#and to actually write down my story beat ideas

[veronicaphoenix]

until the stars stop shining | noah sebastian

previous part to all that's left, but it can be read as a one shot.

summary: noah and his girl spend an evening by the lake | words: 1.2k | reading time: 5mins

tags & trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. noah is an illustrator, reader loves baking cookies, mentions of noah having been reader's first, and that's it—they love each other a ton.

This is for the anon that asked for something sweet and fluffy after i posted All That's Left. I hope this does it. It's not actually a standalone work, but a sort of flashback belonging to the same story where All That's Left happens. I have a full plot developed in my head, but I can't tell if I'll ever write it and post it, so here goes this little thing where you get to know a little bit more of those characters and the story.

Thank you for all your constant love and support <3

 ͢ until the stars stop shining

Noah leaned back in the Muskoka chair, one leg lazily stretched out, balancing his sketchbook on his lap. He was shirtless, only wearing his bathing suit. For over an hour, he had been sketching, savoring the tranquil solitude offered by the lake, the warm caress of the late afternoon sun, and the rustling of leaves. Early fall was the perfect time for moments like this, when nature felt intimate and unhurried. Most of the tourists had long gone, leaving behind only the soft chorus of birds and the quiet murmur of waves licking the shore.

The breeze teased the pages of his sketchbook, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine needles and the rhythmic whisper of water against the rocks. Noah’s pencil glided in slow, thoughtful strokes as he tried to capture the scene before him, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his girl.

The door to the cottage creaked open right then, and she stepped outside. She carried a wooden tray filled with oat cinnamon cookies, their powdered sugar dusting glinting in the soft afternoon light. The sweet, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp air, making Noah smile to himself even without glancing back. 

She padded softly down the dock, her bare feet almost silent against the worn wood, and placed the tray on the armrest of his chair, her fingers grazing his shoulder in a brief, affectionate touch.

“I baked something,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. Of course she had. Baking was her favorite thing to do.  “Something sweet for my favorite artist.”

Noah grinned as he finally looked at her, his eyes catching on the spot of flour smeared across her nose. She had no idea it was there, and he decided not to tell her—she looked adorable like that.

“You need to refill your energy after working so hard for hours on end,” she pointed out as she glanced at the open sketchbook on his lap. 

Instead of reaching for a cookie, Noah broke off a small piece and gently brought it to her lips. Her smile widened as she took a bite, the sweetness melting on her tongue. A moment later, he let out a soft chuckle, reaching to brush a crumb off her lip with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before dropping back to his half-finished sketch.

“I’m not half as good at drawing as you are at baking,” he admitted.

She tilted her head, glancing at the sketch. “This one looks pretty good to me, Noah.”

He smirked, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Wait until you see the one I did last night, after you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Why do you find it so entertaining to draw me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at her. “Because you’re my favorite subject.”

That’s when he bopped her nose, making the flour stain disappear.

Her grin was bright and effortless as she leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close enough to feel his warmth. “And you’re my favorite person to bake for,” she whispered.

Noah’s cheeks flushed slightly at her words, a rare blush coloring his usually composed expression. She kissed the warm skin of his left cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling away with a satisfied smile. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden planks. She sat down, her legs hanging off the edge.

Noah watched her for a moment, admiring how the wind gently tousled her hair and the way the light danced off her skin. The contentment in her posture, the way her eyes reflected the colors of the setting sun—everything about this moment felt perfect.

“You ever gonna let me teach you how to swim?” Noah asked.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the water before she responded quietly, “I don’t know... I’m still a bit scared of it.” She dipped her feet a little deeper, letting the cool water lap around her ankles. “But... I love being here. With you.”

The memory of that first visit just the two of them was vivid in both their minds. This was Jolly’s cottage, the same place where Noah and her had meet back when she was still fourteen and he was eighteen. They had spent countless of weekends and birthdays and fourths of July in this very same place. But nothing had been as special as the weekend Noah convinced Jolly to let him stay with her, alone. It had been six years since then, and even now, the memory of taking her virginity—in Jolly’s bed—was still as clear as water.  

Noah watched as the wind played with her hair, blowing soft strands across her face. He picked up his sketchbook again, unable to resist capturing her in this moment—the peacefulness, the effortless beauty. His pencil moved in quick, steady strokes as he sketched her sitting at the edge of the dock, her feet in the water, the sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. He knew that one day, he would marry this girl. There was no question in his mind.

Once satisfied with the drawing, Noah quietly set his sketchbook aside and rose from the chair. He walked over to her with slow, deliberate steps, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her in this perfect, secluded spot. Without warning, he bent down, pretending to lift her by the underarms as if he were about to toss her into the water.

She yelped in surprise, her heart leaping as she felt her feet lift off the dock. “Noah!” 

Before she could fully react, Noah pulled her back into his arms, turning her around to face him. She clung to him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms tightening around his neck, her pulse racing from the surprise.

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped, breathless from both fear and thrill, burying her face against his neck.

Noah laughed with her, holding her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin. “I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Still holding her, Noah carried her over to the blanket they had left spread out on the dock earlier. He gently laid her down, her body sinking into the soft fabric, and then settled beside her. 

“Don’t you ever,” she started to say, “ever, let me drown, Noah Sebastian.”

“Never ever,” he promised, showing her his pinky finger. 

She laced it with hers and finally, she let out a heavy sigh and cuddled closer to him, nuzzing her cheek against his bare shoulder. 

They lay close, facing each other, their fingers lazily tracing along each other’s arms and faces. Neither spoke for a long while. Her fingers trailed down his chest while his hand rested lightly on her hip. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, until the sky was a dark, glittering canvas. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water.

“How long will you love me?” Noah asked, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

She gazed at him, eyes warm and steady. She placed the most tender of kisses on his lips.

“Until the stars stop shining.”

[serickswrites]

Hey :)

Can you write a fic where whumpee is new to the team and has a dark mysterioys past - so when their framed as a traitor the team believes them.There beaten up by some members of team despite protests of not being the traitor and given to whumper o put in custody who posses as a good person and planned it all to have them.

The team eventually uncovers the truth that whumper is bad and is actually the traitir-however whumper already tortured whumpee-sexually assaulting them,branding their name into their arm.When they break into whumper's place-whimper is already dead courtesy if whumpee who managed to free thrmselvez and kill them-however they collapse upon seeing their team.

The team us guilt ridden and doesn't know how to make amends and team leader feels like a failure

It's ok if your not interested in doing it♡

Anon, Anon, Anon! When I tell you that I have had an idea like this on my back burner for a while, I cannot tell you how long it has sat there. I have scrapped this story twice. But, because you are voicing exactly what I wanted to write several times, I'm going to do this. This is a series and will be posted under the title "Monster"

Please enjoy!

Warnings: betrayal, physical violence, unconsciousness, captivity, restraints

"Leave your weapon on the table," Team Leader said coldly as they watched Smallest Teammate.

Smallest Teammate was confusion. What had happened? Team Leader never talked to them like this. "What, I don't understand? What--"

"Put your weapon on the table," Team Leader ordered.

"We know who you really are," Teammate One hissed.

Smallest Teammate's mouth went dry. "I can explain, let me--"

"You sold us out!" Teammate Two stepped forward angrily. "You sold us out after we accepted you!"

Before Smallest Teammate could open their mouth, Teammate Two swung, their fist connecting with Smallest Teammate's cheek. Smallest Teammate didn't try to fight back. They hunched over themself as Teammate Two and Teammate Three surged forward.

"You sold us out!"

"How could you!"

"Whumper revealed exactly who you are!"

Teammate One's words froze Smallest Teammate's heart. Whumper. Whumper had infiltrated the team. Whumper had found them. "I'm not....Whumper....they..." Smallest Teammate couldn't get a good word in as the team was unrelenting in their beating.

"I don't want to hear another lie from you," Team Leader said, their voice very close. Smallest Teammate could see them through the flailing limbs of their team. "You lied to all of us. You lied to me. And you sold us, all of us, out."

"Pl-Pl-Please," Smallest Teammate tried. Their body hurt. Everything hurt. The team was relentless in their beating. If they fought back, they would prove Whumper right. And so they had to hope that the team wouldn't kill them.

"Whumper has graciously offered to take you off our hands and turn you into the proper authorities," Team Leader sneered as they stared down at Smallest Teammate. "They will be here soon to collect you."

And though Smallest Teammate wanted to respond, wanted to beg for mercy. They couldn't. The darkness that had edged their vision for so long as becoming all consuming. They could only hope that Team Leader would realize their mistake sooner rather than later. And that Whumper wouldn't kill them yet.

Tags: @acer-whumpstuff

[a-tale-of-legends]

I like how, regardless of how I plan it, chapters 3 and 4 are The Big Ones for the early section of TBWS lol.

[whumble-beeee]

The Name of The Game

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 8

Content: mentioned past attempted noncon, hysterical whumpee/nervous breakdown (seriously yall, it gets bad), disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[While following this guide, as well as generally while playing the wonderful game that is villainy, you will find that the advice can rarely be fitted to every specific scenario. But one piece of advice is universal: If you value your freedom, your loved ones, and your life, you must never reveal your secret identity to your captured hero. As soon as you do, there is no more facade. Villainy is no longer a game. It is your life. And heroes will not hesitate to destroy your life if it means they can win the game. 

If a hero (or ANY untrusted party) ever happens upon your secret identity, it is your responsibility, as a villain and as a human being, to accept the end of your life as you know it…

Or to ensure that the hero can never tell another living soul.]

