#this man is an asshole who deserves to be alone actually | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

100vern · 5 months ago

Note

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

#seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #jewel writes #fic: wntt

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 months ago

Note

It’s so sad how mullet Stan lacks content of him 😭😭I wish there would be more fics of him so that’s why im gently asking you to give us more mullet Stan crumbs, it can be anything, headcanons or fic �� I will eat everything you’ll serve

⤿❝ Mullet!Stanley x reader headcanons (sfw & nsfw)⭑

a/n: agree i agree just yeah 10000% ! traumatised guys with mullet, bad habits and abandonment, daddy and mental issues are my weak spot

sfw

ᯓ★ he’s terrified of commitment but more terrified of being alone. he’ll push you away just to see if you’ll stay. he wants to trust you, but he doesn’t trust himself

ᯓ★ when he finally realizes you’re not leaving, he clings hard. like, once he’s in? he’s all in. but the idea of starting a family? he wants it so bad but so scared of it. he doesn’t want to turn into his father. he’s aware of his emotional instability and the last thing he wants is to pass that onto a kid. he doesn’t even trust himself to be a good partner, let alone a parent

ᯓ★ despite everything, still has a soft spot for kids but refuses to admit it. will grumble and complain but the second a little kid looks up at him with big, teary eyes, he’s sighing and handing over the last piece of his candy bar

ᯓ★ he is a literal stray, a stray dog that growls when you first bring him home but now follows you everywhere. you don’t date mullet!Stanley, you accidentally adopt him. this man has no home, no direction, no plan. he crashes on your couch “just for a few days, toots, promise” and then six months later he’s still there, wearing your robe, drinking straight from the juice carton

ᯓ★ acts like he doesn’t care but is secretly the most doting boyfriend. will fix your car, carry your groceries, give you his jacket when you're cold, all without asking. he just does it

ᯓ★ he doesn’t take care of himself. showers once every few days, drinks too much, smokes too much, eats like shit. if you ever cook for him it breaks him, he just stares at the plate because it’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever done to him, “you made this? for me?”

ᯓ★ road trip king. you wanna run away? hop in, sweetheart, we’ll figure it out on the way. the kind of guy who drives with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. he’s got half a pack of smokes, a cassette of shitty rock ballads and a mouth full of sweet-talking bullshit

ᯓ★ as i said, he acts like he doesn’t give a fuck but actually gives too many fucks. will pretend he doesn’t care when you get mad at him, but the second you turn away, he’s overthinking. “fuck what did i say? shit, why am i such an asshole?”

ᯓ★ if you tell him you love him, he always hesitates before saying it back. not because he doesn’t feel it, but because he doesn’t think he deserves it

ᯓ★ literally stunned when you take care of him. like, someone is doing something NICE for him??? with no ulterior motive???

ᯓ★ absolutely a ‘leaning’ boyfriend. leans against walls, leans against doorframes, leans against you. big strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind, head dropping onto your shoulder with a sigh

ᯓ★ survives off diner food, gas station snacks, and whatever you make him

ᯓ★ gets nervous when you’re nice to him. he’s been kicked down so many times, he doesn’t know how to handle kindness. the first time you tell him he looks good, he scoffs, says something self-deprecating, but then stares at himself in the mirror later, touching his face trying to see what you even saw in him

ᯓ★ secretly loves being babied. if you push his messy hair back, clean his cuts when he gets into a fight or tuck yourself into his side when he's sitting down, he fucking melts. “psh, ya don’t gotta do all that,” but his ears are bright red

ᯓ★ will steal anything for you. “ya like that necklace, sweetheart? consider it yours.” he’s a walking, talking, petty thief boyfriend who just wants to see you smile

ᯓ★ lets you play with his mullet when he’s feeling lazy. sits between your thighs while you brush it and if you’re gentle enough, he’ll doze off right there, resting his head against your stomach

ᯓ★ loves his car more than he should. will drag you to the garage to show you how he’s fixing up some old junker, but he looks so proud, you can’t even complain. bonus: he makes you sit in it for a “test drive” (he drives too fast just to see you scream and laugh)

ᯓ★ hands always busy. even when you’re just sitting together, his hands are moving, tinkering with something, rubbing circles on your thigh, tapping on table. he's anxious stressed guy

ᯓ★ he falls asleep anywhere instantly. he’s had years of shitty, uncomfortable sleep, so at this point he can knock out in two seconds flat. the first time you see it happen, you’re stunned. “Stan, are you seriously asleep right now—?” he is. sometimes, he falls asleep sitting up, mouth slightly open, arms crossed. if you try to move him, he’ll grunt, shift slightly and keep sleeping

ᯓ★ he’s a sucker for physical affection but doesn’t know how to ask for it. please, just hold him. run your fingers through his hair, rub his back, let him rest his head on your chest or stomach. sometimes, he’ll just stand behind you and wait until you notice and pull him into a hug. he won’t ask, but he needs it

ᯓ★ this man does not know how to handle being desired

nsfw

ᯓ★ he’s big. everywhere. broad chest, thick arms, a cock that barely fits. “c’mon, baby, you can take it. just a little more, there we go.”

ᯓ★ he’s a messy kisser. tongue, teeth, biting, groaning, he devours you. Stanley makes out like he’s trying to fuck you with just his mouth. his hands are always gripping your face, your neck, your hair, he’s desperate

ᯓ★ he loves fucking in places he shouldn’t. against the car, in an alley, in the backseat, behind a bar, on some random motel dresser, doesn’t matter. the risk of getting caught gets him off. zero patience. too horny to wait, too desperate to care where you are

ᯓ★ if you ever scratch his back? he fucking loses it. he wants you clawing at him, gripping his arms, pulling his hair. especially loves it when you bite his shoulder

ᯓ★ fucks like a guy who doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance again. so overwhelmed by how good you feel

ᯓ★ he groans and grunts. loud, unashamed. you know exactly how much he’s enjoying it because he never shuts the fuck up. if you try to shut him up, he just moans louder out of spite

ᯓ★ this man talks during sex. a LOT. filthy, filthy, filthy mouth

ᯓ★ but if you try to stifle your moans, oh, he won’t have that. “uh-uh, lemme hear ya, baby. don’t go all shy on me now.”

ᯓ★ he has an oral fixation, always has something in his mouth. a cigarette, a toothpick, his own damn fingers. pussy? oh, he’ll eat for hours if you let him. he’s enjoying it more than you are. his nose is pressed right against your clit, his tongue is buried deep inside you, his big hands are holding your thighs open so you can’t squirm away

ᯓ★ but what he REALLY loves? your fingers. if you put your fingers in his mouth, he’ll groan and suck on them absentmindedly. don't try to pull away, you’re not going anywhere. he’ll grab your wrist, keep your fingers between his lips and just look at you with those dark, needy eyes

ᯓ★ loves when you pull his hair so make sure to always grab and yank his mullet while he’s between your legs and he’ll groan into your pussy like he’s getting off on it

ᯓ★ the kind of man who will fuck you dumb just to make sure you don’t even remember anyone else’s name

ᯓ★ absolute menace with that tongue + so so messy. will spread your legs, settle between them and go to fucking work. licking, sucking, slurping, spitting on your clit, growling against your folds. doesn’t stop until you’re begging. “c’mon, sweetie, one more for me”

ᯓ★ absolutely gets off on how loud you are. doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night or the middle of the day, he’ll fuck you so good you’re screaming his name, he prefers it “Stanley” tho, not just Stan

ᯓ★ smokes like a chimney, including during sex. he’s the type to take a long drag of his cigarette while you’re riding him, exhaling the smoke lazily as he watches you bounce on his cock. “fuck, baby, keep goin’. look so pretty takin’ me like that.” then puts it out against the nightstand right before flipping you over and fucking you senseless

ᯓ★ smoking during foreplay too, pulls cigarette out of his mouth and presses it into the ashtray, muttering, “gonna put this out and focus on you, sweetie.”

ᯓ★ if you complain about him smoking too much, he’ll smirk, tilt your chin up, and say something like, “well, maybe if you keep me busy enough, i won’t need to smoke, huh?” such a brat tbh

ᯓ★ grabs whatever’s closest to tie you up. belt? works just fine. an old rag? perfect. (also wants to be tied up too)

ᯓ★ a tipsy Stan gets handsy, real handsy. he’s already got no shame sober, but when he’s had a couple of drinks, he can’t keep his hands to himself, your thighs, your waist, your ass

ᯓ★ praise him in the most filthiest way possible, call him big, tell him he’s stretching you out, tell him you’ve never had anyone fuck you like this. tell him how much you love his cock, how deep he is. he thrives on that shit, loves being told how good he feels. “fuck, baby, keep talkin’ like that and i might not last.” but he also LOVES teasing you. “poor thing, already dumb from my cock?”, “look at you, makin’ a mess all over me. filthy little thing.”

ᯓ★ i 100% believe that mullet!Stanley is a bratty switch who acts tough but turns into a desperate, whiny mess the second you take control. i think it needs its own post but ok

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #gravity falls smut #gravity falls #stan pines x reader #stan pines smut #mullet stan x reader #mullet stan #stanley pines smut #stanley pines x you #stanley pines x reader #gravity falls headcanons #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls stanley #stan pines x you #stan pines x reader smut

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syrupfog · 9 months ago

Text

Modern au where Sanji, adopted off the streets by Zeff when he was ten, spent eight years convinced that when he turns eighteen Zeff is going to throw him out, say that he served his time and he wants Sanji gone.

Then that doesn’t HAPPEN, and Sanji is afraid to ever bring it up.

He goes off to university expecting that when winter break comes he won’t have a bed to return to, and that makes him a little… erratic. Throwing himself into his classes to keep his scholarship but also working overtime to get money to afford a place to stay when he’s on break and in the summers, and overall just completely neglects human connection because he’s convinced he’s on his own.

It’s probably a miracle Luffy finds him and forces friendship onto him, bringing his friends into Sanji’s space (His dorm roommate Gin dropped out in the first week so Sanji’s REALLY been alone).

And with Luffy comes his asshole friend Zoro, who Sanji learns is ALSO adopted and he RESENTS him for it. Because Zoro is perfectly secure in his relationship with Mihawk— probably because he was adopted at such a young age.

But Sanji doesn’t feel that security. He knows he’s beyond lucky to have been picked up by Zeff at all, knows he can’t keep asking for free handouts from him. It would be more than enough to be hired at the Baratie someday.

But Luffy pushes into his life and pushes Zoro in along with him, and one day manages to drag Sanji to an Actual Party after his shift in the canteen is done, and get him properly drunk for the first time maybe ever.

Sanji is an angry AND weepy drunk.

He tries to fight Zoro (who can hold his alcohol just fine) then ends up collapsing on him in tears, yelling that it’s not FAIR that Zoro has everything he wants. Zoro assumes this means his three swords. He tells Sanji he’s not sharing.

Sanji sobs that his dad is going up abandon him, has probably already thrown his shit to the kerb.

Zoro, in an oddly selfless (to Sanji’s eyes) act, says that Sanji’s old man can shove it, and if he’s really like that then he’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve Sanji anyway.

Then he says Sanji can come home with HIM for winter break. Perona always brings guests (boyfriends) home on holidays.

And as drunk as Sanji is at the time, it’s a surprise he remembers it the next morning.

But he does.

And he had said yes, so… he can’t just back out now.

(Plus, free accommodations? Sanji’s meals right now are what he can sneak from the canteen while he works, he’s saving as much as possible to afford a place this summer without a co-signer)

So winter break comes and Sanji doesn’t even try to contact Zeff, just goes off with Zoro. It’s a little awkward but arguing with Zoro is almost relaxing at this point, familiar. And Perona is… well, all women are perfect.

And then, and THEN—

He gets a call from Zeff.

And Zeff is fucking PISSED at him.

Because what does he MEAN he’s not coming home for winter hols? He didn’t even CALL TO SAY SO. WHAT THE HELL, EGGPLANT?

And Sanji’s there in the Mihawk living room with his dad yelling loud enough for Zoro to hear and he yells back WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, OLD MAN? Because “I turned eighteen! I’m an adult! You don’t need to pretend to care about me anymore!”

(Zoro isn’t even pretending not to listen, he’s staring)

And Zeff yells that Sanji is “a pile of horse shit” and “of course I fucking care you shitty little dumbass, you think I’d just kick you out after going through hell to get you?”

And Sanji’s in shock because he— he really thought—

“What,” Zeff continues (he might as well be on speakerphone he’s so loud). He says, “you think that little of me, you shitty kid?”

And Sanji says, “it’s not THAT, you’ve given me too damn much already! I don’t deserve all this shitty charity!”

And that sets Zeff off about how it’s not charity when it’s his OWN KID

anyway. He yells a long time. Sanji sits there and takes it and does not make eye contact with Zoro until after he’s finally hung up.

When he finally does, he says, “I guess I should go.”

“What?” asks Zoro. “Why?”

“I got you to invite me over out of pity when I apparently had a dad this whole time.”

He’s so fucking embarrassed that Zoro heard all of that.

Zoro rolls his eyes. “Fucking hell, Curly, I didn’t invite you over because I felt sorry for you.”

Sanji squints. “Why the fuck else would you have?” He asks.

“I did it because I fucking like you and didn’t want you to be miserable. Also because Mihawk is always on my case about bringing home a boyfriend, he’s tired of meeting Perona’s weekly boy toys.”

Sanji squints harder. “I’m not your boyfriend,” he says.

Zoro grins. “Not YET,” he says.

Sanji feels incensed. “You can’t just—”

Jumping to his feet, Zoro draws his swords from behind the sofa. “If I win this fight, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Fucking DEAL,” Sanji says, clambering up out of his chair. “When I win, you’re going to have to ASK me on an ACTUAL DATE, FIRST.”

The fight is a draw.

They spend the rest of break arguing about how to start dating.

Without the weight of the impending loss of the only family he’s known, Sanji spends spring classes more relaxed, happier, willing to give in to Luffy’s every whim (and he has many).

Sanji goes home to Zeff in the spring, and he brings Zoro.

#zosan #one piece #my writing

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souliebird · 3 months ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 29]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.4k

ao3 link

Foggy never thought he would be babysitting Matthew Murdock’s kid.

As much as Foggy loves Matt - and it is a lot - he is the first to admit his best friend is more than a bit of a disaster. Matt is brilliant and kind and truly a good soul, but he is also a self-destructive idiot with more baggage than any airport in the nation. He always tries to do the right thing, but the right thing never seems to involve taking care of himself. And that doesn’t even include all the Daredevil bullshit.

