walks them home safe.

but sevika doesn't worry about it, she doesn't act on it. she figures if something will happen between her and ran, it'll happen when they're both old and grey and too tired to fight anymore.

but then you come around.

and ran starts being all giggly and stupid with you.

and sevika can't tell if she's more jealous of ran or you, because you're just as annoyingly attractive to sevika as ran is.

so now sevika's a butthurt mess, heartbroken and yearning for somebody she coulda had for years now, and somebody who looks like her walking wet dream.

it doesn't take long for you and ran to figure out sevika's issue.

she's always glaring at the two of you when you're together, but when you're separate she's all longing stares and wistful sighs. she's like a kicked puppy. a horny kicked puppy.

"how long do you think we can tease her before she snaps?" you ask one night at the last drop. ran giggles against your neck. the two of you are grinding on the dance floor, sevika's eyes laser focused on your bodies from where she's brooding in the corner. ran giggles.

"dunno. thought she was gonna do something today, she kept staring at your lips in morning meeting." ran says. you snort.

"i caught her checking out your ass at the docks today."

ran grins. "well, it's a great ass."

you grin and dart forward, kissing the cheesy grin on your partner's lips away, your hands trailing down from their hips to grope said ass. ran moans in your mouth. you sigh as you pull away. "yeah, it really is."

"you wanna do something stupid?" ran asks. you grin.

"with you? always."

ran shoots a quick glance over their shoulder to where sevika's brooding, then tugs on your wrist, dragging you off the dance floor and toward the stairs in the center of the bar.

you're vaguely aware of the fact that sevika's looming behind you-- stalking's never been a specialty of hers-- but you're too distracted by ran's giggles to care.

they drag you down the hall and toward sevika's office, ignoring the 'keep out' sign on the door, pushing you into the musty little office. it's more like a storage closet-turned office-- nothing compared to the stain glass background of silco's office; but it's so clearly sevika's it makes you coo a bit.

sure, there's the ashtrays full of cigarette butts and the half-empty bottles littering every flat surface. but beyond that it's sevika's in the vibrant purple re-upholstery of the lumpy couch crammed in a corner, the poster of a pin-up girl taped behind her desk, and the half finished game of solitaire spread out on the floor.

"she's gonna kill us." you giggle. ran shrugs and pushes you down onto sevika's lumpy couch.

"or she'll fuck us." they say as they dive on top of you.

you moan against their lips, letting them pin you to the cushions, winding your legs around their hips. for a few minutes, you let ran control the pace of your make out session, but when they duck down to suck a hickey on your throat you catch sight of sevika watching from the doorway, a cigarette lit and forgotten between her lips-- half ash now. her eyes are dark, and they don't look away once they catch yours. in fact, she smiles a bit.

you flip ran over, pin them to the couch, and keep your eyes locked on sevika's as you growl, "get your fucking pants off."

both ran and sevika scramble to do just that.

ran gasps when sevika reveals herself to them, stumbling into her office and slamming the door behind her, nearly tripping over her pants where they're caught around her ankle. "'re you gonna sit on my face?" ran asks dreamily.

you giggle. "which one of us, baby?" you ask as you stand to pull your own pants off

ran blinks, then whines. "i dunno! i wan' both of y--"

you cut them off with a kiss. "how about this, baby? how about i fuck you..." you rearrange your legs so your cunt is hovering over theirs. they whimper. "and sevika sits on your face?"

sevika scrambles to get in position before ran can even mutter out their sweet, dreamy "yes please."

fuck, this is the hottest thing that's ever happened to you. for a few seconds, you're so enchanted by the sight of ran diving face first into sevika's pussy that you forget your end of the bargain.

but then, sevika grunts out a "c-c'mon." and you start your grind against ran.

fuck, they're soaked. or you are. probably both of you. sevika is too, judging by the rivulets of cum trailing down their throat. as you grind against their soft, wet cunt, they moan into sevika's. sevika whimpers.

"you fuckers have been teasing me."

"you're just now realizing this?" you giggle. sevika moans. ran smacks her ass. sevika smacks one of ran's clothed tits in retaliation. you almost cum from the sight. "oh, fuck, sev. you realize you're comin' home with us tonight, right?" you groan, clawing at ran's thigh.

"just tonight?" sevika whines.

you grin and launch forward, smashing your lips against sevika's.

the kiss makes her cum, which makes ran cum, which, of course, makes you cum.

"a-any night you want baby." you whimper.

sevika smiles against your lips, then she jumps. "fuck! knock it off, asshole, i already came!" she scrambles off ran's face and they grin, pussydrunk and covered in her cum. you laugh down at your lover.

"any day, too." ran adds on.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

[fuctacles]

If you saw the snippets where i fucked up the timeline no u didnt.

<< 16 | 0 | 18 >>

"What's his name?" Steve asks, playing with the bunny's paw. The only time he let go of him since last night was to use the bathroom.

"Frankenbunny," Eddie answers, and smiles when Steve snorts after hearing it. "My grandma made him from fabric scraps grandpa would bring from work. I've made the vest, though." He stretches and blinks his eyes open properly, in time to see Steve's impressed expression.

"Really?"

"Well, Wayne helped," he added. "It's actually made from the same jacket I turned into my vest." 

"Oh, that's so cool!" Steve turns the bunny around to take a better look at the details. The tiny vest even has frayed edges and Dio stitched on the back. "You guys match."

Eddie snorts. 

"Yeah, we're both full of stitches," he points out dryly. 

Steve hums, pressing the toy closer to his face. It's something he's done before sleep, too, but last night Eddie wrote it off as a drunken mirage.

"And both pretty handsome fellas," he says, face half-hidden behind the bunny. He opens one eye, looking from under his eyelashes shyly, trying to gauge Eddie's reaction. 

Which, Eddie would love to know and understand as well.

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugs, reaching out to poke at Frankenbunny's face. "He doesn't have the signature Munson dimples." When in doubt, joke, as the Denial Decalogue says. 

Steve hums. 

"Yeah, I guess he can't hold a candle to the real thing. Not as talkative, for one."

Eddie can't help but stare, still leaning over his friend as he processes what he's heard. 

"You like my constant yapping?" he asks in surprise. Even his uncle seems tired of it, at times. Only his players appreciate his word flow, but that's with benefit to them.

"Of course." Steve focuses his attention back on the toy. "When you talk, I don't have to, I can just listen. And that's good because I tend to say some stupid shit," he says, almost absentmindedly. "This way, I'm not the dumb one in the room for once."

The casual innocence of his voice makes the meaning of his words miss Eddie completely until the air waves hit his other ear. 

"Oh, you little..."

As Steve's cheeky smirk grows, he pounces. 

Frankenbunny falls away, the hands holding him now focused on guarding all the ticklish spots. 

"Eddie!" Steve laughs, trying to grasp his wrists and squirm away. "We need to be quiet." 

"Should have though of it before being a brat!" Eddie grins at him, doubling his efforts and moving to pin him in place. 

Steve makes a distressed sound and writhes under him, bending hard enough it dislodges Eddie off of him but also, off the bed. He falls down with a surprised squeak.

"Sorry!" Steve barely suppresses his laugh when he looks down at him. "You alright?"

"No," Eddie groans, splayed on the floor. "I got back-stabbed."

"The dramatics are intact, you'll be fine," he rolls his eyes and steps over him. Eddie makes an even more wounded sound, but Steve ignores him, choosing to look for something comfy to wear instead. He throws a tshirt that doesn't smell of barbecue at Eddie's face, mistakenly assuming that's it—they are going to leave his bedroom and start on breakfast for the others. 

Wrong.

As soon as he has a pick of clothes in his hand, and is trying to get to the bathroom, Eddie grabs his ankle. He makes an undignified yelp and lands on the other boy. Which, serves him well. 

They roll on his carpet in an impromptu wrestling match, grinning at each other and muffling their laughs, trying to get the upper hand. 

Until Steve snaps his teeth at Eddie.

They freeze, two pairs of wide eyes staring at the other in silence. 

Steve moves first, backing away and almost falling over Eddie's knees. 

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," he explains quickly, scrambling to get off his friend. Eddie doesn't stop him, just stares openly at the mesmerizing specimen in front of him.

"That was so fucking hot."

"I don't know why I did—what?" Steve sits back on his haunches, eyes even wider as he stares at Eddie. At his wild hair splayed around his head, at his flushed face. The sliver of skin visible where his shirt has ridden up while they were roughhousing. 

"What?" he parrots, licking his lips nervously. 

"What did you just say?" Steve presses, voice turning desperate, pressing. But Eddie seals his mouth into a tight line. Lead by a hunch, he looks for his answer down the line of his body.

"Hey!" Eddie protests, sitting up and pulling his shirt down. But it was too late, the tent in his pants has been seen. "What the fuck, man?!" he hisses, his face red and eyes wide in panic. 

"Sorry, I—" Steve bites his lip. "But I snapped at you? That's weird, right?"

"Well, I'm apparently into weird, so..." Eddie trails off, looking away. Pointedly avoiding Steve's searching eyes. 

"You're into it?" he prods, but all Eddie can give him is a shrug. It's too fresh of a feeling to properly explain. Hell, he hasn't full came to terms with it himself yet. 

"Is it like a... a sex thing?" Steve tries again. 

"Maybe? Probably? I don't know!" Eddie snaps defensively, folding in on himself to hide his thankfully wilting erection. 

Steve's silence is terrifying, and when he looks up, he finds his eyes still studying him.

"Quit staring, man," he mumbles, squeezing his thighs together. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Steve shakes his head. "It's fine, it happens. But just... don't move for a second."

"It happens," Eddie is muttering mockingly, when the rest of his friend's words register in his brain. "What?" But Steve is already too close, and he can't escape. Not that he wants to. "Steve," he says quietly, between a warning and a plea, when warm breath hits his neck.

Steve is sniffing him. At the crook of his neck, where undoubtedly his embarrassment has gathered in a pool of sweat.

He's terrified in a way that has nothing to do with fear. Worried what Steve might smell on him, when his surprisingly cold nose brushes his skin. 

Or maybe it's him running hot with whatever has just transpired. 

Eddie flinches at the touch and Steve moves away, his eyes big and warm with something he can't read. 

"You're fine," he says, and it sounds more like a relief of his own than reassurance for Eddie. "I'm into weird too."

Eddie looks at him quizzically, until he realizes it's not Steve's face holding his answers. He trails his gaze down, and immediately aims it back upward, over-correcting towards the heavens, where maybe he'll get some guidance.

"Shit," he croaks out from his closed up throat. Steve is way too close to him too, from his impromptu sniffing session. Eddie coughs to clear his airways. "Why did you smell me? Is it that bad?" he jokes, but has a feeling Steve won't take the out. Not with the curious way he's looking at him. 

"You smell like want," he answers with painful honesty. "Embarrassment."

Eddie blushes at that one. Well, yeah. Popping a boner in front of your, uh, something, will do that to a man.

"But also joy, affection," Steve continues. "And no fear."

"Why would I fear you? We were just playing around. It's not like you're gonna bite me," he focuses on the safest option. He's not unpacking his feelings for Steve first thing in the morning. Maybe after a coffee. 

It's Steve's turn to go beet red. 

"Sometimes I want to."

"What?" 

He shuffles back sheepishly. 

"Sometimes I see you and I really, really wanna bite you."

Eddie stares at him.

"In like, a werewolf way?" he asks dumbly, earning himself a flat look.

"I think we've established this is not how werewolves are made. I meant in, like, a playful way," he explains. "Like, I'm so excited and happy I can't hold it in anymore, way."

He wants to ask if it's a pack thing, but bites his tongue, not sure if anyone has even taught Steve pack rituals. The guy is going through pure instincts alone, and should be supported in it, so really, there's only one thing he can say.

"Well, why won't you?"

They stare at each other in stunned silence, until a clatter comes from downstairs.

"Steeeeve! The express is doing it again!"

Eddie deflates with a groan, falling back onto the carpet. What the fuck did he just say? He won't survive this crush. Steve will be no help, as he's now hovering over his body.

"We'll get back to this," he says quietly, in a promise or a warning, before clambering upright and out of the room, yelling at Robin.

"Do not press the fucking button!"

