#i'm kind of scared i admit. to do it without a beta

[call-me-kermit]

Kisses & Bitmarks

Warning: Derek is secretly a softy, obliviously in love, mutual pinning, confessions, Stiles being a horny bitch (only a little), Scott being a dummy, Derek is still an Alpha, everyone is alive Summary: In a series of unfortunate events, Stiles finds himself with the bite of the wolf. After the shift, he needs an Alpha to coach his control. Scott is NO help AT ALL. NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪ "Derek, I can help."

"No, stay here."

"Derek-" Stiles grumbles as the alpha turns to scowl at him. "Scott, will you tell him I can help?"

Scott squirms where he stands just a few feet away, "I think you should stay here, dude."

"Dude," Stiles gasps hands coming up in his exasperation to slap down on his sides. "Who's side are you on?"

"A feral alpha, who has already killed and eaten four hikers, is not something that involves defenses humans."

"First, ouch. How dare you, I'm not defenseless when all of you are there. Second, I'm the one who tracked his guy down and I want to help."

"First," Derek bites back getting in his face, frustration and annoyance coming off him in waves, making his betas cower a bit. "You are defenseless which is why me, Scott, or someone else is always with you to make sure you get out alive. If you're there, their focus isn't on the extremely dangerous alpha. Second, you've already helped, so shut up, sit in your jeep, and let us kill the damn thing without you being underfoot." Derek growled through fitted teeth.

To anyone who just met Derek, they'd be pissing their pants if they were in his shoes. Derek being angry for receiving lip and getting in his face, primal growls and glowing fire in his eyes. Hell, if this was a few years ago, Stiles would be pissing himself right now.

But this is Derek, and Stiles knows Derek well enough to say that half of Derek's attitude and threats are out of love and worry. As strange as that sounds. And it is probably not any surprise, to the wolves at least, that Stiles isn't scared by his fangs and claws anymore.

His body still reacts to it, just not the way it used to.

It's hot, okay, don't judge him!

Stiles gave in, not in the mood anymore to argue, and grumbled like a pouting child. Not that he wouldn't argue the hell out of Derek, it's his favorite pastime. But he didn't wanna be around Derek when he was just intimated into arousal by him. Kind of embarrassing.

Stiles knew Derek knew, but Derek never said anything, thank god. He'd rather keep what little friendship with Derek he had than ruin it by things getting awkward. If Derek gave him the mercy of pretending he couldn't hear his heartbeat when he came into the room, or smell the on his flesh when Derek gave him the attention that excited him(sexually or otherwise). As long as Derek didn't totally hate him, he was okay.

Without another word, the wolves followed Derek and Scott into the woods to hunt this guy down.

Somehow by the magic of Stile's research skills and limited knowledge about the attacks, Stiles was able to track down the name of the alpha. He was the alpha of a modest pack residing in a town a few counties north of Beacon Hills. The pack mainly consisted of family and close friends, who Stiles found recent death certificates for. Meaning hunters likely track them down, and well. . . you know. Somewhere along the way, the alpha lost his mind, going feral.

Stiles moped in the jeep, feeling useless to the pack. He hated feeling like a damsel that needed to be protected. Derek was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. Everyone always ends up sticking by him to keep him safe when shit hits the fan, always underfoot when pressures are high. He knows it is unnecessary guilt, that he can't help being human, and the others have never really complained. At least not to his face about it.

He still feels like he could be doing more. There are benefits to him being human, pushing mountain ash, and taking care of wolvesbane obstacles the wolves can't. He just had this pit in his stomach that left him wanting to feel a part of something. He's kept around for his useful research and the benefit of his humanity, and Scott. Nothing else, and he knows it. But it’s nice to play pretend every once in a while.

His train of thought was derailed by a nasty howl echoing over the treetops. Stiles, before even thinking about it, stepped out of the jeep onto the pavement. His heart began to pound and he said a silent prayer that nobody was hurt. Although, even in his human ears, that howl didn't sound like any of the pack. They must have caught up to the alpha.

Stiles took a moment to realize that the sun had set completely, meaning he's been sitting here for at least an hour. A second howl sounded, and his head turned towards it. It sounded closer. Way closer.

The alpha was moving, and fast. Probably running away from the pack. Stiles stomach twisted at the fruition that it was coming his way. He climbed back into the jeep and thought about starting it up and moving out of the way of danger.

He struggled to fish his keys out of his pocket, panting in sudden adrenalin.

As the keys set in the transmission and turned, the jeep sputtered to life and a groan reached his ears. That didn't sound like the metallic grind and grown the old girl made when she started up, it sounded animalistic.

Terrified, stiles turned his head. He was frozen, when just outside the driver-side door was a beast that could put Peter’s alpha form to shame. Snarling and drooling at the sight of him.

Its sight is based on movement, no sudden movements.

No wait that's Jurassic Park, shit!

Before Stiles could even think, even hope for a rescue, the door was ripped away, tugging the whole jeep a few inches with it.

Claws and fangs dug into his flesh, pulling him in from the vehicle and onto the hard pavement below. The iron-tight jaw around his leg pulled back and was suddenly ripping into his abdomen.

Stiles let out a blood-curling scream, pushing away at the rabid wolf. He heard a distant howl and prayed they didn't find him in pieces.

His life flashed before his eyes; the face of his mother, father, Scott, Derek, Lydia. He cried out fearing what would happen to them when he was in the alpha's stomach.

Like hell, he was gonna be an easy meal. The bit down on the pain and scratched and punched with all this strength.

The alpha was fed up and lifted Stiles from the ground, shaking him dizzy and tossing him aside. Stiles rolled on the pavement. Landing on his stomach, his head turned to the jeep. He saw the beast standing in a pool of blood, a trail leading the the blood that began to pool under him. His vision began to cloud, and his senses were fading. He heard the alpha sniff and growl, then heavy footsteps coming closer. He couldn't move.

His eyes grew heavy and everything went dark and numb.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When Stiles woke up he was in his bed. His mind was foggy from sleep. The only thing he knew was he had to pee. He stumbled out of bed, shuffling to the door and into the hall.

He had only half a mind to notice the voices of this father and Scott downstairs. Groggy and still so unaware of the events last night.

After relieving himself, he turned to wash his hands. He felt his heart jump at the sight of blood under his nails, looking at himself in the mirror it all came flooding bad to him.

The monster alpha, the teeth, the claws.

He lifted his shirt looking down to where his life was bleeding out of him at one point. His eyes found his own again and they glowed a bright gold. He panted and collapsed against the wall.

No, no no no, this can't be happening. He didn't want this.

"Stiles," He heard Scott's voice. He zeroed in on the sounds and smells in the house. The fan in his dad's room buzzing softly, the coffee on the kitchen table where he was sure his father and Scott had just been, the heartbeats standing at the bottom of the stairs, the soft creak in the third step as someone began coming up.

The next thing that assaulted his senses was the revolting smell of Scott.

"Stay away!" Stiles panicked as he felt claws pushing out at his fingertips, and fangs drop into place in his mouth. He felt a wave of uncertainty, displeasure, and fear. The footsteps on the stairs stopped and he sighed looking around in panic.

He felt the instinct to run, run where he didn't know. The animalistic instinct in him told him to run just as it told him to breathe. Something in Scott's scent made him feel unsettled and afraid.

"Stiles, we've been through this before, remember? You taught me to control it." He hears Scott sigh and even his soft nervous gulp. "Find your anchor, tie yourself to it."

Stiles nodded, knowing Scott or his father couldn't see it. He focused on his father, his scent, and his heartbeat. He smelled his aftershave and cologne, the coffee on his breath, the gunpowder and detergent on his hands. He listened to his erratic heart and how it beat quickly with worry and fear.

"Stiles," Scott tested softly, bearly a whisper that Stiles could hear as clear as day. "You need to calm down."

"Not helping!" Stiles snapped, voice slurred through the fangs he wasn't used to having. Something in him pushed a defensive growl from his throat. Realizing what he was doing only a second later he let out an apologetic whimper.

Stiles wondered why it was his body, his wolf, that hated Scott's scent so much, and why it made him feel so sick. Why Scott's comforting voice in his ears made him feel so volatile and angry. He needed to get away from it, it made him feel scared.

He remembered something Derek had said to the others about the instinct of a wolf always being in your best interest. Even if it is something you can't follow through with, acknowledge the instinct and consider it.

If his wolf needed to get away then he will. He stood quickly and dashed to his room, following the wolf's lead. He trusted it entirely.

"Stiles?" Scott cried coming up the stairs.

"Son?" The panic and confusion in his father's voice made him whime, but he couldn't control himself right now. His father's safety was always his top priority.

He let the wolf take him through the window, and jumped down into the side yard, b-linding the woods behind his house. He didn't know where he was going, but just needed to get away from Scott.

Fully shifted, he ran faster than he ever had before. Heart thumping and pounding in his ears. He smelled the woods, the dirt under his bare feet, the pine and oak, the musk of the animals that lingered, and the petricore like never before. He felt the wind on his face and smiled. If this is what he was missing out on this whole time maybe he should've asked for the bite sooner.

His feet slowed on their own, and he realized where he was. A few blocks from Derek's loft! He'd run that far that fast?

He picked his pace back up and ran like hell. If this is where his wolf wanted to be, this is where he would be.

Skipping a step at a time he made his way up, too much energy to sit around waiting for the elevator.

"What do you mean he's gone?" He hears Derek growl. There was a power in the growl that made his wolf purr. "You were supposed to talk to him, coach him through the shift!"

"Derek!" He called.

"He's here." He said, tone as though he didn't believe it. "No, stay there, if he's agitated, I'll deal with it. No one needs to get hurt.

Stiles flung open the door watching Derek strolling down the stairs and putting his phone away in his pocket. Derek slowly and cautiously approached, eyes concerned.

"I hated it." Stiles panted lightly. He felt a need for Derek to understand what was happening, to guide him on what to do.

"Hated what?"