If Matt had come to him a few months ago and told Foggy he wanted to be a father - to go out and have a kid at that exact moment - Foggy would have beat him over the head with the nearest solid object. Matt can barely run his own life - there was no way he could raise a child.

Matt was still working on even managing to have friends and a real life outside of his mask and his ability to balance it all had been on thin ice. Matt getting into a serious relationship had been a laughable idea and that relationship leading to a baby wasn’t even a thought.

As far as Foggy had been concerned, as long as he was Daredevil, Matt was destined to be a bachelor.

So, of course, God’s favorite punching bag was told he already is a father.

The change in Matt isn’t what Foggy expected. He expected panic. He expected Matt to be in Church for eight hours a day praying for guidance while he had a crisis. He expected Matt to spiral.

He hadn’t expected him to take to being a father like a duck to water. He hadn’t expected it to completely rewrite his best friend’s DNA.

It seemed like overnight the dumpster fire of a man he knew was replaced - born from those ashes was someone who Foggy almost didn’t recognize.

It was a Matt who cares about himself. One who isn't being reckless. One who no longer hides things from Foggy and Karen, who lies about injuries and thinks he is a one-man army.

In the office, if Matt isn’t working, he’s listening to self-help or parenting books. He talks to other people, and he actually makes an effort to not look like he’s getting abused. He’s focused in a way Foggy hasn’t seen since college and it makes Foggy so so happy.

But it also terrifies him because he doesn’t know how long it will last. Is this a temporary change or has Matt finally learned he isn’t alone, and his actions affect others?

It is too early to tell and Foggy feels like a complete asshole for doubting his friend and waiting for the ball to drop, but he feels like he’s also being realistic.

Matt has hurt him so much over their friendship - and Foggy has hurt him, too - and his sweet angel of a child doesn’t deserve to have that be a possibility for her.

As far as Foggy can tell, Minnie inherited all the best parts of Matt - his smile, his charm, and his inherently good nature. He knows if Matt doesn’t manage to fuck it up - and Foggy prays he doesn’t - she is going to grow up to be a beautiful woman, heart and soul, with no reason to yell at God.

He couldn’t ask for a better little girl to babysit.

All she wants to do is watch Lady and the Tramp over and over and Foggy couldn’t be happier to oblige. It is easy to sit back and watch the movie - he hasn't seen it in a long time, and he forgot how charming all the characters are.

It is halfway through the third viewing of the movie when big brown eyes finally tear themselves away from the screen. Foggy watches curiously as Minnie slips off the couch and toddles over to her toy chest in the corner of the room. She methodically begins going through her things, lifting up each toy and giving it a good once over before setting it back down.

“What’cha doing, squirt?” he asks.

Minnie does not look back to him as she replies, her tone making him feel like it is the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m gonna make dinner.”

Dinner was had before Foggy arrived for babysitting duty, so he guesses it is time for some make believe. He is very much used to this from watching over his nieces and he wonders what kind of play will be in store for him.

The first toy she deems worthy to have a seat at the table is a Barbie and the second, almost immediately after, is a floppy looking bear that clearly has had another life before this one. The pair are transported to the coffee table and delicately sat down before Minnie whips her head around to look up at Foggy.

“They need says-or-eases,” she says seriously. He can barely get out a confused ‘okay’ before she’s scampering down the hallway to the bedroom. He decides to sit and wait to see what is going to happen. Moments later, the little girl is back in the living room with an armful of supplies. He can make out a lot of costume jewelry, and among the fake pearls and gems, a pair of fake glasses.

It is all dumped in front of the table unceremoniously before she is off to collect something else.

Foggy stays on the couch as markers and a variety of play food join the pile on the floor. He has no idea what could be going on in the mind of the toddler, but it is amusing that she is so determined in her task.

Finally, everything is gathered and Minnie plops down in front of her toys, mouth turned down as she focuses. She starts sorting through things, making multiple little piles, and Foggy can’t help but ask, “Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m a Big Girl,” she replies factually, not even bothering to look up. She’s completely locked in on whatever it is she is doing, and since she’s doing nothing deemed risky, Foggy lets his eyes go back to the movie.

As Lady roams the streets of some unnamed city, Minnie dresses up her toys. Barbie gets draped in so many necklaces her torso is no longer visible, and the bear gets the glasses. She hums and haws over the positioning on his muzzle for a good minute before she takes them off and disappears from Foggy’s eyeline. Her feet pop up a second later and he determines she is laying tummy down on the ground.

He checks his phone as she plays - replying to messages from Marci and Karen and going through a few work emails.

He is in the middle of checking his calendar when Minnie’s curls reappear in front of him and she is back to trying to balance the glasses on the bear’s face.

Except, now, the lens of the glasses have been colored over in red marker and Foggy knows exactly who the floppy bear is meant to be.

“Is that your Daddy?” he asks, not at all containing the glee in his voice. Karen is going to Love this.

“Uh-huh,” the baby tells him as she finally manages to get the accessory to stay on. She grabs the doll next and holds it up to show it off. “This is Mommy.”

“That’s Mommy?” Foggy confirms. He quickly switches his phone over to his camera app to start taking a million and a half pictures.

“Uh-huh. They are on a date. Like Lady and Tramp,” she explains, “We gotta make them dinner.”

His heart absolutely soars and he knows this is one of those stories he is going to tell everyone - Matt’s precious little daughter pretending her toys are her parents on a date, while her real parents are out on their first date. It is some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen and he’s glad he’s the one who agreed to babysit.

He pushes himself up into standing, so ready to get in on this make believe action, “Of course. What are we making them for dinner?”

They spend the next five minutes rearranging things - the play kitchen set is moved into the real kitchen and Foggy drapes a throw blanket between two chairs so the dining guests can’t see the food being prepared. Mommy Doll and Daddy Bear get a plastic Pooh Bear plate between them, and an LED candle is scrounged up to give the date the right ambience.

Foggy gets designated as the Waiter - he even slicks his hair back and lets Minnie draw a pencil mustache under her nose and she, of course, is the Chef, as well as puppeteer of the toys.

Once everything is set up - the make believe begins.

“Oh, ho, hon,” Foggy says in a horrible French accent as he kneels beside the coffee table, a pad of paper and a pen in hand. “What a lovely couple! You are looking so beautiful this evening, mademoiselle!”

“Thank you!” Minnie chimes, altering her voice just a little to be higher as she takes hold of the doll to make it bounce as it ‘talks’. “You are beauty-fulls too!” She then grabs the bear with her other hand and shakes him just a bit, making him sound gruff as he chastises, “What about me?”

“You are as handsome as ever, sir,” is his cheesy reply. With too much flourish, he brings up his pen and positions it on his paper, “What drinks can I get started for you? Water? Juice? Wine? May I suggest a bit of hot cocoa?” He over emphasizes the last word, making the little girl start to giggle.

“We don’ts have cocoa! Only water and appy juice!”

Foggy dramatically throws his hand over his heart, “My apologies! The chef has let me know our options tonight are Water de Aqua and Appy Juice.”

“We want appy juice!” Daddy Bear tells him, and he makes sure to write the order in nice big letters.

“A wonderful selection, sir! We get it from the finest grocer, and it is chilled to perfection. Shall I get you started with some appetizers?”

Minnie squints over to him, tilting her head to the side and doing a wonderful impression of Matt as she asks, “What is an appy-tiger?”

“It is a snack you get before dinner, so you don’t get hungry while the Chef makes the food,” he explains in his normal voice.

The toddler nods like she really understands what he means, then she turns her two toys to face each other. Mommy Doll is moved first, “Do you want an appy-tiger?”

Daddy Bear’s head nods as Minnie grumbles out, “I want a cheese stick and ice-cream. Please, thank you.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Mommy Doll replies. She is turned towards Foggy so hard her necklaces clatter together, “I want a cheese stick, too. Please, thank you.”

He writes down the request and promises, “That will be right out.” As he pushes himself up onto his feet, Minnie streaks past him to get to her kitchen before him. He purposefully takes his time, letting her get herself set up before he arrives. “Order up! We got two cheese sticks and an ice cream for the couple at table one.”

“Two cheese sticks and ice cream!” The little girl calls back excitedly. She moves to start digging through her plastic food, but then she freezes, and she gets a look on her face Foggy has seen so many times on Matt’s that he’s lost count.

She’s heard something.

Before Foggy can ask what it is, the unmistakable sound of a fuse being blown fills the air and the power dies, leaving them in a deep darkness. A brief panic takes a hold of him - he’s been in far too many situations where this sort of thing means danger - but logic prevails, and he rushes over to the window to assess the damage.

The neighboring buildings still have their lights on, so someone in the building must have overloaded something. It happens all the time in the heat of the summer and not a cause for him to go into fight or flight mode.

“Looks like it is just us,” he tells Minnie as he turns back to her. He can only just barely make out her outline - there is only one window in the room, and it faces an alley. There is next to no light filtering in and the only thing still going in the apartment is the weak LED candle.

He expects Minnie to be scared - after all the sudden lack of light is kind of terrifying - but she seems completely unaffected.

“The tee-vee turned off,” is what she replies with, sounding annoyed as can be.

“Everything turned off,” Foggy counters. “We’ve got no electricity. We have to wait for it to come back on.”

He hears her huff as he makes his way back to the couch. He’s careful as he moves, not wanting to accidentally crush any of the playthings that have been spread around.

“Do you still want to play Dinner Date?” He asks. It is pretty dark, but if they just stick with going between the couch and the fake-kitchen, he thinks things should be okay.

“No, I wanna watch Lady and Tramp.” There is a slight whine in her voice that makes him think this might turn into tears and his heart breaks a little. He doesn’t want to be the one to deny her anything.

“The power is out, squirt. The television isn’t going to work. We have to do something that doesn’t require power.”

“Why?” He can hear the underlying Murdock Anger in her question, and he notes it is something he’ll have to tell Matt.

“Do you know how it usually makes this sort of noise?” Foggy asks before humming. He can sometimes hear electricity, so he knows she must know what he’s talking about. She confirms with a little ‘uh-huh’ and he continues on. “Well, that means it is getting power and can work. It’s not getting power right now, so it can’t work.”

He hopes the logic makes sense in her little brain.

She doesn’t respond right away and that worries him. He plucks the little LED candle up from the coffee table and holds it up like a torch. It barely casts enough light for him to see his hand and does nothing to help him locate the curly haired toddler.

He walks slowly over to the kitchen, hoping to find her pouting by her toys, but the area is empty. He did not hear the pitter patter of feet and groans at the thought of another ninja in his life.

Of course, Matt’s child would be able to sneak around in the dark undetected. Why wouldn’t she?

“Minnie,” he calls out softly, hoping this doesn’t turn into a game of hide and seek. “Where are you?”

He turns in place, trying to remember if he left his phone on the table or on the couch. The battery is in the forty percent zone, and he’d rather save it than use it as a light source. He’s pretty sure he was told there are flashlights under the sink, but he can’t remember if it was the kitchen or bathroom sink.

He decides to try the kitchen sink first and blindly makes his way there. He admittedly doesn’t have the best vision anymore and his eyes are taking forever to adjust to the meager amount of light, so he has to move slowly.

“Will you read me Lady and Tramp?” a tiny voice suddenly asks from right beside his knee and Foggy totally doesn’t scream.

“You totally need a bell,” he tells the child before rubbing at his face with his candle free hand. “If you help me find a flashlight, I can read to you.”

The noise of annoyance Minnie makes is right from Matt’s playbook, “why do you needs a flashlight?”

He wonders if this is the first power outage she has experienced, but if that was so, he doubts he would have been told where the flashlights were. Though, Minnie’s mom is a bit paranoid and anxious, so it could have been a ‘just in case’ thing, but who really knows.

It is a question for later. Right now, he has an annoyed toddler ready to bite his ankles over Lady and the Tramp.

“It’s too dark for me to read,” he tries to explain, hoping she will accept the answer.

She doesn’t.

Instead, he gets sassed.

“It’s not dark.”

“It is, too,” he counters.

He can perfectly picture little hands-on hips as she doubts him, “Not-uh.”

He resists the urge to say ‘uh-huh’ and attempts to rationalize with her, “Mouse, I can barely see past my nose. It’s too dark for me to read to you without a flashlight. Can you help me find one?”

He can just see her curly head of hair looking up at him and he doesn’t need to see her face to feel her judgement. With the huff so haughty it could rival Marci, Minnie plops down to the ground and drops something that sounds like a picture book in front of her.

His suspicions are proved right when he hears the soft fluttering of pages.

“El…ay..dee..why. El..ay..La! La..dee…Lay..dee..Lady!” Her little voice is full of frustration as she tries to sound out the word Foggy knows she can’t really see and his heart pangs in sympathy.

“Minnie, don’t strain your eyes. Let’s just find a flashlight, it’s too dark to read.”

“I want Lady and Tramp!” The little Murdock barks at him, “I can reads it!” He hears what must be her finger hitting the page and he pictures her trying to trace the words. “La..La..lady. Lady. wuh…wuh..double-you ay ess. Wuh…Wuh-ah…Wuh-ah..”

“Was?” he tries to supply, feeling so guilty. He should just step away and find the flashlight before she really hurts her eyes, but he doesn’t want to leave her when she’s getting into a mood, even if it’s a few feet.

Apparently, helping is not what she wants, because he instantly gets her tiny wrath, “I can reads it myselfs!”

Foggy’s hands shoot up in front of him in the universal ‘my bad’ pose and he apologies, “I’m sorry. Let me get the light and we can read together.” He decides, if anything, he’ll just go grab his phone and waste the battery. Anything is better than upsetting Minnie the first time he properly babysits her. She’ll never want to stay with him again and he’s pretty sure Matt would easily bend to her will.

“But I can sees it!” She practically yells it at him, her voice getting wet and wobbly. There is a hint of desperation in it that makes Foggy feel like an absolute villain for not believing her. “I can sees it and reads it by myself!”

He gives up on trying to convince her and pivots to go to get his phone. As he carefully steps around her to find his way back to the couch, she picks up her watery ‘reading’ again.

“La..Lady wuh-was a…Lady was a..el..el you..el you see kay…”

Foggy locates his phone on the coffee table and it wakes up as soon as he picks it up. The light hurts his eyes, and he has to look away so he isn’t blinded by it.

Daddy Bear looks up at him from his interrupted coffee table date, beady little black eyes hidden behind red lenses and so suddenly, with enough force to cause him mental whiplash, Foggy feels like a complete idiot.