* * * * * * * *

“See you soon?” Deeby repeated Sweater-vest’s last words incredulously. “See you soon?! Christ, and you know he knows– god, he just needs to stop being such un pendejo and shut the hell up, stop making everything about his goddamn god complex and shoving it en las caras de todos–”

The sudden anger from the usually cool and smug Deeby did not help the apparent panic attack seeping ever so quickly into Stan’s consciousness, especially with said seething bounty hunter circling around the room like an angry shark as he muttered to himself and gesticulated wildly. 

Stan cowered to hide his shirtlessness from said angry shark. His chest and limbs started to buzz from all the excess oxygen entering his system as he took in heavy breaths, his head spinning, dizzy, hurting, every muscle clenching.

“--y quién se cree ese cabrón para venir a joderme MI TRABAJO?” 

He was so angry. So loud, talking so fast, and what the hell was he even saying?! It was too much, too much.

 “Y la puta Lana no puede ni aparecer para decirme que me está jodiendo la vida OTRA VEZ porque es lo único que le encanta hacer, joderme TODO lo que–”

Stop it stop it stay calm stay calm please not now please please please not now you can’t show weakness like this in front of your kidnapper you can’t stop it STOP IT–

He took in an involuntary loud heaving breath. Then fell into a stuttering slew of smaller breaths as he tried to keep quiet, and Deeby finally took notice of the state of his captive. 

Stan squeaked and pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He was small, he was silent, he was invisible. 

Then he gasped in another desperate heaving breath with an involuntary cry of panic when he suddenly ran out of air. He’d stopped breathing entirely with all his efforts.

“Stan? Qué es–... Ah, you good?”

Stan nodded quickly, shaking. “F-fine, fine.”

Deeby raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t lie to me. What is this, you having a panic attack?”

He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, but he shook his head fervently. Then reeled as it made the dizziness and headache so much worse.

“Stan, talk to me, chiquito. If he actually did something to you, tell me. I need a good reason to kill him, you’d be helping me out a lot.”

He didn't actually even hurt me, did he? 

“No–! I-I u-uh-uh yes-s-s, but– but–” 

I don't WANT to ‘help you out’! I don't want to talk about it! ESPECIALLY not with you. 

He let out a whine and failed to swallow the giant knot forming in his throat.

“Alright, is this about the shirt then? Or the uh, the chest thing? Is that why you went from colonizer white to ghost white when you thought I was gonna make you strip earlier?” He walked over to the tattered shirt and scooped it up. “Because if that's what got you, I can assure you I don’t give a single crap what you’ve–... got in your...”

Deeby trailed off as he held up the grey strips of fabric that used to be Stan's button-down. 

And just stared.

Stan gawked at the unrecognizable shredded fabric hanging in the bounty hunter's hands. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how utterly destroyed his beloved shirt was. What was he supposed to wear now?

“That… Motherfucker…” Deeby muttered, almost as as aghast as Stan. “Christ, I knew he'd pull some grade-A bullshit, but this–”

“Y-you KNEW?!” Stan gasped out, surprising himself with the volume of his outburst. “You– You knew he was gonna– gonna try to...”

Deeby didn't look up from the tatters in his hands. “Yeah. He's predictable, if nothing else.”

Stan's entire body felt like it was full of angry bees. “You–... You left me-e alone with ‘im. On pu-urpose.”

“And everything turned out fine, you're fine. Look runt, we need to have a little talk about what–”

“NO!” Stan cried, ignoring the drop in his stomach when Deeby's eyes took on a slight challenging glint at the interruption. “No, don’t change the subject! You left me alone with him! You knew he was gonna try to– to rape me and you left me alone with him! Handcuffed, chained to the floor, powerless, immobile, beat up to hell and– a-and unable to defend myself and you-you left me alone with him!”

The floodgates were opening. The stifling sense of justice suffocating Stan from the inside out wouldn’t let the injustices go unsaid any longer, crashing through his body and just about ready to make him burst. Ironic, given the everything.

Deeby’s jaw set. “Stan. I wouldn’t have left that shit-for-brains alone with anyone if I didn’t have to.”

“Oh, but you– you had to?” Stan taunted, hoping the sarcasm came through in his voice even with the stuttering and heaving breaths. “What, Dee-deeby the great bounty hunter actually answers to someone? Enough to put the uh, the bounty in danger? Or are you just scared of him, wanted to get away?!” 

Deeby snorted.

“Hell yeah, I'll do whatever if the buyer asks it,” he proclaimed. "And I'm not scared of that human cringe-fail. The day I'm scared of him is the day I'm dragged away screaming and turned into… well, you, basically. But I mean, that's when he's actually dangerous…" 

He seemed to think on it for a moment. Then crouched down in front of Stan, smug grin replaced with something like the look a friend gives when they think you're about to ruin your life with a single dumb decision.

“Honesty, bud… I wouldn't be so tough around a guy like that if I were a guy like you. Best to just fuel his ego.”

Stan physically recoiled. “Don't tell me what–! Who-wh–…”

That insult sounded way too genuine. Since when was the mercenary genuine?

“Wait, wait, you'd…” Stan shook his head, trying to untangle his thoughts from the spaghetti of his mind. This concussion was killing him. He could barely think. “If you were… Who even was th-that?”

Another chuckle. “What, Tweedy? That was Vaughn. He said that earlier, though I applaud your ability to block him out. Wish I could do that.”

Then again, the hunter was most likely just trying to psych him out. Get him to behave again. Stan wouldn't fall for something like that.

“No, idiot, I mean–... I meant who is he? Why is he going to-to see me soon?… And– and for that matter, are you working together? Because it seems like you hate each other.”

Deeby let out a huff of air. “Look, bud, we need to talk about that phone call I had to take, the boss–”

“You're avoiding the question.”

“Well frankly, there's more important things to talk about,” Deeby dismissed quickly. “So I was talking with the boss-lady on the phone while you were–”

“I don’t care about what that Lana person has to say!” Stan said, slamming his hands on the floor for effect, a breath-stealing pang running through his ribs at the jostling. “Jus– Just tell me who you guys are, tell me why I’m here, tell me why I should be scared of ‘a guy like that’! Who ARE you?!”

Deeby narrowed his eyes slightly. “We need to talk about what's going to happen to you next. And you're gonna listen to that. Not yell demands at me like some asshole 6-year-old, because you already know I don't deal with all that ‘who am I, secret identity’ crap, so you're not getting those answers.”

Well actually, judging by the horrible sticky weight that slammed Stan in the gut when Deeby said that, he didn't want to know what horrors awaited him next. So next best thing? Keep being an asshole 6-year-old.

“Why?”

“Anonymity is the most valuable tool you can have in this game.” Deeby recited it like a script, exaggerating a monotone boredom. “Also I'm not an idiot, it's protocol that's saved me before, it helps me do my job without getting invested… take your pick.”

“You're not even wearing your mask any more!” Stan cried. “So much for secret identity!”

“I think what you're meaning to say is ‘thank you for rushing to save my damsel-in-distress ass from some twink with scissors when you heard me screaming for help even though you were dealing with a really important phone call from the worst person ever’. And you're very welcome. Now we need to talk about what I found out in that dumbass phone call and what it means for you.”

He always had an answer for everything, huh? Always another quip.

Stan's blood started to boil, and he may have actually, genuinely growled a little. 

“S-so-so so what, you are scared of her, then? You're scared of her and that's why you left me with that monster?!” He tried, spitting back as much smug asshole-ness as Deeby had been throwing at him. “Is that why you hate them, you’re just their damn lackey doing whatever they tell you to do?! Just a puppet for them to guide around, running around capturing supers and serving them up on a silver platter like a good little servant?!”

Deeby stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sudden venom in the captive's words. His fists clenched by his side.

 Hm. Stan may have gone too far.

“Look, McKellen,” Deeby spat as he took an authoritative step forward, voice slow, low and dark. “There are things at play here that you can’t know about–”

“Why not?!” Stan felt like he was losing it, voice creaky and high and hoarse. “Obviously I’m gonna be trapped here with you assholes for the rest of my short life until you kill me with some new form of torture experiment bullshit! Why not tell me everything?! Why not do whatever you want with me?! Just tell me! Please!!”

Stan glared desperately at the bounty hunter. He knew he wasn’t even just crossing the line at this point; he was sprinting over the line and stomping on it repeatedly in a panic-fueled frenzy, kicking at it and letting out his full fury as if the line itself had done this to him, as if absolutely decimating the line would somehow fix everything.

Way deep down, almost too far down to admit to himself, he almost hoped the mercenary would see through the insults and the fighting to see the pleading, hurt, scared man underneath. And then take pity. Just let him have this one thing, before he broke entirely.

But the bounty hunter glared right back at him.

“No.” He stated venomously. “Right now, you're going to shut up. And listen.”

As if Stan would ever listen to the orders of his kidnapper. Of a villain.

A small laugh, just a little chuckle, took root his chest. A disbelieving smile cracked across his face.

The absence of the signature unbothered grin, the absence of the mask, the deathly seriousness? Not to mention the gun, the knives, the chains, the handcuffs, the power suppressing collar, no cane or crutch or any viable mobility aid in sight, and beaten so hard multiple times that he probably couldn't run properly anyway even if he did have a knee that actually worked…

This really was hopeless, wasn't it? 

He could rage against the dying of the light all he wanted. Scream and shout and cry and fight and say witty things to hide the excruciating, never-ending pain. 

But the light would still die all the same.

He clutched Deeby's very own stupid cowboy-ass jacket around his shoulders. He couldn't even defend himself from getting his shirt ripped to shreds right off his body!

And this bitch–

“You– you don't think…” he had to pause to let out a barrage of inappropriate giggles, then shoved up shakily to his feet, back braced against the wall. “You don't still think I'm gonna– that, that I'm gonna escape, do you?!”