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot @dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1 @stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible @bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets @ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight  @eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

[shorthaltsjester]

sorry it so truly laughable to me to look at campaign 3 and determine the success of the stories therein based on screentime like. disregarding the fact that i personally take c3 to be the least valuable in terms of stories told, particularly ones about romantic love, for the moment: on principle it’s goofy as hell to think that a large amount of hours = a story that has something to say let alone something meaningful to say. like, yasha and beau, for example, have a fairly small amount of hours due to the fact that a) ashley missed half the campaign b) they were also generally slowburn, and while that influences the depth of certain aspects of the story, the time spent with yasha and beau has little to do with how meaningful their story is. it wouldn’t matter if they had 10 hours of screen time or 100 if what is in question is the story told; yasha’s story as someone chained by grief choosing to move on & beau’s story as someone angry after a life of being treated like shit finally getting justice for the wrongs done to her which both conclude in their campaign’s finales aren’t successful because I can launch some meaningless number of how many hours it took them to take build those stories together into the ether and say “they did this for women’s rights” just because two women existed beside one another. both yasha and beau resonate as stories that have a significant feminist read because they both deal with fantasy versions of things extremely relevant to women in a way that maintains their agency without shirking their responsibility, and they are particularly strong stories about queerness not simply because they’re two women who fuck but because they deal with emotional themes relevant to queer experiences — anger and grief — and how, while the reasons for those emotions are grounded ones, they both choose to grow beyond the boundaries they allowed those emotions to enforce in their lives.

further, the notion of screentime for a show that takes care to show all of the players on screen at a time in a medium where the player/character distinction isn’t always clear is such a subjective calculation and on top of being a stupid justification for ‘success’ or ‘value’ of a story, is also easy to manipulate to your favour.

it’s just, the screentime for im*dna’s relevance and success doesn’t ring true to me just because it’s a bad reason. but further it just isn’t persuasive. i don’t care if i see someone for 1000 hours or 1, if a story resonates it will do so with any amount of time. whatever amount of screentime they’re calculated to have does nothing to repair or hide the fact that their story as a couple says very little of value in the text, without whatever fanfic extrapolation has taken place (and to be clear, this isn’t to say fanfic can’t be valuable, it’s to say that the character explorations you do in fic or in meta for that matter doesn’t mean that analysis or elaboration is canon). like. halfway through the campaign, before they got together, imogen told laudna “our weirdness is what makes us right” and laudna agreed verbally but now 1 billion hours of screentime later or whatever, laudna has still failed to integrate that belief into her, which is made obvious in a scene after the divine intervention that ties laudna’s life to imogen’s when imogen tells laudna she’s grateful she got to hear the music of laudna’s thoughts, and laudna’s response is “it was probably a bit of the insanity, honestly”, something which on paper might read like a joke but in the moment is played like a (maintained from hours upon hours previous) dismissal of what imogen is saying she values about laudna, evident in the way laura/imogen deflates when she says “well, it was pretty…”. and simply because it’s been a trillion hours of screentime that’s supposed to be representative of a relationship in which the characters help each other to grow.

(addendum to say that stories that are about stagnancy can be just as valuable as stories about growth, but textually and by the sections of fandom im critiquing here, imogen and Especially laudna are treated as a relationship that grows)

truly, if anything, counting up as many hours as possible to dictate the success of imogen and laudna’s story actually ends up working against the story. because i’d probably be more forgiving of the stagnancy if it was a shorter story, but knowing that they had so many hours and still failed to deliver a story with actions and behaviour that matched the claims the characters would make and the tropes/themes that would get applied to them, that makes it worse.

[babybearnation]

polyam!landoscar = red string connecting you to your soulmate(s); reader can see strings, but landoscar can't—they're already dating, but as far as they're concerned they've found their soulmate and that's that (even if they both feel something missing). reader is childhood friends with sighted!alex maybe and he realises that reader is landoscar's soulmate but doesn't want to say anything so he says something for them

(aka: non-sighted established landoscar; sighted reader who's too shy/scared to tell landoscar; sighted alex who meddles (possibly background logalex but :3))

im obsessed with everyone's rsv ideas, i wont lie - also we get some new rsv lore here regarding polyamory heheh

non sighted!established!landoscar x red sighted!gn!reader (ft. red sighted!childhood bff!alex albon)

lando and oscar felt a connection the moment they met each other

they knew it'd be risky to start dating if they weren't soulmates but they went through with it anyways because the bond they felt was so strong

worked out in their favour though because, after sharing their first kiss, lando and oscar can see their strings... kind of

you see, lando and oscar unknowingly had a third soulmate - you

due to the rarity of polyamorous soulmates, it wasn't common knowledge on what would happen if not everyone involved kissed each other

lando and oscar could see their strings but they were faint, almost pink, and they couldn't touch them like red sight would allow them to

also, oscar and lando were almost positive they had two strings each but they could hardly see their strings and therefore couldn't track where the potential extra one led to

enter you

you know who their missing soulmate is

its you

the twined strings that looped around your finger always lead you to them and they tugged insistently pretty much every single race weekend

you were best friends with none other than alex albon and therefore, you had spent ages around lando whilst growing up and travelling with alex to his competitions and stuff like that

you'd known from the instant you met lando that you were his soulmate, but the extra string pointed somewhere else and it bothered you to no end

plus it nearly always tugged when you were at race tracks - less persistently than with lando's string, sure, but it still tugged

when oscar became alpine's reserve in 2022 and started attending every race track on the f1 calendar, you felt it every race weekend - you couldn't ignore it

when you realised it was oscar, you felt relieved - two drivers made things easier to manage!

but when you finally decided to do something about it, it was too late

lando and oscar were already together and they seemed perfectly content

maybe... maybe the universe was playing a cruel joke on you?

alex, however, was tired of watching lando & oscar play oblivious and was tired of dealing with a tragically depressed you

he was gonna say something

if it wasn't for his own soulmates stepping in and telling him that maybe he should speak to you first, he would've marched right on over and told lando and oscar the truth to their faces that very second

you talk to alex about it (george & logan on standby to control their boyfriend if needed) but it just leads to a big argument that has you storming off to mclaren

even though you refused to tell lando & oscar the truth, you still couldn't stay away from them and the three of you quickly became fast friends

so you rush to them for comfort without thinking about it

you end up spilling the truth to lando & oscar as you vent about how stupid alex is and its only when lando covers your mouth with his hand and whispers the words "we're soulmates?" that you realise what you've done

you go to apologise when lando leans in and kisses you

he pulls back and stares down at his hands, giggling and clapping excitedly when he notices the actually red string now

oscar bites his lip before shyly kissing you as well, gaining his own red sight

as you shyly tell oscar and lando the truth about how long you've known and how you didn't want to ruin anything with your strings, alex, george & logan watch on, all happy you three have finally sorted your shit out

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Sam actually tells her over coffee, big soft brown eyes all but pleading her to come to his wedding, and well, of course Alice is like "sure. So happy for you. That's great. I mean, I'll even dress super lowkey so you don't feel like running away with me at your own wedding and all-" and Sam smiles that smile that means "I know you're only half joking and i'm sorry and it's awkward but i also love you too much not to invite you" which tears Alice apart a little and he's like "that's so nice of you, thank you. Tell Luke he can come too as well? If he wants?"

and Alice is like "wow dude. get him his own invite. i'm definitely getting a plus one. You're getting married in, what? 8 months? I'll have met my own love of my life at this point"

Cue Alice, eight months later, begging - begging Colin at work: "you have to come. C'mon. Aren't we friends. We'd make SUCH a good couple. It's just an evening." and Colin is like "Alice. Y'know i would if i could but i CAn'T because of that Stupid Computer-" and then she turns to Teddy and he's like "I already told you i was away on that day, I'm sorry Alice" actually kindly and she's groans and falls on her desk dramatically going "Well I can't possibly go and invite LENA." then "Do you think Lena might-" and then, from behind her computer, comes Gwen's voice: "Oh my god, Alice. I'll come. Can we PLEASE go back to focusing on WORK, please?"

There's silence. Teddy and Colin raise their eyebrows at Alice. She raises her eyebrows back at them. Colin snickers. Alice glares at him. She rolls her chair over to Gwen. "Seriously?" she says. Gwen glares at her. "Seriously. Anything to stop hearing about this." "Gwen," says Alice. "If you actually seriously help me, you ARE going to hear about this LOTS MORE. We'll need undercover stories. We'll need -"

Gwen just looks exasperated: "We met at work. We didn't like each other at first because we're both vastly different but the attraction and chemistry was indeniable. You won me over by treating me decently and I taught you SOME responsability. We realized we're stronger together than separate. You're the love of my life and I enjoy it when you stick it to the man because it makes me feel rebellious compared to my own upbringing. There. Satisfied?"

Alice just stares at her.

Gwen starts to feel her cheeks go very pink.

"We'll need to practice kissing, was what i was gonna say." alice finishes.

"I don't like PDA," Gwen says back.

"Then what the fuck is this right now," Colin mutters to Teddy.

[rotprincess]

Quinn Mossbacher x gn!reader

Warnings: I only watched like 3 episodes of white lotus, this will probably stray from canon because of that, probably OOC Quinn 😓, kinda mean grandma, awkward dialogue because Quinn is awkward, we will fix that perhaps. Bad punctuation. No beta we die like that mystery person in the first episode, this joke isn’t gonna age well once i actually finish the first season. No use of Y/N

Summary/Prologue?: Spending vacation with your grandma was a nice way to relax without having to deal with your family or responsibilities. It also allowed you to enjoy a little freedom, and flirt with random people you thought were cute because, well, you’re at White Lotus hotel! You can let yourself go and do embarrassing things and be awkward because you won’t see anyone at that hotel ever again… but what if that’s a bad thing? What if you mess up so bad and accidentally fall in love with a socially awkward boy who you’ll never see again?

Sending this out into the void and hoping for the best, might continue if this is well received

Word count: 1k+

—-

It wasn’t nice to stare, but it was a teeny bit nice when it was a cute boy looking at you… kinda. Suddenly your limbs get ridged and now you have to over analyze and calculate your next move in order to make sure you don’t scare away a future fling. Now noticing how uncomfortable your swimsuit felt, as it clung to your body like a fresh bandaid. You bit your lip, turning your head to look back. There he was, the cute redheaded boy who probably had terrible manners due to his poor upbringing, well not poor as in broke considering he’s spending vacation in Hawaii, but it was still a little endearing the way he openly ogled your frame. You flashed him a small practiced smile, taking notice the way his jaw slackened a bit. The ego boost was much appreciated.

You went over to grab your bag laying on the sand, still feeling his piercing blue eyes on your lower back. You would have liked to stay for a little while to continue snorkeling but your grandma said she wanted to have lunch together. After opening your bag you grabbed and dried yourself off with a towel, taking a small glance at the boy. To your dismay, he wasn’t looking at you anymore, too preoccupied with his dad. A part of you hoped you’d see more of him, but the hotel’s too big and your grandma’s probably going to drag you to the hot yoga and massage place because you’re “too tense”.

You might have been too obvious with your subtle long glances as both him and his dad turn to look at you. Your eyes widen, heat rising to your cheeks as you rush to leave the shore. Great, now you made a fool of yourself. You wouldn’t see him ever again so it’s fine right?

Loud incorrect buzzer.

So stupid to assume you wouldn’t cross paths again. You went over to this nice open buffet, tried to enjoy it, but they sat directly across from you and your grandma. The place was packed so you couldn’t even ask your grandma to sit somewhere else to get a better view of the ocean. Thankfully you didn’t make the mistake of telling your grandma what had happened, she would have been nudging you and making comments about them a bit too loud to be considered appropriate. You ate too fast, throat feeling rough from the amount of food you scarfed down. You attempted to avoid small talk with your grandma in order to leave faster but she was insistent on sitting down and enjoying her long awaited meal.

You rested your head in your palm, you would have learned by now not to stare but he was just too cute not to look at. You locked eyes for what seems like the 100th time today and smiled, building up enough confidence to send a small wave his way. He nodded his head in acknowledgment, his mouth slightly ajar. Your smile turned awkward, cringing internally at yourself as you tried to place your focus somewhere else. Your eyes darted across the room, going from admiring the plants to the lights to the paintings till you ran out of things to look at and finally laid your eyes back onto the boy. He was busying himself with his phone as his dad rambled on about something, you were too far away to hear, at some point he gestured towards you, then it hit you, they were talking about you. By then your grandma got up to leave, making you rush to pick up her bag. The quicker you left the better.

—

You spent the rest of your day tossing and turning in your bed, flicking through channels on the tv till you landed on an animal documentary. Your grandma was nice enough to get you your own separate hotel room just across from her’s. She said she “respected your privacy” but it was probably so she could pretend she was vacationing by herself. As the sun started to set you turned off the tv and stared out the window; watching as the sky turned from beautiful shades of orange and pink, to dark blues and purples. You tried to enjoy the scenery as you slowly felt yourself drift off to sleep, but you heard a loud slam a few doors down, startling you enough to the point where your heavy lidded eyes flew open.

You dragged a hand over your eyes, trying to rub the tiredness away. You put on some sandals and walked out onto the shore; it was empty, the umbrellas and white lounge chairs having been stored away. You sat down, close enough to the ocean for it to brush small waves over your feet. You wished you could fall asleep right now, but you didn’t feel like getting mistaken for a weird homeless person who washed up on shore. You stretched your arms out, feeling the light breeze on your skin. The sound of rough footsteps caught your attention, you turned and saw the boy from earlier sitting down on one of the only lounge chairs on the beach. He was covered in a thick white blanket and had his electronics laid out on the sand, you cringed at the thought of them getting washed away. Suddenly you heard a whale, and saw its tail splashing in the water.

You looked back at the boy; you wanted to save his electronics before any serious damage was done. You got up and made your way towards him. “Beautiful whale right?” You asked, stopping a few feet away from him. He let out a sound of approval, nodding his head. “So.. what are you doing out here so late? If you don’t mind me asking?”

The boy shrugged, “I‘m gonna sleep here.”

“Why?”

“Cause.. my sister and her friend kicked me out.”

“Oh..”

Your eyes dropped to look at his electronics, taking notice of the Nintendo Switch and tablet on the floor. “You not scared of your stuff getting washed away? The waves reach pretty high… I’ve seen it.”

