#which isn’t to say it can’t be done but it seems like lately nobody wants to dig deep

[queer-ragnelle]

If nothing else getting treated poorly makes for writing fuel

[gyuswhore]

the story of us ✦ j.w.w x reader

the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now - the story of us

synopsis: So many walls that you can't break through; except you do.

wc: 2.1K

contains: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, humour, happy ending, alcohol, arguments

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[a/n]: im exhausted, im loopy, im hungry, but i really wanted to post this so here you go my babies I'm sorry i haven't fed you in so long (ty @toruro for making sure i wasn't talking out of my ass in this ily)

[edit; 11/04/24]: grammar and spelling.

Jeon Wonwoo was nearing boiling point when he watched you push him away from yet another conversation.

He tried to understand, just like he always had. But it was proving near impossible at the five-month mark. 

There were clear signs you exhibited when you needed space, for whatever reason, Wonwoo knew you would tell him when you recovered. So he gave you what you needed.

And yet, when he finds himself pushed away from what looks like a casual conversation between your mutual friends, he finds his mild annoyance grow into something hotter. 

There’s a clench in his jaw as he tries not to squeeze the red cup in his hand with too much pressure, even when all the spiteful bit of his brain wants to do is to pour its pigmented contents all over your cream outfit. He manages to control himself, choosing to get up and exit the premises entirely. In complete silence, he refuses to acknowledge any yell of his name from passing acquaintances. 

Jeon Wonwoo refused to respond to any of your advances after that. 

Invitations to lunch were left on a jarring sent, the notification sitting in his log until he chooses to open it too late. His response was bare when you asked for help on some accounting concepts, pushing you over into Jihoon’s hands to fulfill your requirements. There’s a blatant shrug when you touch his shoulder, concerned, asking why his behaviour had become so distant in the past weeks; he responds with a mumble of, “just tired”.

The great divide happened a few days proceeding your birthday, one for which Wonwoo did nothing for but send you a quick message during the evening, never to see you throughout the extended day. 

“I can’t believe you’re putting this on me!” you all but yell, eyes wide and expression exasperated at the situation.

“Are you blind? Or just plain stupid? Because I didn’t tolerate months of your shit attitude to have you say it isn’t your fault.” Wonwoo is breathing heavily, hands motioning towards your entire figure with equal disbelief.

“What attitude?” you emphasize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t be upfront with my best friend.”

“There’s a difference between being in a mood and blatant disrespect. I’m tired of having to put up with your mood swings like it’s my responsibility to coddle you. When was the last time you genuinely asked me how I was doing?”

“All the time!”

“Yeah, after you realize there's nobody else to whine and wail to!”

“Wonwoo, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine. If I’m clearly so unhinged, I’ll leave you to your liking.” 

The dwindled interactions, from messages to hellos, went from sparing to nonexistent — just like that. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t expect for you and Wonwoo to reconcile in the matter of a few days, if not a couple weeks.

But when the distance did nothing but grow larger, there was a settle of resentment in the pit of your stomach as you accepted the feud you were in. 

A text was sent from your phone a couple days after the incident.

[You]: can we talk?

But when you see no sign of the grey Delivered on the end, you knew he had blocked you. 

This was all nothing less than baffling to you for a number of reasons, starting with how you had never witnessed Wowoo acting this way. 

Wonwoo had done nothing but reprimand you the rare chance you suggested blocking an apprehensive individual, something about not showing that you cared. His voice seemed redundant after a certain decibel, the rarest chance to witness him yell at a failed video game or a frustrating professor. 

You know better, which is the only reason you’re ruling off paranormal possession. 

The claims against you came as an afterthought, not, however, rendering them any less strange. There’s a part of you that pondered if your shield of annoyance blocked you from seeing the truth in his words and in your behaviour, finding yourself overwhelmed with emotions when the thought crossed your mind, tears of frustration immediately blurring your vision. 

You did not understand, you could not. And when it all got too much, you allowed the hurt and confusion to turn into something more dangerous. You replaced it with anger, in the same place that once occupied a more delicate emotion. 

There was an uproar in Wonwoo’s mind when he sees you walk into the lecture hall, unaware of your overlapping schedule in the new semester. He watches as your eyes pass over the moderately packed space, briefly glancing over where he sat; if you saw him, you did nothing to bring a reaction out of it. You take a seat a few rows up front, right in front of him where he’s able to see the back of your head for the next two hours — for the rest of the semester. 

He wonders if it’s too late to switch classes. 

“Wonwoo, I honestly think this is getting out of hand.” Jihoon munches on his cashews, leaning against bark of the tree they were both sat under. 

“Did you want me to keep tending to her bullshit then?” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I’m saying, you know it’s not.”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Wonwoo’s retort is brisk.

Jihoon is suddenly snapping his fingers in his face at the reply, a flinch accompanies Wonwoo’s already sour expression. 

“See! See how frustrating it is when somebody isn’t making sense?” 

“How does this—” 

“Wonwoo, did you try talking to her about how you felt, you know, without the screaming?” 

Jihoon watches as Wonwoo’s expression clears out, his eyebrows unfurrowing and the scowl fading. He doesn’t speak, choosing to let the realization kick in.

“No.” 

Jihoon sighs, taking another pause. “I’m not saying what she did wasn’t uncalled for, but you need to talk shit out before deciding you hate each other.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Right, so can we wrap this up quickly and have you confess your undying love so we can all relax.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heat crawls up Wonwoo’s cheeks.

“What? If you don’t hate her, it’s gotta be the opposite.”

Did Wonwoo like you? Yeah, he probably did. Did he ever let himself ponder upon it? No, because he was downright mortified of the mere thought. He finds himself a hypocrite to say it was to preserve your friendship, but he figures he’s fucked it up in a way that’s arguably worse. 

Regardless, Wonwoo walks away from that conversation with two things: a stark realization, and an even starker admittance. 

Everything was going wrong. At least that’s what it felt like when you hear the clang of your water bottle hit the pavement, rolling off into the oncoming traffic as you sprint to grab it. You nearly cause a vehicle pile-up, swallowing a couple profanities from braking drivers. 

You’re stuffing the darn thing into your bag when you trip on a loose brick on the path, nearly landing on your face. The glare you send into the pavement costs you even more when a hard shoulder bumps into your side, sending you another couple steps back. You don’t bother to see who the perpetrator is, too preoccupied with your attempts to take in deeper breaths amid the blankness of your mind. 

There are no hiccups after that, what you might owe your more conscious mind to. Stomping up the library steps, you thank nothingness for the air conditioning that meets your hot face, slowing down as you take in the crowd. 

Scanning the room for an empty seat is harder than you’d anticipated, hoping the heat would keep students away from the building as you left to get work done. Approaching a table, you set down your bag with a huff, pulling the chair out to finally take the seat you’ve been needing for so long. 

The universe seems to have other plans. 

It’s almost funny the way you and Wonwoo make eye contact across the other table, the recognition sending a jolt through your stomach. 

You’ve never moved so fast, pushing the chair back in with a screech that earns you a few looks, grabbing the handles of your bag as you turn around to leave the building you’d just entered. 

No way you'd sit there. Not when he was around.

You're bounding down the steps when somebody passes you, murmuring something without slowing their stride.

“I’m leaving, you can go inside,” Wonwoo says, and the sound of his voice has you halting almost immediately.

Whipping your head around to search for the sound, you watch as he takes a turn at the end of the steps, slowly moving out of your vision. 

There’s a swirl of something in your chest, and you realise in that moment how much you missed hearing his voice. 

Chiding yourself, you blink back the water that wells up in your eyes, embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself.

But the damage was done. And you wanted to be reckless, regardless of how desperate it made you look. A split second decision is made in that moment, one that lightens the heavy feet that you’ve planted on the concrete. 

You’re back to bounding down the steps, but this time with aim. 

Taking the same turn you saw Wonwoo take, you break into a sprint as you see his figure move farther away. You keep running, continuing to bump into both objects and people, hurried "sorry"'s the only thing you choose to throw their way. 

“Wonwoo!” Your voice comes out stronger than you’d intended, the sharpness having him turn around in search, eyes landing on your accelerating figure. 

Both of you realize too late how fast you’re really going, the velocity taking you directly into his outstretched arms, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt as you come to screeching stop directly into his chest. 

You don’t have the time nor the patience to be embarrassed, pulling your face back to look directly into Wonwoo’s bewildered eyes to huff out your next words.

“Why did you block me?” you ask, voice gruff and slightly out of breath.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words refusing to come out. 

“Why are you so mad at me? Why are you being nice to me if you’re mad at me?” You don’t stop, the direct questions tumbling off your tongue in desperation. 

You search his face for an answer when his mouth fails, but all you find is the remnants of shock yet to ebb away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important, I’m sorry for taking your presence for granted, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for…for… I don’t know! I’m just really sorry and I don't know how else to make this right.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you hear him say and you feel the moisture return to your eyes. 

“Huh?”

“I should’ve…” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I should’ve talked to you before I, y’know, went off on you. I should’ve managed my feelings better, I’m sorry.” 

You're silent for a few tantalizing moments before you raise your fists, and pound down on his chest with everything you have. You do it again, and then again, and again—

“What?- Ow!” 

“When are you gonna stop bottling up your feelings for fucks sake, it’s landed you everywhere but good!” you say, nearly yelling.

Wonwoo whips his head around to see who’s listening, palm to mouth in attempts to silence you. 

“I’m sorry! I know! I’m working on it,” he rambles, trying to get you to quit struggling. “Jihoon and I talked, that’s why I realised I was being dumb.”

“Are you gonna unblock me now or do I need to pay Jihoon to sit down with you again?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “You payed Jihoon to sit with me?”

“No, you idiot. But I should have because you can’t seem to figure out how to feel emotions.” 

Wonwoo can’t help himself when he breaks out into a grin, letting out a breathy chuckle that has you asking “What?”.

He pulls you in, heart to heart in an embrace, holding you tight to make up for the weeks of no contact. He breathes in your scent and feels as though he hasn’t in years. 

“I’m not gonna come running up to you the next time you decide you hate me,” you mumble into his shoulder, pouting slightly.

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“No.” Wonwoo pulls away but keeps you in his arms, looking at you, “I love you. Like, the kind of stuff that makes you wanna live together forever. I love you.” 

It’s your turn to gape like a fish. 

“W-what?”

“You told me not to bottle up my feelings.” 

“Yeah, but—wow, um.” 

“Did I make another mistake?” 

No! You wanted to scream. But you don’t. You instead lift your hands up to come around his face, cradling it. And you kissed him. 

“I love you, too. Like the live together forever kind.” 

[acaciusbride]

A Breath Of Fresh Air ( Veracruz x AFAB!F!Reader )

Summary: you get caught outside after curfew. Luckily for you, Veracruz is open to … negotiations. (This is basically a transcription of a dream I had. Whoops.)

CWs: DUBCON / Overstimulation / Double Penetration / Impact Play (Slapping & Spanking) / Degradation / Rough sex / Anal play / Unsafe PIV Sex / Oral Sex (M!Recieving) / Squirting / Extremely dirty talk / Transactional sex / Bordering on Dead Dove.

Notes: please read the warnings and consume content at your own risk & responsibility. Credit for giving Veracruz his first name goes to @ezras--moon & @ariundercovers 🩷

You just wanted some fresh air. A breather from the stuffy house you’d been confined to with the rest of your group. Generally, when a militia takes over town, you stay out of their way.

You’ve never been the smartest; rounding the corner of the alleyway, you almost walk right into him. Not just any asshole with a gun, but the leader of the unit. Fuck.

Leandro Veracruz isn’t a patient man, not really. He saves all limited patience for his job, to keep control over his unit and appear to be the cold, calculated leader that he is. You don’t rise to the rank he holds at the age he is, without being a little ruthless.

You’ve heard of his reputation. The way he doesn’t seem to care about cutting down anyone who gets in his way. You’re certain there has to be some sort of driving motive behind how he is; it’s rare for people to be the way he is without motive, but still.

“You’re out after curfew.”

You know that he is, undeniably, a bad guy, but nonetheless, that heavily accented, dark tone sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons. Maybe it’s that stupid, primal reaction that makes you choose honesty, rather than trying to craft a feasible lie.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just. I really needed some air.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realise how stupid you sound. It only serves to sink in further when he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You needed some air? After curfew? Did you consider maybe opening a window?” He’s tired; it’s late, and one of his people has come down with the flu, so he’s covering his patrol instead of sleeping. It’s made him a little more short tempered than usual. “You know you could be shot for this, yes?”

You visibly shrink in on yourself, and Leo almost feels bad. Almost. He knows what it’s like to be cooped up in a small space, can’t really blame you for wanting to get out, but the rules are the rules, and he has a reputation to protect.

“Are you going to shoot me?” You ask finally.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “If I was going to shoot you, pajarito, I would have done so by now. I am going to have to arrest you, though.”

You shiver again, thinking of the overcrowded cells in the local station, the lawlessness that goes on in there. You could be assaulted, stabbed, beaten, and nobody would blink an eye. Absolutely not. Which leaves…

“Maybe we can work out some sort of compromise?” The way you say the last word, the way you pause before you deliver it in a somewhat suggestive tone, makes it entirely clear to him what you mean.

Leandro has absolutely no trouble getting women; he knows he’s attractive, knows the right things to say and do. He’s not above paying for company, either. It’s been a while, though, given the latest operation, and frankly? You offering as a bribe is entertaining him… entertaining him and intriguing him.

He looks you up and down, then nods.

“I’m sure we could come up with some sort of deal, yes.” A lazy smirk crosses his face as his hand moves to almost caress the cuffs at his belt. “Do I need to cuff you, or are you going to follow me quietly?”

It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s armed; a handgun, a rifle, and a wicked looking knife sheathed in his belt.

“No, I’ll be good.”