Deeby gave pause, eyeing Stan up and down. Really thinking about it. He took a deep breath. A low grumble emanated from the base of his throat.

“No. I don't.”

Stan laughed out again, full force this time. Desperate. Tearful.

“Then just–... just TELL ME!! IT DOESN'T MATTER!! IT DOESN'T!! IT'LL DIE WITH ME!!”

The mercenary's mouth pressed into a thin line. Was that confusion etched into his features? Or worry? Maybe anger…

“It does matter,” He growled through gritted teeth. “It's probably the most important thing you could know, who I am. Who we are.”

Stan let out a loud cry of anguish, screeching out every single frustration at the unfairness of the world, at this situation, at Deeby and Vaughn and whoever Lana was, at the collar and the chains and the cut and bruises and broken bones and his broken, useless knee into a single, guttural sound. 

“WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTIN-GAH-AH!!”

Very, very suddenly, the lapels of Deeby's loosely draped jacket tightened around his body and slammed him back into the wall, the fleece-lined collar of the jacket twisting and pulling on the power-suppressing strap clamped around his neck, contracting it, choking him just as the slam forced all the breath out of his lungs. 

Stan clawed back against the force, only managing to grasp at Deeby’s forearms uselessly as they twisted the jacket ever tighter around him. Pinning his arms. Trapping him. He had to heave in and out gasping breaths just to get enough air to breath through his half obstructed airways.

“Look at me, chiquito,” the bounty hunter snarled. “Look me in the eye!”

Stan's panicked eyes paused their sporadic dance around the room. They locked dead onto the mercenary's fiery gaze.

“Did you break your damn brain in the 3 minutes I was gone?” Deeby hissed into his ear. Stan almost screeched in terror. “I don't know what sort of fuckery your mind has been conjuring up that you can't get this very simple concept without going insane,” he jolted Stan and dragged out an involuntary whimper from his throat. 

“But whatever it is, shut it down. Now. I'm gonna tell you the bare minimum of what you need to know, and you're gonna sit there and listen or else I won't tell you jack shit and knock you unconscious so I don't have to deal with your bullshit. Agreed?!” 

“I– Ah, a-ah, I– No, I- I, no-no no No-o–”

He couldn't get his thoughts to line up properly. They swarmed around his head like locusts in a dust bowl, bouncing into each other, frenzied, an indecipherable cloud of fear and frustration that his horrible attempt at defiance, futile as it may have been, always just made everything worse.

He could never stop himself.

Angry tears rimmed at Stan's eyes. His body hurt. His brain pounded in his skull. His ribs cried out in protest as they pressed into the wall. The various bruises and their dull, throbbing aches, the cuts and bleeding wounds and their sharp, searing screeches, the sticky and caked on dried blood, so familiar now it was almost a second skin, Deeby's weight pinning him to the wall, so similar and yet so different to the way Vaughn had done the same.

No. No, no, no, no.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally falling in hot, fat drops down his cheeks. The bounty hunter was so close, too close. Stan tried to pull away, and he just leaned on him harder, their faces barely inches apart.

“Agreed, chiquito?” The voice rumbled through his entire body, sending shivers up and down his spine.

No no no no no no no he needed to get away, get away now, please please that's all he needed he couldn't get away he couldn't even move his arms he could barely breathe–

“WHY DON'T YOU JUST RAPE ME ALREADY?!” Stan screamed into the endless cacophonous void.

And silence.

And the entire world went still.

Deeby’s mouth fell literally agape.

His grip on Stan loosened considerably. Not out of pity or any other considerate emotion. Just shock.

At least Stan could finally breathe again. Not that he took a single breath in the silence.

“I–...” Deeby finally choked out. “I-I beg you finest fucking what?!”

“Just fucking do it,” Stan hissed, gasping. “We both know you could. I couldn't even stop Vaughn, you think I could stop you?!”

The words spewed out of his mouth faster than he could stop them, like a volcano that had finally exploded its top off in a fiery glory. And the way Deeby looked at him, as if his features were having an all out war over shock, horror, or honestly very justified anger? Oh, that did nothing but fan the flames of Stan's sorrow-filed hysteria.

“Tall ass muscle-bound freak with an actual gun that captured me and beat me up again and again then left me to die?! I don't even know who you are! You can do whatever you want and I can't do jack shit to stop you! Just do it, hurt me, rape me, it doesn't matter! Vaughn knew that, you can too!” Stan attempted to shove the bounty hunter off, but he still didn't move. 

“Please, please, I'm begging you, is that what you want?! I'll get on my knees!”

Stan collapsed against Deeby's hold, and to his surprise, Deeby finally let him. Well, not ‘let him,’ more like ‘recoiled and jumped back when he felt Stan collapsing in his grasp'. 

All the same.

“Chiquito,” Deeby rasped. “I'm– not exactly sure what or why you're demanding, but I'm not going to–”

“Why not?! It doesn't matter!” Stan assured, holding his arms out to fully present himself now, shedding the jacket onto the floor behind him and taking a daring scoot forward. “I bet you just kicked Vaughn out because you wanted me all to yourself! I bet you just love seeing me scared and helpless and half naked in your stupid fucking yee-yee jacket–”

“Alright, Stan, enough!”

“AT LEAST VAUGHN had the decency to not pretend like he was a decent fucking person like you!” Stan yelled. “We both know you're not above it, fucking professional kidnapper and torturer! So just do it! Like Vaughn wanted to, like he tried to! Finish what he started, you have me all to yourself now! DO IT! DO IT I DARE–”

“The name's Declan.”

The statement was a whisper in the storm. Stan almost missed it. But the resolute certainty of the southern twang stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What–… What did you just–?”

It was astounding how quickly his voice had turned meek from the cacophony of chaos mere seconds before. Dark freckles stood out against an even starker white face than usual.

“It's Declan,” the mercenary stated once more. “My name. My name’s Declan. You wanted t’know who we are, who I am? Fine then, I'm Declan. Want the last name too?”

“I– wait–!”

“It's Cansano. Declan Cansano.”

Stan was shaking, a million thoughts crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. If he weren't already on his knees, surely he would have collapsed. 

He hadn't actually… meant any of that. No. Had he? No. He couldn't have. He didn't want to know who the mercenary was. No, he didn't. He didn't, not really! He would never want that! Never!

“That’s not… Wh-why would you…?”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “You wanted to know who I am. You asked, you screamed, you insulted me and you went fuckin’ nuts over it.” His thunder-filled eyes betrayed his completely relaxed demeanor. “Declan Cansano. Don't forget‘t.”

“I just– That's not what– Wait, Deeby, you– Where are you going?!”

Deeby was already halfway to the door when he swiftly spun around, fists clenched and any trace of the easy demeanor vanished in those bright blood-stained eyes. 

“I can't fuckin’ deal with you right now!”

Stan nearly launched himself back in fear, right back onto Deeby's stupid, soft jacket. He grasped it up as a barrier between him and the mercenary without even thinking. The mercenary's demeanor relaxed from absolutely terrifying to merely extremely angry at the sorry sight.

“I'm leaving for a bit.” He whipped around and grasped for the lapels of his jacket to yank it on, only for his grasp to come up empty. He whipped around a third time. “And I'll be expectin’ my coat back when I get back! You better've calmed the hell down by then, if you know what’s good for you.”

Wait, wait, he was leaving? No!

Stan tried to scramble after Deeby, but immediately fell to the agony of his knee and the length of his leash. 

“Don't go, please!” he pleaded.

Deeby didn’t stop. “Why?”

What if you come back with more torture tools? 

What if you don't come back at all? 

I still have more questions for you. 

You can't just leave me here, I'm hurt! 

I shouldn't be alone right now. I can't. I'm scared of what will happen, I'm going insane.

Even you are better than no one at all.

“What– what if Vaughn comes back?!”

Deeby scoffed. “I'm not going that far, damn. Eat some protein bars while I'm gone so you don't die, should help with the insanity. Back soon.”

And the door to the room closed shut behind him, the click echoing off the walls in the sudden unbearable silence. 

Stan collapsed to the floor, defeated.

He clutched the jacket closer. 

Pulled it tight around his shoulders, fingernails leaving small crescent-shaped indents on the well-worn hide. The cotton lining was so surprisingly soft against his skin. Hell, he could smell the dirt and musk that permeated the jacket from years of use, the smal signs that this jacket had seen the capture of dozens of supers.

Declan.

Declan Cansano.

Professional Superhero-Hunter.

Stan screamed into the endless abyss around him.

And this time, Declan didn’t come back to save him.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe | @lovethiswriting

[alteredphoenix]

Thinking about that one YT video that goes in-depth about liminal spaces in video gaming by sorbino, and how people that view them fall into one of two categories: those that are endowed with nostalgia and the sense that they've been there before (regardless as to whether or not they were born in the era those spaces originated from), and those that feel the looming dread and fear and the hint of otherness, that sensation of wrongness that scrapes along the surface of your brain just looking upon them.

I guess I would fall into the first camp, although not so much with the familiarity and nostalgia; it's more like I can relax and put my guard down when I see them. It reminds me how, as silly and goofy some of these places used to look, they at least had heart to them. Not like today, how you'd look at them from your window out of the car you're in and see the buildings that once were colorful and bombastic are now just redesigned to have the same cold, sterile, corporate aesthetic.

(That's a deeper dive I can get into that sort of goes outside of the bounds of this topic, but I think you get where I'm going with it.)

[alittlebitofrainbyyourside]

Still never getting over the conversation I had with another friend/fanfic writer where she was talking about how I write the tightest drafts she's ever seen-

and I was like 'well, you write 750k in a year and you'll write tight too'

because that's... that's what I did in 2015-2016. I was also devestated because my goal had been /1 million/ and I had fallen so short.