He shrugged yet again. You fidgeted with your hands, you wanted to ask something but you were afraid of it being too forward; but then again, you wouldn’t see him ever after this vacation, so it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Do you uhm.. do you wanna sleep in my room? I got space.” You watched as his face scrunched up, yup you definitely were too forward. “Aren’t you staying with your— grandma?” Your lips pursed and you shook your head, “No, I have my own room.” Before you forgot, you told him your name. He nodded, and a few minutes of staring passed before he got the memo. “I’m Quinn.”

You nodded, crossing your arms. “Lovely name, so are you gonna take me up on the offer or are you gonna let your stuff get washed away?” You said with a tilt of your head. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed, looking down at his stuff, then to the water, and back down to his stuff. You could see the gears turning in his head as he looked you up and down and let out a sigh. “Okay…”

“Great! Your phone’s gonna thank me later. You need to charge anything? I got some spare cables?” You said, squatting down to help him grab his stuff.

“Uhh not right now.”

You nodded your head, and grabbed his hand, not missing the way his arm tensed up before relaxing in your hold.

—

Woah big mama, hope yall like… switch the stones for tomatoes pls. Like comment and subscribe for more bangers!!!!

[pushspacetocontinue]

"Maybe I could take up something like that," Travis joked.

"I'd say more of a delicate blend of psychology, biology and extreme violence," Antonio said, before he then allowed another unsettling smirk to creep his lips, "I think that would be just perfect, Lucien."

"You kids have fun now," Bill only said.

"Some of us have to be," Travis said, "For when some of us feel like being stupid."

"I did not mean to throw the soup on the street," Simon just said from where he was then.

"I was doing very well by myself," Travis replied, before he then got back to the topic at hand, "So yeah, we just want to see what kind of stuff we might be able to do."

"You are welcome, Erica," Leofric said, before he looked curious as Smokey seemed to want to look over his grimoire too, "I apologise. Perhaps when his curiosity is satisfied, he'll come back to you."

At least Russell wasn't going to have to hear the Twins trying to justify themselves again. Maybe when some interior design was decided, they could help fetch the furniture and other necessities. Hard to say right now.

"I, I know I, I experienced a, a couple of them for, for myself," Russell said. Cuffs for his wrists and another tool to keep his arms tied up so he couldn't fight back, "And, and they weren't, they weren't fun, at, at all."

Even now, he could only thank his lucky stars that Five had untied him and uncuffed his left wrist that first time.

"I can see why he would," Leofric said, "But it does pose its risks if he wouldn't be able to get it off and the flow of blood became too restricted."

Travis moved so he could also look at the tools, just so the Twins might have that extra incentive to look.

"Well, the ones for restraining might work well against Five and his little snow user," Travis said, "If we can get close enough that is. I know you had to get pretty close to Custard for the creep to use them on him. Simon actually saw that for himself."

"Impressive," Simon said, "I will admit that. Not that I was happy to see how it happened, but I can admit that it's impressive."

"Back to being spooky! My favorite hobby." At least the situation didn't seem to be wearing down Erica. She really didn't care what happened to those who hurt her friends.

"I don't want to do that– What's this Clockwork Orange shit? Let me go already!"

Of course, there was little that Ratchet could do while Willow was holding him down.

"What's the subject of this class? Biology?" the cyborg asked.

"It might as well be." Lucien replied, "Is there anything specific you'd like me to dig up? Perhaps his most inner fears that not even he is aware of?"

Rook quietly promised herself to later show the others what Willow had been referencing. In the meantime, she decided to go retrieve Ratchet's belongings so that they could go through them with the help of the Twins.

She had a feeling the two were going to make the job much easier, even if between all of them they would have the skills to weed out the more dangerous gadgets from the rest.

"I'm really good at that game, though." Erica shrugged and went ahead to retrieve Smokey, "Thanks, Leofric!"

She gently scooped up the kitten, but let him be when he phased through her hand and hopped on the counter. Smokey apparently wasn't done yet and curled up next to Leofric's grimoire, staring very intently at it.

The Twins didn't seem about to come up with more excuses and made their way over as Rook caught up with the rest of the group.

"Yes, he carries a fuckton of those."

"And he was always messing with something when he wasn't bothering Frosty or kissing Five's ass."

They didn't understand how half of that stuff worked, but they could probably point out some of it.

"Most of the stuff around his wrists is for restraining. They all open up and stretch like a freaking facehugger."

"Some of his rings do the same thing, but I think Five used one as a tourniquet once."

The two watched Rook empty a bucket on an empty on the counter, before motioning at them to go ahead. They weren't about to stick their hands in there for sure.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ CH. 4 TEASER

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you. 『 series masterlist 』

✧ TEASER WARNINGS: none!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: this chapter is kicking my ass, y'all. that's all.

✧ TEASER WORDCOUNT: 944 words

✧ STATUS: ongoing

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

✧ TAGLIST:

@kkaetnipjeon @ktownshizzle @joonary @jajabro @pitchblack0309 

@ot72025 @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @wobblewobble822 

@this-most-assuredly-counts @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @sugafun @whoa-jo @amarawayne 

@kimsaerom @bangtangsworld @jimingirl95 @jadestonedaeho7 @notsevenwithyou

@perfctlyunstable @yoonmetogether @kpophosblog @chimmchimmm @nnybtitts08

@itsmina29 @sophia--915 @jeanjacketjesus @kiki-zb @velvetskize

@sugar-snap @namjoonsbuspass @1800lxcifrrr @angellekookie @binniesbabe

@jalexad @daskewl @rebloginfics @ennvfv @curse-of-art

@tarahardcore @valhallawhispers @chimmisbae @broken-glowsticks @bontensbabygirl

@silencionyx @dropdeadbec @lilifiedeans @darklyceremonials

[not-neverland06]

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ

͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝖲𝗍𝗎 𝖬𝖺���𝗁𝖾𝗋 x fem!reader

╔═ A/N ═╗ Based on this request. I apologize if I got the characterization wrong. I just feel like the darker side to his character is never properly explored. As goofy as he was, he was also a serial killer lmao

✬ Summary ✬ Stu's your best friend, you know him as well as you know yourself. At least you thought so. A snoop through his closet leads to a terrifying discovery. Now, everywhere you turn, that haunting mask is right there waiting.

“God,” you toss the remote on the cushion beside you. It bounces off the oversized couch and flops to the floor. “There’s nothing on TV,” you lament, draping yourself dramatically over the cushions. 

Stu snickers and kicks his legs over the arms of his chair, shrugging with a smug look. “I told you we should have stopped by the video store.” His gaze drifts back toward the TV, grimacing at the obnoxiously loud MTV episode you stopped on. 

“Hell no, Randy’s working tonight,” you scold, sharp gaze snapping toward him. He’s got a stupid grin on his face, clearly having decided that his form of entertainment tonight is going to be pissing you off. “I don’t feel like having him critique me for an hour on my poor taste in movies.”

He snorts and reaches to take a large handful out of the popcorn on the coffee table between you. “Maybe if you didn’t just rent stupid chick flicks all the time, he wouldn’t.” 

Stu doesn’t have time to duck as you chuck one of his mom’s overpriced throw pillows at him. “Don’t act like you don’t love Pretty in Pink.” The pillow knocks the popcorn out of his hand, scattering it across the ornate rug Mrs. Macher bought last week. If she saw the state you’d gotten the house in this weekend, that ever-pulsing vein in her head would burst. As it is, they’re never actually at the house, it’s an oasis for practically half the school during the weekends Stu decides to throw a party. 

For the first time in a while, though, it’s just you and Stu. No one else is here to rile him up or force him to put on a show. He’s at his calmest when it’s just the two of you. Which, honestly, doesn’t mean much for him, but still. 

“I do not,” he objects, stretching out his lanky body and getting to his feet. 

You roll your head lazily to face him, giving him a knowing smirk. “Billy isn’t here, Stu. You don’t have to lie,” you assure him, holding out your arms as he stops in front of you. You already know what he wants, he’s got that specific gleam in his eye as he smiles down at you. 

“I mean,” he shrugs, “it’s not bad,” he concedes. Without another word, he throws himself on top of you, even prepared for it, you still feel the breath rush out in one hefty wheeze. Another thing you don’t see as much when others are around, just how goddamn clingy he is. 

Sure, with his multitude of girlfriends, he’s touchy. But this is something different entirely. He clings to you like he would burrow into your skin if he could. He’s been that way since you guys were kids. While the feeling of others touching you might set you on edge, Stu fits against you like your missing piece. 

Hands drifting up to play with his hair, you settle yourself against the cushions while he goes back to channel surfing, pleased to have you as his pillow. 

The TV drones on, a dull buzz in the background now that Stu has the volume down. With his head practically buried between your boobs and your legs wrapped around his waist, you snicker. 

Frowning, he props his chin on your chest, staring up at you. “What?” He demands, hating to be left out of a joke. 

“Nothing,” you shrug as much as you can with him steadily pancaking you. “Just wondering what your girlfriend would think of us like this.”

“Oh,” he sets his head back down and places your hands back on his head to continue playing with his hair. “We broke up,” he tells you, like it means absolutely nothing. 

“Stu!” You slap his shoulder, and he winces dramatically. As if you could ever do real damage to him. 

“Ow!” He whines, bracketing himself up on his elbows so he can look down at you. “What’s your problem tonight?”

His hips are still lazily pressed against you, pressure increasing the longer he hovers above you. Swallowing thickly, you try to ignore the flush spreading through you. “You didn’t tell me you guys broke up.”

He rolls his eyes, glaring down at you. “I just did,” he points out sarcastically. You swat at his shoulder again, but this time, he catches your hand in his, lacing your fingers together with a smug grin as he keeps you trapped. 

“You’re collecting these girls like they’re trading cards.” Despite his tight grip, you manage to slip out slightly from under him and prop yourself against the arm of the couch. “I don’t even remember the last one’s name.”

His face goes slack, lips parting as you see the cogs in his brain turning. He laughs and glances back at you with a dismissive shrug. “Neither do I. I just remember the tits.”

“Ugh,” you yank your hand out of his, ignoring his petulant frown. “You’re absolutely disgusting. What’s the point of even dating them?”

He slinks back against the other end of the couch. “I just said why,” he points to your chest with a grin, and you reflexively cross your arms. Stu tips his head back, dangling it over the edge as he stares up at the ceiling with a forlorn sigh. “I don’t get it,” he tosses his hands up, and you already know where this is going. 

Head tipped back up, he narrows his eyes at you, “I don’t know why we don’t just date.”

You give him a deadpan look, arms still tight around your chest. “Dude,” you chide, “after what you just told me. Seriously?” When you were younger, him saying this used to set you alight. You’d get all dreamy-eyed, imagining what it would be like to be Stu’s girlfriend. Of course, you’d taken too long thinking about it, and by then, he’d already found a different girl to set his sights on. It had broken your heart, and their relationship had barely even lasted a week. 

By now, you know better than to take anything he says seriously. Everything’s just one big joke to him. He’s so fickle you can’t trust that he would actually put effort into anything more blooming between you. You seem to be the only girl in his life that he actually thinks of as a person, going on a few dates with him isn’t worth screwing that up. Besides that, you’re not going to ruin the only friendship you’ve ever had that’s lasted more than two months. 

Stu opens his mouth like he wants to say anything, but it snaps shut a moment later. His face sets into a glower, and you worry for a moment that you might have actually hurt his feelings. You’ve always thought the suggestion was just a sort of inside joke between the two of you. Though, he has been bringing it up more and more lately. 

Your stomach flips unpleasantly, heart aching with guilt. It doesn’t last long, the feeling always remains fleeting. You’ve conditioned yourself for years to dismiss anything that might actually encourage you to pursue something with Stu. You love him, but you two would just be a spark waiting to light up. 

“You’re staying the night, right?” Stu changes the subject, picking up the remote once more and not meeting your eye. Your lips part, and he cuts a glare toward you, “No girlfriend,” he stops you before you can even say anything. Your brows furrow, and he looks back to the TV. “No sleepovers if I’m dating,” he mocks the pitch of your voice, reminding you of the rule you'd enforced so long ago. Your lips fall in a flat, irritated line at his imitation of you. 

“No girlfriend,” he reminds you, feigning indifference even though you can see right through him. Your plan was to go home, but you know him well enough by now. The set of his jaw, the stubborn way he won’t look at you, there’s no actual choice. You’re staying.

“Yeah,” you acquiesce with a low huff. “I’ll need to borrow some clothes.”

“You know where they are,” he tells you, still not meeting your eye. He’s never been this sensitive after you’ve rejected him before. What’s his problem? Eyes narrowed, you get to your feet, glaring at him the whole way up the stairs. He never loses the indifferent look, passive-aggressively turning the TV up. 

Usually, you just grab some pants from the guest room. But with Autumn descending, it’s been getting colder, especially in Stu’s drafty old house. There’s a soft yellow sweater that you’ve always tried to steal from him, and he’s never let you get away with it. 

Nabbing it would probably ease up the weird tension. He is a freak, he does love seeing you in his clothes. You figure it’s a solid plan and slip across the hallway, quietly opening his bedroom door. 

As always, his room is a hot damn mess. The bed’s unmade, sheets completely untucked, and half of them sprawled across the floor. There’s a clearly well-loved nudie mag lying open on his nightstand, boobs bared boldly to the world. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and turn toward his closet. 