He turns to shine his phone on Minnie, who is hunched over her book, trying her very best to sound out the words.

“See..Kay…Luh…Luh..see..kay..why..Luh see kay why.”

She is trying to read the word ‘lucky ’he realizes. He knows kids can memorize stories, but there’s no way such a little baby can memorize how to spell all the words and pretend to read them out loud.

But this isn’t just any normal little baby.

This is Matt Murdock’s little baby.

Matt Murdock - who has enhanced senses and passed them on.

Matt Murdock - who is blind and wouldn’t know what it would be like to have enhanced eyesight.

“Holy shit,” Foggy says to himself. “She’s got dark vision.”

a/n :

i'm sorry, this chapter fought me so much. Foggy refuses to cooperate with me :( this is nothing like i was planning and I kinda hate it

tags:

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @astridstark13 @hashcakes

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets @buckyssugarchick

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal

@allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

#soulie writes #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you #daredevil #matt murdock x you #foggy and minnie bonding not really

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straylightdream · 3 months ago

Text

always

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bang chan x f.reader

loving someone who can’t return your feelings can be heartbreaking.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): angst, friends to ??

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol au, underground boxer au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: injuries from fighting, cuts, mentions of blood and stitches, talks about powerful men who want to get leverage on Chan, lots of tears, and angst

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: pg 13

𝐚𝐧: sorry I haven’t posted a skz story in a minute.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

It had been a rough night to say the least. You laid in the same bed with a foot between the two of you. The room was so silent it seemed to leave a ringing sound in the room. Chan wore nothing but his boxers that sat low on his hips. He was laying on his back with his hand holding his side that had a pair of cracked ribs. His breathing was pretty uneven because he was in so much pain. The night had left him stumbling into your apartment with a deep gash on right below his collarbone, that you had to stitch up as he sat at your kitchen table. Unfortunately Chan coming to your apartment beat up wasn’t anything new. This was a side effect to him being an underground boxer.

Biting your bottom lip, you stared at the man who seemed to easily hold your heart in his hands. Luckily, he wasn’t careless with your heart, he was well aware you were in love with him. He went out of his way to make sure you didn’t get hurt, but knew at some point he was going to break your heart without even trying.

Laying on your side you reached your hand out slowly as it shook. You wanted to touch him to pull him close to you, but you knew you shouldn’t do it. He wasn’t your boyfriend, and probably was never going to be. A normal friendship between a boy and a girl normally didn’t involve the boy getting the shit beat out of him and then crawling through your window beaten. Normally the girl wouldn’t have to stitch him up and then beg him to spend the night so you would know he was safe.

His eyes were closed as he attempted to get some sleep, but he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, at least not until you had a very important conversation. You were well aware he wasn’t asleep even with him laying there with his eyes closed.

Your hand reached out a little more so you could touch him, but before you were able to touch him, you pulled your hand away. You needed to tell him that you couldn’t take this anymore, but you were terrified.

“Chan?” Your voice was shaky as you were unsure of if you should even be speaking.

“Yeah?” his eyes opened up as they blankly stared at the ceiling.

“What is going on here?” You whispered as tears continued to slide down your cheek.

“I’m a selfish asshole,” he groaned as his head moved so he was blankly looking in your direction.

“Why did you come to me and not Changbin?” You needed to know if he returned your feelings.

“Because for some reason even though I know I need to leave you alone, I can’t seem to stay away,” he sighed. He knew he was being selfish, that he was well aware of your feelings, and that he should respect them and stay away from you since he couldn’t give you what you truly deserved.

“I don’t want you to stay away, but I need you to know how I actually feel.”

He nodded his head and moved his arm from his stomach where it was resting onto the bed so it was about an inch from your hand.

“Chan I’m in love with you and I hate seeing you get hurt, but what hurts most of all is that I know that no matter how much I actually love you…” you hesitated knowing that no matter what was said right now you were never going to be able to take back anything you said. “I’m never going to be able to actually be with you. You won’t ever feel the same way, and I understand but I just need you to know that it hurts loving someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”

There was a silence between you as Chan was taking in everything you had just said to him. He had known for a while that you were in love with him, and he had even let you know that he couldn’t be with anyone as long as he was illegally fighting. It was too risky to actually be with someone. He made a lot of money fighting and he had made some enemies along the way.

“Okay I regret saying all that,” you mumbled at the fact that he hadn’t even said anything in response.

“Hey,” he reached out and rested his hand on top of yours as he lay still on his back. “Give me a second to take in everything you just said to me. I know that you’re in love with me, and believe me I return the feelings. I have for a long time, but…” he paused knowing that what he was about to say was going to hurt both of you. You attempted to brace yourself for whatever was going to come after the “but”. “I can’t be selfish and put you in harm's way. I love you too, but if someone finds out that I have someone that I love, you would be the first person that people would use to get leverage. Too many powerful men know who I am, and I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt because of me.” His hand that was resting on top of yours gave it a gentle squeeze.

Everything he had just said to you made your world feel like it was spinning. You knew Chan might have some sort of feelings for you, but you never actually expected him to say that he was in love with you too. As your brain was attempting to process the fact, he said he was in love with you, you were also realizing that it didn’t matter that you were both in love, because you couldn’t be together.

“What happens here then?” You sighed.

“I’m not sure exactly, I should probably give you space,” he moved his hand away from you.

You shook your head to yourself refusing to let him walk away from you right now, “Bang Chan you don’t get to tell me you love me, and then say you should give me space.”

He slowly moved so he was sitting up and you laid next to him still in bed wondering if he was actually getting up to leave. He stood up and groaned as he grabbed his side.

“Are you seriously getting up to leave?” You asked quickly getting out of bed. He groaned as he reached on the floor searching for his pants that were on the floor. “Chan,” you got up and ran to the other side of the bed so you were standing in front of him. He didn’t say anything as he reached his hand out so he was cupping your cheek. He stepped forward a little so there were a couple inches between you, you looked up at him as he held your face with one hand. The tension between them seemed to grow even more as you licked your lips as your breathing seemed to pick up. “Please don’t leave, I just poured my heart out to you,” you whispered.

“I’m so selfish when it comes to you, and it's not fair to you,” he sighed as his thumb brushed a tear off your cheek. “I want to give you the world, but I can’t.”

“I’m not asking for the world,” you reached up so your hand held his wrist. “I’m just asking for you to show me that you actually love me.”

“I can’t let you get hurt because of me,” he sighed. “I should start going to Changbin when I get hurt,” his hand was still holding your face as he attempted to convince you and himself that he needed to give you space.

“Chan, please don’t pull away from me, if you do that it will break my heart,” your hand held onto his wrist not wanting him to leave.

“We can’t be together, not right now at least,” he sighed.

Your breathing seemed to catch in your throat for a moment at what he had just said. The tears seemed to slide down your cheek even harder suddenly, and it was as if he held your heart in his other hand, and that he just crushed it.

“Okay,” you pulled away from him shaking your head. “You can have your space if you want it,” your voice was shaky as you were trying your hardest to not sob.

“You mean the world to me, and I don’t want to hurt you, but being with me isn’t safe.” He reached out to grab your wrist. He needed you to know that he wanted to be with you, but it just wasn’t an option. “I already lost my first love, I can’t deal with losing you too.” He never seemed to move on from his high school sweetheart passing in a tragic car accident almost a decade ago.

“Why does it feel like I’m losing you right now,” the tears continued to slide down your cheek.

“I’m sorry that can’t give you everything,” he took a step closer to you. You reached out and rested your hand on his chest and looked back up at him knowing that he was right. That even though you wanted nothing more than to be with him, you knew deep down inside that a lot of powerful men have lost money because of him. Chan is the best fighter in the city and that has made a lot of men angry. Ultimately it wasn’t safe to be with him. You had watched him lose his first love, and you knew how much that destroyed him.

“I understand we can’t be together, but I can’t deal with losing you as my friend too,” you sighed.

Silently he nodded his head and leaned forward so his forehead was resting against yours. You took a deep breath taking in the sudden closeness.

“I want to kiss you so badly, but I shouldn’t,” he mumbled.

Without saying anything you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. You kissed him as if this was going to be the only time ever that you were going to be able to feel his lips against yours. His strong hand moved up and rested on your cheek holding you close to him as your lips moved together. Pulling away slowly you let out a sigh.

“What happens between us Chan?” You asked, wondering if things would ever be the same after tonight.

He sighed and said, “we attempt to be friends.”

“Okay,” you said softly. You didn’t want to be only friends but you knew it was for the best. “If one day you walk away from fighting, would you actually give us a chance?” You asked, needing to know if maybe one day you stood a chance at being together.

He nodded his head and gave you a sad smile, “I’m not going to ask you to wait around for that day, but when I’m finally no longer a fighter I would like us to be together.”

“Let’s go back to bed,” you reached down and laced your fingers with his. You led him back towards the bed. He slowly got back in bed groaning at the pain from his cracked ribs.

You laid in the bed in the same positions you had been laying in before. Your hand was resting on the bed between you, slowly he reached over and laced his fingers with your.

“Thank you for always taking care of me,” he said softly.

“I’ll always take care of you,” you said knowing that no matter what happened between you, that you would always care about him.

“I hope one day that I’ll actually be able to give you the world,” he said gently, squeezing your hand.

You couldn’t help but smile at the possibility that maybe one day you could be together.

#bang chan x reader #bang Chan imagine #bang chan angst #my writing #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfic

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amnestria-the-elf · 7 months ago

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So we're all just supposed to be fucking grateful that Larian gave us "new Wyll content" (evil ending for a man who is canonically incorruptible, what the fuck) and simultaneously broke him again (giving low approval greetings to a romanced PC, what the fuck).

I... I just... the simultaneous feelings of rage and utter hopelessness are overwhelming.

Listen, if you've read any of my posts you know I have a pretty clear "Don't yuck anyone's yum" policy. If you think an evil Wyll ending is interesting, fine. But here's why it falls flat for me.

First, like I said above, Wyll is canonically incorruptible. It's literally the entire basis of his character. He is a man who was coerced into making an infernal contract to save a city and had to pay a horrible price for doing so, then spent seven fucking years alone in the wilderness doing his damned best to protect the people of the Sword Coast, while all along telling his horrible, abusive patron to just fuck off already.

Now, could you argue that during the events of the game, Wyll develops a taste for evil? Sure. There are plenty of opportunities for his villain origin story to unfold. But they never do. His moral compass never wavers. Turned into a devil? He feels shame, because it's an outward sign that he was doing things for Mizora that were morally wrong, and he didn't see it before. His approval rating for the PC shoots through the roof if you save Karlach, a sure indicator of his true moral compass. His father kidnapped? Fuck that noise, we're gonna save him. Rescue Zariel's "asset"? Ugh, fine, but don't get distracted from the real reason we're here. His father gets tadpoled? Oh hells no, we're gonna take down these assholes and save the godsdamned world. His father accuses him of being an agent of a devil and is super pissy about it? "Everything I did, I did for the people of the Sword Coast."

For fuck's sake, he will leave the party if the PC gets too evil, even knowing it means he'll probably turn into a mindflayer immediately. Even if he's romancing the PC. Unwavering moral compass. So giving him an evil ending without also going back and changing everything about his character just feels like lazy writing to me.

Which brings me to the second reason all of this rubs the wrong way. Wyll deserves so much more content. More romanced greetings, more reactions to other characters' choices, a final boss battle that is actually about him, a default ending that actually makes fucking sense (I have another post cooking about the Avernus ending, so I will leave it for now.)

And please, spare me your "But Wyll was rewritten after early access" bullshit. That's Larian's problem. They chose to listen to feedback and do a late-stage rewrite. They then chose to implement it poorly and never fucking fix it. Other characters, who already have far more content than Wyll, have had even more added over the course of the seven released patches. Wyll, on the other hand, has been sitting around completely ignored until now when we get this evil ending.

Many have rightfully pointed out the inherent racism steeped in all of this. I want Larian to be better. But as Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I already didn't have much hope about Patch 7 for Wyll, but this... honestly, this is worse than him just being ignored again.

The thing that kills me the most is that this is just going to be more fodder for the fandom to completely mischaracterize Wyll, for those who already haven't bothered to think critically about his character at all to just be like, oh, cool, Wyll is evil now. Nope. You've completely missed the point.

I'm just... so tired. I've worked very hard to put this little bubble of Wyll enthusiasts around me (hi friends I love you all!) so that I can hold on to some shred of sanity in this fandom. The world needs heroes of color. Just let Wyll be the hero in peace.

#larian critical #patch 7 #wyll ravengard

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formylovetodaryldixon · 3 months ago

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"Until i found you." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

You always felt lost, adrift, until you found him. Oddly enough, Daryl always felt the same way, until he found you. From the moment you two met until your life together in Alexandria—quite a story.

A/N: Just a short imagine. Hope you like it!

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to fight, to survive, to protect. But in the past, Daryl was a reckless young man with nothing to lose, without big emotions, bottling everything up so as not to feel too much—Until he found his person, a purpose, a reason to want to see the sun rise one more day, until he found you. You were always a flight risk, scared to feel too much too, until one night, you flew away from that place called "home", landing in that seedy bar forgotten by God himself, the place where you met him.

Daryl was attractive, very attractive to a point where it must have been forbidden to look like that, with his broad shoulders, his long dark hair that made him look like a goddamn rock star, with his strong arms that his shirt showed off mercilessly. But young Daryl Dixon looked lost. Adrift. Without a sense of direction—just like you.

“I’m actually running away from daddy.” You answered his accusatory question of what the hell are you doing in a place like this?, so calmly that it caused some astonishment in Daryl, although he didn’t show it. “Daddy was forcing me to marry the son of a mobster or something like that, a rich guy who would forgive him the debts he started to have after his gambling addiction started, so his little princess ran away from home taking with her his only chance to get out of that debt alive. But I don't hate my daddy or have any kind of daddy issues if you're wondering, but I do hope he gets what he deserves for trying to sell me like a fucking thing.” You smiled, mocking him, challenging him to say something witty after that revelation. “What do you think about that, Daryl? Pretty surprising, huh?”

“Shit… M'sorry. That sounds pretty fucked up.” He said breathlessly, looking at you with an almost sad expression. Then, Daryl fell into a heavy silence, wondering why he would do what he was about to do: offer help when in the past, no one had offered it to him, but he could tell you were feisty, fighting to keep yourself alive, like a force of nature. “Well, if it helps, there’s a couch in ma apartment. S’old as fuck, but it does the job.”