And she just paused and went 'huh, I guess it never occurred to me that writing is something you get better at with practice. I thought you were just ya know, good at it.'

[trans-leek-cookie]

so kusakabe and higuruma Megumi and fucking MEI MEI can survive but Mechamaru Nanako Mimiko and Mai had 2 die. Alright.

[phoenixiancrystallist]

HAPPY PI DAY :D

Month 3, day 14, I don't know what I'm figuring out but I'm figuring it out. Something now makes sense, but I don't know what makes sense. It's been that kind of day today :P

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for @itsafullmoon

A/N: Thank you so much for commissioning! This turned a lot more funny than expected, the werewolf is basically a himbo and the events are very fast-paced. Hope you enjoy!

Request: I’d like to request a NSFW-longer story Werewolf x fem!human, werewolf saves her from what could’ve been a fatal fall/accident in the woods or….was that his secret plan all along😏 (stalking, future mate?) I love your writing and leave the rest up to your creative mind🫶

The spiral to insanity happens in a hole

Werewolf x fem!reader || induced heat, knotting, semi-public sex (cave), implied stalking

“Help! Help me!” You cried out.

A head appeared at the top of the hole you fell into. “Hello there, stranger. Seems like you are in a hole,” his words made you want to hit him with a rock. “Do you need some help?” Was this dude for real?

Not wanting to be mean to the stranger that could have your way out of the hole you sighed and told him: “Yes, please.”

He reached inside the hole with his long arm, and you reached up trying to grab it. Before you know what happened there was a big crash and the stranger was next to you in the hole/cave. “How did you fall, too?!” You accused. Now both of you were stuck in the hole. Fuck.

“Oops,” he giggled. He actually giggled. Who was this dude? You glared at him and he rose his hands in a calming motion. “No worries, I work as a keeper in the reserve and called my college when I heard you calling. They’ll come to get us soon enough.” That did calm you, and you sat down on a big rock and stared at him.

He was pretty in a rough way, like a lumberjack. He was big as a wardrobe and looked like he could break a tree if he wanted to. You were kinda okay with that, he looked good. In other circumstances, you would have hit on him. Probably. And well, being completely truthful, you would probably hit on him here, too. Your body was tingling just by looking at him, a strange sensation boiling inside of you.

He didn’t say anything else, and you didn’t either. You sat in silence as he paced up and down the little cave and you thought about all the dirty things you would let him do to you. At some point he stopped and looked at you. “We could do something to pass the time.” That made sense, but at that moment you wanted to do anything but to talk. He was handsome, and maybe you wanted to fuck him a little (understatement of the century), but definitely not in a hole in the forest.

“What do you suggest?”

And then he went and deadpanned: “We could make out.” You looked at him trying to decipher if he was being serious.

You were so surprised it took you a couple of seconds to respond. “Are you fucking insane? I don’t know you!” You didn’t want to say no, but it was fucking insane that he was asking you that, you didn’t know each other’s name.

This dude was completely crazy, 100%. You didn’t know how you found yourself in that situation, but there you were. In a hole, in the forest, with a crazy dude who wanted to make out. And what was more surprising: you were okay with that. The idea of making out with him wasn’t as bad as someone could think. You kinda wanted to say yes, but you also knew that was a bad idea.

“Well, we could know each other.” He proceeded to tell you everything that came to mind about himself as you looked at him astonished. Who the fuck was this guy and why did you find him so adorable? He kept talking and talking and his blush became more and more prominent as you stared. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna shut up now.” He went from weird to endearing very fast, your heart beating erratically inside your chest. You were charmed by that big fool.

“You are kind of adorable,” you blurted out. You covered your mouth instantly, you didn’t want that to escape.

“You think so?” He asked back, flushing harder. Cute.

“Yeah. I feel this…. This connection to you. I don’t understand why, I should be scared or anxious about it, but looking at you brings me some kind of calmness. It’s like I already knew you.” And it was true, you felt some kind of deep connection to him, like something inside of you could recognize something inside of him.

“You do?” He sounded so hopeful and excited that you wanted to hug him and kiss the tip of his nose. What was wrong with you? “You a… Well, you see… Youaremymate.”

“I’m what?”

“You are my mate,” he told you, slower this time. At your confused look, he continued, “let me explain. So…. I’m a werewolf.” At your not-impressed look he changed before you. His face contorted and his bones cracked and before you knew it he was a fucking werewolf.

For both of your surprises, you didn’t scream, you didn’t panic, you just stared at him until your brain came back into action. “What the fuck!? How are you even real?!” You must have hit your head when you fell down. That’s it. That’s why the dude in front of you was a werewolf and why he was saying you were his mate. Yep, that’s the reason. He pinched your arm and you slapped his hand. “Why did you do that?”

“You aren’t dreaming. Or hit your head. I’m a werewolf and I’m real.” You stared at him for what felt like an eternity but was probably just a couple seconds. For some reason, you believed him and that made you question your sanity even more.

“You know what? I believe you. My life couldn’t get any messier, but apparently it can.” You laughed at that, hysterically. He looked at you with concern all over his face. “I’m okay, I’m okay…” You repeated as you wiped tears off the corner of your eyes. “I’m just having a bit of a breakdown.” He hugged you then, pulling you against his furry chest and embracing you tightly.

Weirdly enough, it made you calm down. Your breathing evening out to match his and your body relaxing in his arms. “So… do you want to make out?” He asked again, making you chuckle and looking up at him incredulously.

“Are you serious right now?” His kicked puppy face was answer enough. “Of course you are. I- No I don’t- You know what? I do. Let’s make out. If my life is going to get this crazy, I can surrender to it and also be insane.” You felt completely out of control, nothing made sense anymore and why not... Kissing a werewolf didn’t sound like the worst idea in that moment. He was handsome as fuck and he looked even better with all the furriness he had going on. You wanted to kiss him when he was human so… why not? Insanity was as good option as any other.

“You are not insa-” He didn’t finish that thought before you launched for his mouth and started kissing his wolfy face. The fangs against your lips made some deep part of you tingle. The danger and the anticipation making everything so intense you could feel your pussy getting wet. He sniffed the air and groaned against your mouth. “I can smell your desire,” he growled against your ear, breaking the kiss. You groaned in response, feeling hot all over.

You felt like your body was burning from the inside out, like your blood was made of lava and you were about to burn down completely. Your pussy felt so wet and so ready you could feel your heartbeat in your clit. “What is happening to me?” You asked, fanning yourself.

He looked down at you, guilty as fuck. “You started the mating process. You kissed me and now your body is going to react strongly to everything we do. You are going to get really horny, really soon.” You shook was rapidly replaced by a new wave of heat. Fuck. You groaned and kissed him again.

He tore a hole in your pants and ripped your panties, exposing your pussy to his hungry eyes. He stared at your center and slowly circled your clit as he pushed two fingers inside of you. You cried out and came around his fingers.

“More. More. Give me your cock.” You were frantically pulling at his pants, trying to free what felt like a dick bigger than anything you’d experienced before. He got himself free and you gasped when you saw. It was different from humans, larger in every way, but also had a different shape. It was fat in the middle instead of the tip, and there was a big bulge at the base that looked incredibly to grind against. “Now. Now. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…” you chanted. Your brain couldn’t understand anything else but the heat burning inside of you and his dick being the solution.

“Are you su-?” He tried to ask, but you weren’t having any of that. You needed to be fucked and you needed it NOW.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I swear to God I’-” He grabbed your hips and lowered you to his dick in a second, his dick fitting inside of you in one long thrust that had you throwing your head back and crying out in ecstasy. It was perfect. His dick was perfect.

He didn’t give you time to adjust to his girth, he started a punishing pace, his hands on your hips as he moved you up and down. You were grateful for that, your legs turned into jelly and you doubted you could do anything to help him right now. His movements were perfect but not enough. You rubbed your clit frantically as he told you how pretty you were, how good you looked and how lucky he was having a mate as beautiful as you.

You came apart in his lap. Once, twice, three times… He wasn’t stopping. He had super stamina or something like that because his dick was hitting all your perfect spots and you were seeing stars as he just kept going. Your pussy felt used, but you wanted more, so much more…

You needed, you needed something… Something. And then you felt it. “What is that?” You asked between groans, your body limp because of the pleasure.

He grunted and moved your hips up and down faster, making you see stars. “My knot. Do you- Do you want that?” You nodded, not knowing what you were getting yourself into, but too lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

It took some work, but he moved your hips against it until it was coated in your juices and it could slip inside. You blacked out for a couple seconds when you felt the extreme fullness inside of you. Your pussy was stretched to the max and it felt better than anything you’ve ever experienced. You felt like you reached nirvana. And then you could feel him coming inside of you, so much, so hot and fast… You were being stuffed, and it felt... marvelous.

You came a couple more time grinding his knot against your G-spot and when you couldn’t take it anymore, you deflated against his front. His knot was still firm inside of you, spurting cum every once in a while. You didn’t care anymore, you could take a nap right there.

“Can I confess something to you?” He broke the silence, his hands caressing your back in a hypnotizing motion.

“Well, it’s not like we can move, can we?” You asked, his knot firmly pressed inside of you. You rolled your hips experimentally and groaned at the sensation. So good.

“I hid the hole so you’d fall into it,” he confessed, hiding his wolfy face in your neck, licking that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. The combination of his knot pressing onto your G-spot and the licking was making your brain foggy with pleasure.

But then his words registered, “Dude, what?!”