“Good answer.” He nods approvingly, beckons you forward. He leads you through the alleyway, through a back gate into the little house he’s taken over as base; his people are inside, but his command centre outside is set up in a tent. It’s a durable, triple canvas layer thing built to withstand pretty much any weather.

Lit by a lantern swinging from the roof, it’s a practical, spartan, and yet somehow still cosy place. It doesn’t need to be furnished or fancy; he’s got a table, a gun locker, a duffle bag, and his bed in there. That’s all he needs.

The bed is a foam travel mattress laid out on stacked and nailed together pallets. No point carting a proper bed around on deployment. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’ll do. It serves his purpose just fine, and given the circumstances, you aren’t about to complain.

You’ve seen him shoot people in the centre of town before. Seen the way his people handle things. The fact that he’s even taking this rather than just outright punishing you for breaking the law is a good sign… you think.

He puts both the handgun and the rifle in the gun locker, then turns back to you.

“Strip.” He moves past you to flop down onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head and watching you lazily. For a moment, you consider running. You’d have a head start. But then he’d probably find you, and definitely shoot you. Besides, this was your idea.

You take your time removing each layer, trying to at least make it look somewhat enticing rather than awkward. You never quite know how people in movies manage to make stripping down for sex look enticing. Maybe you’re just clumsy.

When you’re entirely bare to his gaze, he beckons you over.

“Come here, tímida, I’m not going to hurt you… much.” A wicked grin crosses his stupidly handsome face as you nervously do as you’re told, letting him pull you onto his lap. A tiny squeak leaves you when you feel how hard he is against your core, the rough material of his cargo pants brushing against your sensitive skin.

Fuck. You’re terrified of him, yes, but you want him, you realise. Badly.

“Much?” You raise an eyebrow at him, “I thought the deal was you don’t hurt me at all.”

There’s that wicked grin again, sinfully smug this time.

“I won’t do anything you don’t beg me for.” His fingers grip your hips roughly, making you acutely aware of how much bigger than you he is. That does absolutely nothing to curb the desire that’s starting to build in you; this was supposed to be a transaction, a way to get yourself out of trouble, but you’re starting to get the feeling that you’re going to enjoy this far more than you first expected.

“Is that right?” You manage a little smirk, lips parting in an embarrassingly needy moan when he deliberately grinds you down against the length of his cock. The very, very obvious length of him. Fuck.

His fingers wander inwards, splay across your thighs, thumbs rubbing across your skin.

“Careful…” he warns, but his voice is softer than he intended. Still, it does the trick, and you nod, pliable and submissive to his touch once more.

“That’s better…” He nods approvingly, keeps one hand holding you firmly in place while the other wanders almost lazily between your thighs, finding your swollen, aching clit and rubbing firmly. It’s not the touch of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, and briefly, a pang of envy strikes you as you think of how many other countless, nameless women have been turned to pliant mush under his touch.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he almost purrs it as he leans up so you’re chest to chest, “though it seems like you’re more than willing as it is…”

His fingers lazily drag through your slick, teasing your core, barely slipping inside. You whimper again, louder and needy at the feeling of the very tips of his callused fingers pressing inside you. You can feel your slick dripping onto his fingers, down his hand, coating his pants. Slowly, he presses his fingers in deeper, curling them enough to make you cry out, before he’s pulling them out, spreading your thighs wider, fingertips teasing your other hole, wet with your own slick.

You shiver under the touch, but you don’t flinch away.

“Knew it,” he almost mutters to himself, leaning in to drag his teeth down your throat. “Knew you were a dirty little whore. Bet you’re going to cum the second I slide my cock into this pretty little cunt.” He punctuates the last word with a sharp slap to your clit, making you cry out and flinch away. You don’t hate it, though, it just surprises you.

“Well? Are you just going to sit here and look pathetic?” His hands seize your wrists, drag your hands to his belt buckle and settle them there, leaving you no doubt as to what he wants you to do. You’d only been waiting for express permission, really, your hands making short work of the belt, unzipping his pants and reaching in to wrap your fingers around his cock, freeing his length from its confines.

You have to bite down on your lip to keep your jaw from dropping. Fuck, he’s huge. Thick and curved and fuck, how is he going to fit? You run your fingers up and down his cock, thumb teasing at the tip before you meet his narrow eyed gaze.

“Stop fucking around.” He almost growls it at you, yanking you closer to him again, lifting you effortlessly so he can wrap his hand around his cock and notch it at your dripping entrance. “Montarlo, bebita.”

Ride it, baby. Oh, fuck, how you intend to.

The words are surprisingly soft as he guides you down onto him, inch by inch, letting you sink down onto him slowly. Your lips part in a filthy moan as you wriggle your hips, flush against him now. Taking a moment to breathe, you start to move, knowing he won’t just let you sit still for long.

You lift yourself up, slowly at first, then sink back down, getting faster with each movement until you’re bouncing on his cock, a string of little moans falling from your lips as one of his big hands seizes a fistful of your ass and squeezes tight, then slaps, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your cunt tightens painfully around him with each slap, knowing an imprint of his hand will be left there. Just when the slaps are really starting to hurt, he draws his hand away, settles both on your hips and guides you up and down his cock, rough and needy as his hips buck to meet you.

When he’s got you in a rhythm that he likes, he moves to rub at your clit again, clearly rewarding you for doing something that he likes. Veracruz doesn’t bother pretending he isn’t enjoying this, the way your eyes drop closed, the way you tighten around him every time he rocks his hips up.

You move your hands to brace on his chest as you ride him, lost in the feeling of him buried to the hilt inside you. Fuck, he feels so good, you don’t even care about the circumstances in which you ended up here, all that matters is the overwhelming feeling of pleasure building in you as you ride him.

“Fuck, please, give me more,” you beg him, desperate and needy and forgetting your place entirely. He’s not a good man, is allowing you to think you’re in charge because it amuses him, but the idea that he isn’t giving you enough somehow? Fine. He’ll see whether you can handle him.

He seizes your wrists in one hand, pushes you backwards and pins you beneath him, caging you in. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness where he’s pulled out of you.

“Greedy little slut, aren’t you? I bet if I cuffed you to this bed and stuffed my cock down your throat you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper beneath him, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction on your aching clit, cunt pulsing with sheer need.

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

You shake your head, and his open palm lightly collides with your cheek.

“Answer me. That’s not what you want, is it? So tell me what it is that you want, and maybe, maybe I’ll give it to you.” He drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, practising every step of self control he possesses not to just pin your thighs up under your chin and fuck you senseless.

“N-no, that’s not what I want.” Your cheek stings from the slap, but you love it, want him to be rough with you, want to feel him all over for days to come. And somehow, you know, that all you have to do is ask, and he’ll give it to you.

“Tell. Me.” He growls, leaning down to devour your lips in a heated kiss, knotting his fingers into your hair to yank your head to the side so he can suck a deep purple mark into the soft skin above your collarbone.

“I want you everywhere,” you tell him; he releases your wrists and immediately you move to undo his shirt, help him discard it before you drag your nails lightly up his back, “I want your beautiful fat cock stuffed inside me and your fingers in my ass. I want you to make it hurt, make it hurt so good I don’t want anyone else.”

Fuck. He practically growls at the words. Roughly spreads your thighs, hooks them up over his shoulders, lines himself up and plunges into you, making no effort to be slow, bottoming out almost immediately. The sting of your nails on the muscle of his back makes him think you’ve drawn blood, but he doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your eyes roll back slightly as he fills you, the way your tight, wet little cunt seemingly sucks him in deeper, molding to every curve in his cock as your body adjusts to him again.

“Is that all?” Veracruz demands as he rocks his hips slowly, drawing another tantalising moan from your lips.

“I want you to keep going, even when it’s too much.” You reply, arching your back up to get closer to him. You don’t care whether he’s a bad man, whether he could kill you, all that matters is how he feels inside you.

“Greedy,” he pulls almost entirely out of you and slams back in, throbbing painfully at the obscene mewl you make, “fucking,” he repeats the motion, “whore.”

He slams into you, hard and fast, the tent echoing with the sound of skin roughly slapping together, your needy moans and his growls and grunts of pleasure. His teeth graze your throat, the curve of your tits, sucking greedily at your hardened nipples and biting down lightly. Almost without warning, you tighten around him, milking his cock as you gush and soak his cock, your slick dripping out of your abused cunt, down his cock, dripping down his balls as he fucks you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, give me another one, go on~” he tilts his hips just so, the velvet soft head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with each and every thrust, making you scream out for him, soak him again, convulsing slightly beneath him.

“That’s it,” he groans, pulls out of you briefly just so he can flip you onto your front, pausing onto to stuff a pillow beneath you to prop you up at the angle he wants you.

“Fuck,” he draws it out into a long, drawn out groan as he sinks back into you, loving the way you feel on all fours, “look at you.”

One hand fists into your hair, yanking you up into position.

“You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re still dazed from two back to back orgasms, but you nod as best you can. You hear the impact of his free hand on your ass before you feel it, a sharp crack that echoes through the tent.

“You answer me when I speak to you.”

“Y-yes. I’ll be good.” You almost whimper it as he starts to move, releasing your hair and rubbing soothing circles on your bruised ass.

You can feel your own slick still between your ass cheeks, unbothered when his big hands spread them gently as he fucks into you slowly.

“Does my pretty, pathetic little whore still want all of her holes filled?” His voice is slightly mocking as he teases his finger around the tight ring of muscle, making you shiver. “Is my cock not enough?”

“It is,” you whimper as he slams into you again, “but please… ‘m greedy, just wanna be filled up, please~”

You’re babbling, but neither of you care. You’re too cock drunk, and he fucking loves it.

“Such a good girl for me, you should have what you want…”

As he speaks, he presses a single finger into your ass, knuckle deep, slow enough to let you adjust. When you moan and try to press yourself back against him, wanting both his cock and his finger deeper, he chuckles low in his chest, draws his finger out only to press two back in.

You moan, loud, obscene, feeling so wonderfully, deliciously full as he starts to move his fingers in rhythm with his cock, scissoring them slightly to make you mewl and wriggle beneath him.

The hand that isn’t occupied with fucking your ass moves around to roughly palm at your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples as he fucks you, harder and faster, hand moving down to tease your clit.

It’s too much, but exactly what you wanted, tears springing to your eyes as you tighten and gush around his cock again and again, his fingers insistently plucking at your clit like a practised guitarist until you collapse on the bed, unable to hold yourself up.

“Please, I need~” you simultaneously want him to stop, and don’t, because you want him to come, want him to fill you up and make you ache with need.

“Does my little whore need something?” His voice is low, breathing slightly labored with the effort of keeping his own release at bay.

“Do you want to be filled with my cum? I’m not stupid, princesa, you can have it in your mouth or your ass, I’ll be generous and let you decide.”

Slowly he draws his fingers out of your ass, slowing his thrusts to torturously languid, giving you time to decide.

“My mouth, please,” you beg him, “I wanna taste you…”

He groans, pulls out of you and smirks slightly at the sight; your cunt is swollen from how roughly he’s fucked you, drenched in your own slick and fluids and his pre cum.

“Hands and knees.” He instructs as he gets up off the bed, beckons you to the edge of it as you obey, crawling to him on shaking limbs.

You part your lips obediently, let him feed every inch of his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking at the soft head briefly before you take him, nose brushing the soft curls at the base of him.

He moans, a loud, drawn out grunt as he rocks his hips. He’s so fucking close, you barely need to do anything, but you do, sucking him greedily, working your tongue around him as his fingers curl into your hair, roughly guiding you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, my pretty little whore, you have such a filthy mouth, ‘m gonna cum down this pretty mouth, you’re gonna take it, take all of it…” he groans, trailing off into broken Spanish as his hips stutter, spilling hot, thick ropes of his spend into your mouth, down your throat.

Greedily you drink him down, make a show of licking him clean, and he groans in appreciation at the sight.

When he eventually pulls his slowly softening cock from your mouth, you look up at him with a slightly cheeky smile on your face.

“So… I’m guessing you’re not gonna shoot me?”

“No.” He agrees, and then a slightly wicked grin curves his face, “but I’m not letting you go, either.”

Maybe it’s the hormones, maybe you’re just cock drunk, or maybe you’ve never been the smartest. Either way, you look him up and down with a sleepy smile.

“Seems okay to me.”

Like you have a choice. Like you really mind, either way.

[hannahssimblr]

I’m running again. It is the hottest day of the year, with the sun blazing down on me, but I’m running anyway, because this is what I do. It's become the pattern of my life. I sleep like shit. I get up, I run, I shower, and then I sleep the afternoon away. 

This morning at six, I talked to Alison. She was in the airport, crying in a bathroom stall. 

“It’s so weird that literally nobody knows I’m here,” she said. “The last time I left the country was for our school tour to Rome, can you imagine? That now I’m doing this?”

“You’re going to be okay,” I said, though I didn’t really know it to be true. How could I? Who am I to even say that to her, as if I could ever be sure? As if I am a person capable of making anything okay. I think that all I ever did was fail her, and she is alone and scared today, so I am failing her again. 

“I would have come with you,” I told her, in a voice that sounded weak and pathetic to my own ears. 

“I didn’t think I wanted you to, but now I do,” her sob echoed off the bathroom tiles. “Now that I’m here, I don’t want to be on my own anymore.”

“I can still come,” I said, but it was a lie. It was too late. I suppose that’s always been the nature of our relationship. I’ve acted too late, and reached her when the damage has already been done. 

For the rest of my life, I’ll think of Alison and feel regret. Her face and that feeling, intertwined forever. 

When we hung up, I stared out at the sea for a long time, the gentle pull of the tide, felt the heat of the sun that poured in the window that reminded me I was real and alive, then I put on my shoes and went for a run. 