The way you looked back at him was almost overwhelming, so deep as that color of your gaze, but you could say Daryl meant it. The color of his eyes, blue like a new kind of ocean, were beautiful and transparent, but dangerous with that warning that you could drown in them if you weren't careful.

However, to his surprise, you agreed.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I really don’t have anywhere to go and you don’t look like a serial killer… well, maybe a little.” You chuckled, earning a scoff from him that made you laugh some more. “But I studied to be a vet, so if you try anything, I’ll just tell you that I know exactly where to cut you to make you bleed out. And I also have a hell of an aim: I swear, if there is ever an apocalypse, this will save my life.”

Daryl blinked.

“Ya shittin’ me.”

You shook your head, hiding a smile.

“No, pretty boy, I’m not kidding.”

He scoffed, just to hide the slight nerves that being called that made him feel.

“Okay. Let’s go then.” Daryl stood up, taking a few bucks to pay for his drink and yours before you could do it yourself. “This is on me. Ya can pay the next one.”

Saying no more, he walked away first, leaving you alone and thinking what he meant by that. But when the girl in the bar gave you a silent look, like she was screaming at you while asking you if you were really going with him, you shrugged before grabbing your backpack and leaving the bar, too.

You two were like an unlikely duo, but maybe that's why you both looked good together. Even Merle, the asshole, said that when your one–day stay turned into a week, although to shut him up you told him the apartment needed some color so you didn't mind painting the walls red with his blood, with the gun you stole from your father. He loved you after that. And eventually, you got a job, helped pay the bills, and even cooked for everyone—forming a very strange family.

You and Daryl were quiet, always watching each other when the other wasn't looking, but it all felt like tiptoeing, on shaky ground, silently so as not to scare the bird. However, your “relationship” started with some drunken kisses, drinking Merle's alcohol to get the courage to take the first step. And you two continued like that for a while, without a title, moaning and grunting in each other's lips inside his room that was yours now.

Until one afternoon, you heard a song in the radio.

Oh, I used to say, I will never fall in love again, until I found her. I said I would never fall, unless it’s you I fall into…

And like that click that two pieces made when they fit together perfectly, your feelings made more sense then, as if the panorama was clear, as if life had decided to unite all those words that didn't make any sense separately, but together, they explained everything, about you, about Daryl, about the fear of falling in love, until life, God, or whoever you believed in, left in front of you that someone you desperately needed, who, despite his own pain, showed you that people deserved to be loved completely or not at all.

There was no middle ground, because love didn't work halfway.

And you found a shelter in his arms, a real home with him: especially after a new world arose when the dead began to rise, too.

Now, you are 6 months pregnant, with a bladder that is used as a soccer ball, and a baby (that was being cooked in your belly as Daryl used to say) who woke you up at odd hours demanding something to eat: so you have to listen.

When the moon takes its place at the top of the diamond sky and while the wind brings the last airs of the cold winter, the candle in the center of the dining room table keeps you company, and it's as if the silence mixes with the chorus of thoughts traveling at a thousand miles an hour inside you, along with the images your mind tries to make when you think about what the baby will be like when she or he is finally born. And it's terrifying to think about that again, but there's also a liberating emotion that allows you to stand firm on the ground, tall and strong despite your fears, with a fighting spirit that holds you up like gravity to the earth.

But between the shadows of the house that the candlelight tries to fight, you can see Daryl coming down the stairs, wearing those loose grey sleep pants even when he kept saying he looked stupid in them, shirtless, with those broad shoulders and the tattoo on his chest. It is a hot picture, kind of dirty because he is hot, older but too hot still, maybe that's why you let him get you pregnant.

However, when Daryl reaches the dining room as you finish the second brownie, you can see clearly his brow furrowed even though some of his long hair covers part of his forehead.

“Sup?” You joke, with a small nod.

“Sup? Really?” His voice is always low, deep, but in the middle of the night, it grows even deeper. “The fuck are ya doin’ here alone?”

“I’m eating, isn’t that obvious?” You show him the new brownie in your hand, trying to contain your laughter at his constant overprotectiveness. You loved that, but sometimes he treated you like you were suddenly made of porcelain. “And you?”

Daryl scoffs.

“Me? Jus’ woke up and saw that ma very pregnant wife ain’t where she should be.”

You chuckle.

“Daryl, I’m pregnant, but I still can come down on my own and eat in the middle of the night when the baby demands. If you have any complaints with she or he, please put them in writing, but I can tell you that there is a waiting list of approximately 3 months.”

He tries, he tries really hard no to laugh at the silly joke, but in the end, Daryl chuckles as he pulls the chair to seat on the corner of the table.

“I see ya’re feeling better, sweetheart, considerin’ how grumpy ya were this afternoon. But if ya get hungry when ya’re in bed, ya can jus’ tell me, y’know? I can bring ya up whatever ya need. And where ya got those damn brownies from?”

“Carol made them. Even when you told her to stop feeding me so much sugar.” You take a bite after answering, earning another scoff from him. “You look very domestic with those pants; you know?”

Daryl lets out a small grunt of frustration.

“I look stupid, but this is more comfortable than sleepin’ with jeans.”

You nod, thoughtful.

“You can always go back sleeping in boxers.”

Daryl chuckles.

“Ya’re pregnant and yet ya’re tryin’ to get into ma boxers.”

You chuckle, too.

“I was just making a comparison!”

“Oh, yeah?” The corner of his lip curves into a smirk. “Then ya got to know I don' sleep in ma boxers anymore so ya don’ try to ravish ma body in the middle of the night. Yer poor husband jus’ wants to sleep while ya press yer whole body against mine all night.”

Half surprise, you laugh.

“I get cold at night, you asshole! That's what I get for having to carry your baby.”

Daryl chuckles, placing his elbow in the table to hold his chin in his hand, closing his eyes as he tries to fight off sleep.

“Jus’ finish feedin’ the baby so we can go back to bed.”

You take another bite before talking again.

“You don’t have to stay.”

“M' stayin’.” He says, barely a second after you finish speaking.

You shrug even though he's not looking, eating another brownie that probably won't let you sleep, but the baby kicking your organs won't either, so. And for a moment, lost in your own thoughts, you miss the way Daryl opens his eyes after a while, taking in all of you.

You're wearing a loose white t–shirt, but somehow, that piece of clothing, which doesn’t show your figure at all, makes you look younger, like the person he met in the bar that night—your hair is tied in a half ponytail, the rest of it falling over your shoulders and back. But Daryl loves that until that day, you stand out in that world too, and it’s like seeing a brilliant sapphire among a pile of discolored rocks. And then, an overwhelming nervousness takes over him when you lock eyes with him, feeling that young man you met years ago.

“What?” You chuckle.

“Ya’re beautiful.”

He just says it like that, and you smile a little bit, trying to hide your shyness.

“Thanks, love.” You say softy. His voice is deep but is soft, honest, like the beginning of your story, and with your plate empty, you wipe any crumbs from your mouth before standing up. "Come on. Let's get you back to bed."

There, when you both reach your bed, he lies on your chest while you stroke his hair, his hand on your belly. Daryl stays in that position almost all night, eyes closed to focus only in the sensations, remembering the first night when he fell asleep with his head on your chest, with your hand caressing his scalp, a gentle massage with your soft fingers. And now, he can still feel that and the baby's movement.

Yeah, you were a flight risk, until you found him.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #dad!daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x y/n

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valar-did-me-wrong · 3 months ago

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Hey buzzword crowd, here's the simplest, most basic way I could put the core of the problem that imo is happening between you people and most of the fandom..

(won't call you Shippers here because I know some shippers who don't use your language or agree with your opinions )

This is also me trying to convey what I believe is why people have problems with you people's essays & posts (because it is not the ship that most people have problem with, I'll elaborate) maybe this will help prevent future toxicity..

Spoiler it has everything to do with the respect you give other people & their blorbos and nothing to do with everyone except you all being anti-feminist, anti-sex, anti-shipping, anti-biotic, anti-ageing, anti-oxidant, anti-body etc etc etc..

I'll use 3 characters and 5 points, here we go!

(Ditch the namecalling and insults before you interact)

(again this is my opinion & interpretation of the situation)

1. Elrond in Adar's Tent

If you read it as Sauron as Elrond

What it adds to the story: one ship & it's characters' dynamics with each other and othes in that tent

What it takes away from the story: Elrond coming to himself as a leader, his quick thinking, his skill with words and politics, the growth of his character

What it gives Galadriel: a non consenting kiss & more ship dynamics

What it takes away from Galadriel: her friend saying sorry for treating her horribly through out S2

If you read it as Elrond in the tent

What it adds to the story: a young man coming into himself as a future leader, a friend realising his mistake and asking for forgiveness, a half elf being reminded that he has a powerful Maia in his family (he isn't less than any elf lord)

What it takes away from the story: nothing imo because the siege still happens and it doesn't negate Sauron & Galadriel's S1 dynamics so Your ship can still sail

What it gives Galadriel: she gets the apology she deserved and reconciliation with her friend

What it takes away from Galadriel: a non con kiss

You see how your interpretation of this as canon erases a whole character and his arc but the version most Elrond fan's prefer doesn't affect your ship a bit..

Now this interpretation wouldn't have been a problem if you all weren't framing your posts as feminist & show canon & the correct way of interpreting media & then start name calling & insulting anyone and everyone who disagrees.

Just like you guys don't like the show haters on reddit etc trying to disrespect you & the whole Haladriel dynamics, other fan's also don't like to be called assholes, misogynists, conservatives & Haters etc etc for simply liking the show in another way.

2. Celebrimbor and the elven rings

If you read it as Sauron's engagement rings

What it adds to the story: one ship's dynamics

What it takes away from the story: Celebrimbor's part in their creation & his talents as the greatest Elven smith of his time, the show runners statments that Sauron is not there when the rings are being actually forged

What it gives Galadriel: a personalised ring specifically for her from her enemy and all the dynamics of it

What it takes away from Galadriel: her knowledge, her trust in her family member Celebrimbor.. all of which backs her claim that the rings are untouched by Sauron

If you read it as Celebrimbor's elven rings made with Sauron's help

What it adds to the story: Celebrimbor's hardwork, his skills that he has in part learned from his grandfather THE Feanor of Noldor, his ambition, his Feanorian hubris, his partnership of equals with Annatar, call back to his love for Galadriel in a version by Tolkien (for Nenya seeming to choose Galadriel)

What it takes away from the story: a plot hole imo of Sauron having the skill to make rings of power all by himself this early in the story & not using that to make the other rings alone.. still doesn't invalidate any of Galadriel & Halbrand dynamics so Your ship can still sail

What it gives Galadriel: a correct opinion about the nature of the rings that all her people eventually come to agree with

What it takes away from Galadriel: a mistake imo which is either not correctly judging the nature of the rings or knowing and still risking the future of all middle earth by insisting every time that the rings are safe

You see how wanting the rings to Not Be engagment rings doesn't do any harm to your ship and it's dynamics & neither does it reduce Sauron's talents as a Smith.. he is still a Maia who worked under Aulë and helped in Creation Of The World & who will go on to make the One.

But constantly saying that the rings are Sauron's engagement rings erases the whole point of Celebrimbor as a character.. not to mention his talents that Sauron needed to make the other rings and Celebrimbor's input that also helps him in making the One.

And understandaby Celebrimbor fans don't like this interpretation that reduces & erases him. But nobody would have had problems if again you guys weren't framing your headcanon essays as absolute feminist truths & calling other takes Bad Takes.

3. Nenya healing Adar

If you read it as Nenya giving him redemption by fixing his evilness

What it adds to the story: a plot hole with this magic healing ability that can fix everything and everyone who falls to darkness and evil, making way for sauron to find quick redemption

What it takes away from the story: a realistic worldview where individual choices have impact not only on the person themselves but also to everyone around them, an understanding of how healing works irl

What it gives Galadriel: a mistake for not giving away a ring of power to Sauron to heal him

What it takes away from Galadriel: her wisdom that one cannot heal another person out of their evil or mistakes (heal yourself)

If you read it as Adar gets redemption because of choosing to see his mistakes & trying to correct them after being healed by Nenya out of the torture and dark magic that turned him into uruk

What it adds to the story: Adar's commendable ability to see his huge mistakes and accept them infront of his enemy & try to fix them

What it takes away the story: the ability of the rings to heal Sauron

because in this reading it requires acceptance to look your mistakes in the eye & choice to do better that redeems a person which Sauron in show gets many chances to do but doesn't repeatedly. This still doesn't invalidate Sauron & Galadriel's dynamics so Your ship can still sail

What it gives Galadriel: an example that if someone who was under the shadow for so long as Adar can come to the light by choosing to accept their mistakes then she too despite her tryst with darkness can still come to the light by acceptance if she chooses

What it takes away from Galadriel: the burden of healing her abuser

Again reading Adar's redemption as his own achievement doesn't affect your ship at all & neither does it prevent Sauron from ever getting redeemed. It just gives him a truer to life way to get redeemed someday; even makes his future redemption more compelling imo.

But when you make the redemption all about Nenya it takes away the little good this already tragic & tortured character of Adar has. Add that to the usual insensitive framing & you'll get Me in response, an Adar fan fuming.

4. Adar's villian arc

If you read him as solely a villain

What it adds to the story: another villian

What it takes away from the story: Sauron's narrative foil and all the complexity that has been put into his character from his introduction in S1

What it gives Galadriel: a mistake imo it makes Galadriel's pity & understanding of the suffering of Adar & Uruk a mistake if he is only a villain & does everything wrong in all lights.

What it takes away from Galadriel: an example of what becomes of people who accept darkness despite love still existing in their heart and also an example of how good intentions and horrible actions can go hand in hand

If you read him as a morally grey character who had a villain's arc in one light but an anti-hero's arc in another light

What it adds to the story: a complex character that creates an emotional connection with some people who might see flashes of their persecution in the Uruk, a character who grounds the story in real world by having elements of freedom fighters & rebels choosing wrong paths in desperation, a great portrayal of the Cycle of Abuse creating abusers out of some victims

What it takes away from the story: a similar or less complex villian than Sauron but doesn't affect the dynamics of Sauron & Galadriel so Your ship can still sail

Again see how having Adar as not fullly a villain doesn't affect even a bit of your ship. It also doesn't affect Sauron and his existence as a compelling villian with a repentance arc & some good intention behind all the deception. You can still read good in Sauron's actions, Adar doesn't need to be a villain to make Sauron's goodness more visible.

But your insistence that he can only be read as a villain & people who see him as anything else are supporting genocide can irk Adar fans because the scenes showing his good traits exist & were placed conciously & weren't a collective hallucination.