[comicaurora]

I'm not a writer whatsoever and am currently listening to the OSPod Publishing special, and was really intruiged by your description of your character-driven stories as being similar to a DnD campaign. Could you please elaborate a bit on what you mean by "it's good when the characters surprise you"? It's likely an obvious writer thing, but I would've thought that an author wouldn't be surprised by where their story or characters go since, well, they're the one writing it. Regardless the comic is amazing so however confusing your process may be to me personally it's clearly effective

It's a little bit difficult to explain!

A lot of the writing process is just sitting down and writing it - laying out the setpieces, describing what the characters do, writing and tweaking the dialogue for impact. But in my experience, the vast majority of the REAL writing process happens internally, and large chunks of it are out of conscious reach of the writer. This unreachable space is where new ideas form, and why no writer has ever been able to answer the question "where do you get your ideas from?"

This is why a writer can beat their head against writers block for weeks at a time, then wake up one day with a solution and the entire next chunk of storyline fully formed. My dad calls this phenomenon "the better writer in the back of your head." A lot of the creative process doesn't happen in the front of your mind, where your ego and your inner voice live. Most of it is deeper down. This is how your mind is capable of surprising you in any context, including dreams or unexpected emotional reactions - your mind is a lot larger than just the parts you can consciously feel.

When I put a character in a situation, I can make a conscious decision for what they'll do and then execute it, but I can also listen for ideas bubbling out of that inaccessible region of my mind. Most character ideas start out as a small set of conscious decisions on the part of the writer - "I'll make him a classical hero with a strong sense of justice" or "she'll be a strong but weary leader putting on a brave face" or "I'm playing an edgy rogue with a dark past" etc etc, quick and basic elevator pitches. But the characters come alive when they're allowed to grow down into the inaccessible parts of the mind, where consciousness gives way to emotions bubbling up from even deeper processes. Once the characters are allowed to start feeling things about their story - like "maybe that classical hero doesn't actually feel great about the lord they serve" or "the weary leader has an endless wellspring of vengeful rage to keep her going when she falters," more creative ideas for their next move start bubbling up. Things that don't flow logically from their elevator pitch, but make sense for the character that grows out of that pitch as they're allowed to engage with the world and story around them.

The way I build characters puts a focus on how they're feeling in any given situation, which is completely separate from what I, the writer of the plot, need them to do to move the plot in the direction I was planning. So sometimes I'll be writing something, and a little bubble of inspiration will pop up and let me know that, unexpectedly, this situation is really getting to one of the characters. And I can choose to keep them on track, or I can let their internal compass take over and see what makes the most sense to them at that moment of the story.

Characters are not real people, and they aren't as large or complex as a human mind, but in my experience, if you build a character solidly enough and give yourself room to play, they will grow down into your subconscious wellspring of creativity, and your mind will volunteer ideas to you using their voice. You don't need to use them, but it's very useful to cultivate them, because sometimes those ideas are better than anything you could consciously stick together in the public-spacing front of your mind.

[pantherxrogers]

hey! could you write a san version of the sugar daddy/boyfriend smut👀

one-shot: sugar daddy!san x fem!reader ⋆。°  ✮   ⁺

⭐️ pairing: sugar daddy!san (+ boxer!san) x fem!reader

⭐️ warnings: smut (18+ only), explicit language, oral (f receiving), dry humping, swearing, gentle dom!san, slightly sub!reader, crybaby!reader (but they're happy tears), incorrect boxing terminology (boxer!san is just sexy lmao i know nothing about boxing), pet names galore, spit as lube, super fluffy too

also...pee after sex!!

⭐️ summary: sugar daddy!san comes home from Europe with a special gift for his spoiled girl. she's a little bit of a crybaby, but he knows how to remedy that. he may be a boxing world champion but he's devoted on making the reader feel like the winner 😼

⭐️ a/n: lmao, i got carried away writing this one because San is my bias. it's definitely longer than Mingi and Yunho, so i'm calling it a one-shot.

i re-watched the bouncy music video recently, so i had the idea to combine sugar daddy!san with Boxer!san. and also non!idol san. it's a trope salad LMAO. enjoy! 🫶🏾 thank you for the request darling! <3

my masterlist (you can find the mingi and yunho versions here!)

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

"Good job, baby!" You squeal, rushing towards San as soon as he steps into your shared penthouse.

"Thank you, pretty girl," your boyfriend mumbles, weighed down by jet lag, but already feeling lighter in your presence.

"So proud of my undisputed champion! I wish I could've been there," you coo, basking in the feel of him.

"Me too, baby," he confesses, finally content in your arms. It's always nice to win, but nothing beats his greatest treasure. You.

Standing on your tippy toes, you press a firm kiss to his lips. He meets you with a hunger. San traces his tongue along your plump bottom lip, asking for entry. When he delves into your mouth, you can't help the little moan that slips out. The sound makes San's pants feel tighter.

Your heart's beating faster now, and you melt into your boyfriend's warmth. The thin, silky nightie barely covers anything. A warm chill goes down your spine when your nipples brush against San's firm chest. As you lift your leg to drape around his waist, you notice his arms are locked behind his back.

"Ummm…" you trail off, breaking the kiss to ask for an explanation. This is your first moment to really get a good look at him, which doesn't help the wetness gathering in your thong.

He's smirking at you, and he's just so sexy. The chandelier lighting of the foyer reflects from his thin, gold chain. You notice that he's dressed comfortably, likely still wearing whatever he wore on the private jet to get home.

He's wearing his own merch, Choi San (K-Rocky) World Champion printed across the front of the gray hoodie. It makes you beam with pride every time you see it. Trailing your eyes down, you're met with his matching sweatpants and growing bulge. More pride surges in your chest, happy to know he missed you as much as you missed him. As a result, a girlish giggle slips through your lips.

"Something funny, pretty girl?" he chides, playfully raising an eyebrow at you.

"Is there something in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?" you grin, loving the ways his eyes light up at your cheesy joke. He crowds your space again, smiling down at you before he whispers in your ear.

"Well, I'm definitely excited to see my baby, but I also have a little surprise for her," he grumbles, sending warmth to your lower belly. He steps back again, arms still locked behind his back.

You're fighting back a smile, remembering the promise he made before leaving to reclaim his title.

"Close your eyes, sweet girl," he murmurs. You can't see him, but he smirks again, cock stirring in his pants at your obedience.

"Are you ready?" he teases, chuckling softly at the furrow in your brow. He can't ignore how cute you get when you're feeling bratty.

"Sannieeeee, c'mon," you whine, growing more impatient by the second.

He feels like a pervert the way his eyes lock on your full breasts, biting his lip when they sway in tandem with your little tantrum. He thinks about how they'll feel in his mouth when he gets you underneath him.

"Stop staring at my tits and let me have my gift!" you growl, knowing how spoiled you sound but you've lost the ability to care.

"Hey, be a good girl," he commands, the serious tone in his voice putting an abrupt stop to your antics.

" 'm sorry, sir," you whisper breathily, clit throbbing at the way he effortlessly switches into his dominant side.

San heart aches a little bit when he looks at you. He knows you love playing rough, but he doesn't have it in him to torment you any longer.

" 's okay baby, open your eyes for me," he coos. He nearly jumps back at the shriek you let out.

"Ah! I knew it!" you cry out, reaching forward to snatch the Hermes bag out of his hands. Reaching inside, you almost burst into tears when you feel the handbag of your dreams.

"Sannie," you whimper, looking up at him with teary eyes. He's on you before you can continue, wrapping his strong arms around you.

"Don't cry, baby," he begs softly, unable to watch you cry, even if they're happy tears.

"I can't help it," you sniffle, "I'm so grateful for you," the words are muffled against his chest, you find it hard to continue opening the bag.

"I couldn't do any of this without my baby. This is the least I could do," he answers honestly, pulling your soft body away from his to look into your eyes.

"I love you more than anything." You tear up again at the sincerity in his eyes.

"I love you too," you whimper, trying to stop the tears that flow down your cheeks. San's hands come up, brushing away the tears as lightly as possible, so you don't feel his rough callouses.

He holds you for a few more minutes, quieting your tears with affirmations and soft kisses. You stand there in silence for a while, calmed by the steady sound of his heartbeat.

"How do you feel now, baby? he asks softly, tracing his hand down your back. Another smirk rests on his face, when he watches the goosebumps raise up on your skin.

"Think 'm good now," you answer him, remembering the task at hand.

You finally open the bag, admiring the heavy Birkin in your hands. As you pour out a stream of thank you's and I love you's, when San catches you by surprise.

One moment, you're standing in the foyer and the next moment, he's scooped you up and into the living room. He gently places you on the vast leather couch, settling in beside you.

Drawn to his warmth, you cuddle up next to him, loving the way his strong arm cradles your waist. He carefully takes the bag from you, placing it on the marble coffee table. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence before the TV catches his attention.

"Are you watching my highlights, baby?" he teases, knowing full and well that you always tune into ESPN when he's away.

"Don't tease me, Sannie. I missed you," you mumble, nestling further into his side.

San looks down at you, enchanted by the exposed skin that the nightie doesn't quite cover. He brings a rough hand to your thigh, tracing the smooth skin, admiring how it feels in his grip. He can hear your breathing pick up, knowing exactly what effect he has on you.

"Missed you too, pretty girl," he sighs, using one arm to shift you onto his lap. San helps you adjust, finally content when you're straddling him.

"I missed you more," you breathe out, finding it difficult to concentrate.

He's so warm and strong beneath you, his muscular thighs being the perfect pillow. His hands are lower now, softly groping your ass through the lingerie. You can't help but to grind down on him, both of you letting out a content moan.

"Not possible," he murmurs, "But you're welcome to try to prove it," he finishes his sentence with a sharp smack to your ass, triggering another moan from you.