"Scott," Stiles sighed stepping fully into the loft. "His scent, his voice telling me to calm down. It made me afraid and angry. The wolf just wanted to run away, and I tried to fight it and get control like Scott was telling me but it just made it worse. God, I wanted to rip his throat out with my teeth! Huh, I sound like you now. And I- I remembered you telling Erica and the guys about the wolf's instincts and how you should always trust it, so I jumped out of my window. Oh, god, wow, I jumped out a window! I didn't even think, I-nothing broke. Or maybe it healed? I don't know, but I started running, and I ended up here. Derek," He took a breath, eyes glossy. "What do I do?"

Derek just stared at him for a long moment.

"Derek?" Stiles's voice was soft now, his breathing slowing to normal.

Derek's heartbeat was fast, his eyes searched Stiles for a moment before he looked away with a thoughtful expression for a moment.

"I-" He huffed. "I thought Scott would be your alpha."

"He isn't?"

"Not if you wanted to rip his throat out when he asked you to calm down."

"Huh." Stiles nodded. "That makes sense."

Derek chuckled dryly.

"Wow," Stiles sighed taking a deep breath. "You smell good. You always smell this good? Is it the new nose?"

Derek sighed, face falling. Like Stiles had disappointed him somehow. His wolf whined in the back of his mind.

'Please the alpha.'

He gulped and frowned a little.

"Did I do something wrong? You can't get mad at me dude, I'm new to this."

"No, you just-" He cut himself off.

"Come on Derek, I'm kind of relying on you completely here." Stiles stepped closer and Derek stepped back. Stiles's eyes began to water and he didn't know why. He felt alone and pitiful all of a sudden.

Derek watched his reaction curiously.

"What are you feeling?" He asked hesitantly like he didn't really want to know the answer. "Your instincts, what do you want? What is your wolf telling you you need?" He clarified.

"I-" Stiles stubbled back and frowned, a tear running down his cheek. His wolf's howls in the back of his mind made him each with the feeling he just lost something. "To be close to you. But I feel cold, lonely, all of a sudden."

Derek blinked a couple times and tilted his head down, just slightly.

"I feel alone, I feel-" Stiles stopped, not knowing the words that could describe it.

"Stiles," He spoke gently like his voice could crack Stiles into a million pieces if he spoke loud enough. "Don't think about the works, just the feeling. The words will come to you, trust the wolf."

Stiles curled in on himself for a bit before letting his eyes fall to the floor. He stood still, focusing on the cold feeling in his chest. The wolf whined and whimpered like a dying animal in the face of a predator.

'Rejected. Omega.'

"Rejected and omega come to mind." His voice barely broke from his throat.

Derek's breath hitched in his throat, looking at Stiles with an indescribable intensity.

"Please the alpha."

"Stiles," Derek's voice was hoarse as he was willing it to say something it didn't want to. "You-" He stopped himself again.

"Derek, what do I do?" Stiles didn't understand why he started crying, he felt too senseless despite all the new strength in his body.

"I," Derek paused. "I don't want you to think this is anything more than an alpha and beta relationship. I think it's maybe best if you called Sc-"

"What?" Stiles looked up at him. He felt anger and confusion seep into him. "You want to reject me as your beta be-because I like you?"

Derek shuddered for a moment. "I didn't say that, I-"

"Said we're only alpha and beta, yeah I got that," Stiles growled. "I figured you never said anything 'cause you didn't want things to be awkward between us, I get it- I'm not the most appealing candidate, but this is so much fucking worse, Derek. This is fucking petty."

"Stiles." Derek warned.

"I don't know what I'm doing!"Stiles cried. "I'm scared, I need you to guide me-help me! I know you don't care the way I care, I'm fine with that," He ignored the blip in his heart. "I can be just your friend, I have been and it was fine, but I need you-"

"Stiles," Derek's eyes widened as he looked him over, drinking in the confession. "What is it you want from me?"

"Help!" Stiles snapped like it was obvious because he thought it was. "I-"

"No," Derek shook his head, daring a few steps forward. "Not what I meant. Forget the wolves, just you and me. What do you want with me?"

Stiles gulped, nervous and scared of more rejection.

"You." He shrugged, he was tired all of a sudden.

"Stiles," Derek pleased, a look in his eye that made him swoon. "Please, don't beat around the bush."

"I want-" He hesitated, afraid. "I want to be with you."

Derek, stepped closer, a look in his eye that made Stiles twitchy.

"I want to, sit and talk about stupid shit that doesn't matter. I want to argue over Batman versus Superman. I want to argue over what movie to watch. I want you to meet my dad- like actually. Not just talking to him about how to deal with the monster of the week. I want you to hold me as we fall asleep. I want you-"

Derek was kissing him.

His hands cupped his cheeks and drew him closer, breathing him in. Stiles melted into it, calming all his nerves in a single second.

His wolf purred as it took in the scent and feel of his alpha's body against his.

Stiles pawed and his chest and followed his lips and he pulled away.

Derek chuckled, low and happy watching him. Stiles opened his eyes and looked up into Dereks.

"Wh-"

"I thought it was just sexual." Derek frowns for a moment. "If I had known you wanted more I-" He sighed. "Still probably wouldn't have done anything."

"Why not?" Stiles grumbled in slight offense. Although part of him, knowing how Derek had been used in the past, made him feel guilty for it having seemed that way. Even though he thought everything was blatantly obvious and that was never his intention.

" You're seventeen, and your fathers the sheriff." He blinked plainly.

"Oh," Stiles chuckled awkwardly. "Right."

"I'm sorry," Derek wavered.

"So you'll be my alpha?"

"Yeah."

"And. . maybe my mate."

Derek gave him a pointed stare.

"What?" Stiles frowned. "Isn't that just wolfie talk for dating?"

"No," Derek laughed, honest to god laughed. Stile thought he would faint. "No, It's more like marriage- with a lot of sex."

"Well, in that case," Stiles smirked, earning an eye-roll. "All that's can wait a year."

Derek laughed again.

"Yeah, sure." He nodded. "We'll see how it goes."

Stiles broke into a wide grin, jumped up flinging his arms around Derek and breathing in his scent. Stiles took note of the woodsy smell, the lavender, dirt, leather, and rich cologne pressed into his flesh. He decided it was his new favorite, and the wolf agreed.

"You're never getting rid of me now!"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Derek held tighter.

Stiles smelled something sour all of a sudden, "What's wrong?"

"You're quick to pick up on things, aren't you." Derek hummed on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked more firmly as the scent became stronger.

"When I heard you scream, I thought- I found you," Derek paused to take a breath. Move his hand to his shoulder to feel his heart beating. "I thought we were too late."

"You could hear my heart beating though, right?"

"Didn't mean you'd make it through the night. You bled so much." Derek sniffled. "I thought it would be safer for you to stay behind and wait for us, but-"

"You couldn't have known."

"Doesn't matter." He mumbled, "I thought I lost you.

"Der,"

"Safe to say you're sticking with me from now on."

Stiles chuckled at that. He held tighter and literally purred. Which made Derek shudder closer humming in contentment.

"You're a tough son of a bitch though. Even as a human, you made it easy for us to kill the bastard."

"What?" Stiles pulled back to look him in the eye.

"How much do you remember?" Stiles shrugged trying to think, It was all kind of a blur to him now. "You scratched the hell out of his face. Eyes, ears. The only thing that wasn't fucked up by the time we got there was his nose."

"He didn't heal?"

"Didn't have time before I ripped his throat out." Stiles laughed, the irony of it all made his wolf preen for the man who lost his shit to protect him. "You had his eyeball in your hand when we got to you. Scratched it out."

"Holy shit!"

"If you weren't actively dying at the time I would've had time to feel proud," Derek smirked, and Stiles felt weak in the knees.

Derek chuckled pressing closer.

"So no sex obviously no sex for a while- taking things slow and all," He mused. "But, like, how about another smooch?"

Derek grins leaning in to oblige.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"You and Derek what?" Scott cried, eyes wide as if he honestly;y had no fucking clue.

"Finally." The rest of the room groaned in unison.

"I was gonna hit you if you didn't make a move soon." Lydia rolled her eyes at him.

Stiles just smiled, looking over at Derek who smiled back with a wink. ≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[evecolourshock]

Thanks for the fic inspo, @wynandcore! Although this kinda... grabbed a tangent and didn't let go, so. AU inspiration too!

Tron freezes, words and a memory piercing straight through the haze of rage and (he admits it) fear driving him to hunt down and End that miserable wretch of a traitor mentee's runtime preferably before there's more explosions. The whole Grid grinds to a crawl, picocycles stretching into millicycles into full cycles.

I don't care what you do to me.

Does Beck... not know? Does he not-

I don't care what you do to me.

Can he not see? Can he not understand that Tron-

I don't care what you do to me.

Why can he not tell that-

I don't care what you do to me.

...a world without Beck is not one Tron wants to live in.

I did what I knew was best for you. Is this what's best for Beck? For the- oh glitch it, for his beta to put himself in Tron's way to prevent whatever he thinks Tron shouldn't be doing, to cross paths with and antagonize Viruses in Program skins, sacrificing himself over and over for a cause not worth the loss of that precious, brilliant, kind and gentle life?

No.

No, it isn't.

Nothing is worth Beck's life.

Not freedom. Not fighting. Certainly not vengeance.

Tron's fingers go numb. He drops his disc - when had he grabbed it? He can't remember.

Takes a single, staggering step back, known yet unfamiliar walls tilting around him.

I've never crashed before, Tron thinks dimly, watching Beck's face shift in slow motion from wary to nervous and then concerned panic. I don't like it.

Blackness creeps in, so different to what happens when his energy drops past dangerous levels. Softer, greyer, tinged with blue.

Tron prays Beck hears the I'm sorry that slips past his lips, as the void swallows him whole.

Tron comes to slowly, muzzily. Blackness still covers his vision, but it's muted. Lights off, something lying loosely on his face, not blindness. Wherever he is, and he doesn't have the energy to be scared of waking up somewhere new, is soft.

The nice kind of soft, not the one that precedes immeasurable pain.

Tron mrrps a yawn, woozy enough to not care he's reduced to Sounds rather than anything native to this Grid. What hap-

Memory rushes in then, and so does the heat and headache. Tron rumbles displeasure - crashing, he decides, sucks. Soothing hands run over him, quiet exclamations followed by rambling commentary.

Beck. Tron's somewhat surprised it's taken him this long to notice.

"-of couse I panicked!" Beck hisses at someone Tron doesn't know- "I called an adult, Able! You are that adult! My friend crashed and it's bad!"