Your brows furrow, head tilting at the closed door. As odd as it is, Stu never closes his closet. It’s just another tedious task to him. Besides, he likes to just ball all his clothes up and toss them in wildly. You know his family’s old maid threatened to quit if she had to clean his room ever again. But you wouldn’t believe that looking into the closet now. 

It’s not just clean, it’s pristine. Clothes hung up, sorted by color and sleeve length. Jeans all neatly folded away. The box of old books and junk he had just lying about are tucked up on the top shelf. “What the hell?” You whisper, looking around like you just stepped into Narnia. 

Hell, maybe it’s a portal to a bizarro dimension, it would make more sense than him cleaning up after himself. Whatever, you don’t have time to dwell on Stu’s oddities, you’d just be standing here forever if you did. 

You start in the yellow section of his closet, then drift toward the sweaters. And, of course, the only one you want isn’t anywhere to be found. It has to be buried somewhere in here, and you’re not giving up until that sweater is yours. You dig through his folded pile of jeans recklessly, hoping for a bright spot of yellow to be buried somewhere within them. 

Tugging a little too hard on one of the stacks, something hard clatters against the wooden floor of his closet. “Ah, shit,” you hiss, shoving the jeans back and kneeling to try and spot whatever fell. Lowering your head to the ground, you peer under the hems of his shirts on the lower rack and squint into the shadows. 

There’s a vague shape of something, and you reach toward it. Head tilted the other way, your arm stretches under the sweaters, blindly groping for whatever you sent tumbling. Your fingers snag on fabric, and you grin, thinking it’s the sweater you’ve been coveting. 

Pulling it out, your smile stills, heart rapidly increasing speed until it feels like it’s going to beat out of your ribs. There’s a twisting pain in your stomach, anguish and immediate denial flooding through you as you stare down at the mask in your hands. 

It’s just a cheap drugstore mask. Around Halloween, you could find it anywhere. You could easily dismiss it as something Stu bought as a fucked up joke. Were it not for the flaking copper on the chin of the howling mask. Your fingers tighten around it until you think it might crack. 

Slowly, you tilt your head back toward the shirts. This wasn’t what fell. A part of you screams to just chuck the mask back and pretend you never saw it. You could go downstairs, continue your movie night with Stu, and pass out beside him on the couch. Lying to yourself would be so damn easy. It’s just a mask, half the guys in school bought one because they thought it was a fucking joke. 

But your body isn’t interested in weak excuses. Bowing over, your hand swipes across the wood once more, wrapping around the object that fell. Before you even drag it out, you already know what you’re going to see. A pulsing pain spreads through your chest, eyes watering as you stare down at the knife in your hand. 

A serrated hunting knife, to be exact. The same one Dewey said was used to kill Casey only a week ago. God, how had you not seen this? How could you have been so blind?

Stu had been the number one suspect, but Billy had been his alibi, no one could place him at the scene of the crime.

There has always been something twisted about Billy. It only got worse when his mom left. Maybe this was all his idea, maybe Stu was just dragged into this, but he doesn’t really want-

Your thoughts fade into a dull silence in the back of your mind. There’s no excuse. Stu has always been different, just slightly off. His jokes nearing the wrong side of dark. But you never would have thought him capable of something so brutal. 

Footsteps sound up the stairs, and your brain shocks itself awake. Quickly, you toss the mask back under the clothes and shove the knife into the jeans. Wiping your eyes, you leap to your feet and rush out of the closet just as Stu barrels into his room. 

The both of you pause, staring blankly at each other. You, a deer caught in a hunter’s snare. He, the drooling wolf, waiting to pounce. 

Slowly, his eyes drift toward the closet, the light you left on, and the door you hadn’t had time to close. He turns back to you, and something twisted curls at the edges of his lips. Adrenaline shoots so fast through you it nearly knocks you off your feet. 

“Looking for something?” His tone is light, barely audible, as he takes a step closer. It takes every ounce of self-control not to back away from him. 

Something too strained to be a smile curls your lips up. “Um,” you lick your lips, swallowing down the dryness coating your tongue. You laugh nervously and take a step toward his bed. “Just that sweater I love. 

He stalks towards you, and your eyes widen, heart fluttering in your chest. Just when you think he might run you over, he steps around you and heads toward his dresser. You turn, afraid to take your eyes off of him. 

Peeking above the corner of a drawer is a yellow sleeve. He slips it out easily, holding it out to you with a grin that shows off all his teeth. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking around the words as you snatch the sweater out of his hands. 

“I made more popcorn,” he tells you, eyes wild as he stares down at you. “Halloween’s on.” It’s a simple invitation to a movie, but it feels like there’s a knife to your back. You have no choice but to step out of the room and head down the stairs. Every bit of you screams to act natural, to pretend that there’s nothing wrong. 

How could you be? Your best friend, the boy you’re practically in love with, is slaughtering your friends. He’s running rampant through your town and killing girls just because they broke up with him. 

Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see him already looking at you. The smile is gone, now he’s just watching you with this bemused expression, like he’s waiting for you to break and make a run for it. 

You take a seat on the couch, lean against the pillows, and glue your eyes to the screen. Suddenly, Jamie Lee Curtis babysitting is the most interesting thing in the world to you. Stu takes his seat beside you, sinking into your side and wrapping his arms around your waist. Stiff as a board, you can’t find it in you to return the touch, too petrified by the thought of all the blood on his hands. 

He doesn’t care for your trepidation, taking your arms and wrapping them around himself. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing against the sensitive skin as he speaks. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Avoiding Stu has been easier than you thought it would. Usually, he’s more persistent in making you hang out with him. Especially when your parents are both out of town at the same time. But he’s been suspiciously quiet since you prematurely ended your weekend stay last week. 

You managed to make it through the night. Though, while Stu dozed on top of you, you had been wide awake. Limbs stiff, eyes unblinking, the whole night had been spent on high alert. You’re not sure if he knows you know, or just suspects it. Either way, you should have turned him in by now. 

The second you left his house, you should have gone straight to the sheriff. You know who's behind the Woodsboro murders. You know who the infamous Ghostface is, and have a suspicion who his other half might be. You could have stopped all this. 

Casey and Steve would be avenged. If you had something, another person wouldn’t have been killed two days ago. You didn’t know him personally, you’d never even seen Stu or Billy interact with him. But this felt less like an attack on him and more like a threat for you. 

Keep quiet, or you’ll be strung up by your intestines. 

Triple checking all your doors and windows are locked, you head upstairs to your room. Prepared to camp out for another sleepless night. If you turned him in, you wouldn’t have to live with this paranoia anymore. Every corner you turn wouldn’t be prefaced with the idea that he might be waiting behind it. No matter how hard you try, you can’t pick up the phone and call the cops. 

You lay back on your bed, listening to the radio in the hopes it might lull you to sleep. It never works, but you hold out hope. The shrill ring of your home phone echoes throughout your empty home. Sitting up on your elbows, you glare at your closed door like it might shut the damn thing up. 

Abruptly, it cuts off. The empty halls of your home fall silent once more, the low droning of your radio barely audible above the blood rushing through your head. You hold your breath, eyes peeled on the door in front of you, waiting for… something. 

The phone goes off again, and you jump, shooting off your bed and grabbing the bat by your nightstand. Slowly, you open your door, peeking your head out before you attempt to cross the hall to your parent’s room. There’s a phone in there, and you’re more comfortable up here than you are beside your glass patio doors downstairs. 

You practically kick the door open, jumping inside the room like you’re prepared to bludgeon someone with your bat. The shadows are thick inside, but you don’t see a cloaked figure waiting for you within one. Feeling confident enough, you run toward your parent’s nightstand and grab the phone. Running back to your room as fast as you can and slamming the door closed behind you, you sink to the floor. 

Thumb hovering over the button, you let out a shaky breath and answer. “Hello?” You try and instill confidence in your voice, but you can’t hide the tremor. 

“Hey,” Billy’s voice croons on the other end, he says your name, and a shudder rolls down your spine. 

“Billy?” His name is a hoarse croak as you feel your heart thud dully inside your chest. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you something.” He pauses, and you bite your lip, nails digging into your palms as you wait for him to speak. “I’ve always wondered,” there’s a click, and then a raspier, unfamiliar voice speaks, “what do your insides look like?”

Something slams against your front door, and you drop the phone with a shrill scream, jumping to your feet and whirling around. You hear Billy’s distorted cackle echo through the speaker before abruptly cutting off. On the floor, three low beeps sound out. Bending down, you pick up the bulky phone and press it to your ear. Nothing but white noise. You toss the phone on your bed and swallow down another scream. No service. 

You’re all alone. 

The startling realization of silence rushes over you, gooseflesh rises along your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The banging downstairs has quieted and your house is once more silent. But it’s no longer the same vacant stillness it was before. There’s someone here, it’s an instinctive feeling. Long buried prey instincts warning you of a predator sniffing you out.  

Creeping quietly across the floor, you avoid the creaky wood that would give your movements away and once more open the door. It seems foolish to put yourself so boldly out in the open. Being cornered in that room is no better. No matter what, it’s just you and him all alone out here. 

You wonder, as you peek your head around the banister, if this is just Stu stalking you. Is Billy getting rid of a liability? Is it both of them?

One, you could handle on your own. But if it was the both of them, the only thing you could do was go down swinging. If you were going to die tonight, you weren’t going to let it be easy for either of them. 

Your front door is wide open, an easy escape. There was no point in running. Either one of them is waiting outside for you, or they’ve cut the brakes on your car. You crouch, peering through the railings and silently making your way down the stairs. Try as you might, you don’t see signs that anyone has come inside. 

Besides the door, there are no clues to give away where they might have gone. You don’t want to play the role of the bimbo in their sick fantasy. Despite the instinct to call out for someone, you swallow it down and continue through your home. 

Beyond the stark terror of facing your own mortality, there is also the pain of being so thoroughly betrayed by Stu. You know the truth of what he is, of what Billy is. And you kept it quiet. You buried his dark secret like it was your own, protected him. This is how he repays you?

This is his answer after years of you loving him. How could he?

You stand in the middle of your living room, bat hanging limp by your side. The aching pain of grief and fear stills your body. The fight wanes inside you, debating whether or not prolonging this is worth it. The others all fought back, and they died bloody. Maybe if you just gave in, it would be quick, painless. Stu could at least grant you that. 

There’s a brief flash of movement in the reflection of your patio door. It’s slight, like a shifting shadow. Only one thing gives him away, the white, howling mask. Instinct overrides sensitivities, you whip around, bat flying. There’s a low groan as it smashes over his head. 

Reaching up, he snatches it in his hand, using it to jerk you forward. You’re quick to let it go. Instead, you aim for his throat. Hands outstretched as you reach up, gripping his neck as tight as you can. There’s shock in his stuttered breaths, like he hadn’t thought you would fight back. You were beginning to doubt yourself, too. 

Turns out you’re too stubborn to die. 

The bat clacks loudly against the wood as he stumbles back into your mother’s glass coffee table. His legs kick up, tripping you and sending you stumbling into his chest. The both of you go plummeting backward, glass shattering around him and the wood crumpling like a tower of cards. 

Jagged shards cut at your arms and bare legs, but you know he takes the brunt of it. Your grip on his throat is unrelenting, you pick his head up and slam it against the wood. He lets out a dazed groan, and you would laugh were you not trying to stop your best friend from killing you. He seems ridiculous, wearing this stupid cheap mask and moaning like a cartoon character with a bump on their head. 

He bucks under you, hips pressing up against yours as he flips you both over. Pain rips through your back as the glass digs into your skin. Letting out a low whine, your hands slack on him for just a moment. It’s still long enough for him to get the upper hand. 

He straddles your waist, pinning you below him with his weight as he kneels on your swinging arms. You’re utterly paralyzed, with no other choice but to stare up at him as tears stream, hot and slick, down your cheeks. 

Stu rips his mask off, eyes wild as he grins down at you. “Damn, sweetheart,” he laughs, and it only makes you fight harder against him. Screaming through your teeth as you try to buck him off of you. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He tosses the mask to the side and motions to the knife in his hand, “Surprise,” he practically sings the word, watching for your reaction. You bite your tongue, hiccuping on a sob as you stare up at him through blurry eyes. “Right,” he concedes, tilting his head, “you already knew.”

You can feel the blood pooling beneath you, the glass digging further into your shredded skin. It only makes this all the more unbearable. “Stop,” you beg, voice breaking as you struggle to hold back the tears. “I didn’t tell,” you shout at him. “Why are you doing this?” The tears break around the rage slipping through your voice as you glare up at him. 

“What are you talking about?” He snaps, his amusement waning the harder you cry. 

“Billy!” you shout the name out, just barely managing to wiggle one wrist free. He snatches it up instantly, the knife falling beside you as he leans over you, digging your hand into the glass above your head. “He said you wanted to see my insides,” there’s no controlling the sobs now. You don’t want to die. You don’t want Stu to be the one to kill you. Somehow, though, you think this would have hurt worse if it was Billy holding the knife. 

Stu’s face falls before quickly twisting up into something angry. He backs off, easing his weight just enough for the press of glass to sting a little less. “No,” he utters, shaking his head. “No, that’s not the plan.” 

Stu looks nearly manic as he stares down at you. Something unfurls inside you, years of friendship have you reaching up with your free hand. You don’t know what your plan is until he’s leaning into your touch, eyes never leaving yours. 