"Shit," you huff out, overwhelmed by the feeling of his body underneath yours.

His cock is fully hard now, protruding through his sweats. Your thong is basically nonexistent, clinging to your wet pussy. That sensation combined with San's lazy grinding make it hard for you to think clearly.

His lips are on your neck now, sucking on the sensitive skin. He loves the way you moan out into his ear, harshly grinding his hard cock against your pussy.

"C'mon baby, you gonna prove it to me?" he teases, warm breath against your ear.

His words finally click in your head, knowing what you want to do. You start to shimmy off his lap, trying to get on your knees, but San's arms lock you in place.

"Wanna show you how grateful I am," you beg, hooded eyes staring back into his own.

His head lulls back onto the cushion, finding it hard to concentrate when you look at him like that. Messy curls, hard nipples poking through your nightie, and your lips swollen from kissing. You look fucked out and he's barely getting started.

"Then let me taste you, baby. That's all I really want," he groans, quickly switching your position. Your head spins for a moment, barely registering how you changed places so fast.

You're on your back, San's rough hands pinning your thighs to your chest. The leather couch is cool beneath your skin, helping you think a little more clearly. Raising up on your elbows, you look down at him, eyes almost rolling back at the image.

He's bent over in front of you, gray hoodie long forgotten. He's wearing a white tank, muscles on display for you. As you admire him, his smooth lips trail along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Always the tease, he softly kisses your clit through your thong, your hips bucking in response.

"S-Sannie, please," you moan out, trying to push up against his mouth. He pulls back, smirking up at you, loving the neediness in your voice.

"Tell me what you want, pretty girl," he murmurs, faintly tracing his fingertips up and down your plush thighs. He looks at you expectantly.

"Want your mouth," you whine, hating when he does this. It makes you feel shy, but maybe that's why your heart flutters a little bit. Even if you'd never admit it to him.

"Want me to lick your pretty pussy?" he coos before lowering his head, pressing another kiss to your bundle of nerves.

"Mmmm, yes" you moan, eyes rolling back at the light pressure.

"Such a good girl. What my baby wants, my baby gets," he growls, peeling the soaked fabric away from your pussy.

"Fuck," he groans, eyes locked on the trail of wetness still clinging to your thong. He can't help dipping his tongue in it, eager to have a taste. You yelp, surprised by the sudden contact.

"Y-yes, Sannie, feels so good," you pant, unable to focus on anything but the intense pleasure from San's tongue.

He alternates between sucking on your clit and bringing up a finger to rub figures eights. Your hips buck up, doing anything to maximize your pleasure.

"You like that, baby? Like how it feels against your little clit?" The look of pure ecstasy on your face gives him his answer.

He latches back onto your pussy, using his thick tongue to delve between your sopping folds. Your high-pitched moans spur him on, sliding his tongue into your tight hole.

The lewd noises of your boyfriend tongue fucking you is too much for you to bear, your pussy starts to clench around the wet muscle, teetering on the edge of your orgasm.

"F-fuck, yes sir," you huff, spreading your legs even wider, "Gonna cum soon."

He hums against you, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. He's back on your clit again, flicking the nub with the tip of his tongue. When you thrash against the couch, San tightens his grip on your thighs, trapping you into place.

"You can come for me, sweet girl. It's okay," he soothes you, switching back to rubbing fast circles against your clit.

Your hips have lost their rhythm now, aimlessly bucking into the pleasure of San's thumb. He lowers his head again, lewdly spitting on your pussy.

"C'mon on my tongue, baby. That's it," he hums, gravelly voice going directly to your clit.

"Ahhh, fuck," you whine out, feeling his tongue enter your hole again. The pleasure is too much. His rough thumb against your clit and tongue stretching out your pussy push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, San coaxing you through it.

He sits back on his heels, taking in your body. He keeps circling your clit, letting you ride out your high and come back down to him.

When you've calmed down, you see your boyfriend hovering over you. That kind smile is on his face now, stretching all the way up to his eyes. You swear you can feel your heart expanding in your chest.

"Hi, my pretty girl."

"Hi Sannie," you whisper shyly, cheeks burning at the way he admires you.

"C'mere," he snuggles you back into his lap, adjusting your nightie and smoothing down your curls. You giggle at the wet kisses he's pressing to your cheeks, loving the way he cares for you.

"Missed my baby so much," he accentuates his words with a tight squeeze, making your heart do the same. You let out a soft missed you too, feeling sleepy in his arms.

Cradling your body, you feel him rise from the couch. He turns off the TV, but alarm bells ring in the back of your head.

"Sannie."

"Hm?"

"Can you take my Birkin to my wardrobe please?" you mumble. San tries his best to hold in his laugh, so he doesn't disturb you. Not even a mind-shattering orgasm could make you forget about your Birkin.

"Of course, baby," Is the last thing you here before your eyes close for the night.

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | S.H.

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, sad ending, allusions to cheating, heartbreak, break up, King!Steve, popular!reader, poorly proofread

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader | Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve is slipping through your fingers and you desperately hold onto him not realizing that his heart isn't yours anymore.

Word count: 2k

Note: This is only the preview, I wanted to see how this will do before I write the actual story! @take-everything-you-can thank you for listening to my ideas and helping with more!

-

The red wine is seeping through his shirt, staining his soft skin with it’s stickiness. He clumsily tries to wipe it off with a random cloth he found in Tina's bathroom, as though it would help, as though he could undo it, as though the redness hasn’t already stained too much of the blue material. 

He is mumbling incoherent words under his breath. 

You roll your eyes, reaching for the cloth in his hands, “it’s not coming off, Steve–”

“It’s coming,” he mumbles, drunkenly.

You sigh, walking around him, you put the cloth on the counter and reach out to him, cupping his cheeks, “come on, just let me take you home.” 

“Why don’t you go home?” 

He looks down at you with a look in his eyes that you aren’t familiar with. He furrows his brows as he looks into your eyes, searching for something that he won’t find in your eyes, ever. 

You are scared of it, you are scared of him, of what he feels, of what changed. You act like you don’t know what changed, you act like you are clueless, you act like you are unaware of everything that’s been going on behind your back. But you know everything. 

You know that Steve isn’t who you want him to be. 

He is King Steve and you are the queen of Hawkins High– you didn’t give that title to yourself, you never would, in a way it’s humiliating to you that people claim you to be some sort of queen, some mere girl that people look up to for some reason. You are nothing but a simple girl and Steve is nothing but a simple guy but unlike you, he loves the attention, especially the one he gets from all the girls, the ones that make him feel desired. You always hated the way he flirted with them even when he was already with you– he said he only did it because of Tommy and the other guys from the team, they always encouraged him to flirt with them. You didn't understand it, you would never do that to him. His flirtations were only halfhearted and he never actually did anything but it did nothing to make you feel better. Still, you stayed with him because you loved him and because you knew that he only did it for show, to keep up his stupid reputation.

After all he did only have eyes for you. Only you were allowed to see sides of him that no one else saw, only you got lingering looks, soft touches and kisses, only you got to lay in his arms and listen to the beat of his heart, only you were his girl, his only girl. Only you got all the I love you's.

He took you out on dates, he gave you flowers, he kissed you in his car, in downtown bars, behind the school, in his room, in your room. He made you happy like no one else did. He once did.

You were his first love, you had hoped that you would be his only love but then she came along and his love for you was just gone. 

When he suddenly stopped flirting with every girl that batted her lashes at him, you had hoped that he finally stopped caring about what his friends thought, you had hoped that he was finally ready to show everyone that he wasn’t like that, that he wasn’t some playboy who needed more than his girlfriend to keep him interested and satisfied but that was simply too much to wish for. You were a fool for considering that in the first place.

His eyes strayed away from you weeks ago, he had set his eyes on her, the girl that stole him and his heart away from you like it was nothing.  

Nancy Wheeler. 

The pretty freshman who was assigned to be his partner in some stupid history project. 

You knew that he was gone the moment he stopped calling you every night just to hear your voice before going to bed, you knew that his love had started to vanish when even after the project was over, he kept canceling or even forgetting date nights, you knew that his heart wasn’t yours anymore when you caught him staring at her with a look in his eyes that you wished to see when he looked at you. 

He isn’t yours anymore but you still hold onto him because he is still here, right in front of you and he puts his hand around your wrists, not hers. He looks into your eyes, not hers. But he doesn’t look at you with love or adoration in his eyes, no. He looks at you with something– with nothing. There is nothing in his eyes and you can already feel yourself growing sick because you know that this is it. You knew this was coming, you knew this would happen eventually, he will leave you, for her. 

You don’t know what happened between them, if anything happened at all, you don’t know if he crossed that line yet, he did emotionally but did he physically?

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, the sound of the music outside is too loud, even when you are stuck in this bathroom with your very drunk boyfriend who is about to shatter your heart into tiny little pieces, you still hear the music and it’s hurting your ears. Your throat tightens and your vision blurs. You feel like you are suffocating. 

“W-Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, not even recognizing your own voice, it’s so shaky and so far away. 

Steve frowns, he shakes his head a little as he keeps looking at you. His eyes flicker down to your cheeks, to your nose that he used to kiss every time he would say goodbye, your lips that are trembling from the fear that is running through your body, he holds your wrists tighter as he looks back into your tear filled eyes.

What is he doing? 

You step closer to him, blinking those tears away, you whisper his name, begging and pleading with your eyes. You love him. God, you love him so much. 

He says your name. Not baby, not honey, not babe, not princess. He says your name. 

“L-Let’s go home, okay?” You mumble shakily, tearing your eyes away from his, “let’s just go home together.” 