Oh. Just Able. Able's okay. Has definitely seen Tron worse.

"How bad?" Tron manages to rasp out, quiet enough he can barely hear himself.

"Bad." Beck reiterates quietly. "You were losing voxels. I don't know why." One of his hands presses against Tron's forehead - it's cool. Tron leans into it. "But you're no longer overheating so much, so that's good. Gonna switch out the cloth over your eyes though, you're not in safe zones yet." Tron barely stifles a whine when the coolness leaves, but the fresh cloth is damp and cold and a relief enough to soothe his aching eyes.

More coolness runs over Tron's body, tracing his enhanced circuits - another cloth? - but it's not exactly effective through his overlay for this Grid.

Tron has never dismissed his overlay before, but...

He'd rather fend off Beck's questions than overheat too much. His overlay drops, and Tron doesn't manage to suppress the relieved whimper when his actual circuits meet air.

To Beck's credit, his only reaction is to pause his efforts to cool Tron down for a picocycle, before he starts up again following the new-to-him maze-like design. "Is that helping?" He asks quietly, keeping loud noises to a minimum. "The-" one finger traces the curve of Tron's ident, carefully and deliberately not touching the burning line. "This. Open."

"Yes." Tron rasps out. "Helps." Ow, his voice. Words are not his friends.

...bad choice of words. Tron doesn't have many friends anyway.

"Okay." Beck brushes a brightly patterned cloth over the densest patches of circuits, cold energy dripping into them and bringing Tron closer to equilibrium.

Something oozes out of Tron's back ports. The sensation is uniquely unpleasant, and his face scrunches a little. But even then, Beck delicately pulls him upright, cleaning the gunk away with firm hands. Tron catches a glimpse after the cloth-mask falls off - it's orange, whatever it is, this filth his system is rejecting. Writhes a little, too. Beck grimaces, slightly nauseous, but continues to deal with it while Tron tries to find out if he can feel his fingers and toes (a resounding no, aside from the painful-static kind of tingling). The box Beck puts the soiled rag in is sturdy, but flammable. Tron's pretty sure he can guess its ultimate fate.

Regardless, not much he can (or wants to) do right now except attempt to gain some control back over his limbs. He's not holding out much hope for his left arm - feels nearly severed at the shoulder again. It took cycles before he could move his fingers, let alone actually do anything with it, last time.

Guess he's going to have to rely on his non-dominant hand for the foreseeable future. Again. At least he's learned how to, this time, so he's not so helpless.

By the time Beck's finished with his back, Tron's mostly figured out how his legs and right arm are supposed to work. His right hand's a work in progress... and his left arm's a pain-filled write-off. Only the thought of not traumatizing Beck further stops him from severing it to stop the agony shooting all the way up from fingertips to shoulder.

That, and he might need it later. If he can get it to work.

The internal scan is an afterthought at best, even though Tron knows he should have run one immediately on booting up. He's just tired of being reminded he's broken, he needs to report to Medical, he's dying-

Tron is apparently not dying any more. He runs another scan, to be sure, but-

He's still physically a wreck. Scarred and battered and missing an eye, down an arm and up more trauma than he wants to think about. Circuits carved through or out, in the kind of state most would already have derezzed long before reaching.

But the debilitating gift Dyson forced on him under Clu's instruction? Tron can't find it. Sure, there's traces of it in his system, corrupted lines of code where what remained of his internal defences tried to fight the infection off, but... he can't find its fiery claws anywhere. And even those corrupted lines feel like they're smoothing out, patching themselves, tentatively morphing back into senses and memories and parts of him he thought gone forever. "Disc." He chokes out, fingers twitching - it hurts, it hurts so much, but he has to see-

Beck's fingers glide over his, quelling the tremors and stabilising his viewpane. "I have you." His beta murmurs, pressed in close and so cold to Tron's scorching frame. "Tell me how to help."

Tron can't bring himself to use more words, so he resorts to tonal pings. Beck figures them out as he goes, confirming a few times before he pans around under Tron's instructions. There's- there's a lot of damage, most of it familiar. But the foreign intrusion tearing through his core and ripping his reserves apart? Gone. Entirely.

Tron switches his gaze warily to The Box once he's certain he can't check any deeper, deciding it deserves the identifier given what he suspects it contains. The locked lid thumps, the whole thing jolting, but nothing escapes save an angry chittering sound - like the Gridbugs Tron's used to, instead of this Grid's little flying things. A scan makes him draw back, afraid of the familiar - a dark thought has him frantically scanning Beck, relief cascading through him when everything comes up clean.

It takes a lot to scare Tron. But that thing? That thing he fears.

Beck continues to cool him down, manages to coax him into drinking some energy (still vile, still viscerally wrong, still that baffling shade of blue instead of translucent silver), and generally fusses over him. Tron can't remember the last time anyone did this for him.

In the cells with Ram, most likely. When the MCP wouldn't let him derez, but barred him from his User and those vital repairs.

How some things loop back around. Slightly different context, same end result. Tron a wreck, no User aid coming, and someone who should never be in this situation doing their best to look after him anyway.

Tron twists to shove his head into Beck's shoulder, doing his best to resist the (confusing, unique, isolating) urge to cry. Stupid Flynn, giving him all of these weird User subroutines. Stupid Clu, trying to rip them all out again.

Able's probably not far out. Tron can wait until Able chivvies Beck off to sleep so he can cry without shame.

Cyrus- damnit all, Tron doesn't know what's going on with Cyrus but he is not letting Cyrus become Beck's problem. He'll... worry about that later, anyway, one working arm will not be enough limbs regardless.

For now, all Tron has to do is rest.

Something’s so crushing about the contrast of Tron saying “I did what I knew was best, for you… and for the revolution” and Beck saying “I don’t care what you do to me, I’m not letting you kill for revenge”.

[heresathreebee]

Kurt Kunkle | Spree (2020) || Formal Wear // Strap-Ons

Halloween Party; 2k words; NO BETA/ SELF- EDITED, Swearing, Kurt Committed Crimes, Mentions of Medications and Side Effects, NSFW Streamer Reader, Costume Swap, Kissing, Oral (female receiving), Mommy Kink, Pet Names, Domme/Sub Dynamic, Pegging, Cock Ring, Cum Eating

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Influencer Parties always have the same outfits as Frat parties in movies– a dozen playboy bunnies, toga dudes, video game characters, half assed slashers, boring assholes in college-core or quoting movies ('I’m a homicidal maniac, they look just like everybody else'), and party city knock-offs. 

"What the hell are you supposed to be?," you ask from behind the rim of your solo cup. 

Kurt Kunkle brushes some glitter off of his dinner jacket and preens. "Bond. James Bond." 

You roll your eyes and hide a smile by taking a sip of the spiked punch. "Literally cannot believe you went as something other than the Scream killer. And no gun? What kind of spy are you?" 

Kurt shifts his feet uncomfortably. "I'm legally not allowed to hold one– not even a fake one." 

You raise your eyebrows in tandem, "noted." 

"B-but you look amazing," he stutters (and stares at your cleavage). "Let me guess… Catwoman?" 

You raise your cup and reply, "technically it's feline superheroine costume, but yes." 

"It's great, you look super hot," he says and wow he's lame at flirting but he's also super sincere about it and that's kinda doing it for you. "Do you want another drink?" 

You polish off the one in your hand and pull him into the kitchen area, avoiding the makeout sessions and shotgunners. You settle back against the counter and watch Kurt's every move as he fixes you a drink just to be on the safe side. He makes a screwdriver with almost no vodka in it, which is actually adorable. You figure either A) he doesn't want you to think he's trying to get you drunk or B) he made it how he likes it, which is confirmed when he makes one for himself the exact same way. 

“So do you come here often,” Kurt asks as he tries to lean sauvely on the counter (and getting his sleeve wet in the process). “Oh shit…” 

You laugh boisterously. “Did you really ask…? I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Um, kind of? I’ve been to Bobby’s parties before, but this will be my first Halloween party here. I’m surprised to see you without a camera in your hand.” 

This time Kurt sighs mournfully, “Yeah, I’m not allowed to do that either. Kurtsworld96 is officially dead.” 

“Aw, poor baby,” you reply with a mock pouty lip and brush some of the gel from hair slicked back hair off of his forehead. “Actually, I think I like you better without the camera. You have pretty eyes.” 

Kurt blushes and an instagram girl friend ropes you into a game of truth or dare (Kurt follows, naturally). You ignore the game for the most part and keep talking to him, learning that he is intimately familiar with your channel and it's domme content. He has to lean close to you to be heard over the occasional burst of laughter from the people actually playing the game. 

"Yeah, I like the video you did with The_Alpha_Canadian,” he says, referencing a video where you edged a gym bro for over an hour. “I wasn’t as impressed with his performance, like, if it was me, I would have been begging you to peg me.” 

Heat floods through your veins. Guys were all over your stream, accounting for 70% of your revenue– but as soon as it came to admitting they wanted you, or admitting they wanted to be dominated– suddenly the enthusiasm dries up and they all run scared. Kurt did not seem to suffer from at least saying it in confidence. 

You were going to ask him a question, but then half a dozen phone cameras with the flash on were being shoved in your face. “What?!”

“Truth or Dare, bitch!” Someone screamed. 

“Dare,” you growl, and swat at least three cameras out of your face which make the rest of them back up and turn their lights off out of fear respect. 

“Switch costumes with Melli!” 

MasochistMelli, your favorite collaborator (god, she’s a great submissive), was dressed as an angel until she wasn’t, that is. You and her are of similar physical size and you unzip the pleather bodysuit that’s been sticking to your body for hours. She laughs about exchanging sweaty clothes, and just behind her, you catch Kurt’s slack jawed expression as he gazes at your nearly nude forms. It reminds you how much you want to break him (knowing he’s either a total virgin or near enough). 

Once you finished donning the white feathery dress, halo and wings, the group starts seven minutes in heaven (because of course they do, it’s fucking faux high school in this bitch), and you drag the boy into the nearest closet to escape getting stuck with anyone else. 

"Oh hey, I–"  you interrupt him by pulling his lapels and smashing your lips to his. 