It’s a day for swimming, not for running. The sea is still and glasslike today, clear turquoise and gently washing over the shore, as seagulls draw lazy circles overhead. I will swim, just not now, not while there are still heavy thoughts in my head. 

It seems I am the only person in town stupid enough to run on a day like this. I know sunbathers are watching me as I go, and I catch snippets of their incredulous remarks. “What is he at?” someone mutters to his friend. “He’ll be dead before he gets to the end of the beach, I’d say.”

I might be. Within minutes, my t-shirt clings to my body and sweat from my hair dribbles into my eyes. It stings. I wipe my brow with my arm, which is salty with sweat and unhelpful, so I commit to partial blindness for the rest of the run, kept on track by the slash of shore to my right. 

The beach is a blur of colour. Towels scatter the sand, and the vague suggestion of parasols jut above the masses of flesh coloured blobs, but the shape of her is unmistakable. She’s coming in my direction with her phone to her ear, ambling along the strip of damp sand the tide washed earlier. I can’t hear what she’s saying. There’s too much noise, but she hangs up abruptly as soon as I reach her. 

“Hi, Evie!” I wipe my brow again and act casual about my atrocious sweat patches. 

“Oh, hey! I didn’t know it was you.”

“Just out for a walk?”

“Yeah, enjoying the sun.”

“Same here. Hot, isn’t it? Sorry, I’m so sweaty.” Perhaps drawing direct attention to it will lessen the awkwardness, but then again, maybe it will make it all worse. What if, somehow, she hadn’t noticed until I pointed it out? 

She smiles sweetly. “I suppose that’s what happens when you go running in a heatwave.”

“I know. There’s no escaping it, though. It’s just been hot all the time lately.” I glance toward the sea. “At least I can swim after it. The water looks so nice.”

“Yeah, it’s lovely. I’ve been getting in three times a day.”

I smirk at her. I should ask her if this is some kind of competition, or if she just likes to brag about all the swims she takes. It would be funny, but now I think I’ve left it too long, and saying it now, after such a long pause, would make it seem like I have thought too much about it. I think I actually have thought too much about it. I look down at my feet, and a bead of sweat darkens the sand in front of me. 

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t… I didn’t, um, text you after that night we went to the graveyard.”

A smile. “Oh, no, well, I didn’t expect you to, like I wasn’t waiting for a message or anything. It’s fine.”

“I know. I just said that I would when I was free and I didn’t. I’ve been kind of distracted the last couple of weeks.”

“It’s okay, I understand! I get like that sometimes, too.”

“I just have a bad habit of saying I’ll do something and then not doing it, like, I’m a flake. I hope you weren’t waiting to hear from me.”

She tosses her air over her shoulder and laughs breezily. “No way. I didn’t notice. Don’t worry, I honestly do that all the time. Things just get in the way.”

I am desperate to get out of my sweaty clothes. The sea calls to me like a siren. “Well, if you want, we can hang out now. Are you busy today?”

“No, I’m free.”

“Okay, well, do you feel like a swim?”

 She frowns. “Right now?” 

“Why not? Yeah.”

“Oh, well, I don’t have my togs with me at the moment.”

“Me neither. I was going to go in naked.”

She blushes. “Wha- oh, um, really?” 

Bad joke. Maybe I should put more considered practice into shutting up. “No.” I pinch the hem of my polyester shorts. “I’ll just wear these. They kind of double up as running shorts. Look, you don’t have to if you don’t have anything to swim in. I just thought I’d ask. Maybe we can hang out later if you don’t have-”

“No!” She cuts me off in such a frenzy that I blink, surprised. “Just give me a sec. I’ll run up to the mobile and grab my togs, just… just wait here.”

Without giving me a second to respond, she sprints up the beach, sand flying behind her in cartoonish clouds. I watch her go all the way to the end of the beach, where the tiny figure of her scrambles up the side of a steep dune and leaps over a fence, gone from sight within seconds. 

I wait for her by the shore, my body too tired to do anything but sit and pick handfuls of sand from the ground. I could just get into the sea and swim now, but going in without her feels like a betrayal. She might want to do something competitive and race me anyway, and I might like to let her. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[slowd1ving]

UNFORTUNATE BACKUP・゜ MIGUEL O'HARA NSFW

It's just you against fate. Unfortunately, it's hell-bent towards pairing you with the most annoying person in existence ever. Medical Researcher/Field Doctor reader, GN but he is used exactly 1 time warnings: nsfw, violence, tension (resolved), degradation wrote this for my friend a while back so it's not my usual style ;; lowkey clueless abt medical stuff so I'm sorry if that's obvious... this would've done numbers here if I actually posted this when itsv came out but as you can tell I just could not be asked if you've seen this before, it was posted to ao3 like a year ago by yours truly!!! wc: 7.5k

MISC. MASTERLIST . 　⁺ MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Maybe it’s fate playing a silly little prank on you when you don’t see Jessica waiting for you at the abandoned Alchemax you’re investigating. Maybe she’s late? You shift from side to side, wishing you brought your insulating suit to combat the frigid wind sweeping through the clearing where you stand. 

“Jess?” you hesitantly call out, even though you know it’s utterly foolish to do so when you haven’t even surveyed the surroundings. You can’t help but feel a pang of worry at her absence; it’s only the rustling leaves that answer your call. 

“You’re late.” it’s not Jessica’s voice that sounds out from the shadows of the Alchemax entrance. As your eyes struggle to make out who exactly spoke, he steps out into the weak rays of sun. It’s… Miguel? What the fuck is he doing here? Rarely do you ever see him, since the medical research facility is practically a gazillion miles away from his office-cave. 

“Sorry,” you try to inject some sincerity into your tone since he’s your superior, but it’s proving difficult when you’re literally on time . You slowly push open the creaky revolving door (which is ridiculously heavy, but you refuse to let him see your struggle). 

“While you were taking your sweet time,” Miguel pauses to shoulder the door open with practised ease, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “I already surveyed the building for you.” 

Literally nobody asked. You bite back the retort, feeling your face contort into a very impolite expression. Don’t lose your job. 

“Thank you,” you force out, surveying the entrance hall with a critical eye and an infrared detector scope. No signs of biological life here, it seems. It’s unusually quiet; normally these facilities are crawling with anomalies and other beings, which is why this is a job for two. 

“Where’s Jessica?” you ask offhandedly, following Miguel up the emergency stairs. You don’t want to make conversation with this standoffish man, but anything beats the very awkward feeling in the air. “Have you kidnapped her or something?” 

“A comedian,” you can hear him mutter under his breath in annoyance. He doesn’t turn to face you. “She sent me to work with you, since she had something urgent come up back in her home world.”

So she hasn’t just left you for the fun of it. Cool. You don’t say anything in response, choosing to run the objectives of your mission through your mind instead. Find the DNA lab, grab some spider-DNA, then do the same in the pathogen department. Back at base, they’ll be used to drive forward immunity research you’ve been conducting with your colleague. 

“The first stop is here,” Miguel informs you curtly, pointing to the frosted glass door in the middle of the corridor. You wordlessly move to gather your specimens, noting how the room is unexpectedly in great condition. The samples are all fresh too, dating only a month back. Great. It’s unusual, but you’ll take it. It’s the same with the virus specimens you’ve managed to get - the Alchemax was probably abandoned very recently. 

“Done,” you don’t see the point in trying to be amiable when Miguel clearly isn’t. We’re never going to be buddies. 

It’s a very pleasant week that flies past without you seeing him. Even though you’re permanently part of the team, you’re rarely ever assigned an active combat mission since you’re one of the few medics available in the facility. Seriously, why are there so few medical Spiders? Regardless, your line of work means that you won’t be in contact with Miguel any time soon. Or so you hope. But fate likes its silly little jokes. 

“They sent you for backup?” the question flies out of Miguel’s mouth when you step out of the portal into the dimly lit streets of Earth-152. A symphony of police sirens and rain splashing onto the pavement is heard in the background; it’s a fitting orchestra for this annoying scene. 

“Is there a problem?” your fist clenches around the strap of your medic bag as you fight to keep your frustration at a simmer. It’s not often that you’re called in for backup to tackle such a large-scale anomaly (see: never ), but you’re good with combat and injuries. Objectively, you’re an exemplary ally to have when fighting - is this fool denying that? “Or can I do my job?”

“He’s just worried because it’s a big operation,” Jess interjects from behind you. What a relief. She elbows him from where she sits astride her motorcycle, looking pointedly at him. “ Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything as he turns to look at his wristband, which currently projects what appears to be a map of the area. You ignore the slight, turning to face Jess with your brows furrowed. “Any updates?” 

“The target should be appearing within the next few minutes,” she quickly pulls up her own projections to show you a blurry photo of the target. “We’re capturing him alive and heading back to headquarters. Target’s particularly strong, so be careful.”

“Right,” your affirmation is interrupted by incessant red blinking from the map hologram. Your breath catches in your throat at the tantalising prospect of finally fighting. Two streets away. You follow Jess out of the alleyway into the blaring lights of the city, feeling the neon lights soak into your very being . Warm summer rain sluices away all your wariness before your webs propel you to the side of a glass skyscraper. 

The target’s nowhere to be found on the roof of the building he’s supposed to be on. Frustration makes itself palpable in the air and you can’t help but feel the dawning horror of apprehension. What’s going on? 

“Ambush!” your mouth forms the warning just as you spot several clones of the target emerging on the roof of the building. You’re not sure if Miguel or Jess heard your cry of shock, but you can’t check on either of them as the clones of the target start surrounding you. You can’t afford that; your webs are laced with a potent tranquilizer that makes quick work of those in your immediate vicinity. It’s not enough - the hordes that emerge from your peripherals are surrounding you anyway. 

“I’ll take care of these,” Jess’ motorcycle makes quick work of a good portion of the clones - they disintegrate pretty rapidly when hit with the heavy vehicle. “Miguel’s on track to find the main body. It’ll go faster if you also look for it.”

“Right,” you know Jess will be fine; her motorcycle and quick wits will let her tackle this crowd with ease. Find the main body. Your gut tells you it’s not going to be far away. In fact, your senses are urging you to check out the derelict factory a few blocks away. And who are you to ignore them? 

“Where are you, where are you,” you mumble to yourself as you swing towards the building. Its imposing structure almost halts you in your tracks, but you know something is lurking within. The angry clouds swirling above don’t make the situation any less menacing, but you ignore the unfortunate weather. No use in shaking in your boots because of some clouds.  

Luckily, there’s a row of windows in the shadows of the factory by the roof; it’s an easy objective to lithely creep up the side of the building. There. Concealed within the shadows of rusty machinery is your target, leaning against the wall in a too-casual manner. Before he can spot you, you crawl down until you’re not in view - there, you immediately fire out a call to Miguel from your watch. It’s the first time you’ve ever done so, but the situation calls for it. 

“What do you want?” his little hologram’s mask is indented with a sharp annoyance. You should’ve just handled this yourself. 

“I’ve found the target,” you retort with whatever venom you can muster. The two of you are colleagues, for fuck’s sake; there’s no use dismissing others like that in the first place. “You can see my location, right?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish off this one,” from what you can see, he appears to be fighting a different enemy, judging from the sharp slashing you can faintly make in the background. “Stay exactly where you are until I arrive. Don’t engage in combat.”

“Sure, sarge,” you end the call with your annoyance slowly brimming over the edge. Who knows how long it’ll be before he finishes off that other enemy? You peer back into the factory, intending to continue your little reconnaissance. Your blood runs cold at the view down below. There’s nobody there, not a whisper of a soul down in the depths of those shadows. 

“Looking for me?” you almost jump out of your skin when a cheerful voice calls out from below. It’s the target, who’s somehow managed to make his way to the side of the factory you’re currently balanced on. 

“Don’t do that,” you spring down to the ground so you can come face to face with the target, clutching your bag to your side. The orders not to engage are still fresh in your mind, but you can’t exactly ignore the situation, can you?

“So, uh,” you begin, noticing the way he leans into the space between you two slightly. Diffuse the situation. Stay calm. His suit is almost as dark as the night itself, and it catches your eye with how it thrums like shaken ink. “Any chance you’ll give up peacefully?”

You already know the answer when he laughs mirthfully, with his head thrown back in sharp amusement. You can almost taste the forceful no that’s about to leave his lips. 

“You’re funny,” his razor-edged smile lacks any sort of laughter as he regains his composure. You brace yourself. “But no.”

And you’re ready, ready for the swift kick that comes flying your way. You easily move out of the way, while quickly slinging a web his way - it only scrapes by his upper arm, unfortunately, but it still has the potential to affect him somewhat. Concentrate. The fight will only last a few minutes at worst; it’s absolutely crucial to keep a clear mind. 

You alternate between throwing calculated jabs and webs designed to trap opponents to create a perfect feint and secure yourself an opening. One second. One second to carefully strike a tranquilizer web directly at the shirt under his suit. You don’t want to touch whatever makes up that shifting suit. What is it?

That question is answered immediately as clones start emerging from its shadows. Shit. You can see why the guy’s taking so long to be captured; it’s incredibly troublesome when he’s got a whole legion of clones available. 

You don’t hesitate. 

Steeling yourself, you fire a tranquilizer web straight at him while sending a kick to his side so he evades it right into your line of fire. The web lands on his cheek, which is an excellent target for the tranquilizer to work its wondrous magic. He’s out cold within a second or so. Perfect . It leaves you with plenty of time to ponder how you’re going to explain to Miguel that you’ve (unintentionally!) disobeyed orders within the humongous timespan of ten seconds. 

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

“What did you think I meant when I said to not engage?” Miguel’s annoyance seeps into the air when he sees you standing over the unconscious clone-man. 

“It was self-defense,” you argue, holding your hands up in mock-surrender. He’s clearly sceptical with the way his eyes swivel from the knocked-out target on the floor back to you. “Play it back on the watch!”