"Together?" He slurs as he stumbles forward a little, you steady him by grabbing his waist.

“Yeah, you wanted to stay with me, remember?” 

“I-I don’t wanna stay with you, I don’t wanna be with– with you,” he mumbles, closing his eyes, he sighs. You smell the alcohol in his breath, the wine on his shirt and it makes you feel nauseous. He grabs your shoulders and suddenly his touch is too much, knowing that it’ll be the last time he touches you. 

“W-What do you mean?”

He is too drunk to see how scared you really are, how hurt you truly are. He is too much of a fool to see anything. 

“You heard me,” he says as he gets closer to your face, “I don’t want to be with you,” he spits. 

You draw back, furrowing your brows and holding your breath as you feel your heart dropping to your stomach, of course you weren’t prepared for this even though you saw it coming. 

“Why not?”

He looks bad, his hair is messy from all the tugging all night, his eyes are red rimmed and he has dark circles beneath them, like he had been up all night, his eyes are filled with so many things yet none at all, right now, you don’t recognize him. 

He is gripping your shoulders tightly, you wish it’s because he is afraid to let you go. 

“I’m not in love with you anymore.” 

And just like that, with a few simple words, he broke your heart. 

Steve Harrington, the man you gave your heart to so willingly, despite your friends warning you about him, despite all the warning signs, you gave him your heart and you never regretted it even though you should have but he was your Steve. He was. 

Steve awaits a reaction from you. He expects you to break down, to slap him, to push him away from you, to ask why but you don’t. In fact, you don’t give him a reaction at all, you just nod at his words, somehow managing to keep the tears from falling, your trembling lip tells him that you do want to cry though but you don’t. 

The bile rises in your throat, you want to throw up, you want to fall to your knees and puke your guts and your heart out but you swallow harshly and close your eyes for a moment, pressing your lips together to keep yourself from sobbing. 

Please wake up, please wake up. You think to yourself, let this be a dream, just a bad dream. You want to wake up, in his arms, in his embrace, you want to feel his kisses on your shoulder, his fingers running through your hair, to hear his morning voice, to hear him say I love you. But you will never get any of it again. It’s over. 

“Okay,” you whisper, shakily. 

You step away from him, pushing his hands off your shoulders, you nod to yourself as you open your eyes to look at him one last time, “okay.” 

An unfamiliar feeling runs through him, gripping at his heart, it hurts and he suddenly feels nauseous. He blinks and stares at you as though he doesn’t understand what just happened. 

You look into each other’s eyes, you both drown everything else out, the voices outside, the music and the ongoing party. 

It’s over. 

You feel grief, the way you felt it all this time already, knowing that this was coming. 

He feels it too, though he doesn’t understand it yet. He doesn’t understand what a huge mistake he just made, how much he will despise himself for doing this to you, how much he will come to regret this. When he feels the loss of your touch, his heart begins to understand a little. 

Deep down you know that he will come back to you, he will. 

Unable to stand around him any longer, you step away, “I’ll get Tommy or something, he’ll drive you home–”

“What about you?” He asks as though he didn’t just tell you that he doesn’t want to be with you.

Your heart is hurting, it’s hurting so badly that you start to forget what it ever felt like to be loved by him. Your tears threaten to fall so you step around him and reach for the doorknob, “goodbye, Steve.” 

He says your name but you don’t dare to turn around to face him, you keep the sob in, pushing it down as you open the door and step out of the room.

By the time the door slams shut, you are already crying, the tears are streaming down your face as you rush through the hallway and down the stairs, not caring about the looks of curiosity of the people around you, you don’t care about anything right now. 

You stumble down the stairs, almost crashing on the hardwood floor if it wasn’t for your friend catching you before you can even take the fall. 

“Hey, oh my god, are you okay?” She asks as she steadies you, watching you with concern in her blue eyes. 

You shake your head as you look at her. 

She looks around as though she is searching for someone but when her eyes settle on him standing by the stairs, not walking down just yet, she knows that it’s him who made you cry. 

She rolls her eyes, putting her arm around you, she pulls you away from the stairs and out of the house, wrapping her cardigan around you after you both step out into the cold. The front door closes and despite the loud music, the laughter and all the people around him, Steve swears that he heard it shut, it echoed and it made him wince in pain. 

He doesn’t understand the deep regret in his chest, the pain in his heart and the confusion in his soul. 

He doesn’t understand it yet. 

-

next part

[canthelpit0]

Enemies (with benefits)

Pairing: Cold!Chris x Reader

Word count : 1,489

Summary: Chris and reader have always been enemies ever since they’ve known each other. neither knew why they had this burning feeling in their gut. So one day they decide to fuck it out. Until, eventually doing it regularly

Warnings: smut, p0rn with plot, a LOT of plot, angst, name calling (bitch, slut, etc.), p in v, rough x, mentions of safe word (not used), rude/cold!Chris, degration, friend with benefits, awkward, (implied) RichKid!reader, no love (😔), unprotected, creampie, no after care, no use of y/n, no oc

(A/N: this is my first ever fanfic that I’ve posted on tumblr. So ya, I’m shitting bricks. Please give me feat back on my writing, and what I can improve. Also English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. Hope you like it!! :D)

PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 FINAL

Ever since I can remember, I’ve known the triplets. The sturniolo’s and my family were always really close. And ever since I can remember, I’ve hated Chris.

Now, enemies was a harsh word. A bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t like we were at war for opposing countries. We were more like rivals. In every aspect.

Sometimes it felt like the only reason Chris studied for school, was to beat my grade. He wasn’t really stupid, but he was definitely not book smart.

The problem wasn’t that. We’ve always lived normally, simply hating and avoiding each other. After all he was my longtime nemesis.

Until that one fateful night where we’d been at my house. My parents have a big business so they’d frequently be on business trips. And it just so happened that that night my younger siblings were not home, both of them being at their separate sleepovers with friends.

We’d been paired for some project. And naive me thought, that it’d be fine. We could be civil for a few hours. But I thought wrong. The hatred was too strong and the tension was too thick in the air.

Seemingly everything I did made him agitated. And vise versa.

Until he finally snapped and we got into a full fledged argument, wich turned into a yelling match. However it all went quiet when he crashed his lips onto mine.

Breathing heavily I had kissed back, hard. It was easier to battle about with a kiss, rather than screaming. And like hell was I gonna be dominated by Christopher fucking sturniolo.

So the night progressed. He had me, my face buried in the sheets babbling out nonsense and screaming his name. But not in anger like I usually would.

It had been months since that happened, and it still haunted me. The idea that it even happened. That his lips had been on mine, his dick literally inside of me, that I was literally under him, disgusts me to my core. But it didn’t matter. It was one of many times.

Sometimes it was a quickie, sometimes an all nighter. Sometimes Chris was dominant other times he was not. Sometimes it was at my place other times at his.

And it wasn’t like those cliché stories of friends with benefits where one fell in love. This felt more like an urge. Like neither of us wanted to actually hook up but we were irking to. This was better than having a yelling match. And on the rare occasions I was dominant it felt great making him shut up and take it. It felt equivalent to winning an argument. The whole point was to teach a lesson, and express annoyance and anger without directly doing that.

“Chris-“ I let out a sharp cry, even the pillow that my face was buried in didn’t really make the scream sound quieter.

His hips keep drilling into my core hitting all the right spots to make me weak in the knees.

Sex with him, objectively, felt good. In the moment. He knew how to please a woman. But he also knew that he was pushing it right now.

“Don’t fucking tell me to slow down.” He snaps his tone, and words as harsh as his breathing. “You have a safe word. Use it if you need to. And other wise, shut, the fuck, up.”

I only let out a sharp whine when he seems to pick up pace even more. He’s made a mess of me. We’ve been at this for hours. Literally.

I’ve come more times than I can count and Chris wasn’t showing any sign of stoping anytime soon.

My back arches perfectly, but I’ve been in this position for too long for it to be comfortable. Him leaning over my back occasionally leaving harsh slaps on my ass while his other hand stayed firmly im my hair.

His hand being tangled in my hair as he was both pulling it, but also pressing me down into the pillow under me.

I feel the ache in my cunt subside again, as a knot starts to form. I’m close, again, and I don’t know if I can keep going after.

“Chris” I scream his name loudly panting and moaning. “I’m- close” I can barely form a sentence. His thrust are hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs every time.

“Oh ya?” He harshly slaps my ass causing me to moan loudly. “How much more you think this pussy can take?” He huffs his tone ever so cocky.

He always did this. He liked being dominant and absolutely wrecking me as much as he can. And he knows I’m close to breaking, and that’s what makes it worse. I just know he gets a wired satisfaction out of exerting me.. using me, like this.

His hand stays firmly in my hair tugging harder. His other hand trailing from my ass to my clit as he starts to rub on it harshly.

I clench instinctively, my whining and moaning getting even louder. “I’m gonna-“ a harsh slap on my clit catches me off guard.

Chris keeps going. “Fucking slut. You like getting destroyed like this?” he mocks, his tone condescending as his pace doesn’t let up.

“Go on bitch, cum on my cock. Come again.” He urges. And the rubbing of his fingers on my clit and the relentless torture to my cunt is threatening to push me over the edge.

“Can I come in that pussy again?” He asks his voice coming out strained and harsh from the pleasure.

“Yes-“ I’m cut off, again. As i am physically not able to speak with the pace he’s going at.

And the combined pressure of everything pushes me over the edge. Suddenly the knot in my stomach snaps and my body goes limp after loud moans. He goes for a few more thrusts before I feel the familiar hot liquid fill my cunt.

After a minute where we catch our breaths he slowly starts to massage my scalp knowing he’s been pulling on it for at least half an hour straight.