Kurt instantly sighs and cups his hands around your waist, pulling you close. He tastes like orange juice and licks what’s left of the flavored lip gloss clinging to your bottom lip. Just to tease, you nip his lip and suck a quick hickey into his neck. 

Kurt swears softly and his grip on your body gets tighter. “This doesn’t have to be just seven minutes, right? I mean, I’m cool with doing this the entire night if you are…” 

Chuckling, you lean back so you can look at his face. “Did you like that little show earlier? Basically got to see me naked. Did that make you hard, Kurt?” 

The man kisses you again and hides his face in your neck and you can barely understand his words in between the hundreds of desperate kisses he peppers on your neck and chest. “Actually… I mean it would have… definitely… normally I’d be rock hard by now… if I wasn’t, you know…” 

You hold still and wait for an answer. “If you weren’t what? Gay?” 

“No,” he sighs through his nose and the air cools the tracks of saliva he’s leaving all over your skin. “It’s these stupid meds I’m on now, they kind of, I don’t know… make it hard to get hard...” 

“Oh,” you nod in understanding. “Yeah, I’ve heard of that. My condolences.” You wrap your arm around his neck and let him grope your thighs and continue to kiss every part of you he can reach. “That’s too bad, I was thinking about seeing if you wanted to do a little video together.” 

Kurt lifts his head so fast he almost hits you. “Are you for real right now? I-I… that would literally be a dream come true for me, I don’t think you understand how big I fan I am of yours!” 

“Oh, but babe, what about…?” 

Kurt’s arms encircle you almost lovingly. “If anybody can make me come, it’s going to be you.” 

Challenge accepted. 

A flight of stairs and a few irate obstacles– sorry, partiers– later, you open the trunk of your car and set up your phone’s camcorder with Kurt in tow. “Hey party people and a late happy Halloween! I hope you’re up to some very naughty things tonight. For my part, I have a very special boy here looking for a good time, which I intend to give him full force, no holds bars. Sound good, Mr. Bond?” 

Kurt’s face lights up adorably and he nods so fast he becomes a blur. “Oh me! Yes! Oh god, yes.” 

Getting Kurt hard was easy because he didn’t seem to have hard limits. Degrade him, praise him, manhandle him, finger him– he really did beg for more at every turn. He’s just the perfect little sub. 

You’ve got him on his knees and ride the flat of his tongue against your clit. “Fuck, Kurt, such a good boy. And you learn so fast, baby. Can you guys believe it?” 

You talk to your recording, still unsure if you’re going to upload this or maybe keep it for yourself. Just when you need it, Kurt slips a few of his fingers into your warm channel and he fucks you at the same rate you hump his tongue. Your orgasm approaches fast, he can hear it coming and he groans at your taste, wanting to make it come faster and succeeding. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” your voice crescendoes until you softly keen and drench Kurt’s fingers in more slick. “That’s good, that’s good, Kurt. Stop now, baby, give me a minute.” 

Kurt rests his sweat slick forehead on your bare hip, his warm breath making you shiver in the night air. “Mommy. Please… I need you to fuck me. Please fuck me, mommy…” 

You can feel his erection brush against your calf and let him rub himself on your leg only because you know he can’t come with such little stimulation. “Okay pet. Can you stretch yourself out for me?” 

Kurt whimpers. “I’ve never done it by myself before…” 

You pet his hair back soothingly. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay…” 

…

You are strapped, camcorder propped up, car trunk open to give Kurt somewhere to bend over, and his ass thoroughly stretched and lubed. His legs are shaking from the effort not to spear himself onto the thick silicone you have been teasing his hole with. 

“Are you sure you’re ready, baby?,” you say just to be a dick. 

Kurt growls and answers you by arching his back more (but not begging, he’s been whimpering and begging for so long now, of course he’s ready!). 

“Here it comes.” You push the curved tip of the dildo passed his muscled ring and switch the vibration on. As soon as he relaxed just a tiny bit, you shoved the rest of it in fast, all six inches of it until the harness is right up against his cheeks and he’s nearly fallen to his face. Kurt yelps at the sudden movement, but as soon as he finds his footing again, he pushes back just to get it as deep as it can go. “Oh good fucking boy, Kurt! Look at you! You’re doing so well baby.” 

You can’t see his face from behind but you can imagine his jaw hanging open and the silent scream plastered on his face. “Do you want it fast and hard–” 

“Yes!” Kurt’s voice is shrill– “mommy, yes, don’t hold back…” 

As he wishes, you smirk slyly to your camera.

His back arches further when you take up a handful of his hair, the dry gel rehydrating and caking between your fingers. You use it to hold on to him as you start to thrust, keeping an even and quick tempo to ease yourself into the motion. It's not a position you are given often and it feels like such a treat and an honor to give Kurt what he wants– what he needs. 

And god, he's so vocal! You can see in the view window of your recording how red and shiny his cock and balls are, trapped to fullness by the black ring you cinched around it earlier. And when you thrust deep and smack your hips audibly against his, it twitches and begs for release. 

"Fuck baby," you reach around his hip and rip the ring off, "come if you can. I wanna see you. Will you make a mess for me, good boy?" 

Kurt whines his unintelligible answer and fucks himself back on your cock until his whole body siezes and his legs buckle under him. You quickly fist his spurting cock and milk as much white cum out of him as you can, even so far as to pinch the skin of his sack when he seems to be empty and you are instantly rewarded with a full, final jet that hits right into your front facing camera lens. 

Your laughter rings out high and satisfied as you pull your cock out and guide Kurt to rest halfway into the trunk. He's shaking like a leaf in the autumn air but so are you, so exhausted from the sex and in need of a nice warm bed. You pick up your phone and wipe the salty cum off with your tongue, getting enough to stop the video. 

"You okay there, Mr. Bond? I'm not going to have to stuff the rest of you into the trunk and dump your body somewhere, am I?" 

The man lifts his head weakly, looking like he's been through a hurricane. "Do I get the full domme experience? With the whole aftercare and cuddling?" 

You chuckle and stroke some of his hair out of his eyes. "Absolutely."

Previous | Masterlist | Next: GOT Koner Body Worship

I got trapped in a 5 hour game of Aggravation (a real board game by the way lol) it was a lot if fun but it was midnight before I was freed from it lol) thats why this was late

[animatedrapture]

"VORFREUDE."

Summary: Sakusa thinks of you as his vorfreude, his intense anticipation from imagining future pleasures. He swears it's not mere delusions.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x F!Reader / slight Komori Motoya x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Genre & Content Warnings: Slight angst. NSFW. Dark content. Yandere behavior. Porn with Plot. Incel/Bully!Sakusa. Virgin!Reader. Abuse. Non-con. Blackmail. Coercion. Misogyny. Slut-shaming. Slight manipulation and mindbreak. Fingering. Corruption. Defloration. Degradation. Vaginal penetration. Creampie.

Notes: Thank you soooo much to the lovely anon who commissioned this! Took a lot longer than it should've cause academics kept cutting in & joint with my anxiety. But yeah, thank you so much :') Thank you Faiwy for the final beta !! <3

If you're thinking about commissioning me, please refer to this post.

You’re a constant, Sakusa thinks.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been following him and Komori like a lost puppy—whenever they were, you were sure to be there. He can’t think far back enough to remember when it started, but you were insignia of constancy, that was all Sakusa knew.

He listens intently while you talk to Komori from beside him, voice low and stumbling over your words every so often—he knows you're going out of your way to avoid saying something he could use to pull you apart with, piece by piece like a frail little toy.

"How did the test from yesterday go?" Komori questions you, right as your trio made it to the cafeteria.

Your easy-going smile falters at the mention of it. Sakusa already knows the answer. He shares that class with you, after all. He had the front row seat to see your face flushed with humiliation and how rigid your body grew when the professor told you Sakusa would be tutoring you.

Reminding him that out of everything about you, the way you wore your heart on your sleeve is something that insistently rubbed him the wrong way.

First, because he starts thinking about how easy you make it for people to take advantage of you; it makes his blood boil. Then, he starts thinking about every reaction he could get out of you, like how you'd look from beneath him as he used your body the way you wanted him to.

Because you do, don't you? Why else would you go out of your way to adjust to his habits? To carry around your personal sanitizer and wipes, always making sure the space you were in with them was clean.

Nothing else could explain how you strung along with them like loose thread.

It tugs at the heart beneath his ribcage—but whenever he sees you give all your attention to Komori, the betrayal sinks in, and he's reminded what kind of a woman you are.

A whore.

As you laughed nervously, taking a seat across from them, Sakusa wonders if you're having fun, wonders if for a moment you're riddled with guilt as you flirt with his cousin and him at the same time, in the same breath.

"N-no, it didn't turn out very well," you admit in between stutters, embarrassment creeping back in.

Komori frowns empathetically, "I could help you, you know—"

The sparkle in your eyes is quick to appear. God, you're so cunning. It makes Sakusa consider that maybe you failed the test on purpose, thinking this would happen—but that would be giving you more credit than due. You're just a dumb little girl.

"I'm already tutoring them," Sakusa interrupts, and he's unsure whether to be delighted or angered at the way your face falls sullen.

"O-oh right, but—but I'd love to get your help, Motoya-kun—"

The scoff Sakusa lets out is loud, loud enough to make you wince. "You're dumb enough as it is, you don't need distractions," his words come slicing like knife. You sink in your seat.

Komori laughs awkwardly, giving you a smile—sheepish and apologetic—he's so kind, he's always so kind.

Sometimes you wonder how they're actually cousins; until you're reminded that Sakusa hadn't always been this mean to you. He had always been cautious, but he wasn't ever mean like he was out to get you at every ragged edge.

Somehow, though, the closer you got to him—past his defenses and indifference towards you—the meaner he's gotten.

You were like a moth to a flame, not in the sense that you were attracted to its light, but more so like being punished with burn after burn the closer you got.

But your feelings for Komori begged you at every instance to swallow the humiliation down, at each of Sakusa’s degrading remarks.

You take out your packed bento, wiping at the table with wipes before placing it down, the cousins moving to do the same out of adapted habit, until you notice Komori digging in his bag, eyebrows furrowed like he's confused.

"Motoya-kun? What's wrong?"

He turns to you, scratching at the back of his head, "I think I forgot my sanitizer."