“Jessica, he’s been apprehended,” Miguel speaks into his watch briefly, before putting his arm back down. It's an uncomfortable feeling; you don’t think you’ve ever been the subject of such an intense, scrutinising glare. 

“You did take out the trouble,” he finally admits grudgingly; it feels like somewhat of an accomplishment. Somewhat. “Do a better job of following orders next time.”

You fight the urge to mutter expletives under your breath. 

It’s the same song and dance for the next month; fate can’t help but assign you as backup to Miguel’s missions, though it’s strictly limited to medic duties in case someone fucks up. It’s unpleasant - his criticisms of your actions slowly wear down your absolutely bottomless patience like coarse-grit sandpaper pretty quickly. 

You wouldn’t call the next mission a fuck up; it can only really be described as an absolute calamity when you step out into the mayhem. It’s an incessant cacophony of blaring sirens and pure carnage - from what you can gather, a gaping abyss is swallowing the buildings above where it’s situated. It’s a disaster. 

It’s not really a surprise then, when Miguel forces his way onto the hologram projection on your watch to move you elsewhere, your nerves are frayed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit out, scribbling out a list of equipment for an unfortunate intern to bring from the medical facility. You pray what you carry is enough to quench the insatiable hunger of injuries. “Let me do my goddamn job for once.”

You hang up; etiquette be damned in this haze of smoke and debris. Thankfully, there’s no fatalities recorded after the sinkhole is stabilised. On the other hand, the infirmary is going to be very lively for the next week. The movement of your hands can only be described as frenzied with how efficiently you patch up the countless injuries on site - there’s an ever growing mountain of sanguine gauze building up beside you. 

It’s only a few hours later that you’re finally allowed a reprieve. You trudge back to the medical facility where one of your few colleagues who’s actually finished training is running around haggardly to care for the incoming patients. 

“Can you patch up O’Hara?” he nervously asks you, while you feel your bones wither away. You meet his pleading gaze impassively. “He’s been refusing medical treatment from any of the available interns, and you’re the only one who doesn’t crack under that pressure.”

You want to say no. Your mind’s practically begging you to refuse so you can have him out of mind for some time. But looking upon that pathetically pitiful countenance of your colleague, your resolve softens. This man will wilt like a goddamn cabbage if Miguel so much as exhales sharply. 

“Fine,” you concede with a look of defeat; it’s almost horrendous with how quickly he beams at you. 

“After, your shift’s over,” he calls out after you as you grab some ointment, gauze and other essentials. You’re unclear as to how Miguel was injured exactly, but your gut tells you it’s probably just some shallow injuries if he hasn’t been coerced by Jess into coming to the infirmary. Just do the job. You should’ve kept your Spidersuit on below your regular clothes; yet the prospect of sinking into bed right after you treat your last patient far outweighs the vulnerability you feel. 

It’s not exactly a short walk to where Miguel’s room is situated, but the concept of time is one that’s chased away by the sinking feeling in your stomach. It goes by too fast. You really should’ve just refused. Here goes nothing.

Surely you’ll be turned away immediately after you knock? Surely you’ll be able to go back to your own room and forget this ever happened? Surely fate will smile down upon you for once?

Fate truly is a fickle being. 

Your knock on his door is almost immediately answered by an exasperated “ Come in.” You suppress your own exasperated groan as you recognize Miguel’s voice. Cradling the bag of medical supplies in your arm, you shove the door open with your shoulder. It’s dark - which you’d expect - but it still takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the sight-

Rapid heartbeats resound in the back of your head as you make out Miguel’s dim figure sitting on the edge of his bed. His suit is rolled up around his waist, leaving his torso completely bare. Your blood is practically beating up your veins with how quickly it races around your body. What the everloving fuck . The resounding question you have is answered by the dim glow of a syringe in his hands - it’s not exactly a secret that Miguel’s not just a human bitten by a radioactive spider, but it’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed a tangible instant of it.

“It’s you,” he doesn’t move to cover up with a scandalous gasp, but rather stares you down impassively. Who was he expecting? “What do you want?”

“To dress those wounds like I’ve been told to,” you stare right back at him, refusing to let your eyes be cowed into avoiding that gaze. You don’t budge, you don’t shift from foot to foot; your stance is staunchly planted onto the floor of his room. You can faintly see some nasty-looking gashes that look like they were caused by debris, as well as shallow lacerations that were undoubtedly made by a weapon. 

“I’m fine,” he dismisses you, but you can see the shiny skin surrounding some of the injuries. You can’t even feel the resentment that you would normally - if that becomes infected, it’s not your problem. 

“Those might get infected,” you point out, though you don’t really know what’s prompting you to argue in favour of spending more time with him. “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”

You suppose that noncommittal grunt is a concession to your superior logic. He stares at you wordlessly as you approach him; he’s rarely ever seen you without your mask and suit, you realise. Silence. Well, it would be silent if it weren’t for your heart desperately pounding away, so much so that you swear even he can hear it. You carefully put your bag down onto the floor. 

He doesn’t hiss or pull away as the antiseptic-covered cloth runs over the gashes; the imperceptible stare that’s on you is disconcerting, to say the very least. He’s cold to touch, even through the thin disposable gloves you’ve donned. It doesn’t fully hit you that you’re touching Miguel’s shoulders and upper chest without getting your head bitten off. Absolutely shocking. 

Those gashes beneath his collarbone aren’t as nasty as they looked underneath all the dried blood - he’s not going to need any stitches, so you can just slap gauze and medical tape over those bad boys and let the platelets do their job. It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate on the next set of injuries when you can feel the warm air of his breathing near your neck. Shit . Your eyes hone in on what your hands are doing; it’s not enough to distract you from his burning gaze on you. 

“The front’s done,” you pull back, only now noticing you’ve been standing between his goddamn legs . It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t shake at the revelation, but you’re sure that he can hear the deafening way your heart is beating. Say something.  Anything. The silence is all too unnerving. 

“There’s some cuts on my back as well,” he finally says after you’ve surveyed your work and start opening your bag to find the bio-waste disposal bags. You pause. You suppress the urge to rub your hands together maniacally. 

“Alright, turn around,” you laugh internally at the absurdity of the situation - he does nothing but spout frustration at you, yet there are no complaints or criticisms escaping him as he turns around obediently. It’s not a full turn; the angle of his turned back invites you to take a seat beside him on the mattress. Woah there. 

You wait a second or so before realising that, yes, he’s waiting for you to sit down and isn’t actually going to bite your head off for doing so. It’s extremely surreal to sink into the firm mattress beside him; you doubt anyone’s made it this far in this goddamn cave . It’s even more surreal feeling the wisps of body heat brushing against you from the thighs still covered in his Spidersuit: a sharp contrast to his cool torso. 

Be professional. Your eyes skim over the various scrapes littering his shoulders, and fortunately, all of them just need a quick wipedown and a plaster. It’s a lot easier to daub the antiseptic on without his gaze on him; that is, until you become slightly enraptured by the way his muscles tense (almost imperceptibly) at the sting of the antiseptic. You’re not as smooth as you wish, fumbling the packet of plasters while you revel in the fact his gaze is elsewhere. 

“Almost done,” you reassure him after he tenses up slightly after you brush your fingers over your handiwork on his lower spine. Can he feel the way your pulse is absolutely electrified right now? You don’t even like him, but the proximity might just send you into cardiac arrest. 

“It’s fine,” his tone is slightly strained. You raise your eyebrows, but ultimately ignore it in favour of patching up those last few cuts. 

“Done,” you try not to sound too regretful. You hate the way your heart’s beating more and more rapidly; it takes everything in you to quickly gather your materials and stand up from the bed.  

“Thanks,” the begrudging gratitude that comes out from him forces you to look back at him wordlessly. You take the time to search his face with your eyes, noting the slight sheen of sweat on his face. Is he…

“Are you running a fever?” the question escapes your lips as you move closer, whilst the medical supplies are unceremoniously dumped onto a side table. Your hand carefully places itself on his forehead (paying no heed to the very close proximity of his teeth). There’s no actual heat radiating from him, but the way he’s currently looking at you with that half-lidded gaze is making you feel like the delirious one. Why isn’t he saying anything?  

Say something.

The back of your hand slowly moves away from his face, but you freeze as your wrist is grasped by his hand. What is he… His skin is cold, but the prickles left behind on your wrist are burning and spreading all over your body. You’re not breathing; you’re waiting for his next move. 

“You are so frustrating,” he says through gritted teeth - though it lacks any of the usual bite that’s present. He speaks! You can feel his little angry exhale on your hand from where he’s holding it near his face. You still haven’t moved away, instead choosing to observe the way his facial muscles contort into an expression of fervid displeasure. “To think you’d have such an effect..”

The last part is muttered under his breath, as if you weren’t the intended recipient, but you hear it clear as day. What effect? The heavy implication creeps up inside your mind; it wriggles its way through the cracks in your composure. Surely he didn’t mean it that way, right? Surely you’re just annoying? You can feel your breathing get more shallow as his gaze flickers back up to your face - it searches ravenously, focusing on each feature as if it were a long awaited oasis in the arid desert. 

His hand lets go carefully - it’s so unlike his usual brash movements that you almost laugh. Yet, once you’re free from his hold, you don’t make any move to leave again; it’s truly a strange magnetic effect you’re enveloped in. The carmine glow of monitors in the corner of the room is the only weak illumination in the room (it’s making the situation feel way too intimate in your opinion). 

“Do you want me to stay?” your words escape your lips in a hushed voice. You can’t help but feel the addictive thrum of confidence pulse through your veins, your very capillaries . Maybe the unidentifiable emotion roiling within his eyes isn’t an avid dislike of you? You don’t know why you offered. You’re not sure if you even want to know. Still, you can’t help but feel prickles of curiosity at whatever’s making him so flustered. 

Do you know the implications of your offer?

“Do I want you to stay..” his repetition of your question might’ve seemed mocking at any other time, yet the unusual hushed cadence begs to differ. Anticipation. That’s what’s keeping you rooted in place for fear of disturbing this unfolding scene. You’ve never seen him like this - it’s a delicate balance your heart is begging for you not to destroy. 

“After I let you put your hands all over me, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” he leans slightly closer towards you - you’re extremely glad he’s still sitting and not absolutely looming over you like the tower he is. You can feel your erratic heartbeat pulsate through your entire being at his words. It’s getting incredibly hard to think when anticipation in your stomach gives in to the rising swell of desire. 

“You’re yet to be put in your place, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” you feel a shiver run through your body at his proximity, yet you’re the one leaning into him now. You’re so close you can feel his breath fan over your neck; it’s the only part of his body that’s remotely warm, so much so that it’s absolutely scorching you. Or maybe it’s the white-hot blood you can feel blossoming on your face. 

His cold hand ghosts over your chin, tilting your face down with nothing more than a brush of his thumb. Please. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the muscles of his face contort into a slight smile. 

“Do you want this?” his brows furrow slightly. A question. Your veins already thrum with the answer. 

“ Yes ,” you respond, feeling both your brain and heart work together to cheer you on for once. This better not be a dream . You can see the flash of teeth as he smiles, before you’re roughly pulled onto his lap. It’s actually comfortable to straddle his thighs, you note, but you can’t exactly focus on that anymore when he draws you into a searing kiss. 

He tastes of the coppery tang of blood. It’s the first thing you notice as he slots his mouth against yours. The second thing you notice is how impatient he is, probing at your lip with his fangs while simultaneously pressing you up closer and closer until you’re practically melting into him. You don’t miss a beat; you snake your hands into his hair until they’re buried in the thick brown waves. Your fingers slightly pull at the back, and he lets out a small groan into your mouth at the sensation. 

Sharp fangs graze your lower lip ever so slightly, but the pain is immediately alleviated by his tongue running over the cut. He’s sucking on it - evidently, there’s some blood left behind (or maybe even traces of the venom coursing through those fangs). His little pleased hum reverberates within you; you find yourself being flustered more by that than the way he’s rubbing circles into your thigh with his thumb. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says in a low voice after the two of you pull apart for air. The string of saliva connecting your lips to his is tinted a rich sanguine; the bridge linking the two of you is entrancing, right before it breaks. His words set your very veins ablaze. 

“ Please ,” you don’t even know what you’re pleading for , only that the pace is far too slow for your liking. It seems he feels the same way, since his face dips lower so his mouth can settle on your neck. He’s careful not to fully sink his teeth into your skin, instead choosing to lightly skim them over your pulse points to elicit small gasps out of you. Your hands grasp and twist so he’s pressed closer and closer into you. It’s strange - you never thought that he’d be the one to coax such a reaction out of you. 

“Desperate, aren’t we?” you can feel the infuriating bastard curl his lips upwards as he sucks marks you know aren’t going to fade for days into the side of your neck. The mocking lilt of his question makes all the blood rush straight down - it’s unfair how unbearable he’s being. Your nails are no doubt leaving marks of their own as you let your hands roam the vast expanse of his back. 

Almost involuntarily, your hips move to gain a semblance of any relief, any friction, but the firm grip of his hand on your thigh prevents you from doing even that. You hiss as his sharp nails dig into the skin (if you get tetanus you’re officially suing). 

“What a pathetic little slut,” he coos into your ear; he can definitely hear the way your breath hitches at his harsh tone. You can’t even bring yourself to respond. “Getting turned on from a few kisses?” 

Fuck . 

You can’t even deny it; instead, you turn your head to the side as if you can escape his prying eyes with your embarrassment. It’s futile. You know he can feel your racing pulse against his lips as he once again presses them to the side of your jaw to coax small sounds out of you. 

“I bet you could get off with just my thigh like the filth you are,” his words drip condescendingly, but you can barely hear him over the pounding heartbeat in the back of your head. You furiously bite back the whine that’s emerging from your throat from his fleeting touches. “Will you?” 

“Fuck, Miguel,” you choke out as he moves one of his legs away so you’re completely pressed against his thigh. 