His hand grips your waist, easing you into a sitting position. You want to curl up into a ball and go hide in a dark corner. You want to shove glass down his throat and run. The knife looks particularly appealing beside you. 

But you do none of that. You let him tug you closer, hand tightening to the point of pain around your waist, but you don’t think he realizes, and you’re too afraid to point it out. “You’re our final girl, baby,” he practically fucking giggles, and you struggle not to flinch from the sound. “He was just fucking with you.”

“Yeah?” You snap, fingers trailing toward his hair and yanking until his face crinkles with pain. “Then what the fuck,” venom coats your tongue, voice low and deadly, “are you doing right now?”

He smiles, leaning into the way you rip at his hair. “Screwing around,” he laughs, and he sounds like a goddamn idiot. Scoffing, you release him, jerking out of his grip and ignoring the way it pulls at the wounds on your back. 

“God,” you crumple into yourself, shoulders hunching forward as you hide your face behind your hands. “I can’t believe I ever thought you could love me. You’re sick, Stu,” you snap, holding back more tears. 

Blood and glass surround you both, the shattered fragments of your friendship. Stu looks more hurt than when you strangled him. He reaches for you, and you jump back, shaking your head. ‘I was never going to kill you,” he swears. But what does the promise of a murderer mean to you?

“I don’t believe you,” voice a whisper, the tears spill over once more. He looks between you and the knife like he can’t decide what to do. You wait for it, for the snap before he just plunges the knife into your gut. Twisting it and dragging your death on. 

Instead, he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around yours and forcing you into his embrace. “Stop,” you claw weakly at his shoulders, snagging your nails in the cheap cloak. You shake your head, but the fight is over before it even begins. Your arms curl around his neck, and you sink into his familiar embrace. 

His gloved hand skates over the wounds on your back, and you whine, arching away from his touch. He offers a whispered apology, but you don’t believe it. “Billy’s not going to touch you,” he swears. “I’m never going to hurt you.”

“You already have.”

His arms only tighten around you, pulling you into his lap as you cry. You might not believe him, but he knows the truth of it. You’re his best friend. The only person besides Billy he’s ever actually cared about. 

You are his perfect final girl, and he’s never going to let you go. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Scream, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

hello there! I would like to request something about donna being stressed or under too much pressure and taking it on reader in bed and accidentally hurting her? after that donna is very reluctant to be intimate again but reader reassures that they can try again. Could it be gp donna? Thanks! Have a good day

Yessss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))))

Stressed

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, angst, mental health issues, Donna being Donna

Word count: 7,928

Summary:  She put too much pressure in herself, and it had consequences...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Okay, I found it,” you said triumphantly, grabbing and waving the black cloth in your hands.

Donna sighed in relief as you approached with the veil she thought she had lost, a shy smile forming on her face.

“Where was it?” she asked curiously, with a somewhat impatient tone.

You shrugged and pointed to an old table with disinterest.

“There,” you said, playing with the cloth in your hands, trying to find the right position. “It seems that someone has been playing hide and seek again, hasn't it, Angie?” you mocked, glancing sideways at the doll, who received the accusation as a terrible offense.

“Me? You silly villager, you have no evidence!” the puppet protested, with a tone that betrayed her guilt.

“Angie… per favore,” the lady in black lamented, shaking her head. “I don't want to be late for the meeting.”

“Well, we found it just in time,” you said with a smile, quickly caressing her cheek.

The brunette returned the caress, kissing you softly on the lips before you raised your arms to place that horrible fabric on her head.

“Meeting, meeting, meeting, how boring,” Angie doll murmured, making you give each other another knowing look.

“Yeah… you say it,” you commented, playing along with the puppet and winking at her. “Hey, Donna, now that I think about it…”

“Mm?”

“What if you don't wear it?” you suggested, tilting your head slightly and placing a lock of black hair behind her ear.

She frowned instantly.

“(Y/N),” she murmured, letting you know that the idea, of course, didn't please her at all.

 “What? I didn't say anything stupid, Donna, you don't need to,” you insisted. “You know you're beautiful.”

“S-Stop it, tesoro,” the woman said, shaking her head and giving you a nervous smile.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” you said sincerely, approaching little by little and lovingly kissing the tip of her nose.

“Sciocchezze,” the doll maker insisted, shaking her head effusively.

“Nonsense? No, honey, it's what I think,” you answered amused, moving the black cloth away from her face.

“Exactly, it's what you think,” Donna said, with a satisfied tone. “Per favore, (Y/N), we're going to be late.”

“Donna…” you sighed, frustrated. “Come on, none of your siblings seem to care about their appearance, why do you…?”

“Will you shut up and put the veil on me already?” the brunette interrupted, snatching the cloth from your hands and looking for the right position, leaving you surprised by that abrupt attitude “Cavolo…”

“Oh, okay, as you wish,” you said defeated, shaking your head and looking for your coat.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized seconds later, while picking up the irreverent doll from the floor. “(Y/N), we've already talked about it, I… I… prefer to wear the veil.”

“I didn't mean to offend you, my love,” you whispered, rubbing her arm affectionately. “Hey, lately you've been a little more… irritable than usual, has something happened?” you asked as she opened the door, answering you with a vague gesture.

“No,” she said briefly, offering her arm for you to grab.

“Mm, okay,” you said distrustfully. “Damn, it's so cold.”

“Come closer to me, tesoro,” she said affectionately, pulling you a little.

“With pleasure,” you joked, hanging on to her arm and enjoying the first steps of that walk.

The meetings weren’t very common, but they were inevitable.

Mother Miranda's leadership over the Four Lords seemed to be maintained precisely thanks to those meetings, reminders that they are under her command, that she protects them, just as, every week, she reminds the villagers that she, and the Black Gods, protected them.

It didn't exactly make you happy to walk towards that dark cave, towards that underground cathedral where the four founding houses of the village met.

But, of course, you were going with her, with Donna. For the lady in black, leaving her old mansion was a milestone. Walking somewhere other than the Beneviento grounds was something that, for you, was worth the effort.

You were once the Duke's assistant, the fat merchant who sold supplies to the village, the Lords, and anyone with coins in their pockets. As his assistant, you had to run many errands, and of course, you were in charge of going to places the merchant didn't want to be.

The old mansion by the waterfall, the Beneviento Estate, was one of those places. You were born and raised in the village, you knew who lived there, but somehow, you couldn't get a picture of it in your head.

All that came to your mind was the color black, that talking doll, that stoic figure. To your surprise, those little encounters weren't as unpleasant as you thought.

The few words you exchanged with the strange woman became almost necessary in your life, addictive. That hoarse voice, that melodic tone, that intimidating presence… Of course she caught your attention.

Little by little the visits stopped being business-related, adorned with very poorly prepared excuses and with a desire to continue getting to know Donna Beneviento, a tormented woman, surrounded by rumors and legends.

Nonsense in your opinion. Yes, Donna was strange, she was sick and she was dangerous, but none of that appeared in your mind when you decided to get a little closer to her, just a little closer.

Love was not long in coming, as she, also surprised by your interest, let herself be carried away by the situation, by that sensation so new to her: being loved.

The Black Gods were particularly cruel to her. Where there should have been a small scar on her right eye, there was now a deformity that she herself considered horrible.

For you it was nothing like that, it was simply a peculiarity, and that natural reaction and the word “beautiful” coming out of your lips was the last thing you heard before melting into her in a passionate kiss.

Over time, you stopped going to the mansion, to live in it next to the lady in black and the Angie doll, a perfect place for you, next to the woman of your life.

Nothing, neither her appearance, nor the changes that the gift of the Gods made in her body prevented you from continuing to love her, from continuing to get excited about everything the woman in black did. You loved her, she loved you, there was not much more to add.

But, although everything was going great, lately the brunette's attitude had become tense. The afternoons in the workshop seemed eternal for you, she seemed nervous.

“(Y/N),” Donna whispered, taking you out of your memories. “Wait…”

You both stopped in the snow, just before crossing the wooden doors that marked her territory.

“What's wrong, honey?” you asked worriedly, noticing her body trembling. “Donna, what's wrong?” you insisted when you didn't get a response.

“I haven't been completely honest with you,” she confessed in a soft voice, leaving her doll on the ground.

“Oh,” you sighed suspiciously, trying to read her face, something impossible, of course. “Well, well… I thought I already knew all your secrets,” you murmured with a hint of mischief, wrapping your arms around her waist.

The lady in black gently grabbed your wrists, shaking her head.

“No, I… I…,” she stammered somewhat nervously, looking around, as if she were scared. “Yes, something's wrong.”

“Mm, okay…” you said, dragging out your words and changing mischief into understanding. “Do you want to tell me?”

“Yes, it's just that...” the lady whispered, sighing, as if she wanted to gain the necessary courage. “It's just that I feel... I feel that... I-I'm not like the others.”

“The others? You mean your siblings?” you asked curiously. “Of course you aren’t, Donna, you are much more...”

“Basta,” she interrupted, playing with your hands. “I-I want to open my feelings to you, tesoro.”

“Fine, forgive me,” you said empathetically, calming her hands in yours.

“I just don't... I don't think Mother Miranda trusts me as much as she do with them,” Donna explained, making you listen attentively. “You know, I... well, I'm not strong, o-or, especially good at anything and...”

“Oh, honey, what are you saying?” you asked in a tender tone, caressing her face under that horrible fabric. “Donna, you are very special.”

“Special...” she hissed mockingly. “It's not about being special. It's about trust, (Y/N). Mother Miranda hasn't trusted me. Sometimes I don't know why I'm even a Lord.”

“I suppose she named you Lord due to something, right?” you said, starting to understand her frustration.

“Yes, because of my family. If I wasn't of noble blood, she probably would have ruled me out,” the lady said, looking away.

“Don't talk nonsense,” you said, trying to get that idea out of her head. “Donna, you have the power to summon a person's worst nightmares. That's... terrifying... and powerful,” you joked.

“Hey, you sticky idiots! We're going to be late!” Angie interrupted, jumping impatiently in the snow.

“And there's Angie too,” you said amused, pointing at the doll with your head.

“S-So, why doesn't she give me a single important task?” the brunette asked, revealing with her nervous tone that it was the reason for her stress the last few days. “I feel useless…”

“Hey, listen to me, you're not useless, Donna. You're a wonderful woman and… well, I confess that before I met you, you scared me,” you said, careful not to hurt her fragile feelings.

“Grazie, (Y/N), but that's not enough,” Donna sighed, bending down again to pick up her doll.

“W-Well, then… why don't you offer yourself for the next task? That way you'll see that Miranda trusts you,” you advised, grabbing her hand to continue your way.

“Maybe,” she whispered again.

The walk through the village continued in silence. Well, at least you knew what was going on in Donna's mind, and you understood the reason for her stress and anxiety, although you really thought she had no reason to think that way.

Of course, your presence wasn’t allowed at the meeting, so you had to wait patiently for it to end, as always.

In the distance you could hear deep, dark voices, and their echo in the old stone walls.

After an impossible amount of time, the sound of furniture scraping across the ground told you that the meeting was over, and you sighed in relief, knowing that you would finally return home.

“My dear, how are you?” Alcina Dimitrescu, lady of the castle and Miranda's favorite Lord asked.

“Fine, my lady,” you answered elegantly, avoiding those always seductive eyes as they pursued you mercilessly.

“Doll face…” whispered Karl Heisenberg, a man who, if it weren't for his actions, could be mistaken for just another villager, a crazy one though.

“Karl,” you greeted politely as he looked at you over his glasses, awkwardly, as always.

Seeing Moreau, you began to grow impatient, as Donna didn’t come out.

“Hey, Sal,” you said, drawing the sea monster's attention. “Where's Donna?”

“She's talking to Mother,” he replied with devotion in his voice, to which you nodded and rubbed your hands before getting braver and peeking through the door.

“Perché?” you heard the lady in black ask, while, just as you had been told, she was talking to the most dangerous woman in the village; the emissary of the Gods, Mother Miranda.

“Mm, Donna, my dear Donna,” the priestess sighed, with a maternal tone that made your hair stand on end. “You are not fit for that task.”

“But, but, why?” the brunette insisted, while her doll made eye contact with you and ran to your position.

“Angie, what's going on?” you asked the puppet when it got close enough, without taking your eyes off the conversation.

“You're stupid,” the doll hissed, gesturing for you to pick her up. “Donna is stupid too… Look at her, following your advice.”

“Advice?” you asked, stopping looking at Angie when you heard Miranda speak again.

“Donna, cara mia, what you have to do is stay at home, safe, with your dolls and that villager you play with,” the priestess said, making the knot in your stomach grow.

“S-She's my girlfriend,” the lady defended herself, with a weak, submissive voice.

“Whatever,” Miranda sighed, visibly tired of the conversation. “My dear… you're not good for such a complex task. Everyone should know where their limits are.”

“If you trusted me, Mother Miranda, you would see that…” Donna insisted, clasping her hands together. “I’m capable!”

“Gods, Donna, stop shouting,” Miranda protested. “Ugh, what a pain… No, Donna. Now go away.”

“But, but Mother…”

“Taci,” the priestess ordered. “You serve me perfectly as you are. Honey, can't you see that you are not right in the head? Negotiating with the outside world is a task for Karl.”

“I’m not crazy,” Donna protested, making you want to slap that stupid raven-woman.

“I didn’t say so, dear,” Miranda whispered, approaching the lady and taking her hands.