You're quick on your hands, offering him yours without missing a beat and Sakusa's reminded of why he even likes you at all.

You were persistent with being able to stick around them. He thought that was remarkable. That you'd never been freaked out by his habits, you respected his space—something he couldn't say with the people who pushed and disregarded his boundaries. That instead of forcing him to adjust to you, you went out of your way for him to be comfortable with you around.

And he's flattered, really. He doesn't have to wonder if he had a chance with you because surely, he does.

Since he's so nice—nicer than a whore like you deserves, he'll let you know your feelings are reciprocated, then he'll fuck you, because surely, that's what you want… Right?

Then maybe, when you're finally his girlfriend, he can start training you to stop being such a flirty slut, that you belong only to him and that you’re nothing but his property.

But for now, he can settle with the warmth in his chest as he notices all the ways you try to get his attention.

Being with Sakusa is hard, even with Komori around, it was nerve wracking. Conversations with him weren't any easier, if anything, they were more dreadful.

When you ask Sakusa about tutoring you, you do it over lunch just so you avoid having to walk up to him alone. His answer is curt when he tells you to come over tomorrow, and that he’ll pick you up from your place; because you can try all you want to outsmart him, but he’d always catch on.

Because Sakusa was smart, and you were just you.

After lunch, you feel nothing but the dread bubbling in the pit of your stomach—churning and thrashing—because no matter how hard you try to push it down, the fact is that you’re actually scared of him.

Scared of the nitpicking he'll scrutinize you with—the way you sat, the way you looked at him, the way you trembled in his presence alone. You start thinking of what to wear, because even something as little as that can put him off—always commenting about how short your skirt is, how you're showing too much skin, how you're probably doing it on purpose.

But it's nothing you're not used to anymore.

So you tug on your fear, push it into a corner, and you tell yourself that Sakusa is mean, and condescending, and harsh, but he wouldn’t hurt you. You pick yourself up from the corner of your mind, and you repeat in your head like a mantra. Sakusa wouldn’t hurt you.

The ring of the bell breaks you out of your reverie. It reminds you that the day has almost ended, and that it felt like a blink faster than it should’ve been. Still, you pull on your things, gathering them to leave the classroom slowly emptying out.

You make a small sound of surprise when your eyes dart over to the door, where Komori stood, an anxious smile on his lips. He looks like he's been waiting for you, making your heart hammer against your chest like it wants to leap out.

Face-flushed and giddy, you walk towards him.

“Hey, Motoya-kun. What’s up?” You smile, all sweet and bright-eyed. From the pit of Komori’s stomach, something flutters. You only ever look like this when your eyes are on him; he thinks he wants to keep it to himself.

He brings a hand up to his hair, lightly scratching at the back of his head with a nervous smile, and it’s awkward in an adorable sort of way. He’s walking beside you along the corridor, it’s slow and the bit of silence between you is calm.

“Ah, well…” He starts, gaze flickering to the floor and back to you indecisively, “I was wondering if I could ask you to the newly opened café tomorrow. A-after you study with Sakusa-kun, of course,” He stutters a bit, offering you a boyish grin.

It so nearly pulls a squeak out of you, surprised in the most love struck sort of way. Your heart beats out of your chest unlike the way Sakusa makes you feel.

Your heart hammers out of fear of him—but with Komori, it's nothing but pleasant and warm and intoxicating.

Your smile is instantaneous; it comforts Komori as your lips part.

"I'd love to," you answer him softly, though an octave higher.

Sakusa finds you both like this, shyly smiling at each other like lovesick doves. There's nothing pure about you, you shouldn't be smiling that way. Especially not at the face of his cousin.

"Oi," he calls out, even through the face mask, his annoyance seeps into your skin and makes you feel small.

The blood that had rushed to your cheeks dries you pale at the glare he gives you.

"Coach is looking for you, Komori," he follows, yet never taking his eyes off of you.

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N!"

Sakusa takes another step closer to you the moment Komori's out of sight. Your grip on your bag tightening, instinctively taking a step backwards.

The action alone makes him practically sneer with you cowering in response.

"Disgusting," he mutters, brimming with venom. "There's nothing I hate more than girls who throw themselves at any guy they see."

Maybe it's the sheer malice in his voice, or the way your eyes catch how his hand moves up—but you flinch, like expecting a hit to come across your cheek.

The pain never comes and when your eyelids flutter open, you're met with hard eyes the color of obsidian yet gleaming with a newfound resolve despite his furrowed eyebrows that suggested hitting you was far from the origin of his intentions.

Without a word, Sakusa walks away from you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

You let your body slump against the wall. His eyes burn in the back of your head, almost like they’re warning you.

Right before you head to bed, your phone chimes once, then twice and it’s bittersweet. One from Komori, telling you he’s excited to see you tomorrow, and one from Sakusa—not beating around the bush, it says nothing but ‘9 AM.’

It’s firm and unyielding. Even as your head hits the pillow, forcing your eyes shut, sleep doesn’t come easy—not even at the thought of seeing Komori on a date.

It’s not the sunlight peeking in between your curtains that wake you, nor the sound of birds chirping outside your window. Instead, it’s the ache in your body acting like a bad omen. Nevertheless, you drag your body out of bed.

Your stomach churns but you get ready for the day.

You think the next hour couldn’t come any quicker, because you’re fidgeting on the balls of your feet and somehow, there’s goosebumps rising against your bare skin.

Your phone blinks back at you with a minute before nine o’clock but you already hear the knock on your door. Your breathing halts even as you move hurriedly to open it—and even when the air hits you as you find Sakusa on your doorstep.

You feel his eyes wander, from the very top of your head, down to your feet, and he mutters, “You look nice today.”

The blush that creeps on your cheeks is only natural. Compliments in any form that came from Sakusa were hard to come by—only because they were compliments in the most genuine, honest of ways.

Sakusa is mean, and if you were more honest with yourself, he’s a bully. But Sakusa, mean or not, is still Komori’s cousin; so you give him a smile, palms going clammy.

“Thank you, Sakusa-kun…” You trail off, hesitating on your next words, “You look nice today, too.”

And he does. The dark color of his clothes complimented his pale skin and dark, curly hair, and despite being covered by the mask, his pristine beauty seems to gleam through. Even seemingly unfazed, his gaze on you softens by a fraction.

As abrupt as it appeared, he’s already turning away, “Hurry up,” he quips, but his voice is softer because you look nice today were words that confessed his truest feelings—the ones that reminded him he’s so in love with you and that you’re the cause of warmth in chest.

Even when you strut around trying to get Komori to like you, Sakusa doesn’t attempt to deny the feelings he harbored, because you look nice today, too should mean something, shouldn’t it?

You know you’re dressed up for your date with Komori, but Sakusa doesn’t know that; so in that moment, he appreciates you. For once, there isn't one insult that lingers in his tongue or even in his head as he walks slowly.

Sakusa is nice today, you note as he keys the lock to his place. He had awkwardly placed his hand on the small of your back on the short walk it took from your place to his, guiding you along the sidewalk.

You've only been to his place once or twice, both times were with Komori, so you weren't familiar with the directions. The walk was silent, and in his silence, you found a reason to relax—just enough to make you think that this might go well.

Despite all awkwardness, Sakusa is forward. Seeing you sat on his couch so comfortably, the skirt of your dress riding up slightly, does nothing to hold back his urge to keep his hands on you.

It's a good thing he doesn't have to keep his hands to himself now, right? Since you like him so much, you'd let him fuck you now… Right?

Sakusa's movements are sly, that's why you don't question how he walks closer towards you, sitting so, so close to you—that's why you choke on the lump in your throat when his hand shoots out to grab you by the wrist, pulls you in, then presses his lips on yours.

The second that passes is only because you couldn't wrap your head around Sakusa—lips pressed against yours and body so close.

But the next second, you're pushing him off roughly enough to stop him and he's looking at you confused.

"Sakusa-kun, I think you misunderstood—I like, I like Motoya-kun, I didn't mean to—this is—" you're trampling over your words, looking at him with panicked eyes.

Sakusa mutes out the sound of your voice, all he can hear is the beating in his chest and the ache of it—the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach. He should’ve known.

All the softness in his eyes are gone. His hand, still wrapped around your wrist, gripping tighter and tighter; your heart skipping obnoxiously against your chest. Something about the way he's looking at you now petrifies you.

His silence feels deadlier than his destructive words, deadlier when you wince at his grip, whimpering, "Sakusa, you're hurting me—please," and still, he doesn't let up.

Not when he's roughly tugging you from the couch, taking your arm with a bruising grip, then he's hauling you somewhere. You thrash, panicked pleas calling out to him and apologies he doesn't deserve but you offer him anyway. All your protests are rewarded when he halts, turning to you without a hint of remorse, pushing you to the floor—his foot comes to your side, kicking you with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Bile is rising up your throat, coughing and arms shooting to your stomach to protect yourself. Scared feels too small of a word to describe the feeling that looms over you as he takes your arm again, dragging your curled up body.

Sakusa shoves you inside a room, even as you flail around and beg for help, his face remains impassive; whatever force you’re putting in the way you try to break free from his hold is futile. Of course he’s stronger. Of course, but you can’t possibly accept this, can you?

You made Sakusa yearn—disgustingly grapple on his feelings so needlessly, and nothing, he thinks, could be more unforgivable.

So he secures you on the bed, bound and within his claws, for you to take responsibility for the yearning you've planted inside of him.

"S-Sakusa, please," your begging sounds like a whimper. "I-I won't tell anyone! N-not even Motoya-ku—!"

You hear ringing in your ears before feeling the sting across your cheek. From inside your mouth, you can taste metal.

"You won't tell anyone either way," he mutters apathetically, like the idea of you telling anyone isn't a threat, "No one would believe you…"

He pauses, gaze on you hardening for a second, "You don't want Komori finding out you only got close to him because you wanted me, right?"

The sound of disbelief that escapes you is small, even the wide-eyed betrayal that flashes in your eyes does nothing to make him even pity you.

"You–I, I didn't—"

At your stuttering, Sakusa clicks his tongue, "You're such a dumb girl you don't even know what you want."