“Get yourself off,” he utters, seemingly bored, but you both know he’s anything but from the way his eyes gaze intently at you. “But first..”

A quick, experimental swipe of his claw-like nails leaves your plain shirt neatly cleaved in two. So impatient . You can’t say that you’ll miss it, but still. You pull the shirt off, until your torso is just as exposed as his. His gaze sweeps over you ravenously. Then, he leans back onto the bed with his elbows propping him up so he can enjoy the show. What a bastard . 

You bite back a groan as your hips stutter forward; the friction is already causing that sensation in your stomach to build up, even if it’s barely anything. It’s probably due Miguel’s eyes raking over you with tightly restrained desire. You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower and he looks away for a brief instant as you keep your eyes trained right on him. The tightness of your pants does absolute miracles to fill your mind with a pleasure-induced haze, so much so that you’re leaning forward and putting your hands on the curves of his waist (as if they were handlebars) to steady yourself. 

You can go slow without losing out on the mind-numbing friction you’re experiencing - the absolute pressure is slowly driving you to that brink without you having to even try. Still, you can’t help but feel a small gnawing trickle of disappointment; will this end this soon? You push it out of your mind as you continue moving against his thigh - that haze you’re in is too powerful to worry too much about the what-ifs. You succumb to the pleasure, slowly, but surely. 

It’s almost comical as that pleasant haze is snatched away. Even with heightened reflexes, you barely process the swiftness with which Miguel sits up and somehow manoeuvres you so your back is sinking into the sheets of his bed. You can’t help but cry out in disappointment. 

“You thought I’d let you fall apart so easily?” he’s practically purring with that vexing smile on his face - you almost prefer his permanent scowl to this smug expression. Still, being manhandled by him makes your heart drum louder than ever in your ears. “After your constant misconduct ? Open your mouth, whore.”

You open your mouth obediently, and he lets out a pleased hum. You instinctively know what he’s about to do, so it’s not a surprise when he lets a thick string of spit fall into your mouth. You swallow, noticing how his eyes trace over your throat with barely suppressed lust. 

“ Please ,” you choke out, helpless with your wrists pinned to either side of your head. You can hear a dry little chuckle sound out from him. 

“Speak up,” he leans in closer to practically spit the words out. A slight shiver runs through you when his breath ghosts over your ear. “What does the little slut want me to do to him?” 

It’s so utterly laughable; his words make you so goddamn pliant in his hands. 

“I want you in me,” you don’t miss how his body tenses at your bold request. The curve of his throat bobs when he swallows thickly. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises quietly. His head dips low to trail a path down your chest with his mouth - you know you’ll be absolutely covered in marks by the time he’s done with you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You revel in his touch. You lean into him like a goddamn moth to flame. 

With a swift tug, he pulls down the elastic band of your pants (you thank whatever’s above that they’re spared the same treatment as your shirt). You’re left shivering as his mouth travels to mark up your thighs - he’s practically burning bruises into you at this point. 

Dim red lighting washes over every sharp crevice and line on his face. The sight before you eases the frustration building at the agonizingly slow pace he’s setting. More . It’s as if he’s heard your silent plea; before you know it, one of his fingers slips past your underwear and enters you, coated in what feels to be lube. Fuck . A drawn out string of muttered expletives escapes your lips as he continues at his slow pace. 

“Are you frustrated?” he mocks, resting the side of his head on your inner thigh as he languidly moves his finger. That prick knows it’s not enough; he’s inviting you to beg for it. It’s humiliating, but you can’t bring yourself to care as desperation pools in your stomach. 

“Faster, please -” your words cut off with a strangled moan as he pushes another finger in easily. Your hand desperately grasps his hair to ground yourself, earning a reverberating groan against your inner thigh. Fervently, you pray those walls of his are soundproof; the obscene noises coming from both your mouth and between your legs fill up the room quickly. 

His composure seems to be rapidly slipping as well, judging by how his enthralled gaze is focused on how you’re taking his fingers. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and his eyes flicker between your lowered eyes and where you’re pulling him in greedily. As soon as you increase in volume, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you so unbearably empty . 

The next thing you notice is the neon red ropes that buzz with static energy trussing your wrists up - it can only be his handiwork, though you’ve never been this close to those unusual red webs. You don’t question it; instead, you’re rapt watching Miguel, who’s hooking his fingers around the bunched up material around his waist, and pulling it down ever so slowly as if he’s putting on a show for you. Maybe he is , considering his eyes are right on you and watching your expression with an underlying smugness as you take the sight in. 

He’s blocking out the vermillion glow of those monitors, practically towering over you and making you swallow nervously thinking about how exactly you’re going to take him. That worry pushes its way into the back of your mind as you decide you don’t particularly care when he’s haloed by that lighting as if he were an angel.

He looks like he’s relishing your reaction when he pulls his underwear off; after all, he’s suppressing that dry, mirthful laugh at your widened stare. You can’t help it - he’s massive . You’re enraptured by the small hiss he lets out at the coldness of the lube as he pumps himself, knowing very well he’s just as entertained as you. 

“Scared you won’t be able to take it?” he challenges, parting your legs easily with the faintest pressure of his claws digging into your thighs. His pupils are completely blown out with lust; they’re honed in on you completely as if he were hunting you down. “Like you weren’t desperately fucking yourself on my fingers a minute ago?”

He cages you easily: too easily. You’re so malleable for him already, and he hasn’t even begun. Your wrists are starting to feel deliciously numb from the low buzz of his crimson web, and you can feel your breathing start to accelerate. 

“ Please , Miguel,” whatever scraps of dignity remaining in you aren’t enough to stop you from begging him to do anything . “I can take it.”

And whatever self-control he’s been displaying (hardly any) up to this point swiftly dissipates as he leans in to swallow the moan that emerges when he finally puts the tip in. He’s still moving all too slowly, but the stretch is making up for it. A low whine escapes your throat as he presses in, and you’re teetering between pain and pleasure. 

“Thought you said you could take it,” he lets out an amused exhale into your mouth, not going any deeper to accustom you to the burn. “And I’m only halfway.”

You rock your hips into his and revel in his groans, prompting him to slowly bottom out. Holy fuck . It’s enough to make your mind blur with a foggy haze at the absolute fullness he’s causing. He’s clearly enjoying himself, or at least, his expression is contorted into one of sharp amusement. 

“Faster,” you urge him on. He can feel your wanting in every arrhythmic breath you take. 

“So desperate,” he groans out as you roll your hips to generate any friction. His chest dips down until it’s pressing up against your bound wrists, only adding to that sharp pressure building in your stomach. “I bet you just want to be used like a degenerate toy.”

Please . 

He doesn’t allow you time for thought at all when he starts moving; his pace is unrelenting and brutal, forcing noises so obscene out of you that you’re praying for whatever next-door neighbour he might have. The snap of his hips into yours is slowly building up that aching pleasure, and your back slowly arches so he can target that particular spot better.

You’re very rapidly unravelling, even more so when he bites down into your shoulder. The pain coursing through your veins swiftly devolves into pleasure. You can already taste the blissful wave that’s steadily approaching you. 

His movements become more sloppy as he becomes more vocal at the way you’re taking him. It’s incredibly attractive to watch that carnal desire overtake him. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, digging into the sides of your shoulders with his claws. It goes straight to your pleasure-addled mind, even more so when you hear the wet sounds of skin on skin resounding through the room. “Like a personal fucktoy, don’t you think?”

You can’t even say anything in response, wrapping your legs tightly around him so he can reach even deeper than he has. The overwhelming urge to let go is building up quickly in your stomach, and that heat is climbing all over your skin and mind. 

"Fuck, I’m gonna-” you choke out as Miguel angles your hips down with one hand, pressing into just the right spot. He swallows your cries as your mind goes completely blank with pleasure, still moving into you as you reach that climax. His movements draw that euphoric state out for as long as possible, before the waves of pleasure become overwhelming for your fatigued mind. 

“Miguel-” your whine is broken off as he moves into an upright position, digging his claws into your hips as he keeps moving against them. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he asks mockingly, wiping up a tear leaking from your eye with the rough pad of his thumb. You succumb to the touch, taking him in all his entirety. Your gaze trails from the frustrated lines on his face, lower, to the rivulets of your cum splattered on his lower abdomen, and finally to where he’s staring, completely enraptured. The breath in your throat hitches as you observe the bulge in your stomach fading and reappearing in time with his thrusts. “I’m not stopping until you fulfil your purpose.”

You feel a trickle of trepidation as he pulls back so only the tip remains in you. 

“What are you-” you trail off, noticing the way his lips curl in anticipation. Oh god . Surely, he won’t-

“Getting myself off,” his lethal smile is the most foreboding one you’ve ever seen, before he slams his hips into yours. It hits that sweet spot instantly and you cry out pathetically. He’s got you seeing the very galaxies with how numbed your mind feels. Distantly, you can feel tears of pleasure swimming down the sides of your face, and his own groans of pleasure. 

He pulls back again, leaving you empty once more, and repeats his earlier motion. You’re practically broken over his dick, but the waves of pleasure aren’t letting up any time soon. It seems the sensations are also getting to him; his powerful movements are slowly becoming sloppier by the second. 

“Want me to cum in you, like the slut you are?” Miguel groans out, coming more and more undone. His question makes you tighten around him, which earns you another breathy exhale. “Getting turned on by the very thought of me breeding you?” 

“ Fuck , yes,” you cry out involuntarily. You can feel your heartbeat pulsing its rapid beat in your stomach as he fills you up again and again. His grip on your thighs is slipping as he messily fucks into you. Obscene squelching noises fill up the room, but you’re too far gone again to care if the whole goddamn building hears the two of you. 

You can feel him desperately trying to maintain any sort of grip of control as his hips snap into yours fervently. Over and over, he repeats your name in a chorus as if it’s his lifeline. That aching feeling in your stomach is slowly returning, ardently wanting him to continue his unforgiving pace. 

With a start, you realise the binds on your wrists have dissolved due to his wavering concentration. Immediately, your hands wind their way around his back to steady yourself, scratching harsh marks into the muscles. He lets out a wanton groan at the sharp sensation; his breaths are coming faster and faster, and you know he’s close. 

Your fingers thread upwards through his hair to pull him into you. He breathlessly kisses you, though it’s more a desperate clash of teeth than anything. His lips part slightly in pleasure and he stiffens minutely. Got him . 

You swallow all the noises he’s making, feeling hot spurts of his cum paint your insides. He doesn’t stop moving ; it’s as if he’s making sure not a single drop is wasted. He rides out the high by pulling you ever closer to press against his body. The shuddering halt of his hips against yours lets you know the fatigue’s taken over him, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, and he doesn’t pull out either. 

The salty taste of sweat is prominent on your tongue when you drag it across the skin of his neck, leaving your own marks as a petty form of revenge. He lets out a sharp exhale, but doesn’t protest as he lets you roll him over so that you’re lying on top of him, connected nonetheless. The movement makes him whine , on the other hand, which you know you’re never going to forget. 

“Fuck,” you mumble against his skin, feeling him shift to gaze down upon your head that’s propped on his chest. “You are so lucky I don’t have any shifts tomorrow.”

Your head moves up and down on his chest as he lets out a tired laugh. Wincing, you prop yourself up on your palms so you can sit up and pull yourself off him. He groans lightly at the change, but you attempt to ignore it. 

Carefully, you rise to your knees with a pang of regret at the loss of him in you. When you look at him, he’s visibly entranced by the combined rivulets of fluids streaming from between your legs, as if he’s asking if he really did all that. 

“You can, uh, use my shower,” he offers, sounding extremely unapologetic. “And stay the night if you want.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead choosing to lean into his touch as he rubs small circles into your thighs. A pressing question emerges in your mind, however. 

“Do you always sleep with your doctors?”  

[goddessofroyalty]

I watched the One Piece live action. Should have known this was coming.

Posting his taster/first scene because I'm not sure if this fic is going to end up as a 5000 word oneshot of like 3-5 chapter thing and I kind of want to finish it before I start posting so I do know. But also want to share some of it because I can.

Fandom: One Piece

Pairings: Zoro/Sanji

Tags: Omegaverse, mpreg, accidental pregnancy.

Summary: Zoro and Sanji are having a baby. Luffy seems more excited about this than either of the parents-to-be.

---------------------

“You’re not stupid,” Luffy says. He had come into the kitchen to see if lunch was ready yet only to be instead met with their cook braced against the bench cursing himself out. “Why do you think you are?”  

Nobody on his crew should be thinking themselves stupid or useless.

“Uh-” Sanji says, looking up at Luffy with an expression like he has been caught trying to sneak into the fridges. Which is silly – he’s allowed to do whatever he wants in the kitchen and is the one that yells at them when they try to eat the food before it’s ready. “It’s nothing.”  

“What’s nothing?” Usopp asks as the rest of the crew join them. Luffy’s hunger pains clearly right that it should be food time now and it seems like lunch’s preparation has only just started. More evidence that there’s something going on with Sanji.  

The way Sanji curses at them all being there and snatches something up from the table to shove into his pockets only makes him seem more suspicious.  

When Luffy glances at the other three crew members they clearly agree with his assessment of Sanji’s behaviour.  

"Sanji was calling himself stupid." Luffy hopes it isn’t another instance of someone forcing his crew member to do something they didn’t want like with Nami. Not that he doesn’t want to fight anyone, especially if it’s for his crew, just that he hates to see his crew cry.  

“I merely lost track of time,” Sanji says with an awkward laugh, running his fingers through his hair. “Lunch is going to be late today, now if you could give me some space I will endeavour to have something to you as soon as possible.”  

“What could be so distracting that you forgot about lunch?” Zoro asks.  

Sanji glares at Zoro for it but also watches Nami cautiously out the corner of his eye as she walks around the bench to him, her hand dragging lazily along it.  