“Ma…”

“No, the discussion is over. Now go home, with your dolls, where you need to be, mm?” insisted the priestess, caressing her face in a way that made your stomach turn. “My poor Donna… you have to relax.”

“Yes, Mother,” the lady nodded, defeated.

“Come on, go with your girl and have some fun, it's clear that you need it,” the priestess said, with a sinister smile under her mask. “Oh, hey, if you're so bored, why don't you get that village girl pregnant? One more follower never hurts…”

“You motherfu…”you cursed under your breath, clenching your fists in rage.

“She's talking about you,” Angie whispered in your ear, clearly mocking.

“Shut up,” you snapped at the doll.

“Didn't you hear me? Get out, dear,” Miranda told Donna, making a nasty gesture with her hand.

The lady in black growled, visibly enraged, and turned around, walking quickly towards the door where you were, passing you by in an unpleasant manner.

“Hey, Donna, wait,” you said hastily, following her towards the exit. “Donna”

“Donna, Donna!” Angie also called, shaking in your arms.

“Honey, my love, wait,” you said, managing to put a hand on her shoulder, one that the lady in black pushed away with another nasty growl. “Hey, darling, wait...”

“Lasciami!” Donna shrieked, enraged, walking quickly through the village.

“Silly Donna! What...!?” Angie protested, faced with her owner's attitude. “Hey, stupid!”

“Chiudi quella cazzo di bocca!” the woman yelled, making her voice bounce everywhere, causing the doll to thrash around in your arms and climb onto your back, hiding comically.

“Hey, that was rude!” the doll protested, hiding behind you again.

The woman in black growled, ignoring you, and continued walking back to the mansion.

You preferred to keep quiet, following Donna closely, but not stopping her. When she was furious, it was better to leave her alone. After all, poor Donna was sick, and that made her somewhat unstable.

The ventriloquist entered the mansion with a loud bang on the door, throwing the veil to the floor and not bothering to look at you.

“Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo!” she yelled furiously, kicking the innocent chairs in the dining room, unable to control herself. “Porca puttana!”

“Shit,” you whispered, lowering the doll to the ground, ready to intervene. “Donna…”

Angie ran away in terror from her owner's wrath while you slowly approached, avoiding ending up like one of those poor pieces of furniture.

“Hey, stop it!” you shrieked, grabbing the lady and preventing her from hitting another of the chairs. “Donna, please!”

“I'm useless!” the lady shouted, trying to get away from your hands on her shoulders, something she didn't manage. “Maledizione!”

“Hey, come on, stop it, darling, stop it,” you said in a soothing tone, cupping her face in your hands. “Calm down, my love.”

“She, she told me that…” she said nervously, blinking erratically, but slowing her breathing.

“Shh, I know, don't pay attention to her,” you whispered, hoping that your caresses on her face were enough to calm her down.

“What do you mean you know? Have you spied on me?” she asked, distrustful, moving away from you.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing her hand and slowly leading her to the last chair that was left standing.

“That doesn't matter,” you said, sitting her down and studying the trembling of her hands, the rage contained in her body. “That's it, there...” you sighed in relief, since Donna didn't seem to have any intention of moving.

“I'm useless!” Donna shouted again, making you close your eyes and bend over her lap, rubbing her legs, starting to despair. “Cazzo!” she shrieked, repeatedly hitting the table with her fists, making you grab them quickly.

“Donna, don’t!” you shouted in an authoritative voice. “No, stay still! Stay still!”

The lady glared at you, but stopped resisting, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“That's it... calm down,” you said in a sweet voice, caressing her hands. “I'll go get your medicine, you're very nervous.”

When you passed by her, her hand grabbed your wrist tightly, preventing you from moving.

“No, no medicine...” Donna sighed, her gaze downcast, regretful for her behavior. “Please...”

“Okay,” you sighed, picking up a nearby chair and sitting in front of her, watching her hands. “Donna, darling...”

“Do you understand?” she asked after a few seconds of silence. “Mother Miranda considers me weak, a nuisance.”

“That's not true,” you said in a calm voice, praying that her anger wouldn't take over her again. “I was really spying and she didn't say so.”

“No, but... but she thinks…” she whispered, with a much more relaxed, shy tone.

“Bah, I don't think so,” you said, not knowing if you were being completely sincere. “She just cares about you.”

“(Y/N), I know you don't like her,” she said, knowing you too well. “I know you're just trying to make me feel better.”

“Well, I'm your girlfriend, right? It's my duty,” you joked, slowly taking her hand again.

“So what's mine, (Y/N)? Make dolls and wait for someone to be stupid enough to sneak into my territory so I can demonstrate my powers? Huh?” the brunette counterattacked, abruptly crossing her arms.

“Hey, if you gave me the choice between talking to people from the outside world or staying at home with my girlfriend doing what I like the most… well, I think you already know what I would choose,” you explained with an understanding smile, trying to make her see reason.

“You still don't understand, (Y/N),” Donna said, shaking her head, running a hand through her hair. “It's not about comfort, but about trust… Mother Miranda considers me weak and…”

“You're not weak, I know you're not,” you interrupted, drawing her gaze to you. “You have to relax, and stop putting so much pressure on yourself because if not…”

“If not what, (Y/N)? Do you think I'm crazy too? Oh, of course you do… Poor crazy Donna, she can't do anything for herself.”

“Donna, not again. You're sick, you're not crazy, and besides, that's not...” you said, starting to lose patience.

“Do you also think I'm useless?” she murmured in a sad tone, slowly getting up from the chair. “Don't answer, I don't want to know.”

“Donna,” you said, getting up too and surrounding her waist from behind, leaning against her. “You're not useless. You're a wonderful woman, the woman I love...”

“Mm,” she murmured with disinterest, turning around little by little and resting her forehead on yours.

“Is that a smile I? A very small one?” you joked affectionately, playing with her, pretending to tickle her. “Mm, Donna, if you only knew how much I love you...”

“(Y/N)...” the lady sighed, while you, seductively, hung on her neck.

“Besides, there are many things you do well,” you whispered in her ear, timidly biting her earlobe. “So many things…”

“You think so?” the lady whispered, lowering her hand to your leg, moving it to encircle her waist while her nails discreetly ran over your skin.

“Mm…” you nodded, letting yourself be carried away by her caresses under your dress. “Oh, yes, I do…”

The lady smiled, but not in the way she usually did. There was something in her gaze, something that revealed that her thoughts were still in the cathedral, that, although her hands were caressing you and her lips were very close to yours, she wasn’t thinking about them.

Leaving aside that mysterious air, you rushed to devour her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, one that you hoped would bring her thoughts back.

She reciprocated it effusively, digging her nails into your skin while biting your lips. Normally Donna was passionate, and many times she let herself go, but there was something very different in her movements, a rush and a furious, avid breathing.

“Mm, yes, you're very good at this, darling,” you purred in her ear, placing a hand on her chest to stop her kisses. “Come, I think we can continue talking in the bedroom…”

“No,” the brunette refused, letting your hand go when she started to drag it. “No… you're not going to tell me what… what I have to do.”

“Mm?” you asked mischievously, before gasping sharply, as the brunette moved first, grabbing your legs and lifting you into the air while her kisses prevented you from protesting.

“I'm not useless…” the lady whispered as she carried you in her arms to her desk, sitting you on top. “I'm not…”

“Of course you’re not, darling,” you said amused, moving your neck away so that she could devour it comfortably, biting, sucking, defiling your flesh in a hot, hurried way. “Mm, Donna… keep going here…” you whispered pointing at your chest, causing her to move away.

“Shut up,” she ordered you annoyed, with a cold look. “Are you going to tell me again what I have to do?”

“No, but,” you said frowning, wrapping your legs around her to bring her closer again “It's just advice, my love.”

“Cazzo… I don't want your advice!” Donna shrieked furiously, pulling away abruptly and getting you off the table. “Don't… tell me…”

“What you have to do,” you said, closing your eyes and moving your hands in a gesture of surrender, taking this rough, and unexpected treatment too well.

“Porca miseria… I'm fed up!” she shrieked again, turning you around and bending your body.

“Oh, as you wish, my love,” you said, blushing from the heat emanating from your body, from feeling so dominated.

The lady growled when you tried to kiss her and, with a sudden movement, lowered your head to the wood, making you hiss in pain.

“Hey, my love… be careful…” you protested, still laughing, with your head throbbing from the blow.

“I said shut up,” Donna hissed, giving you a hard spank. “I'm going to show you what I'm capable of, (Y/N)…”

“Mm,” you murmured curiously, trying not to move too much.

With a tug, your underwear went down to your ankles while her body positioned itself dominantly on top of yours, imprisoning it, leaving you with no way to escape, although you didn't want to, of course.

“Hey, Donna, wait a moment, shouldn't we play a little first?” you asked, noticing how her fingers buried themselves in your folds, experimentally, dirty, without any prior gesture of affection.

“Taci,” she answered, accelerating her movements on your clit, causing you to moan involuntarily, and the nervous movement of your legs.

“Gods… keep going…” you moaned, noticing how your wetness was increasingly noticeable, how you longed for her touch, how you longed for her inside you.

“I don't want to,” she protested in a childish way, giving you another spank and making the contact disappear, so you moaned desperately. “You're going to shut your mouth and let me do whatever I want with you, do you understand?”

“Donna, it really turns me on when you get dominant…” you moaned, writhing on top of the table, pleasantly surprised by that attitude.

“I'm always dominant, (Y/N), don't forget it,” she hissed, with another spank, releasing her erection with a gasp, rubbing against your entrance impatiently.

“Yes, but be careful because... Donna!” you screamed when you noticed how she entered you abruptly, without asking permission, without the foreplay that accustomed your body to accept her. “Donna, wait, give me some time to...!”

“Silenzio!” the lady yelled, leaning towards you, settling between your walls, stretching them in a hasty, painful way. “I'll do whatever I want.”

“Yes, I understand, but...” you said, hissing in pain when you felt a strong tug on your hair, bringing your face closer to hers. “D-Donna, you're big, let me adjust…”

“If you don't shut up, I will,” Donna whispered in your ear, releasing your hair and making your head hit the wood again.

Without warning, her hips began to move. They weren't calm, controlled thrusts, there were no kisses on your skin, but unconscious shivers due to the brunette's attitude.

Even in a hurry, your body quickly got used to her shaft, changing that slight discomfort into pleasure and heat, one that spread throughout your body.

“I... I'm not useless...” Donna growled, after a strong thrust, staying as far inside you as she could, hitting the table with her fist. “I'm not!”

“No, no my love... you're perfect,” you said panting, moaning uncontrollably from that excessive pleasure. “Gods, you're so hard...”

“I'm doing this well, right? Do you like how hard it is for you, tesoro?” the lady mocked, getting close to your ear before resuming her hurried movements, making the desk shake under your bodies.

“Yes, yes Donna…” you moaned as you bit your lip, adjusting yourself when the wood started to feel uncomfortable.

“Basta!” your girlfriend scolded you, spanking you hard and holding your buttocks, digging her nails into your skin. “That's it… Così stretta… Così bagnata…”

“Oh, Gods…” you gasped, suffocated by the pleasure, sitting up to feel more of Donna's movements, so that your walls caressed her erection much more intensely. “Donna!”

Your cries and moans seemed to go unnoticed by the lady in black, who growled as she leaned down again, moving her hips quickly, very close to you, making you almost feel the horrible sensation of her pulling out, but thrusting into you again moments later.

“How outrageous,” the lady mocked and, when you turned to look at her, you noticed she had a deranged look, completely different than usual, which made you start to worry.

“Honey, calm down, honey…” you said while her body moved faster and faster, fighting against her grip to try to kiss her lips, something you couldn't do, as her hand lowered your face against the wood again.

Her hands became shackles for your wrists, securing you in the same position without her thrusts stopping. She had you imprisoned, and it wasn't an unpleasant feeling at all.

“Look at me, Mother Miranda!” Donna shrieked with a nervous laugh. “Look what I'm capable of doing and you're not! That's it... You envy me! Is that it? I'm capable of doing this!”

Those words put you on alert. It was obvious that Donna wasn't well. That crisis she had before hadn't completely disappeared. However, that didn't stop you from continuing to enjoy it.

“Oh, don't name her… you're delirious,” you protest, as Donna bring the raven woman into such an intimate action.

“I can make her mine! I can cum inside and give her a child! You'll never be able to do that! What do you think of poor, crazy Donna now? Huh? Stronza!” she continued to rave, dangerously increasing the pace.

You couldn't process her words much, as an electric current shook all your nerves, forcing your muscles to tense, to break free from their restrictions and lean upwards, exclaiming a scream of pleasure at feeling your release.

“Cazzo! (Y/N)!” Donna shrieked, with a satisfied laugh, enjoying the wetness of your orgasm on her erection, the greater ease she now had to slide in. “Sto… sto per…”

“Gods, yes! Do it, fill me, Donna!” you said, kicking nervously at the jolts of pleasure.

“Sto per venire!” she moaned, stopping as her release coursed through your walls, wetting them, heating them even more.

The wetness you felt inside you excited you again, but Donna didn't seem to want to continue, she was exhausted. You could hear her labored breathing at the same time as her release began to slide down your legs.