"That's not true, Sakusa—"

He glares down on you. The bed dips, bracketing your body between his knees, hovering over you, then leaning forward. His hands move slowly as if caressing you before grabbing your hair with a stinging tug.

The fear pooling your eyes only makes him even angrier.

"I hate that face," he grits out, "Always looking at me all scared, then you look at Komori like a shy innocent bitch, it pisses me off."

Pretty as you are, he lands another hit across your cheek—hard enough that you can feel a cut on your cheek trickling down with blood, the side of your ear going deaf. You’re not sure anymore if it was a slap or a punch—all that you know is that it hurts. Your vision is blurred when you open your eyes, but even through them, the insanely expressionless eyes of Sakusa are clear.

It dawns on Sakusa that you wouldn’t date him. Of course you wouldn’t. Sluts like you go for guys like Komori—so he’d just have to take you by force, make you date him by force, make you love him by force.

Besides, you look prettier forced, he observes. Your face tear-stained and bloody makes his cock throb in his pants. With your body weak underneath him, so helpless that it disgusts him and fuels him with desire all at once.

Something about your weakness, the innocence that spills from you contradicting his firm idea that you’re a dirty whore makes him livid. He pictures you painted with bruises and cuts, the image sending a shiver down his spine. Clenched fists pull back, only to land on your sides, on the same places he kicked you.

What makes you feel sick at the stomach more than the abuse he inflicts on you is the way Sakusa’s movements lack hesitation as his hands travel to your bare thighs.

"W-what are you doing?”

It's disgusting. Women like you are disgusting. You lead him on just so you can take advantage of his feelings like this—that even if he knew better, he'd still soften up for you.

It's you who lured him into this, he almost sneers at the thought. You were truly vile, and yet he loves you all the same—wants you all to himself all the same.

"Omi?' You breathe, frightened. The nickname falls affectionately, though, putting all your hope into it, wishing it would tug on his heart enough for him to let you go.

“Let’s talk about this, Omi? Please?” You cry, searching for his eyes—the ones trained on your thighs as he glides his hands against them, your dress bunched up to your hips revealing your baby pink panties. Your sobs only grow louder as he goes further up, going on as if he’s in a trance where he can’t hear you groveling at him to stop.

Strong, calloused hands stop at the band of your panties, fingers hooking, and only then does he look back up at you. Dark eyes drown you as he tugs them down torturously slow, exposing you to him in your most vulnerable state.

The same second you attempt to force your legs shut, comes a biting pain on the inside of your thighs, instantly blooming his handprint at the force. Your mouth opens to wail at the pain, but it’s the same wail that Sakusa swallows as he brings his lips to yours with a kiss so treacherously passionate.

Sakusa pulls away quickly though, eyeing your bare cunt, he brings his fingers to your slit, experimentally rubbing up and down and your response is immediate, somehow. Your slick gathers on his fingers, body squirming from beneath him.

“K-Kiyoomi, it feels weird—stop, please,” yet your hips buck into his fingers as he prods at your tight hole, “Don’t—Not there—N-no one has touched—”

He lifts an eyebrow, “You’re a virgin?” His question sounding more of a comment, because the hesitant nod you give him is almost needless when you hiss at the intrusion of his digit pushing inside of you; your walls clamping down on it, body tensing, he brings a thumb to your clit, circling with enough pressure to make it feel good.

And it’s wrong. So wrong, but it feels good because you’re moaning against your will, whimpering at the curl of his finger and at the additional finger he’s slowly sinking into you.

The stretch is uncomfortable and foreign. Nothing is in Sakusa’s mind but at the thought of you absolutely untouched, absolutely all for him to ruin. Your body instinctively leaning to his, submitting to his ministrations—fingers scissoring and pushing in and out of your pussy, the sound of your slick echoing in your ears as if to taunt you, but your legs are trembling, your gasps are broken and there’s a pressure in your pelvis about to snap.

“You’re so filthy,” he mutters, but he looks at you like you’re the farthest thing from filthy, and his comment is exactly what makes you break, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and cunt creaming around his fingers pathetically.

You feel so dirty, especially at the sound of your slick as he pulls his fingers out and shoves them inside your mouth—the taste of you tainting your tongue. Shaking your head profusely, you beg him with your eyes, “No more—please, I don’t want this.” you weep, muffled.

“Suck,” he commands, but your defiance is clear before you even shake your head, so he pushes his fingers down further, choking you until you gag and find it hard to breathe.

“Suck,” he repeats, and you relent.

Watching you suck messily on his fingers, drool and tears disheveling you, dried blood sticking to your skin, he frees his twitching cock out of its constraints.

Though hazy, your eyes catch it, the thickness of his cock—hard and flushed at the tip—your hands tugging at your restraints feebly making you panic and choke on his fingers, nearly biting down on them.

He’s quick to pull them out, glaring down at you with dark eyes, jaw ticking as his hands curl into fists; knowing what’s to come doesn’t prepare you any more at the excruciating pain of his abuse, even more so at his length pressing against your wet folds—cockhead nudging your puffy clit and making your cunt drool on him.

Both hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them to your chest. The pain on your face numbs at the sensation of him prodding on your entrance, ripping you apart and increasing the pain—your head throbs as he stretches your cunt with his fat cock, barely giving you time to adjust as he starts to move slowly despite your tense walls barely allowing him.

He curses as he ruts into you, bathing in your cries and moans, violating and invading the entirety of you. The pleasure of feeling you and having you just like this seeps into his bones, turning his languid thrusts more desperate.

“You make desperation look so pretty,” he groans, “You’re making such a mess, you like being forced like this?”

He insults you, but you’re everything he always wanted and more—the taste of your skin as he sucks marks onto your neck as if you were his to own, the clenching and humiliating sound of your cunt squelching as he pounds into you and grunts against your skin. His cock throbs inside you and drags along your velvety walls deliciously; all you can think is that you hate this.

Pressure, pain, the drowning pleasure of Sakusa all over you and inside you don’t allow you to retreat to the back of your head and forget. Not with the burning euphoria building up in your stomach or the moan that slips from your lips as Sakusa brings one of your legs down, bringing his hand to your breasts and thumb swiping around your sensitive nipples.

“O-Omi, please,” you sob, weak and submissive—just how you should be. Your nails dig into your palms, arms aching from your restraints. “I-I’m gonna—I think I—”

“Y-you really are a whore,” he spits, voice strained yet patronizing, still. “Do it, then. Cum on my cock.”

His hand moves in between your thighs, fingers pressing and rubbing circles on your clit as you cry out, tight walls clamping down on him and stuttering his already sloppy thrusts, your arousal running down his length and down to his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

Your moans come out as squeals of his name, your back arching and breath catching in your throat, vision going white as he continues to fuck into you.

His breathing is ragged, moving to bury his face into the crook of your neck in an odd show of affection, your swollen cunt pulsating around his cock as he suddenly stills, his low groan vibrating against your skin as he empties inside you.

You want to cry—but nothing comes out, all you can feel is the bruises on your skin, Sakusa’s cock buried deep inside you and his cum leaking from your abused hole, the stickiness and the sweat.

Maybe Sakusa’s right. Maybe you are disgusting, because as he peels himself from you, thinking it’s all over—Sakusa doesn’t undo the ties keeping you on the bed.

He reaches towards the bedside table, grabbing his phone. The sound of the shutter going off once, twice, over and over with the camera directed at you pulls your soul out of you.

“Omi—?” Your question remains a lump in your throat, but Sakusa is smart. He doesn’t need to hear your question.

“You’re my girlfriend now…” He mutters carelessly, “but I’m sure you don’t want Komori to see how you like to be fucked, right?”

[actualbird]

alpha/alpha couple marluke and omega/omega couple vynartem <3

n/s//f///w text in response also why is this answer 1.5k words oh my god

okay for this answer im going to skip over omega couple vynartem (i'll get back to them eventually) because alpha couple marluke FRITZED MY BRAIN WITH A VERY SPECIFIC SMUT SCENARIO AND I NEED TO TELL U ABOUT IT

yes, YES absolutely yes to alpha!luke and alpha!marius im frothing at the mouth. in my ideal omegaverse au setting, it's totally fucking impossible to for sure certainly clock what another person's a/b/o biology without them telling you outright or if u take a gander at their medical files. like somebody Could make assumptions, but it's considered a jerk move, assuming that biology and personality have some kind of intrinsic link. still, after that first tense meeting where luke comes into the nxx all angry tense, after marius gets to know luke a bit more, marius privately has luke pegged as a beta. yeah yeah, it's a jerk move, marius knows, but hes already made peace with the fact thats hes kind of a jerk sometimes, so he lets himself have his assumption.

anyway marius and luke fall in love and get together, it's awesome, and they eventually start sleeping with each other, and they both tell the other that theyre an alpha. not a problem for either of them, but marius is a bit worried and asks luke about their sex life.

up until this point, it's been marius who's been taking the lead, being the more dominating one, topping and all that jazz. it had started like this because luke was a virgin prior to this relationship and he didnt know how to Do Things, he was more comfortable with marius showing him the ropes and marius obviously Loved That A Lot. he loved it because hell yeah, fucking luke pearce, but also hell yeah because it satisfied the alpha brain in him, to claim his partner, to take care of his partner.

but theyre at a point in their relationship now that like, luke has already been Shown The Ropes, luke damn well knows how sex works, how marius works, and marius is worried that luke is doing his self sacrificial bullshit in regards to his own dick, putting marius' desires over his own. luke is an alpha, marius is sure that luke has an instinct deep in his mind to take the reins as well, is luke repressing that part of his desires to make marius happy? is marius...making luke do this?

so marius confronts luke about it in the most I'm So Totally Not Stressed, Dude, I'm Not Stressed At All way possible. like "hey, you know, im like, a switch through and through, i'd be down if you wanted to fuck me."

and luke is just like. blinking. confused. bc theyre currently in an IKEA shopping for a new coat rack and marius brings this up outta nowhere. "HUH?"

"I'M JUST SAYING, I'D LOVE TO TAKE YOUR DICK."