“You know, things,” Sanji snarls at Zoro before softening his face as he turns to Nami, “I do apologise for the tardiness but I promise I will serve something that more than makes up for it for you.”  

“I’m sure,” Nami says with a smile that even Luffy’s figured out means she’s up to something.  

Sanji makes a mistake letting her get closer. Their navigator quickly going for the pocket he shoved the thing in previously. Moving far enough away Sanji can’t quickly grab it back and turning away from them all likely to examine her prize.  

“Oh shit!”  

“What?” Luffy demands when she turns around to look back at Sanji with wide eyes. He hates not knowing things about his crew!  

“You’re pregnant.”  

Sanji grimaces at it. Snatching the item back and tossing it to the side before running his thumb along his top lip.  

“It appears I am,” he confirms.  

Nami and Usopp immediately turning to face Zoro so Luffy joins them so he isn’t missing out on whatever the reason they are is.  

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault!?”  

“Because Luffy isn’t interested in things like that, I certainly haven’t done anything with Sanji, and Nami is an omega as well so even if they did it wouldn’t result in Sanji being pregnant,” Usopp says, counting them off on his fingers. “That just leaves you, our resident alpha.”  

“He could have slept with someone while we were in the last port.”  

“Hey! How dare you make assumptions like that!” Sanji snaps, thankfully more lively again. “Not that it would matter if I had but I haven’t.”  

“Oh,” Zoro says.  

“Now all of you, out of my kitchen!” Sanji says in the same tone he uses after he’s discovered them digging through the cupboards without permission.  

Luffy wants to ask if this means lunch is still on or not but Usopp is dragging him from the room by his collar before he has the chance.  

“If you want to talk,” Nami says to Sanji with a twist of her head. Luffy figures she means something about the omegas business the two of them often tell him they’re up to when they want him to butt out of whatever it is they are doing. He’s pretty sure it’s only actual omega business maybe half of the time.  

“Perhaps later,” Sanji says, running a knuckle along her hand as she leaves his side to join Luffy and Usopps. Not before giving Zoro a glare as she passes.  

They are nearly out the door when a thought hits Luffy and he’s sticking his head back in.  

“This means we’ll have a new member of the crew soon right!?”  

“A baby isn’t exactly a crew member Luffy,” Nami says, her hand joining Usopp’s on his collar as they drag his body away from the door, his neck stretching as they do.  

“No, a baby can be a member of a pirate crew.” Luffy’s sure there must be pirates out there with babies in their crew. Not everyone was like Shanks and, well, babies happened sometimes much like how it was happening now. It wasn’t like they would just give it up nor kick Sanji or Zoro off for having one. They were his crew.  

“Can we talk about it later,” Sanji says, his elbows against the counter and his head buried in his hands.  

Zoro didn’t look much better, standing in the shadows of the room and staring in the direction of the cabinets and Luffy’s pretty sure it’s not because he’s thinking of the food in them. 

“Luffy, come on!” Usopp yelled as he and Nami just kept stretching Luffy’s neck while trying to drag him away.  

“They need to talk alone,” Nami adds.  

“Alright, alright,” Luffy says, giving a smile at the two of his crew left in the room. “Enjoy your talk you two!”  

He snaps his neck back to his body only to be met by Nami cursing him and Usopp shaking his head at him.  

“What!?” Sure, Sanji and Zoro fought and argued most of the time but that was just how they communicated best with each other. And a baby to join their crew is exciting news!  

[jjsstars]

I’ll make you a deal

Scott McCall Week 2024: day 1, emotions

|| for @scottappreciation event sorry I’m so late

|| tags: cora & scott, swearing, talk of missions, talk of the hale family being dysfunctional, they talk about their feelings yall

“How do you do it?” Cora asks abruptly, breaking the silence between her and Scott as they watch the road for Derek’s car from the roof of a random building near the highway. The second he drives through this stretch of road they can go home, just checking that he actually comes home from the solo mission he did today.

“Do what?” Scott shifts his cheek to his other hand, his elbows are killing him from lying like this for hours on end. Cora doesn’t seem to be having the same problem.

“Stay so calm, so optimistic.” Her face screws up for a moment and Scott feels a smile pull on his lips, she’s just like Stiles, back when things were simpler than they are now and he wasn’t so jaded.

“I don’t like being angry.” It scares him when he gets truly mad and he feels the adrenaline pump through his veins, he never liked the feeling to begin with but now? As a werewolf? He hates it.

“I didn’t say angry. You don’t get upset either, don’t cry, don’t even seem tired.” It’s not that Scott doesn’t feel those things, he does, but he’s always been good at concealing his emotions. It’s his job to keep the pack on track, to make sure things get done the right way, and what example will he be setting if he went off the rails? He just- couldn’t, can’t.

“Guess I’m just used to it all.” That’s a flat out lie that only makes Cora scoff, looking through her binoculars for a moment, Scott almost thinks she’s dropped the conversation but then she turns back to him with a head shake.

“Nobody gets used to the shit you see, the shit you do. You should be so emotional that your whole body shakes or- or you can’t stop crying- something-!” She stops herself abruptly and drops her hands which she was talking animatedly with.

“You sure this is about me?” Scott asks softly and hates the way Cora’s eyes drop away from his in seconds.

“I don’t- I don’t want you to end up like us.” She mutters, Scott can hear how genuine it is, how pain filled it is.

“Like who?”

“Like my family. The Hales- that stupid last name. I- I don’t want you to get closed off like Derek or fake your way through life like Peter or be so fucking angry like I am from keeping shit in. I want you to feel it all.” A frown forms on Scott’s lips and he shifts to sit upright, Cora mirroring the action.

“Your family isn’t a lost cause, sure you guys are rough around the edges but you can work on it. You don’t have to be angry all the time, and if you are then we can help you with it.” He assures as gently as he can- feeling like he’s had this conversation in some way or another with every member of the pack.

“We?”

“The pack. You’re allowed to rely on us, to feel things.” Her mouth opens like she’s going to argue the opposite but then she stops herself, looking back down to the road- Derek’s car drives through. They can go home, he’s safe, but neither of them move.

“Why don’t you do that? You carry everything on your shoulders and don’t even try to hide it.” The point has been made to Scott more than once- usually by Melissa- but with his title as True Alpha, Scott feels conflicted on sharing his feelings with the pack.

“There’s always something more important going on.” Bad guys to take down, new members of the pack showing up, school work that’s been neglected for far too long, the list goes on.

“Your emotions are important too. I care about them.”

“So are yours, I care about them.” The pair share a soft smile before Cora sighs out half a laugh and lifts her hand like Scott should reach to shake it.

“I’ll make you a deal, you talk to pack about your feelings, or at least just me, and I’ll do the same.” He puts his hand in hers with a firm shake.

“Deal.”

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - October 2022. Oops, I did it again (I’m late haha). Sorry folks, I flew interstate to visit my family so I’m a little behind again. But good things come to those that wait, right? ;) I had a smutty little month it would seem!

Bookstore Cozy by KatieComma (1/1 | 8K | Explicit)

Stiles sees Derek being cozy in the bookstore and cuteness and smut ensues.

steal my breath away by stilinskisparkles (1/1 | 4K | Teen)

This is the worst organised robbery I’ve ever seen,” Derek comments as he begrudgingly does as he’s told.

“Nobody asked you,” Stiles huffs.

if you were dracula by prize (1/1 | 3K | Explicit)

“I kind of have a thing for biting,” Derek says, mouthing at Stiles’s neck.

“Okay I guess, just - maybe don’t break the skin?”

Derek pulls back to look at him. “Actually, I have a thing for you biting me.”

How Many Pumpkins Is Too Many Pumpkins? by snarkatthemoon | Podfict by Nutellargh  (1/1 | 12K | Mature)

"Wake up," Stiles says, and places a kiss behind Derek's ear. "My birthday is over, and Halloween season has officially begun. I've booked the pumpkin patch for eleven."

Derek's happy, barely-awake rumbles abruptly stop, his body stiffening. He rolls over slowly, then blinks at Stiles, his eyes crusty with sleep. "What."

"Pumpkins, Derek," Stiles says. "We need to get there early or all the good ones will be gone. This house is huge, so we're probably going to need at least twenty to sufficiently decorate—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Derek says, sitting up in bed suddenly, a look of abject horror on his face. "Who said anything about pumpkins, or decorating?"

"Uh, me," Stiles tells him, rolling his eyes. "There's only two weeks until Halloween. I want this place to look like Satan's grotto by the time we’re done with it. Realistically, how many pumpkins do you think you can carve in an afternoon. Eight? Ten?"

.

Or, the one where Stiles is stupidly excited for Halloween, and Derek...isn't. Oh, and they may accidentally adopt a cat to which Stiles is also stupidly excited, and Derek...isn't.

Unintentional Feelings by LadyDrace (1/1 | 1K | Explicit)

Stiles wasn't planning on these feelings in the first place, and now they hit him in the middle of a blow job.

Typical.

Caffeinated Fornication by nogitsune_lichen (1/1 | 3K | Explicit)

“You fucker! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were back in town! That is like level four betrayal, I mean it’s not like I’ve saved your life a few times, or helped Scott be on your side, or--”

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek snapped.

Stiles paused, jaw hanging open, “uh-- yelling at you because--”

“It’s one in the morning.”

The Power of Pumpkin Magic by princecharmingwinks (1/1 | 1K | Teen)

"If you don't want money, I'll buy you a pie. I just need you to be my boyfriend for the next five minutes."

---

Stiles just thought it was another day of working on his thesis at his favourite bookshop. What he didn’t count on was the power of pumpkin magic.

Some Choices Are Easy by Cousin Shelley (CousinShelley) (1/1 | 4K | Teen)

Someone's following Stiles through home goods stores. He calls Derek for help.

and there you stand, clothed in all your glory (i am stumbling and fumbling and reaching out) by snickiebear (1/1 | 3K | Mature)

Stiles looks at him and Derek doesn't know what to do with his hands.

or, stiles is the resident bad boy with his tattoos and bike and leather jacket. derek's hopelessly in love with him and a werewolf. these things go hand in hand.

Love Cake by kellerific (1/1 | 4K | Teen)

Stiles, newly home from college, shares an important family tradition with Derek.

Written for A Very Sterek Fall.

princecharmingwinks special mention (I found this fic through the podfic, both are utterly delightful! It takes place over a year and I just found it so wholesome and magical!)

You'll be my resolution by Jmeelee | Podfic by only_more_love (1/1 | 6K | Mature)

“Stiles, is it true you got kicked out of the community center yesterday?” His father asks him the following morning. He’s standing at Stiles’ apartment door, eyes tired above puffy, bruised skin. He’d worked the night shift, and word travels fast.

“Yup,” Stiles admits.

The Sheriff levels a look at Stiles, one he hasn’t seen since he was a teenager running around at all hours of the night chasing the supernatural. “Now, dare I ask why you got kicked out?”

“I was trying to help Derek Hale.”

“Help him?”

“Yeah, it’s my New Year’s resolution.”

His father rolls his eyes. “Well, that sounds like it will end in disaster. Good luck.”

I will try to be back on schedule next month but seeing as that we are almost at the end of the year, no promises ;) See you all next time!

[liloinkoink]

I discovered your treesekai AU way, way too late, but it now lives rent-free in my head, at least as long as this iteration of my sleep-deprived shenanigans lasts. I want to see the domestic side of their time together before it goes to shit; the little quirks that Martyn can’t quite let go of that Ren finds strange but amusing (the odd turn of phrase, reaching for a phone that isn’t there, complaining about a lack of HVAC when he thinks nobody’s there, etc). The way that their habit of kissing each other on the hand evolved over time. Ren teaching Martyn how to use a knife. Stuff like that. I want to draw and/or write it myself, but I don’t trust myself to do it justice.

Sorry to randomly send you an ask about an old AU, hope I didn’t bother you.

“way way late” “old au” my friend treesekai is barely six months old. it’s not even off my ao3 profile’s front page. if this is old i shudder to think what you’d call third life. which is to say you’re all good dude

anyway. domestic treesekai is something that can be so personal. just for you here’s a bit of the first scene of the sequel ghast won in a bet that i started and haven’t yet finished

…Even though he’s aware no one realizes he was looking for someone in particular, he’s still embarrassed to walk away alone. He feels… stood up, almost, though he might be projecting. The wound of the engagement party is still fresh in his mind, after all—waiting for nearly an hour in the hall for his fiancé, only to find the man already inside, surrounded in happy, touchy guests.

Ren still stings.

Dwelling on the memory is probably why Ren isn’t looking where he’s going, which is why he walks right into someone. The man stumbles back, off balance, and Ren doesn’t think twice about grabbing his waist to catch him.

“Uh,” the man says. He’s blond, with a black headband tied around his forehead. His hair is damp, as is the front of his shirt, and he smells like he’s been exercising. Ren doesn’t think he saw the man training with the knights outside, though his features seem somehow familiar. Ren stares a moment, trying to figure out where he’s seen the man, only to watch as his face grows steadily redder and redder.

“Your majesty?” the man almost squeaks, and Ren remembers himself. He drops the man’s waist, letting him fall entirely to the floor.

“Sorry! I thought you’d caught yourself!” Ren says, holding his hand out to help the man to his feet. He stares at Ren’s hand for a moment, though before Ren can retract it, he places his palm in Ren’s hold.

Only when the man’s fingers are held in Ren’s own does Ren recognize him. How could he not, after all, recognize the same hand seared so clearly into his memory?

“You’re the knight from the engagement party,” Ren gasps, and the knight Ren has spent the last few nights lying awake thinking about blanches.

“I, uh,” he fumbles, “There were a lot of knights at the engagement party.”

“But only one who spoke to me in the hall,” Ren says, pulling the man to his feet, “Only one who told me he’d give me a hand.” Ren clasps the man’s hand in both of his own, staring into his eyes, “Only one whose name I’d like to know.”