5. Gay Adar being forced into ships with women

This one I'll just simply say.. The people who insist that he's gay are also the ones I see that say his relationship with Sauron was only one sided where Adar was in love but Sauron wasn't.

Here are my problems with this reading:

Adar is queercoded.. the showrunners' interview from SDCC mentions LGBTQIA+ & we all assume it was about him right..

Nowhere is it specificed that he's gay.. why can't he be Bisexual? Pansexual? Or something else or just Queer who doesn't want to be labelled by anything?

Why is this one specific way of reading him so important to you by invalidating everyone else's reading when nothing is concrete canon about this anyway?

Why can't all kinds of people from LGBTQIA+ explore their sexuality via Adar just like you all like to explore female sexuality & dark fantasies etc via Galadriel & Sauron? Because it isn't wrong in anyway I agree, I used to ship them too in S1. And most people you call names every day will agree with that too!

All this was the long way of saying, if you'll be mean to people, their reading of the story, their fav characters and their author.. some will retaliate in the same way.

It's not because they hate your ship or women or women's sexuality or villain ships or gays etc etc etc it's just simply about the respect you give out into the world & the ability to differentiate between fans of the show who like other things than you and Haters of the show.

#was going to be my off day but the offensive language i keep on seeing here today has made me do this controversial thing #trop #rings of power #the rings of power #rop #galadriel #adar #celebrimbor #sauron #elrond #my ramblings

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nattblacklupin · 1 year ago

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Never was much of a romantic

Pairing: Cassian x Fem! Illyrian! Reader

Warning: mention of wing clipping (just as a threat), Devlon being asshole, reader simping on Cassian, reader is described as being shorter than Devlon and Cassian, random switches in pov (like two times), little bit of angst (cassian feels like he doesn't deserve love), swear words, little bit of Nesta slander

Summary: Cassian meets you in Windhaven and sees you arguring with Devlon. Something about your fierce attitude makes him want to be closer to you.

Part two ● masterlist

Cassian was never much of a romantic. He was one night stand guy. He never felt the need to actually love someone. But later on in his life, he has been feeling more and more alone. He saw his friends find love, mates. Everybody had their own person while he was stuck alone.

He, of course, had his family, the inner circle. They would help him with anything and do anything for him. But it's not the same as having a mate. Someone to love and cherish. Someone who will see through him and know when he really isn't alright.

For a while, he thought that Nesta was his mate. But then she left the night court for autumn court, specifically for the heir of autumn court. And he was alone again.

Nesta absence took a tool on him. He really thought they were meant to be, and she even acted like it. But then one day she just left, only leaving a letter as a goodbye. That made Cassian believe he didn't have a mate. They were rare, so maybe he was meant to never find her. It was possible, and he wouldn't be surprised if it was like that. At the end of the day, he is a low born bastard who doesn't deserve anything more than his ratty tent.

Rhys sent him to Windhaven to check if everyone is being trained as commanded to. If he had any say in this, he wouldn't come here. He hated Devlon and this place. It reminded him of all the bad things that happened there when he was just a child. The only good thing about this place was when he met Rhysand with Azriel. His two brothers are the only reason he's still alive.

But he had to follow the orders of his high lord. Maybe he could go to Rita's after and enjoy the night with his family after he is done here. That thought made him feel somehow lighter. Nothing is better than night with his family.

,,I will train, and I don't care what you tell me"

Cassian immediately looked the way the voice was coming from. He saw illyrian woman standing in front of Devlon. There was a visible high difference between them, but she didn't let it affect her and continued to stand her ground. Cassian was amazed by that and decided to watch for some while. If something happened, he could help her, not that she looked like she needed it. Yet as he was standing there and seeing her arguring with a man that was nearly twice her size, he came to conclusion that maybe women in this camp could put Devlon in his place even better than he ever could.

"You should be glad that you still have your wings, I could just clip them as a punishment for your disobedience"

You just laughed in his face. "do it, and my high lord will have your head. "

Cassian heart warmed at the thought that illyrian women trust Rhys to protect them. They finally trust Rhysand enough to rely on him to protect them and punish those who hurt them.

Devlon just laughed in her face, and that somehow made Cassian mad. He didn't know why he was feeling like this. He had this uncontrollable need to protect her and to make her like him. It was the first time he ever felt like this.

"Do you mean the little princeling and his two bastards? They don't give fuck about some useless woman like yourself"

"Sadly to inform you, Lord Devlon," cassian said mockingly, "but we surely give fuck, so i suggest you to step back and let that woman be"

Cassian flared his wings to make himself the bigger threat in this situation and stepped in front of you. While the two men in front of you had their own silent battle, you couldn't help but admire Cassian.

You knew who he was. Who wouldn't know him? Yet you never seen him. Yeah, you heard stories about how he looks, but your imagination could never come up with the god that stands in front of you. His tan skin. The way his muscles flexed under his leathers. And his wings? They had little scars all over them, yet you couldn't help but admire them. They were so strong. True to his reputation, these were the wings of warrior.

He slowly turned around and you couldn't see his strong back and wings, which was slightly disappointing to you, but the moment you were met with his strong chest you wished for him to never turn around. Everything about him looked so right and hot. You looked up and saw Cassian grinning at you.

,,you alright there, sweetheart?"

Your heart started beating uncontrollably fast, and you swear that it could be heard on the other side of the Windhaven. You couldn't look away from his Hazel eyes. It was like they were holding you in their mercy and weren't planning on letting you go. Yet you still needed to answer him, to hear his voice again.

"I-" before you could finish your sentence something snapped between you two.

,,mate"

#acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian acotar x reader #cassian #fluff #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian x y/n #cassian x you

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loveaurdeepression · 7 months ago

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Scary when you shout-Umemiya Hajime

One thing about being the partner of the leader of the Furin is that when you’re out in the streets, you’re never alone.

Ume, bless his sweet heart, worried endlessly about you. His sweet, soft spoken angel, who hated conflict. True enough, you did hate conflict.

He made sure at least one person was shadowing you or escorting you anywhere, but most of the time he himself would be by your side, hand around your waist and a smile on his face.

It was a lovely evening, and you’d both been having a coffee over at Pothos, with Kotoha rolling her eyes at his cheesiness and smiling sweetly at you.

After that, Ume had taken you to his favourite bookstore and helped you pick out a book to read with him. He grinned excitedly when you kissed pecked his cheek over and over in gratitude.

Ume thought you were the literal incarnation of sunlight. Though soft spoken and gentle, you were so bubbly and positive and always making everyone feel at ease. It was why he’d fallen for you. It was alsowhy he was so insanely protective of you. Your goodness didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of, and he’d be damned if he let anyone hurt you.

It was on the way back from the bookstore, he’d left you for a second to talk to one of the patrolling groups on the other end of the street, when you heard a shrill whistle in your direction.

You almost got whiplash with how fast you snapped to look in the direction of the asshole. Some leather-clad punk was staring at you with a sly smirk.

“Wanna man to show you a good time?” he winked and your eyes widened.

Since you were looking at the man, you didn’t see your boyfriend slowly turn to see what the fuck was happening.

“Shut the fuck up, you second rate cowboy-wannabe bitch. You look like you’re a six year old dressed up for halloween.” you glared at the man who’s smirk dropped.

“The hell did you say, bitch?” he raised his voice.

“You heard exactly what i said, second rate fuckass!” you shouted, “Go the fuck home and leave me alone.”

He began walking over, a snarl leaving his mouth. But before he could reach you, you felt a comforting presence behind you. The man froze, his eyes now as big as saucers.

“You’re with him?” he exclaimed, dumbfounded.

“ None of your fucking business, I said fuck off, bitch!” you shout again and Umes hand pats your shoulder.

The man grumbles, looking behind you and then scurries away like a scared rabbit.

You turn around to see Ume staring at you, his eyebrows raised.

“You’re scary when you’re angry, baby.” he shivered and you giggled, the fight from before dissipating in you as you lean into his embrace, “I’ve never heard you swear. I was so shocked I actually froze.”

“Really?”

“Look behind me.” he murmurs and you look past his shoulder to see about five to six Furin guys stare at you nervously.

You wave and their eyes widen before they wave back hesitantly.

“They seem scared.”

“Of you.” Ume nuzzles your head, “I’m so proud of you, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Eh.” you shrug, “I’m just glad I’m with you now.”

“Please never ever shout at me, ever. I’d actually die.” he pouts.

You plant a swift kiss to his pouty lips, after which a pretty rosy blush settles on his cheeks as his hides his face in his hands, struggling to say anything while you laugh.

“Pretty boy, you’re too sweet. I’d never raise my voice at you.”

#umemiya hajime x reader #umemiya hajime #Wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #echo actually writes #Wind breaker fluff

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f4ggydog · 2 months ago

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Big dick lottie having her way with jackie in doomcoming instead of travis bc “it’s what the wilderness wants” and jackie doesn’t wanna die a virgin

warnings: this is both smut and dubcon incoming. if you're uncomfortable with either or are a minor, please leave. thank you!

"I heard your conversation with shauna." lottie kneels down next to jackie, donning her antler queen outfit fitted with her crown. jackie's not interested in much chit chat with her. she wants travis to crawl on top of her and get this over with. if she's not going to make it out of this forest, she won't do so without losing her virginity.

"that's none of your business," jackie replies.

"no, I think it is my business actually. do you think you could get away with what you were about to do so easily?"

"leave me alone," jackie grumbles. "you can't blame a girl for trying. I've gotta lose it one way or another."

"so you give up your dignity to a pathetic man who doesn't even give a shit about you? a pathetic scumbag who's supposed to be with nat?"

"oh please, as if either of them give a shit about each other. they're both just in it for the sex. and so am i."

"you know what we call girls like that, jackie?"

jackie rolls her eyes and leaves no room for a response. she stands up and attempts to leave, but lottie drags her back down by her dress.

"I didn't say you could leave."

"you're such a weirdo," jackie mumbles, attempting to leave again. lottie doesn't allow her to. she's adamant about jackie staying and she won't let her little captain leave until fun has been had.

"where do you think you're going?" lottie interrogates, shoving jackie fiercely into the dirt. jackie winces and her legs wiggle as lottie stands tall and proud above her.

"you're being a freak," jackie complains. it's all she's done since she entered the wilderness. not pitch in, not assist with chores, not collaborate as a team, but complain and whine. and she was a sad excuse for a captain. she could hardly hold her own out here. it all started to make sense why coach chose her for her passion and not her skill.

"and you base your worth on your virginity," lottie chuckles, shaking her head. "fucking depressing. do you think you exist as breeding material alone, jackie?"

"okay, geez. what the fuck are you on about?"

"if you want to act like a horny bitch," lottie says. "you may, but you won't be doing it with him."

lottie gingerly lifts up jackie's dress before ripping the end piece off. a wet patch in her underwear is revealed and lottie almost cackles at the irony of her confusion yet immediate arousal.

"no exaggeration there," lottie says. "you really are just a horny bitch, jackie. and your virginity's all you're worth, isn't it?"

"that's not true," jackie protests. "you know that."

"you think im gonna be generous towards you?" lottie's cock begs to poke out from under her own dress. "do you think sluts like you deserve compassion, jackie?"

"i-i..."

"answer the fucking question. or I'll put my cock in your asshole instead of your warm cunt. would you like that, jackie? you'd still have your virginity if I anally fucked you after all!"

"fuck alright." jackie hesitantly pulls down her underwear, miserably anticipating what comes next. she should've never let that conversation topic leave her mouth. then again, with what she found in shauna's journal, she wouldn't have an ounce of shock if shauna snitched to lottie.

"so now you're finally starting to get it," lottie responds. fantastic. spread your legs a little wider, jax."

jackie doesn't follow her command. lottie crouches down and forcefully spreads jackie's legs open. she snickers at the thought of rutting into jackie dry. there was no pleasure in this encounter. this was merely punishment for jackie's lust. how dare she lust over another, let alone a man at that. the thought of seeing them mate like rabbits made lottie ill.

lottie's dress doesn't come cleanly off. she tears it off so erratically that there's no way it's in shape to be worn after turning jackie's cunt into a sore puddle.

"and this couldn't be done with travis?" jackie groans, lottie's underwear becoming a torn mess that paired beautifully with the tattered dress.

"its the most infuriating thing to watch you lose your virginity to a man because some teen romance movie told you to," lottie growls. "if you wanna get fucked so bad, it mind as well be with me."

lottie forces her tip inside without prior teasing. she's massive, stretching out jackie with her insanely veiny dick to a limit jackie didn't even recognize was possible. she gulps, not adjusting whatsoever despite the wetness. goosebumps form on her skin and her legs tremble.

"I've only got the head in," lottie pants. "fuck, I already wanna cum inside of you. already wanna give you my babies, you useless bimbo."

"fuck," jackie curses, her legs trying to close and force lottie's cock out. every effort from her legs is fruitless and she finds lottie pushing herself deeper. jackie's terrified that her cervix might get smashed throughout this process. but lottie doesn't go any easier on her.

"you're lucky the others aren't around to watch this. you're such an ungrateful bitch. you wanted to get fucked so bad and now you've got the audacity to complain? I don't wanna fucking hear it."

lottie could be going a lot faster, jackie supposes. she's tightening around lottie's cock, but it could be worse right? isn't this what she wanted? didn't she want to give up her virginity tonight?

but this was no sex scene in those movies. there was no passion, a drought of romance. there's not even sprinkles of love. it's just feral mating, animalistic even. and jackie wasn't sure if she would last with only half of lottie in her.

#lottie matthews #jackie taylor #jackie yellowjackets #lottie yellowjackets #lottie yj #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fandom #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets fanfiction #smut #lottie matthews smut #jackie taylor smut #asks

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subcultureblues · 3 months ago

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I know we love exploring Eddie overcoming this, kind of, impulse to cowardice he has. My hashtag headcanon is that Eddie’s a runner BECAUSE he learned to be one, needed to be one. Because he grew up scared.

The experience of his mom dying left him terrified, so he ran from it. Left alone with his lackluster, fuckup dad. Just Eddie, his dad - and his dad’s temper. Eddie learned to run from that too.

He puts on his loud, scary, abrasive persona to outrun genuinely feeling hurt at being just - completely & totally rejected by society. Because it’s too massive and unbearable to actually try to face.

He ran from his grief, from his dad, from the cops, from judgmental assholes and bullies and bigots who would try to hurt him for who he is, from a mob who took one look at how different he was and decided that was enough to label him guilty - and he just ran and ran and ran.

Eddie’s a runner cause he’s always been scared.