"MARIUS," luke covers marius' mouth as an elderly lady passes by. "CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS WHEN NOT SURROUNDED BY SWEDISH FURNITURE AND OTHER PEOPLE???"

so they talk about it when not surrounded by swedish furniture and other people. and the conversation goes something like luke very much reassuring marius that he isnt forcing luke to repress anything. luke quite likes their sex life right now. luke admits that alpha brain is starting to get a liiiiittle bit antsy, it's Definitely giving luke the same desires marius has, in terms of power n control in bed, but also luke isnt...quite ready to indulge that side of him yet. hes...

"dont laugh, but im a bit scared," luke says. hes trying to play his words off as chill, but marius can see him fidgeting nervously with his fingers.

"scared?" marius presses.

"im---marius, you know what my background is. im not just any alpha. i might get rough."

and hooooo boy, does marius know what luke's background is. the government agency training is very obvious to marius whenever luke is naked, luke could easily lift marius over his shoulder, luke could easily overpower marius in every way. additionally, across the cases that the team has tackled together, marius has seen luke's mean side. he's seen how luke can be absolutely ruthless and thinking about that paired with luke's strength makes marius realize that luke, if he let himself, would easily be able to pin marius down, to make marius helpless to him and only him, to make marius take everything luke wants to give and

UH

HM.

MARIUS, NOW THAT HE'S THOUGHT ABOUT IT, REALLY REALLY WANTS THAT NOW.

which marius makes VERY CLEAR IMMEDIATELY but also he backs off when luke voices that hes still not completely comfortable indulging that part of himself. so they put a pin on it for a while, their sex life continues as normal.

until luke gets his rut triggered for some reason.

for those who dont know, a rut in omegaverse is basically like the classic omega heat but it's for alphas and instead of "i need my hole fucked NOW" it's "i need to fuck a hole NOW." lemme just skim over all the worldbuilding of heat/rut, it's a natural thing but also theres meds i guess to delay it or whatever but also strenuous activity or high stress emotions can trigger it nonetheless.

ANYWAY, BACK TO THE HORNY, luke hasnt had a rut in a long time, he was single for a long time and didnt wanna waste time dealing with it himself if he was just gonna be miserable the whole time, so he took suppressants, but something something high stress situation happens that pushes past those meds and luke's brain knows he isnt single anymore, that hes got somebody he trusts that can help him, somebody who had told luke that he wants this and---

"are you sure?" luke says, his words shaky, his voice breathy. marius came over to his place the moment luke called and explained the situation, and luke stands in front of him. he looks wrecked, marius thinks. his skin is flushed, his hands twitch as if he wants so desperately to touch marius, but he doesnt let himself.

"im sure," marius walks forward, looking luke in the eyes. in luke's gaze, theres an intense hunger that marius has never seen before and marius wants to be devoured. "take me, luke."

marius doesnt have to convince luke anymore than that because luke replies by grabbing marius by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against the wall violently, his lips pressed to marius' in a frenzied kiss that takes marius' breath away.

luke fucks marius that night SO MUCH. MARATHON SEX, FELLAS. INSANE AMOUNTS OF COME.

first time right up against the wall because luke is so on edge that he cant even wait for a horizontal surface. the prep is fast, just on the edge of being cruel, and marius is dizzy at how luke fucks him with his fingers to stretch him, at how luke litters marks all over marius' neck the entire time until marius whines for his cock and the sound luke makes at that...a dark growl, hungry and dangerous. marius cant think much about how hot that was because luke lines his cock up with marius' hole and fucks him mercilessly, fucks him until marius' legs go weak after marius comes, until marius cant brace himself against the wall anymore and luke has to hold him up as he thrusts into marius' heat hard.

second time they make it to the bed because after the first time, marius quite literally slides down the wall, his hole leaking luke's first load of come. luke's protective care instincts briefly trump his horny instincts and he carries marius to somewhere softer. this round is a bit more gentle, since the first one took the edge off. marius cries. marius totally cries. how could he not? luke fucks him that time with long, languid thrusts, as if hes trying to carve a space inside marius made just for him. marius comes again and, deliriously, he tells luke to keep going, please dont stop, please. and luke hooks marius legs over his shoulders, practically bends marius in half, and buries his cock deep, releases inside marius so thick and hot that even though marius isnt going through a rut of his own, his own cock gives another feeble twitch.

all the times after that are kindaaaaa a blur for both of them HAHA.

the morning after though, marius wakes up. hes cuddled up against luke and he is no longer covered in come and the thought that luke had cleaned him up after makes marius' heart go all warm. luke totally has a whole "IM SO SORRY FOR BEING SO ROUGH LAST NIGHT" and marius has to shush that bullshit with "dude shut up i loved it, chill" and they eventually go make breakfast

or well, they try. the moment marius tries to get out of the bed and walk his legs are just

not working all that well

luke: IM. SO SORRY

marius, genuinely feeling proud about how much dickings he went thru last night: im not ;)

luke: //buries his face in his pillow to hide his blush

[thehollowprince]

Context is Everything, Pt. 2

Or... "Have You Actually Watched The Show?"

Pt. 1, with excellent additions by @camelotpark and @princeescaluswords can be found here.

As anyone who follows me knows, I've been particularly active when it comes to defending Scott McCall on Teen Wolf recently, because we've had a lot of anons (one anon on repeat) harassing us. It made me more familiar with those who are just hellbent on taking Scott and casting him in the absolute worst possible light at every opportunity.

As such, occasionally, I'll find myself venturing behind enemy lines to see what nonsense they're spouting now out of a sense of morbid curiosity.

And boy did I find some doozies this time around.

For example:

This is why this post is titled Context, because its something that these people conveniently leave out when they try to woobify certain characters and demonize others.

Take this one - every line written down there is taken out-of-context. If people actually watched the show, they'd know that Derek was living in the burned out shell of his family home by his own choice. We found out later that he had a hell of a lot of money, enough to by entire building. Hell, there were even clues before that, in the fact that he drove around in an expensive muscle car and clearly had enough cash to replace a shattered window on said car in a relatively short period of time. Derek lived in squalor (first the mansion and then the train station) by choice, which is entirely apparent if one would just watch the show.

And then there's the attempt to deflect by bringing up Derek's trauma, hoping that people won't pay attention to all the horrible things Derek did in the first two seasons. These people straight up switch the definitions of Excuse and Explain in an attempt to make Derek's actions, particularly toward Scott and Stiles seem either not that bad, or weirdly enough, romantic (in the case of Stiles). They like to pretend that the horrible things that Derek went through (which explain his behavior) give him free reign to do whatever he wants, particularly when it comes to assaulting Scott (them trying to excuse his behavior.)

They wave Derek's trauma, being sexually assaulted and manipulated by Kate Argent who used him so that she could murder his family as an excuse for him to assault teenagers new to this world, breaking-and-entering, attempted murder (more than once) and actual murder. This is even more disturbing when you remember that the same people who love to troy out what Kate did to him when he was a teenager love to ship Derek as an adult with Stiles, who is a teenager. The irony is so thick you could choke on it.

Derek may have had one of the most fulfilling arcs on this show, but just because he finally stopped trying so hard to be something he wasn't and learned to let go, doesn't absolve him of the things he did in earlier seasons. Was he a hero by the end of the show? Yes, but he wasn't always. His first two seasons were him being one of the antagonists to being more akin to an actual villain (not the main villain, but still a villain - or anti-villain) in the second season.

And then we have this gem:

Once again, every aspect of context from the show is removed from these sentences to make Scott look like the worst thing since the plague.

Without context this just paints Scott as some warmongering asshole who goes around picking up random teenager shapeshifters and inducting them into his personal war.

With context, we know that Scott saved that kid, Alec, from Tamora and her hunters after they'd already killed all of his friends/pack. Scott didn't just pick Alec and say "hey, you're a werewolf and these hunters are after you so you have to join me or else." He invited Alec to join them in stopping the hunters with full knowledge of what he would be getting into. Not at all Derek's recruitment of Isaac, Erica and Boyd, where he preyed on them at their most vulnerable and gave them the most vague idea of what they'd be getting into. You need further proof of that? How about the fact that Derek's whole pack left him because they didn't sign up to be foot soldiers in his personal vendetta. Erica and Boyd straight up left after saying that Derek lied to them about what they'd be getting into and Isaac went and joined Scott's pack, because Scott actually cared about those in his pack.

Scott never asked any of his friends, his pack, to fight for him. Hell, in season four, during the whole deadpool hitlist plot, when Liam was too scared to get involved any more, Scott reassured him that it was okay and that he didn't think any less of him. And when Liam did get involved, that's because it was his choice. Scott didn't order him to fight, Liam chose to because it was the right thing to do. This is in direct contrast to Derek ordering his betas to kill Lydia on nothing more than his own suspicions and lack of knowledge about his own world.

Its also another blatant use of their double-standards when it comes to Scott. For the entire run of the show, these people have complained ad nauseum about how Scott didn't do anything. He was too nice and let the villains off without any consequences (he didn't, but they don't care about that), and yet here, in the finale, we have him finally taking the fight to the people coming after him, and suddenly its a bad thing.

Am I the only one that's confused by that logic?

What makes it worse is the fact that they're comparing Scott and Derek at two very different points in their lives and trying to paint Scott as comparable to Derek at his worst (kudos to them for admitting Derek was bad). Once again, with context, we know that the two situations are completely different, no matter how similar they may look. Derek went actively recruiting child soldiers, turning them into werewolves to fight in his war against Gerard and the hunters. Scott only ever bit two people, and one of them was an accident. Everyone that joined his fight was already a werewolf (or shapeshifter of some kind). Scott didn't turn any of them. He found Alec (and I'm assuming others) and offered him the chance to fight back against people who were actively hunting him. Isaac, Erica and Boyd weren't in any danger from the hunters until after Derek recruited them. On the surface, these two situations look very similar, but with context, they're not even remotely the same.

Context is everything. Without it, people can make whatever statement they like, but it doesn't change the truth of what actually happened. All it takes is for someone to actually watch the show to see how things actually went down.

[bestwishes86]

One step back - Wolf Creek Snippet

“David I need you now. Meet me at the beach” the text had read.  

David steps out onto the gray sand of Wolf Creek beach with his gun at the ready. After everything he had seen and been through this year he rarely left the house without it.  The darkness of the night made the quiet beach feel menacing. He looked left and then right, his flannel shirt and hooded blue denim jacket kept the frigid breezes at bay. He continues off to the left feeling and smelling the acrid fear and nervousness.  His senses led him to a man fidgeting and looking at the waves that churned off the beach. 