“Gods, Donna,” you said, laughing nervously, freeing yourself from her grip and getting off the table. “It was…”

“Mm,” she moaned, putting her shaft away awkwardly and avoiding looking at your face. “Mm…”

“Shh… hey…” you said, worried by her lost gaze, by not seeing sanity in her only eye “Donna, what was that? You're not okay, are you?”

“I…” she said, shaking her head, wiping the sweat from her forehead and freezing when she looked at your face. “Oddio… (Y/N)…” she sighed worriedly, reaching her hand towards your forehead. “You're hurt.”

“What?” you asked confused, bringing your hand to the same place, noticing a blood stain on your fingers.

Suddenly your mind remembered that blow against the table and your head began to throb, although you tried not to give it importance.

“It's nothing, just… just be more careful next time,” you said with a smile, hiding the pain.

She shook her head, blinking rapidly, as if seeing your wound had brought her back to her senses.

“No, no, no…” she lamented, cupping your face in her hands. “What have I done!? I, I hurt you…”

“It's okay, Donna, it was an accident,”  ​​you insisted, seeing the concern in her eye again.

The lady in black shook her head, looking down at your wrists, marked with a small red line, right where she had grabbed you.

“Le tue mani…” she sighed, grabbing one of them slowly, studying the mark. “No…. No…”

“Hey, come on, it's okay,” you said, frowning as she ran her fingers through your wounds. “You were nervous, okay? I shouldn't have left you…”

“Yes, you're right, I… you shouldn't have left me… I hurt you… I hurt you!” she screamed, kicking the floor, losing her temper again.

“Shh, Donna, that's enough, that's it, it's okay, I had a great time and…”

“No!” the lady exclaimed, clenching her fists. “I h-hurt you… tesoro, I’m sorry, I…”

“Stop apologizing,” you insisted, trying to grab her hands, something she stopped by moving away little by little, as if she was afraid of you, or afraid of herself.

“I… I didn’t want to hurt you, I…” Donna sobbed, shaking her head, with her eye wide open and her chest rising and falling rapidly. “That wasn’t right… I didn’t… Gods, I did it inside, (Y/N), I could have gotten you pregnant,” she said nervously, coming closer and taking your hands, terribly scared.

“Come on, that’s not possible, honey,” you said slowly so she could process your words properly. “I’m taking measures, remember? Donna, honey, remember?”

“Y-yes,” she nodded shortly after, without calming down completely. “But, but I…”

“Forget it, okay? Nothing happened…” you whispered, resting your forehead on hers, wetting her skin with your blood. “Oh, wow, um… I should go wash up.”

Donna, scared, moved the stain from her forehead and studied your wound calmly, without saying anything, terribly sorry.

“Perdonami, per favore…” she murmured, with a deep pain in her soul. “(Y/N), I, I didn't want… I…”

“It's okay, my love… You'll always be the woman of my life… My beautiful Donna…” you whispered to comfort her while she hugged you tightly, shedding a sea of ​​tears on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” she squealed, muffled by your clothes while you simply closed your eyes, caressing her hair. “I’m sorry…”

“Come on, honey… let’s take a bath, okay?” you suggested, taking her hand and walking, or rather, dragging her towards the elevator.

It certainly wasn't how you expected the day to go.

Donna didn't speak during the bath. She was confused, disoriented and regretful. Despite your insistence letting her know that you forgave her and that it wasn't really that horrible for you, far from it, she didn't react.

But that silence only lasted until bedtime, where, without saying a single word, the lady in black dropped her defenses, bursting into tears, falling asleep in your arms.

“Damn you, Mother Miranda,” you whispered, cradling the brunette in your arms.

Of course you knew she felt terribly guilty about what had happened, but your focus wasn't on the consequence, but on the cause. How absurd; thinking that Donna wasn't strong was simply nonsense and you knew it.

She was the youngest of the Lords, she was sick, yes, but that didn't make her useless. How you would have liked to teach that arrogant priestess a lesson…

Little by little the situation calmed down and Donna seemed to forget what had happened at that meeting. Of course, you made a special point of not reminding her, of giving her much more affection than usual. You had to let her know how special she was to you, how much it meant to your heart to see a smile on her beautiful face.

The lady calmed down to your relief, and began to ignore the hurtful words of her adoptive mother, understanding what her place was, what her destiny was: to protect the village, and to be with you.

You, triumphant and satisfied at having solved the problem that tormented her, decided to act normally again, which involved, among other things, a stealthy night attack.

“Donna…” you sang, putting your hand in the sheets, interrupting the brunette's calm reading. “Let's see, let's see… what do we have here?” you teased, moving up her legs, placing your hand on the bulge between them, making her frown.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” she asked without looking at you, turning a page of her book.

“Playing…” you hissed in her ear, kissing her neck while your hand began to stimulate her slowly.

“No…” Donna said, moving away from your touch, blushing, but with a cold look. “No, (Y/N).”

“No?” you mocked, moving closer again, increasing the intensity of your grip on her more than receptive shaft. “Your body doesn't agree, Don, Don…”

“Don't call me that,” she protested, moving again. “Oh, come on, let it go, tesoro.”

“Mm,” you complained with a growl when she pushed your hand away. “But, Donna, you were getting…”

“I-I said no, don't insist,” the lady said, her voice weak, getting closer and closer to the edge of the bed.

“Hey, Beneviento, you haven't laid a hand on me for days, I demand some affection,” you said jokingly, comically chasing her under the sheets.

“I give you all the affection you want, (Y/N),” Donna murmured, pretending to continue reading. “Isn't that enough for you?”

“Come on, I don't mean that kind of affection... you know I love your kisses, your hugs... but there's something else I love, do you know what it is?”

“No,” she answered dryly, distracted again, until she realized what you were going to say. “Oh, cavolo, don't say it…”

“Stay still, I just want some…” you purred, moving closer one last time, which made the lady fall comically off the bed.

“Cazzo…” she growled annoyed as you peeked out, holding back your laughter.

“Donna, honey, are you okay?” you asked amused as she stood up, glaring at you. “Come here.”

“No,” she said childishly, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

“Gods…” you sighed, shaking your head. “Sex, Donna, I want sex, I need sex, have I been clear enough?”

“Yes,” the doll maker said, nodding confused. “But, I'm sorry, (Y/N)… no… I don't feel like it.”

“Normally you're the one who...” you said perplexed

“Well, not now, (Y/N). Besides, I... I... I'm going to sleep in the office,” she said awkwardly, grabbing her pillow.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, you're not able to keep your... hands off me,” the lady defended herself, looking away.

“Fine, whatever,” you said grumbling and turning around. “Good night, Donna, I hope you enjoy that uncomfortable couch...” you yawned, with a smile hidden on your face.

“Ugh...” she sighed, after a moment of silence, getting back into bed. “Well, I'll stay, but, but... stay away from my penis, is that clear?”

“Yes, yes...” you said, rolling your eyes and turning off the light. “Good night, Donna.”

It seemed like an isolated incident, a simple rejection for some reason you didn't know, but it wasn't.

The next few days continued in the same way. It didn't matter how you came on to her, or if you just attacked her or told her straight up, Donna always rejected you. It was like she didn't want to be intimate with you anymore, something that made you more and more nervous.

Your movements left subtlety aside, cornering poor Donna whenever you had the chance. Even though her body always seemed receptive and you noticed a clear internal struggle in her gaze, she always refused or ran away from you, whatever suited her best.

Just when you thought everything was fine, trouble started to plague you again. You thought about what could be going through her head to refuse to merge with you, when you knew it was, without a doubt, one of her favorite hobbies.

Then you realized.

That argument with Mother Miranda had dug a deep hole in her feelings. Your excessive concern had probably led her to lock herself away again, surely with her insecurities constantly stalking her.

You didn't know what to do. Well, you wanted to get your sex routine back, of course, but there was something much more important to you: Donna's well-being.

“Seriously, what is she doing down there?” you asked Angie, glancing at the old clock, which revealed that, once again, Donna was spending more time in the workshop than she should.

“Running away from you,” Angie said, without thinking twice, which made you snort.

“Seriously? Do you think I'm overwhelming her?” you asked unsurely, remembering those days of constant persecution.

“It's pretty obvious, silly village girl. Donna doesn't want to make babies with you, accept it. She's probably noticed how ugly you are,” the doll mocked, making you repress your instincts to strangle her.

“But, but... what's wrong?” you asked, seeking advice from the least suitable person, or doll. “Is she mad at me?”

“How do you expect me to know? Leave my Donna alone for once,” the puppet accused you, jumping on the couch and pointing at you with her finger.

“Well... I guess I'll have to talk to her,” you sighed in defeat, regretting having to bring up the subject again, having to fight against her insecurities once again.

The doors of the workshop were closed, and, before entering and thinking about what you were going to say, you took a breath, gathering all the information you had, trying to find out what her problem was before an imminent crisis.

“Hello, sweetie,” you said, approaching her and hanging on her shoulders, kissing her cheek slowly.

“Mm, ciao,” she replied, concentrating on cleaning the imperfections of a porcelain hand.

“I thought I'd make dinner today, what do you think? You've been here for more than six hours, you need a break,” you said calmly, without letting your imminent interrogation show.

“I'm fine, I'm not hungry,” Donna replied, without losing her concentration. “Ugh, lasciami…” she protested when your kisses on her cheek intensified.

“Okay…the dolls…” you joked, moving away and leaning on her work table. “Come on, cheer up, I'm going to make pasta,” you hummed, raising and lowering your eyebrows.

“Now I'm really not hungry,” she said in a cold tone, highlighting some last details on the porcelain.

You gasped and gave her a soft punch on the shoulder, drawing a brief smile from her, a very brief one.

“Hey!” you complained amused. “You have no confidence in me…”

“The pasta doesn't have to crunch, (Y/N). Until you learn that, I'm afraid I'll have to reject your proposal,” the lady joked with a mischievous smile, leaving the hand on the table and looking at you fondly.

“Yes, okay, whatever you say…” you sighed, letting her gently pull you with a tender and sincere laugh. “Hey, Donna… we need to talk.”

“Cosa? Talk? Why?” she asked, suddenly freaking out, her face changing completely. “What have I done?”

“Well, rather what haven't you done…”you murmured, letting yourself fall into a nearby chair.

“What did you say?” Donna asked, without having heard you clearly. “D-Don't murmur, (Y/N), you make me nervous…”

“Do you know what makes me nervous, Donna? You, not saying why you keep rejecting me,” you finally said, in a serious tone, but gently taking her hands.

“L-Leave it be, (Y/N), it's better this way,” she murmured, pulling her hand away and turning around so she wouldn't look at you.

“Gods, Donna, why?” you insisted. “Hey, if I've done something...”

“You haven't done anything, okay? You haven't done anything,” the lady interrupted, clearly nervous, shaking her head. “I can't believe you're asking me those questions after what happened.”

“What happened?” you asked in a calmer, less arrogant tone. “I have no idea what you're talking about and... Oh, Gods, it can't be...” you sighed, realizing something. “It's because of that argument with Mother Miranda, right?”

“What? No,” the brunette denied effusively. “W-well, at least completely...”

“Donna, honey, everything would be much easier if you expressed your feelings better and…” you said sadly, causing an oversized reaction in the lady, who stood up furiously from her chair.

“Explain my feelings!? What do you want me to explain to you? Huh?” she shrieked furiously, with her hands shaking on both sides of her hips. “There's nothing to explain, (Y/N). I don't, I can't do it…”

“Okay, okay, calm down, breathe, honey,” you said with a calm voice, approaching slowly, very slowly. “Calmati, amore mio…”

“Cazzo…” Donna hissed. “Stop ignoring it, okay? Stop pretending that nothing happened that afternoon, stop pretending that you love me after what happened.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, crossing your arms, trying to remember to find the problem, without result.

“This, (Y/N),” she said, quickly approaching and pushing your bangs aside, revealing the mark of that blow. “I… hurt you.”

“Wait, you're not talking about Mother Miranda, are you? This has to do with what happened in the dining room and…” you said to yourself, blinking several times, finding a different approach to the problems, one that you hadn't given the slightest importance to. “Oh, no, Donna, you can't be serious… was all this because of what happened? Because you were rough with me?”

“Rough? No, (Y/N), I hurt you, I made you bleed, I wasn't careful with what I did, I hurt you… I… hurt you…” the doll maker repeated, with labored breathing.

“I already told you that nothing was wrong, honey, you were very upset,” you began to say, but she abruptly shook her head.

“And I took it out on you. You paid for my frustrations, I… lost control and…” Donna explained, moving away again, stopped by a hand on her waist.

“But, Donna…” you sighed with a tender smile, caressing her cheek. “My love… That's why you avoided making love to me, right? You were afraid of hurting me.”

She simply nodded embarrassed, closing her eye to enjoy your caresses.

“I-I don't want to lose control again… Mother Miranda is right. I'm n-not right in the head and…”

“Mother Miranda is stupid,” you affirmed arrogantly, tilting your head. “Your only problem is that you take everything she says seriously.”

“Of course I take it seriously, she created me, she…” Donna murmured, confused and annoyed by your contemptuous tone.

“Nonsense, you existed before that witch put her claws on you,” you said confidently, sighing and closing your eyes. “She doesn't know you as well as I do, she doesn't know what you're really like.”

“I'm sick, (Y/N), I'm not right in the head, you know that. Everything... everything she says affects me and... I lose control, it's not the first time it's happened to me but, but not like that, not with you, you're the only thing I don't want to hurt, amore mio...”