The knight stares at him, seemingly unaware of his mouth hanging open. Ren would feel guilty, but if he didn’t want to be left in shock, then maybe he shouldn’t have done it to Ren first.

“Martyn!” calls another voice. The man’s head snaps over, and Ren knows his name—Martyn, the knight from the engagement party; Martyn, the stranger bold enough to call out the king’s foolish optimism to his face; Martyn, the only man in the world who wants Ren to be happy.

“There you are! When you ran off like that—” another man runs through, skidding down the hall, “Your majesty?!”

This knight, Ren does know—his name is Skizzleman, though most people call him Skizz. Martyn drops Ren’s hand as Skizz stops beside them, looking anywhere but Ren’s face.

“Hello, Sir Skizzleman,” Ren greets.

“Hello, your majesty!” Skizz bows in greeting. When Martyn doesn’t copy the motion, Skizz not-so-subtly elbows him in the side.

“Sorry, your majesty, don’t mind him,” Skizz explains. He stands up, then smacks his Martyn’s head down into a bow, “He has a head injury.”

“A head injury? How did you sustain that?” Ren asks, concerned.

“I… don’t remember?”

“It was a very bad injury,” Skizz adds, with a sage nod. He releases Martyn, who rubs at the back of his head as he straightens up again.

[stranger-rants]

Woof okay I saw a post pointing out that Max basically controls Billy's life in a sense (it was part of a bigger point) but now I can't stop thinking about it bc its true?? Like even if Max doesn't know Neil hits Billy, she for sure knows Billy gets in trouble bc of her and knows Billy always gets lumped with looking after her, taking her places, being responsible for her, ect. Like if she says 'I want to stay after school for club' you sure as shit know Billy is 'on call' until then and can't do anything until his responsibility to cart her around is complete.

And she knows she gets Billy in trouble sneaking out n doing stuff n being late for curfews like and she still does it and she's a kid and probably doesn't connect/care about that but at the same time it also makes perfect sense why Billy's always so annoyed with her, because she's someone who could have been his friend, could have been on the same level as him, but Neil took that away by putting Max above Billy. Neil made it so Billy literally has nobody in his life he's not submissive to in the sense that they control his life and I'm 😩

(And I don't like Max but it is also really sad that Max probably just thinks Billy gets grounded and she's a kid so she's probably like 'well he's an asshole so who cares if he can't go out on the weekend' but we know what actually happens. We know its not what she thinks and I do think if she found out the full extent she'd think about all the times she's gotten Billy in trouble and it'd be so horrible for her :( )

The dynamic between Billy and Max is informed by Neil’s abuse. He has intentionally created an environment where both Billy and Max can’t trust each other - Max, because Billy threatens her when she falls out of line and Billy, because he’s beaten when Max falls out of line. That said, it’s important to not lose the nuance of that situation. Both Billy and Max try to regain control over their lives in different ways but ultimately they’re powerless when it comes to the chokehold Neil has over the family.

While Runaway Max isn’t canon canon, it does indicate that Max knows Billy is being abused. The “problem” is that Billy pushes her away when she tries to help and Max is traumatized by the fact that her mother seems to be pretending it’s not happening. That’s still within the realm of possibility for TV canon. Max is a child. She’s growing up in a home where violence is normalized, especially punishment for behavior and Billy has certainly done a lot “wrong.” Even if she knew, she could rationalize it because that’s what the adults do.

I’m not saying this to villainize Max, either. It’s possible Billy doesn’t fully comprehend that the way his dad treats him is wrong. He has all of this trauma, though, that he’s not handling well and he’s taken some of that out on Max, which he may rationalize as okay because that’s how the adults around him handle their anger. This isn’t to say either Max or Billy are like their parents or doomed to turn into them, but rather they are trapped in this unhealthy, antagonistic environment where their parents model what not to do on a daily basis.

It’s why even if Billy had the chance to recover, I think it would be helpful for Billy and Max to spend time apart during that recovery period until they were both in a better place to work on their sibling relationship and if they chose not to be in each other’s lives instead, I would not fault them for it. Abuse is disorienting. It’s hard for either of them to act in a rational manner, even if they know their behavior will lead to harm. I can’t fault them for trying to take a little bit of power back even if they know it hurts the other, though I can expect better.

[enneamage]

why would phil hold a grudge with dream? he’s not done anything to him and was singing his praises well after the allegations dropped. seems like a bit of confirmation bias on your end anon

I’ve been having a real big think around the state of the Server Coldwar lately and why it seems way more draining than previous stuff. I think it’s because time has shown this will probably pile on endlessly with very little catharsis, just death by a thousand papercuts without the death part. There was a time in the very beginning of the DSMP when the stories around the CCs looked more like a ‘conventional’ narrative, like life would go Beginning -> Middle -> End (happy ever after or just some closure depending on what thread you follow) but now we’re in the sixth act and it doesn’t look like anything shows any signs of definitiveness, just more of this forever. It’s not easy or satisfying to keep up with the state of things anymore, the stress to catharsis ratio is way off compared to the kind of ‘drama’ that feels satisfying to follow.

When arguments make clean, easy lines and create a sense of who can and can’t be trusted, it can honestly be kind of freeing to offload bad energy. People want clean breaks and side-taking to simplify the endless spray of messy, intense internet that they have to process every day. If they know that their friends are on the inside and their enemies are on the outside, they can relax.  I’ve talked a bit before about how setting social standards as a group activity has group benefits and that carries over here too. People want to believe that the CCs and their spaces stand for what they think they stand for, because otherwise it’s just another betrayal, but faith isn’t often spent well on e-celebs when it comes to standards of association.

I watched beauty Youtube for a while, ironically to detox from following gamers before all this. I was around for both Dramageddons, which were events that were generally misunderstood by people who only saw summaries from the outside. The super boiled down lessons I took from those events are:

People can say whatever they want, but most people are watching youtubers for their personality / what they represent symbolically / who people think they are, and acting against that faith puts people off.

Betrayal in any direction (Creator/Fan, Creator/Creator, whatever you like) is taken seriously, at least when the values of the audience overlap with the nature of the betrayal (Bad friend, abuse of power, social climbing, bad sexual ethics, the JC fallout had it all and you could see the sub count drop live.)

It wasn’t the fights themselves that put people off the makeup scene, people love a good blood sport, it was the way that in the end it felt like there was nobody left to root for in that group that didn’t feel tainted in some way. I think that time and exposure is doing this to the people who rode in on the DSMP wave, like lockdown was a fucked up kind of honeymoon for many and now people have to face the CCs with fewer happy chemicals and positive illusions. It’s easy to see why people get paranoid and start to test things or look for signs, they’ve invested in someone emotionally and they want to believe they can ‘keep them’, but they need to clear the moral deal breakers first, which is hard when people seem to be in a grey zone.

[voidthewanderer]

Medical jargon under the cut along with some venting. Might take a break to collect myself.

So, unsurprisingly, I am not pre-diabetic, thus making me not needing the Ozempic like my gastro seemed to think I was. It’s almost like he should have listened to me when I had said I needed some sort of tool to figure out the percentages of fat, muscle, water, etc. He also forgets that I suffer from inflammation issues, which can cause weight gain. But, y’know, I’m in the 40+ range on the BMI! I need to have it! Never mind the fact that they just voted to phase out BMI, but whatever.

In all honesty, if he was that goddamn worried about my weight, he should have filed for the prior authorization with my insurance. I had just seen my primary care doctor, he would have said something if he was that concerned that it wasn’t a fairly normal blend of percentages.

That being said, I just feel… gross. Inhuman. I hate talking to doctors about my weight because none of them really seem to want to help me and like… shame me because I don’t have time or energy to exercise. Like, hello? I had to swallow my tears taking my shoes off today when I finally got home from work two hours late because my feet were in so much pain. My legs swell so much that if I wear crew cut socks and skinny jeans, you can see where my socks are on my calves. That isn’t normal.

And speaking of work, I’m about ready to say fuck it and quit. Drain my down payment funds to pay off some of the debts I have and just do my own thing. I’m so sick and tired of being miserable at this place. Of listening to my manager bitch that they need help in the pharmacy, but nobody wants to do it.

Hello??? I’ve been telling you for the entire two years I’ve been with the company that I want to learn the pharmacy??? Don’t fucking tell me that nobody wants to help out in the pharmacy, because can’t keep saying that that’s where I want to go.

And the manager really pissed me off today. My blood work to check my Stelara levels is very strict. I have to get the blood work done the day before my injection. Not two days before. Not a week before. The day before. My next injection is this upcoming Saturday. Which means this Friday I need to get the blood work done. I gave her an ultimatum: I can either come in late or I can leave early. She goes “neither, it’s inventory day. You need to be here”. No the fuck I don’t. I’m not the one counting shit. An outside company (or which I called the cops on their staff twice last year for violently disruptive behavior) does. Tell the other shift lead that he has to come in then, if you seriously think you need FOUR MANAGERS in. By the way: I’ve been there for inventory both years I’ve worked there; we stand around and do jack shit. There’s zero point in there being four managers on at the same goddamn time.

But, y’know what? They wanna see what the stress of this shit has done to me? They can see it. I’m not holding back any tears or outbursts for the next two days. I am in so much pain right now, I can’t even sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night and my body is acting like I’m in a night terror, even though I’m not. I have welts in some of my joints because they’re so inflamed, things rubbing against my skin is causing sores. I can barely walk, my legs are in so much pain. I can’t stand upright my back is in so much pain, but hunching over makes it worse. I can barely lift my arms over my head, even when I’m laying down (which makes sleeping difficult because I sleep with my arms over my head).

All this being said… I need to take a break. I’ll throw stuff in my queue, but I don’t think I’m going to actively post for a few days. Just so I can think about some things. I will still be reachable through private messages, though! It might just take a little bit for me to respond.

[hannahssimblr]

Later, as we amble back to the campsite together we are careful not to touch. I keep thinking about that sensation, the grit, “I’m sorry about the sand, you know, it kind of seems obvious in hindsight but I really didn’t expect it to get up-”

“It’s okay,” she shudders, “I could tell that it would have been nice if we were somewhere else.”

“Yeah,” I can see the smoke from the bonfire now, rising from the tops of the fir trees in ribbons and I look forward to its warmth on my cold body. “Did it hurt you?” I ask, “Apart from the sandpaper experience, I mean.”

Clóda thinks for a moment, “Not much more than I thought it would. Was it okay for you?”

“Yeah I had a nice time. You know overall I feel pretty lucky to have spent time with you tonight.”

Inexplicably this makes her start to cry, which gives me a fright, and I reach for her with urgency as though I can somehow halt what has already begun, “I can’t believe I did it,” she sniffles, “Like, it’s just done and now I’m not a virgin. It’s so weird.”

“Yeah I understand that, um, can I do anything to help?”

“No, I think I just want to get into your sleeping bag and go to sleep.”

“Tired, huh?”

She nods. 

“Well maybe by the time we get back to the guys the food will finally be cooked, what do you think?”

She laughs thickly, “Yeah, maybe.” and I take her hand to lead her over the hump of the dune towards the campsite. 

The first strange thing is there is no noise, no chatter or laughter, just the crackling and popping of the fire, and I'm hit with the feeling that something is off before we even climb to the top of the dune. 

Standing there and looking at the deserted campsite I am perplexed, “Where is everyone?” Clóda stands and stares. “I don’t know. In their tents? Is it really that late already? It didn’t feel like we were gone for that long.”

I zip open Joe’s tent. Empty. Shane’s. Empty. Jen’s… a half smoked joint is on the ground outside, and it is empty. The sausages she was cooking lie blackened upon the barbeque, the colour and consistency of charcoal. 

“Um, guys?” I call out into the trees but they only answer with the gentle swish of their branches. Grasshoppers chirp somewhere, and nobody replies. “Is this some kind of prank? Come on.”

I glance back at Clóda, still on the dune. “Do you think it was the ghosts?” I joke, “Or an alien abduction?”

“God, stop,” she shudders, “This is really freaking me out.”

“Maybe they’ve just gone for more wood? Or for a piss? I don’t know, I-”

A shaft of torch light beams through the trees toward me and with it comes a voice, “oi! I already told you to leave!”

“Oh fuck!” I wheeze, “Fuck fuck fuck, Clóda, go.” She stares at me like a deer in headlights. 

“Go!” I repeat, “You have to start running!”

I grab my bag, then her arm and haul her through the trees away from the light because she still isn’t moving, and along the verge of the woods we go, lit only by the moon as we trample over twigs and snap branches, fire in our lungs and hearts pounding in our ears. 

“Ow!” She keeps saying, “Ow, ow ow!”

“I’m sorry, I know, I know, I know” because the thorns tear at me too, through the thin cotton of my t-shirt to the skin underneath just as harshly as they lash my arms and my legs and snag my cheek. 

“I’ll have you done for trespassing!” The voice bellows from behind us, “This is private land.”

“Fuck sake, we know,” I mutter, and can he not see us leaving?

“What is happening?” Clóda cries. 

“We’re trespassing,” Is she not aware of that? 

“Are you sure we’re running the right way?”

“Yes.” No. But we soon find the gravel path again and tear toward the gate where my bike is tethered still, though alone, and I feel a white hot fury that snarls and twists inside me as everyone else has left me. I launch my body over the gate and yank my bike free. 

“Get on.”

“Jude-”

“Clóda, I’m serious.”

“Wh- what the hell?” Her face is a mask of upset and confusion, and I look at her, really look now at the leaves in her hair, the rip along the cuff seam of my favourite hoodie, raised white cuts, some bleeding, on her hands and her legs and one, brilliant red streak of blood on the inside of her thigh thanks to me, and I feel such intense shame for my anger that I could cry.