And Wayne was safe. Wayne always tried to protect him from his dad - and then the foster system when Eddie really had no one. Wayne’s trailer gave him a place to run to.

And then there’s Steve. Bull-headed, brave, recklessly protective, valiant Steve. This fucking knight in shining armor of a man. He’s the first person who really told Eddie, really got it through his head that like

'hey... hey it's ok to be scared. That's ok. It's actually the most normal, reasonable reaction in the world. To run when you’re fucking terrified.

And that doesn’t make you a pussy. And it doesn’t make you a coward.

And there's nothing wrong with you.

And I want to make you feel safe because I love you. Because that's what people who love each other do! You deserve to be safe. And I would step between you and bullies and bigots and bloodthirsty mobs and fucking monsters from hell - To keep you safe. Until you have nothing to run from."

And just that makes Eddie feel braver, knowing there’s someone there, fighting for him. Gives him the courage to maybe stop running and fight for himself.

#steve harrington #Eddie Munson #steddie #stranger things #sorry I just got a comment on one of my fics that got me in my FEELINGS #like don’t get me wrong 9/10 times Steve’s getting his ass kicked but he has BIG knight in shining armor ENERGY #Like no he’s not very good at this but he’s got the spirit and it makes Eddie feel braver #ignore me steddies just got me sobbing once again but GOD if Steve isn’t EXACTLY who Eddie needed

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thesamoanqueen · 9 months ago

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Anatomy of an affair

Warnings: age-gap (but we keep it legal), cheating.

A/N: I was talking to @alyyaanna and the anatomy professor's idea took control, I couldn't resist, so this one for her. It will have a sequel, this is just part 1.

They say the secret of a good relationship is friendship, I had scientifically proven that this wasn't the case being a test subject all my life. Tobert and I had grown up in the same neighborhood in Pendleton South Carolina, two nearby houses, our families loved each other, we went to school together, hung out with the same group of friends, we even broke our arms together – it was his fault –. For everyone we were two soul mates linked, it was inevitable in some way. We had done everything together our whole lives, the most mundane things and the first shameful experiences. Our relationship on paper was destined for success, absolute, overwhelming, our faces under the heading "goal couple", at least until I decided to study medicine in Boston and he stayed in our hometown. Our paths had separated for just three months before he had a bad accident at his uncle's construction company, he had begged me, it had been a tough decision, but I had agreed to come back to support him. But now that I had finally taken control of my life, in my second actual year of studies, Tobert was boycotting everything again.

For the entire previous year I had thought he was trying to distract himself from the void I had left in his life, filling it with trips and nights with co-workers and friends, but looking back I had been kidding myself. Our parents called every day to find out when we were getting married and if I would be home soon, but from him? Oh, well, a few calls, always short, couple of messages, often stupid ones, and a facetime on weekend for some creepy phone sex. He didn't come to visit me, he didn't organize anything when I returned home, for my last birthday he sent me a package with a sweater I suspected he hadn't chosen. And now, after months of tolerating it, I saw him in an IG story with a chick’s ass in his face.

- "Good Lord man!"

- "Sav have you seen? Sav?"

What I could see was that he was even enjoying it! He had the same stupid face of an old man who can't read the newspaper, the one has been in my face since we were fifteen, ending our moments like commercials on TV in his father's garage.

- "What’s with that face? Sav is it everything okay?"

- "Savannah…"

I had felt guilty for wanting to start again and leaving him behind, I was working hard to finish and return home, I had always pushed away the instinct that told me I deserved more and instead he was living his best life without worrying about hiding it. His behaviour was not somekind of abandonment syndrome, it was just one of his bullshit and evidences were everywhere. I was a freking clown, our relationship was a joke I had wanted to believe alone because after so many years it seemed impossible to think of anyone else to me, when he was simply used to having me there at his disposal and now he thought was free. I had wasted my life and almost burned my future…

Realization hit me in the cafeteria, my colleagues staring at me like at some psycopath and rightly so, because when the next story popped up on the screen, I snapped.

- "That asshole!" – my scream echoed throughout the entire hall, overcoming the chatter that always filled it.

The sudden silence that followed and the hand one of my friends smashed against my arm brought me back suddenly, but by then it was late. I had just made the scene I would probably always be remembered for. Standing with my latte dripping onto the couch and music now playing in the background like a bad theme for my drama, I saw dozens of eyes staring at me.

- "... Sav what’s you problem?! We got company... get your ass over here!" – my roommate whispered in a panic, nodding towards the two men who had been about to leave.

In slow motion I saw them both looking at me and to humiliation was added absolute terror when without thinking I raised my hand to wave an embarrassed greeting, restarting Tobert's story. Oh, they would definitely remember me for that scene.

There wasn't a person on the entire campus who didn't know about my performance and the worst thing certainly wasn't the rumors but rather pity looks, plus the extra tasks I had agreed to do to clean up my reputation and keep myself busy. I hadn't received any formal warning, not even a comment, but I didn't want to risk ruining my career after having already dropped out in the past. The idea of losing the opportunity of a lifetime to someone who had already gotten more than he deserved from me drove me crazy.

Tobert hadn't commented, probably his two brain cells hadn't yet met to discuss what to do or they didn't think it was serious, but I had clear ideas and I had chosen to run the circus, patiently planning the day I would have kicked him with my degree.

So armed with good will and courage I marched across campus with my head held high, ready to face my demons and regain total control. It was almost time for the anatomy course to start and I planned to pass with top marks, but to do so I also had to make sure that the new professor didn't just remember me for screaming that day in front of him and his predecessor. My friends talked about him constantly, but I didn't have time for gossip, I had to seem like the right person to invest in for the future of medicine. When I arrived in front of his studio, however, my intention seemed less simple than expected. The entire aisle had been assaulted by a crowd of students, mostly girls. If I had suffered from amnesia, I would have thought I was at a concert or among a nymphomaniacs cult. We weren't in California, those outfits were definitely out of season as well as indecent, what’s was wrong with all of them?

- "Do you think he will receive today?"

- "Ah, I hope so! I want to see him so bad!"

Forced to wait like everyone else, I caught up with the gossip I had refused to hear from my friends, discovering the new professor was not only charming, but also young and free, which explained the cult. I also sadly discovered firsthand he hated receiving students and from what I saw he didn't even respect the time when he should have been forced to do so. Sitting in my chair, I waited twice as long before seeing the other students go away resignedly with their tiny blouses and too short skirts, deciding to spending my time finishing the chemistry project I had to hand in the following week. With my head down and fixed not to give up, I continued typing on my keyboard until two voices distracted me.

- "You can't take care of it alone, it's not necessary and you shouldn't at all" – I knew Mr. Heyman, he was an authority everywhere thanks to his investments and was often in the area because of his daughter, as well as a good friend of the rector.

The other man with him, I had only seen him on the day of my drama and I must not have seen him well due to the shock, because if I had I would not have given dirty looks to all the girls who had waited for him with me. Was he really a professor? Since when were professors like that?! You couldn't be like that, it was disorienting, didn’t help to the teaching process.

- "I should find someone but I don't have time to waste, Paul" – he complained and his voice sent a shiver through my body as I watched them reach the door in front of me.

- "I could ask, I have some friends, I'm sure there will be many smart guys who would be honored to do it, extra credits or not."

- "I will do it."

I said without thinking, lost in thoughts I shouldn't have been having, and they both turned to look at me, just as confused and surprised by the interruption as I was.

I had planned to introduce myself, ask a few questions, apologize for the bad first impression and now I had just made another one, listening to conversations that didn't concern me, without even saying hello, volunteering for who knows what next. Perfect.

Once the confusion was over, Mr. Heyman looked at me with interest, almost analyzing me, and I quickly tried to put myself together, putting everything away to get up.

- "And you are?" – He asked, his hands hidden in the pockets of his elegant suit.

- "Savannah Naïs Simon. Among the best in my class" – I introduced myself without hesitation and once again mentally scolded myself.

Now I even praised myself?! I usually handled the pressure well, for that kind of career it was indispensable, after all, but all of a sudden I was making one misstep after another and I couldn't afford it, not now. Tobert wasn't there to screw things, I had no excuses, it was my time, it was up to me. Head held high, nerves strong, that's what I needed.

- "Among the best doesn't mean the best" – Mr. Heyman cut me off, shaking his head – "and we have to check it too. I'll make a call."

Struck dumb, I quickly tried to think of something, anything, to make my case. The other professors would have confirmed, but what would I look like standing there waiting for their help?

- "It's no use" – however, Professor Reigns, who had watched until that moment, stopped us both.

His voice really played tricks on my body, but when my eyes met his it was even worse. His expression conveyed nothing, I couldn't imagine what he was thinking, but he exuded authority and there was something magnetic about him, the kind of man capable of changing the atmosphere with just his presence.

- "Are you sure?" – he heard Mr. Heyman ask him, finally stopping looking at me.

- "I’ll take her" – he established, checking me for a brief moment and I held my breath without even realizing it.

He will… take me? for doing what? And was it positive or…

- "We start tomorrow morning" – he said, addressing me directly.

- "I will be on time" – I promised, even if he had already turned his back to me to open the door, Mr. Heyman following him without paying any more attention to me.

- "No phone Miss Simon" – he advised from afar, just before I was left completely alone in the aisle and I distinctly felt the weight of the entire campus falling on me.

I had risked making another scene, I had volunteered for something I didn't even know what it was, I would have had to move lessons to keep my word and I would have thrown away even the amount of time I had left to sleep. And once again that wasn't the worst, but the fact he remembered and had already targeted me before I could even apologize.

What awaited me was a role as an assistant for the entire duration of the course, but I only found out the following day, after spending the whole night awake. I wouldn't have much time to do anything else, it was clear from the first moment, but I had no intention of backing out after having volunteered. It wasn't just a way to make up for my bad impression, it was an opportunity for which anyone else would have gladly given an organ, I myself would have done so - who needed two kidneys? One was enough - and that would certainly help my career, I was lucky. Professor Reigns was a successful doctor, he had changed the landscape of pathological anatomy with his works and his presence was an honor for the university. Admissions to his course were closed after just one day and the program specified that a selection would still be made by him personally. Assisting him and observing how he worked could have given me a great advantage in the selection phase and that was what I was aiming for. Memorizing had always been my thing, but anatomy was much more than listing body parts.

However, reality once again did not correspond to my expectations and in the following three days, I felt more like a secretary than an assistant, with alla those emails and calls. He always arrived early and most of the time I found him sitting at his desk, looking at personal documents and boxes full of medical records. He worked with his head down for hours, often without speaking or taking a break, which wasn't good for my ambition, but at least it helped me not to get distracted because the rare times I saw him looking at me were a test of mental resistance.

His presence demanded attention, his imposing body promised what it shouldn't with the most banal gestures like a pen between his fingers. Calling him a good-looking man would have been an insult, the world was full of handsome and insignificant men, but he had something vaguely frightening, something I had never tasted before and it awakened an almost primordial impulse in me.

The sound of someone knocking on the door brought me out of my thoughts and I quickly straightened up, hoping nothing in me would give me away. I couldn't think about certain things, I wasn't there to daydream about affairs, not when my future was in play and my lifelong boyfriend had cheated on me. A student I had seen a couple of times appeared in the doorway, wearing a lab coat, a deep neckline underneath. Her blue eyes scanned the room where I was in search of what interested her and which was instead sitting in the near room.

- "I know it's not reception hour, but is the professor over there? I would like to talk to him in private about some things" – she said without even trying too hard to simulate and I batted my eyelashes at her, fascinated and annoyed at her courage before stopping her.

- "Unfortunately he is busy. If it’s important you can ask via email or otherwise wait for the course to start. Lessons start tomorrow morning, the time and place are already confirmed" – I anticipated, getting a reproachful look.

- "I need to see him now."

Oh, I could imagine it and I would have complimented the clever attempt to show up when no one was waiting if she hadn't been trying to call me dumb.

- "Can I help you now?" – I proposed without getting too upset and she seemed on the verge of losing her patience.

- "Can I have an appointment?"

- "Sure, I'll put you on the list."

I didn't see her expression, she was probably furious, but she didn't give me time, huffing her disappointment out of the studio, leaving me with the agenda in my hand. I closed it with a heavy breath, putting it back in my bag, where I had been advised to keep it so that it was always with me and never unattended. When I raised my head I almost had a heart attack, discovering Professor Reigns intent on staring at me from his desk, hands crossed, his expression curious.

- "I'm busy?" – he inquired and his low, rough voice made my neck tingle.

I hadn't told a lie, he was busy. He worked on those medical records all day, there was always some document on which he kept his eyes glued. Why was he staring at me like that? Maybe I shouldn't have spoken before asking yes, but my intentions weren't bad, I was trying to be helpful.

- "With the material for the research project and the visit to the rector this afternoon, plus I don't think she really had any questions" – I explained, clenching my fists praying that I could use them against myself because it would have been much better.

I spoke without being involved, I made decisions independently, now I also commented and implied. The unkind thoughts I'd had about Tobert were backfiring on me, bad karma.

- "Is that so?" – Professor Reigns asked curiously, leaning back in his chair and knowing for a fact it was better keep my mouth closed, I nodded, returning to look at my laptop in silence hoping to not have to explain anything else.

I couldn't talk about those things with a professor, someone who could have mentored me, it didn't matter if there wasn't that much of an age gap between us and we ended up on the topic. It was an off limits talk and I tried to focus on the topics outline he would analyze the following day during the first lesson, it had to be detailed and precise, but I couldn't even read what I had summarized until five minutes before.

- "Savannah right?" – I heard my name being called and even more shocked, I watched him finally get up from his desk to join me – "you want to be a cardiologist"

- "How... who"- I spluttered in surprise and putting hands in his pockets, he smiled at me amused.

A smile that would have knocked anyone out, perfect and soft, so incredibly unexpected on an authority figure like him. For three days he had paid almost no attention to me, only addressing me as necessary as Miss. Simon and I had never hoped for more than that, because of our first meeting and his role. Plus not many people knew my goal, after giving up and coming back was something I had learned to keep to myself.

- "Paul is a friend of mine and the rector's. He has his people. He was doubtful at first, but he thought better of it after a few calls and was right as always. You're doing a good job" – he replied, clarifying the doubts I wasn't even able to express and I felt my stomach tighten with emotion.

I knew I shouldn't expect recognition, not in such a competitive environment and when I was a nobody, but it was nice to know my effort was being noticed. Noticed moreover by people of that level. It was a rush of positive energy I really needed to give value to my sacrifices and know investing in myself was the right thing. Tobert and this sort of incestuous relationship we'd had had tried to screw everything, but I was still in the running.