“Donna, your only problem is that you let your problems devour you,” you affirmed, getting closer to her trembling body. “You're not alone anymore, my love... you don't have to suffer in silence. I'm with you.”

“I-I know but sometimes it's...” the brunette said, about to shed a tear.

“Too much, I know,” you finished, gently grabbing her waist. “Look, it's true that you were rough with me, that you hurt me, but I've forgiven you, my love, I know you won't do it again. Donna, you're sweet, tender, loving... you're not like that, you don't have to be like that if you don't want to, do you understand? No one can control your feelings, no one has to tell you how you are or how you should act, much less that stupid priestess.”

“It's not about that, (Y/N), if I can't control myself...”

“Who tells you that you're not capable of doing it? Her?” you asked in a more serious tone, clinging to her body. “No, honey, that's not true. You're a wonderful woman and I know you would never hurt me, I know...”

“I already did,” Donna sighed, letting herself be hugged, but reluctant though. “I-I don't want to do it again so... you should... you should...”

“Ugh, Donna, you're so stubborn,” you protested amused, shaking the brunette. “I want to make love to you, I like making love to you. I don't want us to give up on this because some bitch has put it in your head that you're not capable of controlling yourself. It's not like that; you know it's not like that, Donna.”

“I-I... Io...” she stammered, unable to refute your arguments. “I like making love to you too, (Y/N), and... I want to do it, but...”

“If you say again that you don't want to hurt me, I'll smash one of your dolls right on your head, is that clear?” you threatened amused, softly kissing her lips. “My love... you have control of your life, of your actions, and you said it, you would never hurt me, right?”

Donna shook her head slowly, letting herself fall into your arms.

“Never, never, never…” she repeated in your ear, grabbing your face with both hands. “Ti amo…”

“Mm, me too,” you said, blushing surely due to that forced abstinence. “Well, since everything is clear… sit down,” you ordered, pointing at the chair. “I want you to make me yours, now.”

“Now? But, but…” the lady protested, letting herself be dragged, being sat down with a gentle push.

“Shush, not a word,” you said, moving your underwear to the side and sitting on her lap. “Now, my love…”

“W-Well, it's, it's okay…” she whispered, noticing how your hand attacked her again. “(Y/N)…”

“We're anxious, aren't we?” you joked, grabbing her incipient erection and freeing it from its prison, positioning it at your entrance.

“S-Sì…” she confessed, letting herself be carried away by your movements.

“Ah… Gods…” you moaned as you felt her inside you gently, riding her very slowly, in an improvised, but satisfying act. “That's it… Donna…”

“(Y/N)…” she moaned, cornered by your hands and the irresistible movements of your hips.

“Do you want me to tell you a secret, my love?” you asked between gasps, relaxing your movements and getting closer to her ear.

“Mm…”

“I really liked when you were rough with me… when you dominated me… keep that in mind for next time, okay, my love?”

[millyphobic]

ᯓ★ PRETTY LADY

⌗ a shitty friday night date, cold weather, and a late night bus ride back home. just when you think you’ve fucked up the start to your weekend, a real good-looking lady comes sitting next to you. but one problem, how the actual fuck are you getting her attention??

Di!Jill Valentine x fem!reader

꩜ .ᐟ cw :: implied age gap, smoking, awkward reader (this is basically a self-insert), a lot of internal dialogue (this is this is basically a self-insert), reader doesn't actually know who tf Jill is until the end help, rabbit wand mentioned (๑°o°๑)

꩜ .ᐟ notes :: I actually have no idea where this idea spawned from. probably from a dream or some embarrassing experience I had back in high school (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 wc :: 1.5k

You don’t hate the entire world. Just half of it. The male half. 

Nothing like another shitty date to ruin your Friday night. The fact you spent a whole hour listening to a frat guy talk about his shitty “achievements” was painfully depressing. Honestly, why do you even try? It’s already hard living in an area where girls don’t seem to be kissing other girls. But now every guy you think is semi-decent turns out to be a total dickwad. 

Is this a sign from above to stay single? Because it’s not funny. 

You trudged out of the dinner, miserable and with twenty dollars less in your pocket. Stupid bastard couldn’t even pay for your meal and looked at you like you were crazy when you tried to order a burger at a fucking diner. Well, he could suck your dick because it’s not your fault he was probably too broke to get anything more than potato wedges.  

The winter air nipped at your skin as you pulled your coat more tightly over your body, making your way to the nearest bus stop and plopping yourself on a bench. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to catch a ride home. You just wanted to crawl into bed and never have to think about this night again. Or even better, crawl into bed and finally have a partner to cuddle with. 

Time passed by and you blanked out for a moment, staring at your Mary Janes and softly humming to yourself. It’s not until you hear another person come up and sit next to you do you finally tear your eyes away from the ground. And you do what literally anyone else would do, take a look at who was sitting next to you. 

Holy shit.

Now, you’ve seen beautiful women all your life. To you, every girl out there was beautiful. But damn, in the most respectful way possible, that was one pretty lady. You didn’t really know what to think at the moment. Couldn’t exactly pinpoint what was so attractive about her. Everything seemed to be the appropriate answer. From the grey streaks in her hair to her brown bomber jacket fitted snuggly over her body. But something about the way she held an unlit cigarette between her lips made you feel especially warm from under the collar of your shirt. 

It was like she walked out of one of those badass fighting games where men hate her and women love her. Or even better: where men hate her and women want to kiss you. You’d like to kiss her. Wrinkles and grey hairs and all. If she’s not graying then she’s not staying you’d often joke. But this you might actually be deadass.

“Uhm, Miss?” What the hell am I doing?

The woman’s eyes snapped towards you and you could practically do a back flip into traffic. Whether out of embarrassment or excitement, you didn’t know. She’s got real pretty eyes, pale blue eyes, and not the usual scary soul-piercing blue eyes. 

You gingerly pointed to the cigarette between her lips and before you could think about the fact you’re probably about to embarrass yourself, you asked your next question. 

“Can I have one?” 

What the actual fuck am I doing, I’ve never smoked a day in my life.

And clearly, the lady thought so too, cocking an eyebrow at your nervous face. Silence. Awkward silence. And then she scoffed, digging her hand into her coat pocket. “You sure you want one, baby?” 

Okay, that has to be a murder attempt.

The heat on your face was unbearable as you nod like a puppy, feeling so stupid and embarrassed and turned on all at the same time. Thank god for the darkness of the night, your faces poorly illuminated by flickering street lamps.

A pack of Marlboros and a violet lighter are in her hand, those pretty and slender hands that any girl would fawn over. She flicked the pack open and pulled a cigarette out for you, holding it up to your lips. 

Wait a minute…am I being flirted with?

You’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed. Most of the time when it came to other people, it was like your light bulb was on but no one was home. So you took the cigarette between your teeth, awkwardly staring at her so she’d get the idea to light it for you. Because, duh, you don’t have a lighter. 

Fake smoker. And for what? Five seconds of getting to make eye contact with a milf? Embarassing. 

The woman lit her own cigarette and raised it to her lips, taking a long drag as the end began to glow. You heard as she breathed in deeply and later saw as she exhaled smoke into the air. And then she tucked her lighter and Marlboros back in her pocket, leaving you like an idiot just sitting there as you stared at her.

Okay, great, let’s just ignore me now and while you’re at it why don’t you curb-stomp me? Does God just not want me to get laid or something because what is-

“Hold still, pretty girl.”

“Huh?”

Another chuckle from the lady is all you heard before she reached out to grab your chin. Her fingers so gently cradled your jaw, holding you in place as she leaned in close. *Oh my god.* All she does is stare at you for a moment and you drink in the way her lips quirked into a little smirk and how that playful glint in her eyes seemed to shine.

Holy shit, I am being flirted with.

With a gentle touch, the woman brought the lit end of her cigarette to yours, the ends kissing as your cigarette sparked to life. Your eyes locked onto hers, faces inches apart as you shared a moment of surprising intimacy. You could smell fresh laundry on her and even hints of cedar wood, easily becoming one of the sexiest scents in the world. 

And once there’s a steady glow from your cigarette she pulled away and you had to consciously stop yourself from following her. It’s been maybe about thirty seconds but you already missed her scent and closeness. 

Oh my god, get off the ground!

Enough about your pathetic self. You had a bigger problem now. Smoking. You couldn’t just have this burning thing between your lips. Not when Pretty Woman was still looking at you. So you did the only thing that makes sense at the moment; take a drag. 

So…you were right. As you took a deep breath in, you didn’t look all cool or suave or whatever. No. Of course not! You started coughing uncontrollably, eyes watering from the harsh smoke as you let out a wheeze. I need to kill myself now. Like right now.

But maybe some divine intervention took place in the next few moments. Maybe your guardian angel looked at you and thought wow, this girl can’t be bitchless forever and took pity on you. Once more you felt a calloused yet tender hand cup your face, the woman’s other hand pulling the cigarette out of your mouth. “You’re funny,” she mused, letting the stick drop to the floor and snuffing it out from under her boot. “Do you always risk your lungs for women your mom’s age?”

Okay, damn, no need to come for my throat like that. “No, not really. But usually, I’m doing something embarrassing anyways so this doesn’t really matter.” Wow, way to sound like a fucking loser.

And she laughed. Her nose scrunched up as she chuckled and you didn’t care if she was making fun of you or thought you were a grade-A freak, you don’t think you’ve ever been so wet before. It’s so dumb because you don’t even know her name and she’s literally just a lady but she’s so much more than that because she looked so…hot.

“You just get cuter and cuter. Hold up.” You watched dumbly as she pulled her hand away, fishing out the Marlboros pack and a pen. Of course, she has a pen, she might as well pull out a rabbit wand next. Something gets scribbled on the front and she tossed it to you, nearly dropping it on the floor as you fumbled to grab it. 

She laughed again, almost akin to a giggle. She stood up, patted you on the head, and walked off like at the end of an epic action film while dramatic 80s music plays in the background.

What the fuck just happened?

To think this all happened because of a date. You finally took a look at the cigarette pack in your hand and, no fucking way, you nearly started jumping for joy. 

There were three things written on the pack. A name, a number, and a little message. Jill Valentine. You finally had a name for your Pretty Lady. At the very bottom, it read, “Glad I spotted you before I walked into that diner. Same time, same place next Friday? :)” 

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do one where the sister is like 15 and she’s going through a lot and the brothers notice and help her with it and she struggles with depression and self harm

“Always Here for You”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : sh, crying , depression

The sun hung high over Los Angeles, casting a golden glow over the city. The Sturniolo house was filled with the usual sounds—Chris and Matt arguing over something stupid, Nick playing music a little too loud—but Y/N barely heard any of it.

She sat in her room, staring at the ceiling, feeling like she was sinking into nothingness. It didn’t make sense—she had everything she was supposed to need. A loving family, friends, a home. But the sadness still clung to her, heavy and unshakable.

Lately, everything felt exhausting. Pretending to be okay, forcing smiles, laughing at jokes when all she wanted to do was disappear. And the worst part? She didn’t want her brothers to worry. She knew they had enough on their plate—videos, traveling, social media, their own lives. The last thing she wanted was to drag them down with her.

So she hid it.

She wore long sleeves, even when the heat in LA was unbearable. She stayed quiet, avoided eye contact, and brushed off their questions with quick, empty reassurances.

But her brothers weren’t stupid.

Chris was the first to notice. She wasn’t as loud as she used to be, wasn’t cracking jokes or annoying them like she used to. The energy that once made her Y/N was gone, replaced by something quiet and distant.

Matt noticed next. The way she barely ate, how she stayed in her room more than usual. It wasn’t just a bad mood—it was something deeper. Something that scared him.

Nick, though? He refused to ignore it.

One afternoon, after Y/N excused herself from their usual lunch at their favorite LA spot, Nick turned to his brothers.

“Something’s wrong.” His voice was firm, laced with concern.

Chris sighed. “I know. I just don’t know how to get her to talk.”

Matt nodded, his expression tight. “We need to do something. Now.”

So they did.

That night, instead of letting her hide away in her room, the triplets knocked on her door.

“Go away,” Y/N’s voice was small, tired.

Nick didn’t listen. He pushed the door open, and all three of them stepped inside.

Y/N sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, the sleeves of her hoodie pulled down even though the LA heat made it unbearable. She didn’t look at them.

Chris sat beside her first. “Y/N… please talk to us.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Matt sat on her other side. “No, you’re not.” His voice was gentle but firm. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to be fine all the time.”

Y/N swallowed hard, staring at her hands. “I don’t want to bother you guys.”

Nick kneeled in front of her, his voice soft but serious. “You’re never a bother, Y/N. You’re our sister.”

Her hands trembled as she hugged her knees tighter. “I just… I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Chris reached out, gently taking her wrist, his thumb grazing over the faint scars that she thought she had hidden so well. His chest tightened, but he didn’t let go.

“We’re here, Y/N. No matter what.”

Matt squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Nick’s voice was steady. “And we’re going to help you. However you need.”

For the first time in a long time, Y/N let the walls she had built come crashing down. The tears came before she could stop them, and her brothers didn’t rush her, didn’t try to fix everything in one night. They just held her, reminding her—over and over—that she wasn’t alone. That she never would be.

And for the first time in forever, she believed them.