He pulls out not really gently, but not harshly either.

Hook ups with Chris always felt like one night stands, when they were really regular.

I let my body fall limp fully laying on my stomach as I sigh, content in my position, not attempting to move.

I can practically feel Chris watching me.

Normally I wouldn’t be this much of a mess. But than again normally we didn’t go for hours. Normally Chris used a condom. But today was not one of those days.

Sometimes chris had enough common sense to at least pretend to care.

But right now he was just staring.

“You okay?” He asks his tone gentler and more quiet than usual. He knew he was pushing it, but did he really care tho?

I shiver as I feel his hand start to rub over my back. Ever so gently pinching the skin to ease some tension.

“Ya”

My breath is short as I’m still calming down not doing or saying anything else.

After a while I turn around slightly, wincing as I lay on my back. My back hurt from the previous uncomfortable position I was in.

I opened my tired eyes, looking up at him, my eyes meeting his. I knew I probably looked like a wreck right now. My hair a mess because of all the moving and position changes as well as his pulling. My face having dried mascara and tear stains on it from when I’d been crying.

I was too tired to even hide my body. I just turned around not bothering to hide my chest as I did, I was too fucked out to care.

His lips pursed, looking over my face. But he wasn’t concerned. But rather disgusted at the sight. He was glad he made me look like shit, but I could see in his eyes that he would much rather be anywhere else right now.

After sex was the worst for us.

The arguments leading up to it were normal. The sex itself was great. But afterwards…

Usually he’d leave. But today he had gone far. He’s done worse before. But every time he did he felt like he should give me proper after care. But I can see the annoyance radiating off of him, and I just know he does not want to be here.

And as harsh as it sounds, he couldn’t really care less what state he left me in. He’s told me multiple times.

“You can leave.” I mumble sighing. My throat felt horse from all the screaming, crying and moaning, that I’d been doing. I’ll need to get a water soon.

He gives me a simple nod, quickly changing, then going to my bathroom to fix his appearance.

And than he leaves.

The room is quiet. Nothing to be heard, nothing to be said.

Masterlist

A/N: hope you liked it, this was literally my first time writing smut🫣 also I don’t have a taglist yet, so i just added my moots. Tell me if u wanna be added, or removed :D

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist : @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns

[spitdrunken]

i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..

also, for your consideration:

Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...

Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...

this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)

I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.

Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.

The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.

When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.

“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.

He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.

So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.

“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”

Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.

----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?

Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…

And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi! If possible is would you write a fanfic about Daryl and reader (preferably fem) live in a cabin with dog in the woods after being together for awhile, when Daryl goes to Alexandria to visit, Carol and Rosita ask questions about her?

༉‧₊˚. 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

― pairings: daryl dixon x plus size!reader

― era: s10/mid whisperers era

― summary: as much as you love domestic life with daryl, you wanted him to go see his family, and he basically gets a pat down when he does.

― warnings: literally nothing besides fluff!!

― wc: 925

⋆ a/n: i have nothing much to say besides this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i apologize that i have taken so long to actually answer this.

masterlist | AO3

Going back to visit Daryl’s family was your idea. 

“It’s been awhile, you know?” You had said whilst running your fingers through his hair, his head rested on your chest as he listened to your heart beat rhythmically. 

He had grunted in agreement, though he wasn’t really putting any thought to your words. His hands were busy with a sleepy Dog who had been resting as well, the archer running petting the hound sweetly. Daryl hadn’t really wanted to think about it if he was being honest. Of course he missed his family, but he was rather content basking in this extremely domestic moment with you.

When he’d gone to look for Rick, he was alone; but then came Dog… and then you. It was an aggressive first meeting he must admit, the two of you wrestling under the guise that the other meant harm, but after quite the tiring rumble, both of you had gotten acquainted and even became neighbors. After that, the rest of your love story was history.

“I mean it, D.” You pressed, much to Daryl’s tired irritation. He remained silent on the matter, but you knew he was beginning to ponder your words. “Just think about it, okay?” Drawing his face up to place a gentle – convincing – kiss against his lips. “Okay.” He whispered.

Now with his bags packed for a few planned days away, he was chewing on his thumbnail nervously at the thought of leaving you and Dog alone.

“Are ya sure ya’ll’l be alrigh’?” He asked. 

You smiled softly at him, wrapping your arms around his neck to look him in the eye, his large hands settling on your plush hips. “We’ll be okay, hun. You know we can take care of ourselves.” He still didn’t look convinced. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! Plus, you’ll get to see Judith and RJ, Carol, Michonne.” You had only ever really heard stories of the people you had mentioned, but you knew they were important to Daryl, so if you had to use them as a selling point, then so be it. 

You could see a longing look settle over his face at the mention of the names.

“You miss them, so go see them! Don’t stay behind on my account. You know I was just fine living on my own before I had met you, so you’re aware that I can hold my own.” He knew you were right, and with a designated sigh, he relented, his tensed body relaxing. “Yeah, I know. I jus’... I’ll miss ya too.” You laughed at his boyish confession, kissing his lips in delight. 

“I know you will, and I’ll miss you too. I’m sure Dog will as well.” The boy yipped happily, brushing his nose along Daryl’s pant leg. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and you knew you had won. 

“Ya promise to try and radio me if anythin’ happens?” You nodded. “Yes, D.”

“Ya remember how to work it? Hell, why don’cha jus’ come with me?” You shook your head. “Not right now. I’d rather them have you to themselves before I’m added to the mix.” He knew that you were right and nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Go before I make you.” You said half serious, half joking. “Alrigh’ alrigh’, no need’ta threaten me.” He said with a small smile of his own.

The drive to Alexandria was long but familiar, and as he had approached the gates, he hadn’t expected to be ambushed by Carol and Rosita.

“Daryl!” Carol had cheered at the sight of him, pulling him into a tight hug. It was clear that she was elated by the sight of her best friend’s return. “Hey there stranger.” Rosita had said with a grin before pulling him into a hug of her own.

When they pulled away, Carol had given Daryl a slow once over, making the poor man shift in his place uncomfortably. “Wha’?” Her cheerful smile turned shit eating at her revelation. “You look different.” Carol teases.

“Yeah, he does.” Rosita only serves as an instigator, looking at him through playfully narrowed eyes.

“Is tha’ good or bad?” Daryl inquired unsurely, shifting back and forth on his feet at their piercing gazes. “Last time I visited your camp, I had to cut your hair myself. Now, it seems like it’s been neatly trimmed.” Carol says.“And his clothes have been patched up too.” Rosita added. “So, who is she?” She asked with a drawn out ‘so.’

“Don’t tell me you got a girlfriend out there, tarzan.” Rosita continued playfully.

“Wha’s it to you.” Daryl asked, sucking his teeth with a slight ‘mmcht’ sound.

“Oh nothing, I’m just surprised you decided to settle down, but you know, stranger things have happened.” Says Carol.

“Pfft, whatever.” But the red tips of his ears gave him away.

“So who is she? How’d you meet?” Rosita bombards.

“I dunno,” He shrugs, “The woods I guess.”

“And then we can guess she never left.” 

“Obviously. I mean what’s the love story there?”

“Ain’t no love story. Jus’ met her digging around my camp and offered to share some of my food ‘s all.”

“I guess.” He didn’t want to continue to entertain the women’s ribbing, but they were right. 

When you had first met, you were nothing short of feral, digging through his stuff in hopes of finding something - anything - to arm and feed yourself with. Daryl of course raised his crossbow at you and the rest was history.

But they didn’t need to know that.

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[complete-clownery]

Human SWK and Mac for the soul

Long rant about the au idea ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Actually they're for my detective au I'm not really talking about but I do have this fun little animatic idea in my head to Michael Bublé - Better be tonight, where MK and Wukong beat up a lot of people behind the scenes in the bar while Macaque distracts the audience with a performance lol haha how silly of me

But yeah the au would be Wukong is a private detective who has already retired, and MK (a young detective working for the police (dw were all about acab here, so Mk would realize how shitty the police system is and leave)) would seek him out for help with a case about some underground Mafia business

(probably something I would do with LBD and the Demon bull family but who knows), and Wukong decides to help him MK and also just teach him stuff along the way while also guiding him away from the police force

(probably something something Wukong worked as a detective in there, jttw event converted into detective cases idk, celestials as the justice system ect ect),

but they would ultimately work together on the case and would cross paths with Macaque (who needs a proper human name) Wukongs former partner (partner as in work related business but yeah they were also fucking), who will probably stab them in the back at some point in the story LBD pressure and whatnot,

but yeah on normal days Mac works a shitty job in an office, but Wukong swears up and down that Mac is up to something shady (and he is kinda right) (also side note: every individual in the office regardless of gender has had an office crush on Macaque at some point lol)

Also Wukong when he worked at the police actually got himself quite the name and so people know about him, kinda was the face of the police force at some point, and MK decides to be a detective bc of Wukong, (but that was kind of a given, even tho in the show before getting his powers MK wasn't really interested in becoming a here and this was also a key plot point in season 4 MK not wanting to do all the crazy magic shit and wanting to go back to being just a delivery boy and sometimes beating up the eventual villain of the week, but whatevs)

They're in their 40s maybe early 50s but Wukong somehow still looks 20-30 years old nobody knows how he does it, everyone else is kinda the same age in the show

They're also in America for this cuz--- this is a 90s 80s detective show just because I want it to be--- how did the characters from China end up here idk :| something something emigration or maybe the au can stay in China idk man Im making up half of this as I'm writing but it's fun I like the rotate my little aus in my brain

But yeah its just a fun little idea in my head that is going to stay just that, never manifesting into something more