- "I do my best, it's an honor" – I said enthusiastically, matching the smile he had given me, but he raised a hand to stop me, swinging his head.

- "Let's leave this out, I need support and an objective opinion at every lesson. I'm not a real professor, I'm a doctor, but it's an opportunity and everyone has something to pass on. Do you think you can do it, without distractions?" – He asked, throwing another dig at me, but this time I quickly got over it, nodding immediately.

At that point I would have done anything he asked me, I couldn't refuse him anything. It had been three days as a secretary, ignored and perpetually under pressure, but I had passed the test, I had earned his trust. He really wanted me to become his assistant now, he asked for my opinion even though we weren't equals in that field. Screw karma, I had already won in life at that point!

- "I can give my word Sir" – I promised and once again that smile appeared on his perfect face.

- "Good girl" – he approved, before leaving me again.

Those two words rang in my ears right inside my head, as dangerous as a spell and I had the impression of feeling my blood warm, while my body suddenly came alive and melted at the idea of having deserved that pet name. Subconsciously, I scratched my notebook, legs clenched under the desk as I watched the profile of his massive back. We had had an important moment and there I was holding my breath for something that Tobert had never in a lifetime been able to give me, after two words said without any intention.

I saw Mr. Reigns sit back down, rolling his shoulders with ease as he resumed whatever had occupied him before our chat. His eyes searched me one last time and a part of me that shouldn't have throbbed around nothing, making me lower my head to the lesson plan.

I was imagining it, it was in my head and it had to disappear as soon as possible.

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lostintrost · 18 days ago

Text

The Only Time I’d Ever Call You Mine

masterlist | kinktober m.list

characters: ex boyfriend!porco galliard x female!reader

summary: your friends take you out after a very brutal breakup between you and your manipulative ex, porco. unbeknownst to you, his band is playing at the venue tonight.

contains: hate fucking, HEAVY degradation, manipulative porco, semi-public sex, slight thigh riding (if you look closely). if degradation or manipulative exes are a trigger for you, pls don’t read. <3

wc: 6.2k

ao3 | wattpad

"Come on, babe." Pieck rolls her eyes, the exasperation clear in her voice. "You have every right to go out and have a good time. Quit letting that asshole ruin your life!"

You huff, sinking deeper into the couch and wrapping your arms around your knees like it'll somehow shield you from Pieck's relentless determination. "I'm not letting him ruin my life. I just—don't feel like going out, okay?"

"It's been weeks." Pieck narrows her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. "You've barely left your apartment since the breakup. When was the last time you even showered, let alone had a decent meal?"

"I showered yesterday," you mumble, but it's a weak defense, and you both know it.

Pieck arches a brow, her unimpressed expression doing nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. "Look, I get it. Breakups suck. Especially when the guy's a manipulative, egotistical, emotionally-stunted dickbag like Porco."

You flinch at his name, the sound of it dragging old wounds to the surface. Porco fucking Galliard. The man who once had you wrapped around his finger so tightly, you didn't even realize you were suffocating. And by the time you did, it was already too late.

He made you feel wanted, needed, like you were something precious he couldn't bear to lose. Until he wasn't getting his way. Then he'd twist your words, guilt-trip you into thinking you were the problem. That you were the one always overreacting, always messing things up.

But the worst part? You believed him. For far too long, you believed him.

"Which is exactly why you need to get out and have some fun," Pieck continues, her tone softening but not losing its edge. "You deserve a break. Something that reminds you you're more than just 'Porco's ex.'"

"I know I'm more than that," you mutter, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears.

Pieck lets out a sigh and drops onto the couch beside you, her head resting against your shoulder. "I miss my friend. The one who used to laugh and actually have a life outside of that asshole. So let me do this for you, okay? Just one night. We'll grab drinks, listen to some decent music, and if it sucks, we can leave and trash-talk everyone we saw on the way home. Deal?"

You hesitate, the excuses already building up in your mind. But Pieck's gaze is unwavering, her concern obvious beneath the playful exasperation. And as much as you want to argue, you're tired of feeling like this. Tired of feeling like he still has his claws in you, even when he's not around.

"Fine," you sigh. "But I'm not dressing up. If you're dragging me out, I'm wearing whatever I damn well want."

Pieck's eyes light up with victory. "Fair enough. Just don't complain when all the girls are hitting on me instead of you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You manage a weak smile, the first genuine one you've felt in days.

Pieck had tried to convince you to wear something "hot enough to make your ex cry," but you weren't in the mood for tight dresses and flashy makeup. You settled on something simple, something that felt more like you.

The dark, high-waisted jeans hug your hips snugly, the denim worn and soft from years of use. They're ripped at the knees—more from actual wear than style—and they mold to your legs in a way that feels comfortably familiar. Paired with them is a fitted black tank top, the fabric clinging to your torso just enough to hint at your curves without making you feel exposed.

A cropped leather jacket hangs loosely over your shoulders, its weight comforting as you tug it tighter around yourself. It's the one thing you couldn't let go of during the breakup—something you bought just to spite Porco's complaints about how "you weren't edgy enough to pull off that look."

Your shoes are nothing special, just a pair of old combat boots that add a little height and a lot of attitude. They make you feel grounded, like you can stand your ground even if the world around you feels like it's falling apart.

Your other friends had at least convinced you to wear some makeup—a little eyeliner smudged around your eyes and a swipe of tinted lip balm. Just enough to avoid their disappointed looks without making you feel like you were trying too hard. They'd spent the better part of an hour trying to talk you into something more dramatic, something that would make you feel "hot and irresistible" rather than "a sulking wreck."

You shut them down at every turn, insisting you weren't trying to impress anyone tonight. But the pitying looks they kept throwing your way wore you down until you finally agreed to at least put on the bare minimum of effort. If only to get them off your back.

But now, standing in the middle of the packed bar with Pieck on one side and your other friends scattered somewhere in the crowd, you can feel their good intentions pressing down on you like a weight. The music thrums through your chest, too loud and too aggressive for your already frazzled nerves.

You should've known better than to let them drag you out tonight. After weeks of moping in your apartment, they were determined to get you out and "remind you what fun feels like."

But fun feels impossible. Like something that exists just outside your reach, taunting you with memories of nights that used to be carefree and easy.

You've been here less than an hour, and you already want to leave.

But you promised them you'd try. So, you cling to your drink like a lifeline, pretending the alcohol is doing something—anything—to dull the raw ache still lodged deep in your chest. The kind of ache that doesn't fade no matter how many times your friends tell you you're better off without him.

Because how do you just move on from someone like him?

Your ex. Your manipulative, arrogant, infuriating ex.

Porco fucking Galliard.

The thought of him alone is enough to sour your mood all over again, but it's nothing compared to the shock of hearing his voice.

That voice, too familiar and too sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade. Your body goes rigid, your fingers tightening around your glass until your knuckles ache.

No. There's no way.

You whip around, eyes scanning the small stage at the other end of the bar. And there he is. Front and center, microphone gripped loosely in one hand as he belts out the lyrics like the crowd is there solely to worship him.

You feel sick. Actually, physically sick.

"Shit," you breathe, the word lost under the booming bassline.

Of course. Of course, he would be here. The universe loves playing cruel little jokes on you.

He looks good—because of course, he fucking does. Messy blonde hair, cocky grin, confidence oozing from every smug line of his body. He's always had that magnetic, infuriating charm that makes people's eyes stick to him like he's the only one in the room worth paying attention to. The kind of charisma that drew you in from the start, sparking something reckless and stupid inside you the moment he turned that grin your way.

You'd never been the type to fall for arrogance. You used to scoff at guys like him, rolling your eyes at their entitled swagger and shameless flirtations. But Porco was different. There was something about the way he looked at you, like you were a challenge he was just dying to conquer. And when he finally had you, the attention was intoxicating. Overwhelming.

He made you feel seen. Like every other guy who'd brushed you off or passed you over was just a mistake waiting to be corrected by him. Porco knew how to make you feel wanted, needed, like you were something precious he couldn't bear to lose.

But that same charm was a weapon he wielded just as easily to cut you down. When things were good, it was all heated touches, addictive smiles, and whispered promises that you swore you could believe in. But when things were bad—when you dared to push back, to argue, to stand your ground—his affection twisted into something else entirely.

He'd call you dramatic. Accuse you of overreacting. Make you feel like every doubt you had was something you needed to apologize for. Every argument ended the same way: him making you feel like you were the problem. Like your emotions were something to be fixed, silenced, dismissed.

You lost count of how many times you caved. How many times you swallowed your own hurt and guilt just to keep the peace, to convince yourself he really did care about you even when his words sliced through you like glass. Because when he wanted to, Porco could make you feel invincible. Like nothing else mattered but the way his eyes burned into yours and his hands pulled you closer.

He kept you burning for him until there was nothing left of you but ash. And when you finally found the strength to walk away, you'd barely been able to recognize yourself.

But standing here now, seeing him back on stage with that same fucking grin plastered across his face, you feel it all over again. That stupid, reckless pull. The anger tangled up with something darker and infinitely more pathetic.

Because no matter how much you hate him, some part of you still wants him.

That's the worst part, isn't it? The part that keeps you awake at night, replaying every fight, every gaslighting comment, every moment he twisted your own emotions against you until you weren't sure which way was up. And yet, buried beneath all that hurt, there's still this sick, shameful ache that craves his attention. That wants him to look at you the way he used to—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

But it's all a lie. It always was.

You feel the panic building in your chest, a rising tide of anger and disgust you can't keep down. The room feels smaller, the air thick and cloying as his voice crashes over you like a taunt, dragging you right back to the worst parts of yourself. The parts he twisted and broke and left scattered like debris.

You can't be here. Not with him so close. Not with the memories clawing their way up your throat like poison.

Your breathing quickens, hands trembling around your drink as you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the stage. You need to get out. You need air, distance, anything to stop the world from spinning around you like this.

You barely register Pieck's concerned voice calling your name, her hand brushing your arm as you stumble to your feet. You mumble something that's probably meant to sound reassuring, but you can't even hear yourself over the pounding in your ears.

You're already halfway out of your seat before your friends even notice. Someone says your name, but you don't stop to look back. You're pushing through the crowded room, desperate for air, desperate to get away before he notices you.

You can still hear his voice tearing through the speakers, smooth and cocky, sending every nerve in your body into overdrive. But you don't look back. You shove past strangers, ignoring the annoyed grumbles and glares thrown your way. All you can think about is getting outside. Getting as far away from him as possible.

The hallway leading toward the bathrooms is quieter, the pounding music muffled by the thick walls. You force yourself to breathe, your lungs heaving like you just ran a mile instead of stumbling twenty feet.

But just as you reach the end of the hallway, the music cuts off mid-song. Confused murmurs and a few frustrated shouts from the crowd filter through the air, but you barely notice. All you care about is that the sound of his voice is finally gone.

And that's when you hear it—footsteps pounding against the floor, purposeful and unrelenting. Heading straight for you.

You should've known better than to think you could escape him.

You barely have time to process the dread pooling in your stomach before a hand clamps around your wrist.

"Well, well, well. Thought that was you sulking in the back." Porco's voice is low, smug as ever, each word a deliberate scrape against your already raw nerves.

"Let me go," you snap, jerking your arm free and taking a step back. But of course, there's nowhere to go. Just a narrow, dimly lit hallway and him standing between you and your only exit.

He looks you over, a slow, mocking grin spreading across his face. "Didn't realize you were so desperate for me that you'd actually show up at my show."

"Don't flatter yourself. I didn't even know you'd be here."

He laughs, the sound cruel and dripping with condescension. "Sure you didn't. And I'm supposed to believe you just happened to end up here, out of all the bars in town? Give me a fucking break."

Your hands clench into fists at your sides. "My friends brought me here. Believe what you want, but I'm not pathetic enough to come crawling after you."

He arches an eyebrow, eyes glinting with twisted amusement. "No? Could've fooled me. Showing up here looking like you just rolled out of bed, all sad and desperate. Like you couldn't even bother trying to look good because you were too busy sulking over me."

You can feel your cheeks burn, anger curling hot and volatile in your chest. "You're unbelievable."

"Unbelievable?" Porco steps closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours. "Funny. That's exactly what you used to call me when you were begging me to fuck you."

The words punch the air from your lungs. Every ounce of logic is screaming at you to walk away, to shove him aside and leave him choking on his own ego. But there's something about his tone, that condescending lilt in his voice, that's dragging you right back into the mess you swore you'd never touch again.

"What's the matter?" he taunts, eyes narrowing as he watches the conflict war across your face. "Too embarrassed to admit you missed me? That you've been moping around wishing you could feel me ruining you all over again?"

"Shut up," you snap, but the words are weak, shaky. And he knows it.

Porco's smile widens, all sharp edges and vicious intent. "Come on, sweetheart. We both know how this ends. You acting all pissed off and indignant like I'm the worst thing that ever happened to you, when really? You fucking loved it."

You hate that his words make your skin prickle, that his presence alone is enough to drag your pulse into a reckless sprint. You hate that even now, after everything he put you through, there's still some part of you that craves the destructive heat only he's ever managed to spark.

His hand comes up to grip your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You look like shit, by the way. Like you've been crying over me for weeks. Pathetic."

You should slap him. You should knee him in the groin and leave him writhing on the filthy floor of this shitty bar.

But instead, you glare at him, refusing to back down. "You're such a piece of shit."

"And yet, here you are," he counters smoothly. "Practically drooling over me like you haven't been getting off to the thought of me every night since you left."

Your nails bite into your palms, but you don't deny it. You can't.

Because he's right.

"Why don't you just admit it?" he continues, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Admit that you missed me. Admit that you came here hoping I'd wreck you all over again."

"Fuck you."

He laughs again, the sound dark and mocking. "Oh, I can’t wait."

And when his mouth crashes against yours, all teeth and hunger and cruelty, you don't stop him. You don't even try.

His lips are rough against yours, all force and arrogance, like he's claiming something that still belongs to him. You hate him for it. Hate him even more for the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your stomach despite every rational thought telling you to push him away.

But you don't. Instead, you kiss him back with just as much venom, teeth nipping at his bottom lip hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat.

"Still a feisty little bitch, huh?" Porco sneers, his hands finding your waist and shoving you backward until your spine hits the cold, sticky wall. "Guess some things never change."

You glare at him, your breathing already uneven. "You really think I'm doing this because I missed you?"