Lowering his gun as he recognizes Jon's broad shoulders, his wild dark hair, the curve of his ass in a pair of cargo shorts.  His own anxiety was spiking at the sight of his usually concealed tattoos that ran the length of his body out for anyone to see. A breeze caused the unbuttoned crisp collared shirt to flap in the wind and he saw there was nothing beneath but more pale skin and those tattoos. 

Jon turned and smiled at him, David tilted his head as he holstered his gun.  Jon's smile was a sad one, his beard thicker than usual. He saw the bags under those ocean blue eyes. David felt his own heart beat with concern as he spoke.

"What are you afraid of? Are you in some kind of trouble?" David asked, his voice soft as he took a step toward Jon who took a step back in the same moment. David realized the person Jon is afraid of is him. 

"I want to say something and if I don't say it now I never will." Jon said slowly, his eyes on his bare feet. David waited, his own fears bashing against his feelings but he refused to give in to his own mounting tension.  They had met secretly for four months. Hooking up anywhere they could find, which in a small town didn't leave that many options. David admitted he was the one at fault, he'd never been with a man before Jon. His anxiety over anyone knowing what he was up to had caused Jon to change how he did things. Were they ending this, whatever this is?

"I know we aren't dating, we argue constantly, we pick at each other. But when you needed me I was there for you. I'm always here for you. And you…you saved my life twice. Can you tell me, do I matter to you at all?" Jon asked in a small voice that if David didn't have werewolf hearing he would of missed it to the wind. David took another step forward and Jon backed away from him again. 

"I'm sorry. I should of …" David started and Jon's head snapped up then. 

"You're always sorry David! I get it. You're the town's watchdog you and the other wolves go out and risk your lives. But they go home to their wives, hell Prem has Vincent. But you, you meet me at a hotel. We meet here, you fuck me, then you leave. When do I get to be home to you?" Jon shouted and his tears fell into a breeze that whipped past them.  David struggled to find the words to express the mess inside his head. He knew he was fucking this up, he knew Jon was slipping through his hands. 

He remembered the day his father had caught him with Harry Jenkins. The way his father had slammed his face into a wall, the unbuckling of his belt, and the stinging pain of the leather cracking across his skin over and over. He had buried Charlie Donnelly two years ago now. But it felt like Charlie was there beside him calling him a queer, a fag.  They stood staring at one another, Jon searching David's face for any sign of something positive. David looked away from him in shame.

"Its fine, I get it now. You answered my question," Jon spoke as he wiped his eyes and David made a face, he bit his lip and closed and opened his hands. Inside him his wolf was growling, his hackles up not at Jon but at him. It was his fear that caused him to hold back. To hide what he was feeling, every time Jon left first he had to fight himself not to pull him back. To say "I love you".

David took a step towards Jon and Jon took a step back. A low growl rumbled through David. It was the wolf, it was him. They were angry at the distance. The gold glow of the Beta Wolf in David caused Jon's eyes to widen in confusion and fear. 

"Stop...running from me. Now," David growled out and Jon saw the fangs jutting between his teeth. 

"I know, this is all my fault. I'm the scared one, not you. I've never done any of what we do with another man and it terrifies me. But right now all I want is for you to give me a chance to show you, that I...that you matter to me." David growled out, grateful to the wolf inside him for giving him the courage to speak. He almost said he loved Jon and he knew he did but he was afraid, that Jon didn't feel that strongly about him. Baby steps, he told himself he could feel Jon's feelings from having stabbed him with his claws before to allow Jon to use the wolf magic. But he didn't feel love now though their bond. Just sadness and fear and something that hadn't been there before.

Jon felt hope, and David felt it to.

"Can I hug you, I'm sorry I know you hate sappy shit like that but i," whatever else Jon was going to say was lost in David's chest as David moved so fast Jon missed it til he was in David's arms. They stayed like that for a while, feeling each other's warmth. David breathing in Jon's scent. Until Jon felt wetness on his cheek and in his hair. He pulled back a bit and saw that David was silently sobbing. Jon didn't speak but hugged David tighter and tried to take in whatever had caused those tears, whatever sadness existed inside David. Jon wanted to take it away. 

This was inspired by the Sufjan Steven's songs

-mystery of love

-futile devices

-vision of gideon

[peachblossomss]

Hearth— a Naruto fanfic

Link to FF.net:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13035782/1/Hearth

Post-war SasuSaku /short story/ a way to get me back into writing

I don't own Naruto

rated M most likely

One- Introduction

Saku

"Sasuke...?!"

"Sakura. I need a place to stay." was certainly not what I expected Sasuke Uchiha to say when I opened the door this bright, Sunday morning. Alas, he surprised me. Sasuke Uchiha, at my door...after all this time? I couldn't breathe. My voice didn't work properly, and I couldn't help but get ensnared by the way the sun illuminated him, almost like he was a saint. As if. His surprisingly timid, yet annoyed voice snapped me out of my trance. In flesh and blood, standing on my front steps, was Sasuke Uchiha- and he had something to ask me. "Sakura…? I need a place to stay. Can I stay here? Naruto mentioned once that you have an extra room for guests…" Sasuke trailed off, sounding unsure and with a slight blush darkening his cheeks. There was no way he could avoid the look of disbelief on my face. What. The. Fuck. What I thought would be a calm, semi-lazy (as I had training and a lunch date with Naruto in the afternoon) Sunday, was certainly going to be a bit more...interesting.

"Hello to you too, Sasuke. I've been fine! Thank you so much for asking." I snapped. He had been gone for months on his journey. Granted, it was his journey of redemption, which I completely 100% understand his need to go on. My only issue is that he never sent me a message. Not once. And he has the NERVE to show up on my doorstep at 8am on a Sunday, the ONLY Sunday I have off from work this month? The only Sunday I can sleep in on. "I mean, you've been gone for what, 5 months without contacting me, and show up on my doorstep asking for a place to crash?! Why don't you go stay with Naruto, or Kakashi even? You clearly kept in contact with them more than me, despite...despite…"/Before he left on his journey the two grew close to one another. He would randomly pick her up from her graveyard shifts at the hospital, or he would show up unannounced at her small and homey apartment with her favorite foods, somehow knowing when she'd have had a bad day. Sasuke admitted that she is his most precious person. They spent the night before he left together. Not sexually, though. They stayed up late- laughing, crying (mostly only Sakura, but Sasuke let tears form in his eyes, and that was him crying in her book), and talking about everything and nothing... soaking each other in, almost like they were lovers and best friends. Sakura had known something was going to change./ I couldn't say it. I didn't want to throw his uncharacteristic vulnerability back in his face, months after the fact.

"Despite what, Sakura? Do you care to elaborate?" he asked sharply, that earlier apprehensiveness and embarrassment long gone.

"Well, despite the fact that we uh, you know, spentalotoftimetogetheranditmeantalot to me…" I whispered embarrassedly. I could feel the blush heating my cheeks. I couldn't look him in the eyes. Although I am usually extremely open with my feelings, I've learned it's best to keep my love for Sasuke to myself. He never was quite comfortable with my outright confessions.

/Sakura would keep her deep love for Sasuke hidden, as to not scare him away. She knew he had to atone for his sins, make his path pure once again, and also keep his precious people and all of Konoha safe. She knew she would be nothing more than a friend. She was simply one of his only family members, just like Naruto, Kakashi, and even Sai. She would support him on his voyage of redemption./

"Sakura," He sighed, running his hand down his face, covering a slight smirk "I only sent Kakashi messages, Naruto somehow coaxed Kakashi into telling him my whereabouts, I assume he used the Icha Icha books as leverage...although the dobe isn't that cunning alone...anyway, he sent me letters. Kakashi doesn't even know I'm home yet."

Without listening, I protested. "You knew where I liv-" I stopped short. Home...he said he's home. He said he's home and I'm the first person he's seen. Out of everyone, even our Hokage and former Sensei, Kakashi. I tried to fight the shy smile that was threatening to dissipate my angry demeanor. After months of being away, my house is the first place he's visited. I know I'm reading into things, since he appears in need of a shower or two, a hot meal, and a good nights sleep on a cozy bed. He knows I have it all on hand. He also knows I would never turn him down. It doesn't matter, though. He's using me, and I'll let him, as long as I get to spend time with him. It's worth it, and it always is. Anyway, he is my teammate, and that’s what friends are for, right? To help one another in times of need. I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You can stay, I guess. Let me show you to your room."

Sasu

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, what am I doing? It was too late to back out, I already knocked on her door. Fuck. She's home, and she's going to answer the door. It's been 156 days since I left Konoha. 156 days since I've seen her weightless pink hair and her kind, yet determined green eyes. 156 days since I've used an actual shower...fuck me. It has also been 156 days since I left Sakura at the gates to Konoha with a poke on her forehead and a promise. A promise I have no clue how to keep. A promise i will try to keep. I need to make everything right. /Sasuke left her with a promise. He said he'd be back, and next time he left, she would leave with him. She asked if she could come with, she wanted to be there for him, frustratingly enough, she somehow knew he needed assurance that he never had to be alone again. He declined her, saying his sins had nothing to do with her...at this time. Afterall, he did try to kill her./ First, though, I need a goddamn shower, and I need to see her. Why do I need to see her? Why is it that this annoyingly stubborn, smart, brave, eternally kind, girl, no...woman, is constantly on my mind? I can't stop pacing the porch as I wait for her to answer the door. What is taking so long? I knocked a whole 46 seconds ago, a kunoichi should be to the door within 20 seconds, 35 if she is sleeping. Maybe she IS sleeping…

"Sasuke…?!"

"Sakura.” I let out a breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding. “I need a place to stay."

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AN:

Hello all! It’s me, Peach! Sorry I’ve been gone for so long, I’m kinda a lazy p.o.s sometimes. I’ve been having major writers block. This lol story is a way to get my creative juices flowing..I have no outline or anything, so this story is just coming out as I come up with it. I don’t have a beta or anyone to read over my work, so I’m sorry if it’s confusing. Don’t worry! There will be more of Sasukes views in the upcoming chapters. ;) please review!

As always, much love!!

-peach