"Oh, I know you missed me." He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "I can practically feel you shaking for it. What was it you always used to say? That no one fucked you like I did?"

Your nails dig into his shoulders, but the pressure only makes his smirk grow. He likes it when you fight back. Hell, he's counting on it.

"Go to hell."

I'm already there, sweetheart. Just waiting for you to catch up."

His knee shoves between your thighs, forcing your legs apart until his thigh presses firmly against you. The contact is sudden, rough, and your body reacts before your brain can catch up. A shiver rolls down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach even as you try to twist away.

But his hands are already on your hips, fingers digging into your sides to keep you exactly where he wants you. And despite every ounce of fury still burning in your veins, your hips twitch against his thigh, a pathetic little grind that makes his grin stretch wider.

"See? Fucking pathetic," he sneers, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "Your body's already begging for it, and I've barely even touched you. Guess leaving me didn't fix you as much as you thought, huh?"

"Shut up," you snap, but the words are a broken rasp, your voice trembling even as you try to force steel into it.

He laughs, the sound low and mocking. "You can say that all you want, but we both know you're just a needy little slut. Rubbing yourself on my thigh like you've been waiting for this. Just admit it—you missed me. Missed the way I wreck you."

Your hips betray you again, the pressure against his thigh sending a shameful rush of heat through your body. You try to hold yourself still, to stop giving him exactly what he wants, but the need is already clawing at you, vicious and relentless.

And Porco knows it. He feels it. And he's not about to let you forget it.

“Pathetic," Porco spits, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in, his mouth brushing your ear. "You act so tough, but you're nothing without me. Just a desperate little mess who can't even pretend she doesn't want me to fuck her."

You feel his fingers trail down your sides before he's yanking you forward, your body stumbling against his chest with a startled gasp. His arm hooks around your waist, his grip possessive and unyielding as he starts walking, practically dragging you down the narrow hallway.

"W-What the hell are you doing?" you sputter, your hands instinctively shoving at his chest even as your body struggles to keep up with his brutal pace.

"Taking you somewhere a little more private," he says, his voice dripping with smug assurance. "Unless you want me to make you come just by grinding on my thigh right here in the hallway. Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

Your face burns with humiliation, the memory of just how easily he's torn you apart in the past flashing behind your eyes. But you can't find your voice, your throat clamped tight around whatever protest you're desperately trying to force out.

Porco's grip never loosens, his fingers digging painfully into your hip as he shoves open the first door he comes across—a dimly lit storage room littered with stacked chairs and boxes of cheap bar merchandise.

"Perfect," he mutters, kicking the door shut behind him and shoving you back until your shoulders hit the wall. "Now, where were we?"

His knee forces its way between your thighs again, pressing up against you until your legs are trembling.

"Oh, right," he sneers. "You were making a fool of yourself by humping my thigh like a bitch in heat."

"Fuck you," you snap, your voice splintering under the weight of your own anger and shame.

His thigh grinds against you, relentless and unforgiving. The pressure against your core has your body twitching helplessly, heat pooling low in your stomach despite every furious thought screaming at you to shove him away.

But Porco knows how to keep you frozen. How to tear your defenses down until you're nothing but a wreck at his feet.

"You should see yourself right now," he sneers, his voice thick with twisted amusement. "Acting like you hate me when you're two seconds away from dripping all over my leg. Maybe I should drag you back out there, let everyone see how desperate you really are."

Your fists clench at his chest, but it's a weak, half-hearted effort. Your body's already betraying you, your hips rolling against his thigh like you can't even help yourself. Like the humiliation only makes you need him more.

"You're disgusting," you spit, but the words tremble on your tongue, the shame burning through your veins like acid.

"Maybe," he shrugs, eyes blazing with arrogant delight. "But at least I'm not the one getting off on it." His fingers curl around your chin, forcing your head up until you're staring straight into his merciless gaze. "Admit it. You fucking love this. Being treated like the worthless little slut you are."

"I—" Your voice cracks, your body fighting against itself. Everything feels too hot, too sharp, his words digging under your skin and making something dark and desperate unravel inside you.

"Can't even deny it, can you?" Porco laughs, the sound cutting and cruel. "You act all pissed off and righteous, but we both know the truth. You fucking need me. No one else can fuck you the way I do, and you're just pathetic enough to keep crawling back for more."

"Shut up," you whisper, the words nothing more than a broken gasp.

"Why?" His lips brush against your ear, his breath scorching your skin. "Because you know I'm right? Because you can't stand the fact that you'd let me do anything I wanted to you if it meant getting that filthy little itch of yours scratched?"

You try to shake your head, but his grip on your chin is iron. Instead, all you can do is tremble, your body's reaction making him smirk like he's already won.

"Maybe I should make you beg for it. Make you tell me how much you fucking missed me," he murmurs, his fingers slipping down to hook into your waistband. "But I think you've been pathetic enough for one night."

He yanks your jeans down to your knees, the denim scraping against your skin as he forces them out of the way. His eyes rake over you with that same condescending delight, like you're nothing more than his personal plaything put on this earth for him to ruin.

"I should make you say thank you," Porco continues, his fingers finding their way between your thighs, rough and unkind. "Because let's be honest—you'd let me do anything to you right now, wouldn't you? Just so you can feel something other than how fucking worthless you are."

The words hit like a slap, but the sting only makes you gasp, your body clenching around nothing as he drags his fingers against you with bruising force.

And then he feels it. How soaked you are, how your body's already betraying you before he's even really started. His fingers slide along your slit, slick and shamefully wet, the evidence of your own pathetic desire coating his skin.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," he laughs, the sound dripping with contempt. "You're already dripping for me. Didn't even take much, either. Just a few insults and a little attention, and you're fucking gushing like the desperate slut you are."

You bite down on your lip, hard enough to taste copper. You want to shove him away, scream at him, claw his eyes out for the way he's looking at you. Like he owns you. Like he's already won.

But you can't move. Not when his fingers press against your entrance, circling slowly, deliberately, like he's giving you a chance to stop him. To tell him no.

You don't. You can’t.

You know just as well as he does that your body is craving his touch.

"Pathetic," Porco spits, his voice a low, vicious rumble. "Your body's just begging for me, isn't it? Bet you touch yourself every night thinking about me, wishing someone else could fuck you even half as good. But no one else even comes close, do they?"

"Shut up," you whisper, but it's barely more than a whimper. Because he's right, and you both know it.

"Can't even deny it," he sneers. "Go on. Say it. Tell me how much you fucking missed this."

"No," you rasp, but your voice is weak, trembling. And when his fingers finally push inside you, the sound that escapes your throat is nothing but pure, humiliating need.

"Fuck," he breathes, his smirk growing even more wicked. "You're soaking my fingers already. Bet you're so fucking tight just from me talking down to you. Because you love it, don't you? Love being reminded how useless and broken you are."

You want to deny it, want to scream at him to go to hell again, but the pleasure twisting through your body is impossible to ignore — and the shame only seems to make it worse.

Porco's fingers pump into you, rough and unyielding, dragging along your walls with such force. Your hips jerk against his hand, your body's reactions spiraling out of your control as he continues to tear you down with every filthy word. The sounds of your panting breathing fills the air, your cunt squeezing his fingers tight with every curl he gives you.

"See? That's all you're good for," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "Taking whatever I give you like a needy little slut. Doesn't matter how much you hate me—you'll still let me fuck you whenever I want, won't you?"

You choke out something between a sob and a moan, your body clenching around his fingers as if trying to draw him in deeper. The humiliation only sharpens the pleasure, making you tremble against him as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans against your neck, his teeth biting down into your flesh. “Your pussy has missed my fucking fingers, hasn’t it? It’s practically sucking them in all by myself.”

His fingers curl inside of you, finding the spongy part that he knows will break you every single time.

"Come on," Porco taunts, his thumb pressing down harshly against your clit. "Show me how much of a fucking mess you are. Make a mess all over my hand like the worthless little whore you are."

His words dig into you, sharp and cutting, but the heat coiling low in your stomach only tightens in response. It's twisted and pathetic and you hate yourself for wanting this, for craving the very thing that made you walk away from him in the first place.

But you can't help it. Because even though you know he's just getting off on humiliating you, some sick part of you likes it. The way his cruelty makes everything feel sharp and immediate, tearing down every rational thought until there's nothing left but raw, reckless need.

Your hips jerk against his hand, chasing the pressure of his fingers like you've already given up on fighting him. And maybe you have. Because nothing else feels this good. Nothing else drowns out the ache of losing him the way his touch does.

"See?" he sneers, his breath hot against your ear. " You can act like you hate me all you want, but your body's telling me everything I need to know. You fucking missed this. Missed being put in your place."

He pulls his fingers out of you quickly, a loud whine escaping your lips at the loss. His thumb continues to press hard circles into your clit instead, keeping you right on the edge of your release.

"Fuck you," you rasp, but there's no heat behind the words. Just desperation.

He laughs, the sound thick with cruel satisfaction. "You wish. But I think you've got something else to take care of first." His fingers plunge into you harder, rough and unyielding, dragging another broken gasp from your throat. "So go on. Come all over my hand like the desperate little slut you are."

Your body obeys before your pride can stop it, your orgasm crashing over you with brutal intensity. You bite down on your lip to muffle the pathetic moan that slips out, but the damage is already done.

Porco feels it. He loves it.

"That's what I thought." He doesn't stop, his fingers still working you over, prolonging your orgasm until your thighs tremble and your vision blurs. "Fucking knew you'd fall apart the second I touched you. Just like always."

Your breaths come in ragged, shallow pants, the aftershocks of pleasure still thrumming through you even as his taunts sink in like poison. You should be pushing him away, telling him to get the hell out of your life for good. But instead, your arms are wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like he's the only solid thing left in your crumbling world.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with condescension. "Still holding onto me like you're scared I'll leave you here all needy and wrecked. Guess you really are more pathetic than I thought."

"I hate you," you choke out, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a lie.

"Yeah?" He finally pulls his hand away, his fingers glistening with everything you hate about yourself. "Funny, because your cunt is telling me something completely different."

He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste your essence all over them. The action makes your stomach twist, shame burning hot under your skin. Your body continues to cling to him though, knowing damn well he’s far from stopping.

And even if he was, you wouldn’t want him to stop.

Porco fucking knows it.

"Look at you," he laughs, the sound thick with derision. One of his hands works into the back of your hair, pulling it tightly to bring your face to his. "Fucking pathetic. You should be thanking me for even touching you after the way you fucked everything up."

Your jaw clenches, fury sparking bright and blinding behind your eyes. But your body won't listen to your mind. It craves the friction, the anger, the desperate, hateful need that only Porco seems capable of yanking out of you.

"Shut up," you choke out, but the tremor in your voice only makes his grin widen.

"Nah. I don't think I will." His mouth crushes against yours again, swallowing whatever feeble protest you try to make. The kiss is all teeth and cruelty, the kind of kiss meant to punish rather than pleasure.

It's rough. It's ugly. It's exactly what you wanted.

You hate him for that, too.

By the time he finally yanks his pants down just far enough to press himself against you, your mind is a chaotic mess of fury and heat. Your body practically arches toward him even as your brain screams at you to stop, to push him away before you let him ruin you all over again.

His cock rubs against your pussy in the best way, your wetness coating it. He grinds it against you, groans falling from his mouth as whimpers escape yours.

Fuck. You’ve never wanted someone so fucking bad like you do right now. And it had to be him of all people.

"Tell me you don't fucking want this, baby," he says, his forehead pressed against yours. It sounds so soft that you almost forget about the monster standing in front of you.

The pet name he rarely called you slipped from his lips with ease. That name that he used to reel you in every goddamned time.

Not a single argument falls from your mouth. It would be useless. Both of you know that you would do anything for him to be inside of you right now.

You fucking hate yourself for it.

His mouth finds your neck again, giving it bruising kisses as he sinks himself inside of you. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out, the sharp sting of pain mingling with something far more shameful.

"Still take me so fucking well," he grunts, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Like you were made for this. Made for me."

"Just—shut up," you rasp, the words broken and desperate.

"Why?" he sneers. "Because you can't handle the truth? That no matter how hard you try to convince yourself you hate me, your body still knows it belongs to me? That only my cock could fuck your tight little pussy like this?”

His words twists inside you, equal parts fury and need, your nails raking down his back hard enough to draw a hiss from him. But he just laughs, the sound vicious and triumphant.

"Come on, sweetheart. Admit it. You missed this. Missed me."

You shake your head, but the movement is weak, your body trembling with each brutal thrust. And Porco sees it. He fucking sees it and relishes in it.

"Pathetic," he spits. "You can lie to yourself all you want, but your cunt still knows exactly who it fucking belongs to."

You can feel yourself unraveling, the heat building until it's almost unbearable. Your body responds to him like it's been trained. Your hips move in rhythm with his, trying to get you closer to your release - closer to getting yourself the fuck away from him.

"Porco," you cry out, that familiar knot growing deep inside of you, begging to let go.

Porco can feel your cunt clenching around him, and fuck if it doesn’t take everything he has to not cum inside of you right then and there.

"Fuck yeah, sweetheart," he groans. "That's it. Cum all over my fucking cock like the slut you are for it."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as your hips move faster, his cock hitting that sensitive spot repeatedly with every thrust. A loud moan rips from your throat as you finally let go.

“Fuck, Porco!” you scream out as you come all over him, your pussy sucking his cock in greedily for more.

He gives you just that, fucking you through your release as he follows behind you. His cock unloads inside of you, filling you up just how you used to beg him to every time he fucked you.

Your forehead slumps against his shoulder as you come down from your high, and it takes everything in you not to wrap your arms around him and pull him closely like you used to.

For a moment, the world is nothing but harsh breathing and the distant thump of the music beyond the hallway.

Then the silence comes, and with it, the crushing weight of everything you just let him do.

After a moment, Porco pulls out of you, setting your wobbly feet back on the ground. He pulls his pants back on and buttons them with that same smug grin that he wore on stage plastered across his face. "Guess I was right. You really are just a desperate little slut."

"Go to hell," you whisper, your voice shredded and raw. Your hands pulls your pants back up around your waist as you fight the tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

"Already told you, baby," He whispers as he brings his lips down to your forehead, kissing it softly. "I'm waiting for you to catch up."

And then he's gone, slamming the door closed behind him, leaving you slumped against the wall—breathless, your heart pounding with a mix of anger, shame, and something you can't even name. You hate how easily he got to you. How quickly you let him drag you back into the same toxic, addictive mess you swore you'd never touch again.

But most of all, you hate yourself for still wanting him.

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