“We have to go,” I say more gently, and when she comes to me I pick the remnants of the woods from her tangled hair as carefully as I can. “Will you get on the handlebars? I want to get you home before the guard comes back.”

She obliges and scrambles on while her limbs tremble. I murmur all of the reassuring things I can think of to her as we take off down the path and back toward the village with dust behind the wheels. She sounds dazed, “I’m supposed to be at Rachel’s.”

“Well you might have to tell your parents a lie, say that you felt sick.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Good idea.”

We cycle in silence for a long while then, and I look up at the sky and I remember being small, a tiny thing on my great aunt’s lap while the warm autumn winds blew in from the desert and licked my arms and legs, and she would point up at the stars and the moon and tell me that no matter where you go, they always look the same. 

Clóda interrupts my pensive thoughts with a simple statement; “That was mad,” and it makes me chuckle, “Yeah, that was pretty stupid. You know what though? In a few days this is going to be the funniest thing ever.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[star-kovs]

I’m feeling anxious right now. I’ve had a bad depression slump and all of my responsibilities that haven’t been attended to because of it and things I hadn’t gotten to before it started are really weighing on me. I feel like I’m at a point where I just need to power through and take care of everything or else I will drown. I’m already flailing.

I love love love my mom. But lately, any time I try to open up about how I’m feeling and struggling, all she hears is the times I mentioned that I have ADHD or depression and how they make it hard, the times when I acknowledge those mental hurdles. I still am trying to find a way around them and I am the only one who can.

I wish I had help with all I need to do. My room is a pigsty and I can’t seem to wrap myself around the first step to cleaning it up the slightest bit. It feels so overwhelming. But I don’t have anyone who can/will go in and do it for me either. So I just try to make it as livable as possible. My bed is clean (with nothing piled up on it), so there’s that. But everything else? It just feels like it’s so so much.

The rest of the house isn’t in the best condition either. The house has never been 100% finished since my grandma passed. She wasn’t the cleanest person. Some progress will be made but I’m not sure any room has ever been 100% done. We also want to move at some point soon so we have been going through things that have been catch points for random items and throwing out things we don’t need.

It doesn’t help that I also haven’t been going to class. I am enrolled in classes this semester but saying I am unmotivated is an understatement. I have trouble getting myself to leave at a good time for anything, but especially for campus before class. And it’s been multiple weeks since I last went and 2 classes (out of 4) that I have never attended at all. Im pretty much done anyway, and won’t be enrolling again in the fall. I hate that I won’t be walking and receiving a diploma but I’m just wasting money on introductory classes trying to find 2 minors to use to get a degree in my current program. So even if I were to make up my mind, I still gave all the semesters and classes to take to earn those minors. And I’m burnt out and tired of having classes to take. But I can’t just not go at all and fail all 4 classes in the mean time. I receiving loan money for the semester too. I don’t want to owe it all back because I didn’t go to class and failed all my classes.

I have an appointment with a new therapist tomorrow. I was supposed to have an appointment in December but my therapist’s office called me back to say she was retiring a week before my appointment so I also have to get established with a new therapist. I’ve also been on a new dose of my antidepressant since January and I’m not sure it’s as effective for me. I’m also not sure how much my depression this time is from my behavior (which isn’t being helped by the depression) or from the medicine not working.

I just have so so much on my plate and nobody to talk to it about. And sometimes I will finally feel ready to do what needs to be done to help ease it, I’m told to not do it because I can leave the house and socialize and it will make me feel worse not to go… so I end up putting the more effective actions off even more

[percontaion-points]

OVE chapters 27-29

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 27

“They have taken Alisa,” Roma rasped aloud to Benedikt, though Benedikt already knew. “Tyler Cai has taken Alisa.”

Chapter 27 summary: The chapter opens with Tyler fuming about how nobody seems to give a shit about the vaccination being stolen. He randomly decides that Juliette is controlling the monsters. But even with his negative IQ points, even he admits that she wouldn’t need the monsters to steal the vaccination. 

We jump over to Kathleen as she goes to another communist meeting. And I can’t say that I’m not sympathetic towards the plight of the workers (100 years later and things honestly haven’t changed much). But knowing how communism is going to wreck the country, I kind of want to go back and stop all of them. Like worker conditions suck, but do you want to know what sucks more? COMMUNISM. 

And then, because this chapter suffers from plot ADHD, Alisa reads over a file she’d taken from her father’s office. She doesn’t know anything though, and quickly dismisses it before being distracted as the worker’s protest starts to walk past the house. She goes to get a better position, but then she’s kidnapped.

WE’RE APPARENTLY NOT DONE WITH PLOT ADHD, BECAUSE HAVE ANOTHER CHARACTER POV. Roma comes home and Ben tells him that Alisa is missing; they’ve looked everywhere for her. Roma isn’t sure about it, and doesn’t take it seriously at first. But the protest has turned into a riot, and Ben is worried about his cousin. 

Roma goes into his room, where they conveniently find the ransom demand pinned to the windowsill. I know that there’s few options for who could have taken her, but Roma instantly knows that it was Tyler who did. 

Chapter 28

“It was copies of your correspondences that they dug up at the post office. That’s how you were found out. Not sightings, not rumors. Simple pen to paper and your handwriting.” Juliette blew out a frustrated breath. “Was the merchant business all false, then? Is there even a lover, or did you play spy for no reason?” 

Suddenly, Rosalind’s eyes swiveled to Juliette, her gaze sharpening for the first time. “You would have done the same,” Rosalind rasped. 

Juliette sat up straighter. She looked to the door, to the slight gap left ajar. “What?”

 “I love him,” Rosalind mumbled. A bead of sweat had broken out along her hairline. She was delirious, probably running a fever. “I love him, that is all.”

JFC how could she continue to be this fucking STUPID?

“Don’t do it,” Juliette said plainly. “It was never worth it, and it’s not worth it now.”

[...]

“I was wondering how long the news would take to reach you,” he replied, watching the glass refract light. “Longer than I thought, I must admit.”

You know it’s bad when even Tyler complains about how long it took. TYLER. 

“Right outside the border of the Settlement, by the Suzhou Creek, shall we say? Don’t be late.”

Chapter 28 summary: Juliette tries to get Rose to talk, but as you can imagine, she’s in no mood. It’s only after Juliette calls Rose out for being that fucking dumb does she say that she loves him. 

Juliette then gets a call from Ben to explain about how Tyler kidnapped Alisa. It’s also been several days since this happened, which is the stupidest thing ever. But hey, stupidity seems to be the name of the game, so what else is new. 

Juliette naturally goes to confront her cousin about it. He continues to be an asshole and tries to call Juliette out on her bluff. She tells him that he’s going to die, but he only laughs in her face and says that now is the chance to prove her loyalty to the scarlets. Tyler continues to not give a shit about his life, and only tells her when and where. 

Chapter 29

“Teach me how one should forget to think,” he remarked. “That sounds like a feat most valuable.”

I don’t know why he’d ask Rose to teach him when “not thinking” has been his sole personality trait. 

Quietly, Roma climbed back in through the window.

Chapter 29 summary: Ben and Juliette meet to discuss the hopeless situation. The city is too big, and Alisa could be stashed anywhere. Neither Tyler nor Roma will back down from this, and both Juliette and Ben know that at least one of those idiots will die. Ben randomly thinks that if Juliette tells Roma about Marshall, he’ll stop. But honestly? Marshall < Alisa. It doesn’t make any sense why he’d even ask that. Juliette agrees, but decides that the city would turn on both of them if they were to love each other. 

Kathleen reads the letters Rose had written, and goes to confront her sister. Only to find that Rose has run off. I continue to not give a shit.

Rose turns up at Roma’s home. It’s at this point that Roma randomly tells the readers that his dad had asked him to go try and strike up a romance with Rose at the club, but he’d switched gears when he’d heard Juliette was back in town. He fell for Juliette hard and fast, and never looked back. 

Anyway, that aside now over, he tells Rose to state her business before he calls everybody out and they shoot her full of holes. She says that she could shoot him now anyway. She says some stuff about how she’d wished that it had been him, before she stumbles off. Roma doesn’t stop her, and goes back inside. 

[slasherhaven]

Slashers reaction to the reader referring to them as their boyfriend/partner to other people for the first time?

The Slashers reacting to their S/O referring to them as their Boyfriend/Girlfriend to other people for the first time:

Thomas Hewitt

It was no secret that you and Tommy were together, always by each other’s side, acting lovesick. 

Luda May wasn’t shy about voicing your relationship, already referring to you as Thomas’ partner and to Thomas as your boyfriend, she already had her mind set on a future of weddings and grandbabies. 

Her talk had always made the two of you flustered and embarrassed, neither of you really confirming her claims of your relationship.

You had been down at the gas station with Luda May and Thomas, she had asked Thomas to come to help move some crates and you had already been there to help her watch the place.

A group of travellers had pulled in, getting some gas and stocking up on snacks.

Being a friendly and trustworthy face, you were sent out to greet them and ask if they needed assistance. Thomas had been lifting another crate and had looked over to you, always protective over you, especially when it came to strangers. Eventually one of the men had commented on Tommy’s staring as he worked, scoffing to himself.

“Oh, that’s Tommy, my boyfriend. He’s just a little protective, you never know the type you might run into ‘round here” you reassured them with a smile, fully knowing that it was the Hewitt family that nobody wanted to run into around here.

Of course, Thomas overheard you, and your declaration instantly made him blush, quickly busying himself with his work again.

He’s overjoyed though, hearing you refer to him as your boyfriend, sounding so proud of him, he loved you so much and each day you convinced him that you felt the same. He also likes that these strangers know that you’re together.

Michael Myers

You were seeing some friends and Michael had gotten bored, heading out to find you and continue with his usual stalker shenanigans since he seems to enjoy stalking you when he’s bored and you’ve left him at home. He saw you talking to some of your friends, you were saying goodbye.

They had tried to get you to stay a little longer but you had smiled, telling them that you had to get home to your boyfriend. Of course they had demanded to finally meet this mysterious boyfriend but you shook your head at them before heading home, where Michael would already be when you arrived.

So, you had been referring to him as your boyfriend to your friends for a little while...he isn’t going to bring it up, he’ll act like he never heard it, like he was at home this whole time.

He won’t say anything but he ponders it for a moment, if that’s how you want to refer to him...he’s more than okay with that. Maybe more okay with it than he would admit to himself.

Jason Voorhees

You had gone on a walk through the woods and had wandered into the old camp. You hadn’t been aware of intruders but accidently stumbled upon a group of trespassers who had just arrived and where getting bags out of their car.

The group had turned to you, surprised but friendly. You, on the other hand, panicked a little, knowing you shouldn’t interact with them too much. Jason would be coming to deal with them some time soon. 

“Uh sorry...I was just looking for my boyfriend...bye!” you practically ran off, back towards the cabin, knowing that Jason would want you to be somewhere safe and out of the way. 

Jason had seen it all from his hidden spot in the trees. At first he had been worried when you stumbled upon the group, worried that you would get hurt or something.

But his heart fluttered when he heard you referring to him as your boyfriend, liking the way it sounded and how it made him feel.

You had been staying with him for a while now and the two of you had become close, certainly entering a more romantic relationship. But that was the first time you had used the title, and you had done so with so much ease.

Yes, he was your boyfriend, and he adored you.

Brahms Heelshire

You and Brahms were certainly dating, at least he definitely thought so and believed that you did too.

The delivery boy had come with your most recent grocery delivery, and you had answered the door. 

The two of you were chatting for a while, slowly irritating Brahms, who was sure that the delivery boy had a thing for you.

You had never really thought the delivery boy liked you but he was getting friendlier lately and you knew how much it bothered Brahms, so you had just casually slipped in some talk about your boyfriend (not mentioning Brahms’ name of course), just to get the point across to both of them.

The delivery boy had always been friendly and that had always made Brahms a little jealous but now that the man knows that you have a boyfriend, Brahms feel more confident that he won’t try anything and it makes him just a little less jealous.

Brahms is looking pretty smug when you close the front door and he comes to greet you, you barely have the chance to roll your eyes at him before he’s pulling you into a kiss. 

You can’t help but smile fondly at how proud and happy he seems with his new title.

Bo Sinclair

You and Bo had been getting closer, what you had definitely wasn’t ‘casual’ but neither of you had really talked about it. Bo didn’t like talking about that kind of stuff and you didn’t want to bring it up and put him in a bad mood. 

It was fine...until a group of visitors arrived in Ambrose.

It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman had flirted with Bo and he had allowed it, even flirted back to lull the strangers into a false sense of security. This would be the first time it made you jealous and you had every right to feel that way.

The flirtatious woman had laid it on fairly thick, Bo had only chuckled but hadn’t really returned the flirtations. You appreciated that but you still wished he would just tell her to stop or be a little less encouraging. You understood, you just didn’t like it.

Bo was looking at their car while you went to tell the group what was going on, telling them that ‘your boyfriend was just checking their car and should be done soon, he’s very good at his job’. You saw how the woman pulled a face at that, which satisfied you at least a little.

Bo had already been on his way over and had overheard how you had referred to him, making him smirk to him, both because of the title but also because of your jealousy. 

Now, he just had to mess with you.

He walked over, announcing that their car needed a new fan-belt as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

You knew that he was being extra obvious in front of the woman, probably more to mess with you than anything, and you knew that he was going to tease you for this later on...but at least he was showing off your relationship in front of these strangers.

Vincent Sinclair 

When visitors to Ambrose came by, Vincent would watch from a distance (especially when it came to you, just to make sure you were safe). 

He’d listen to conversation he could catch, and he was currently listening to you speaking with the group about their car that they needed help with.

“Sure, I’ll just get my boyfriend, Vincent, to go pick up your car” you told the group politely with a smile.

Vincent was taken back by how you referred to him as your boyfriend, and how you did it so causally. He wondered if you knew he was listening, that he could hear you.

Obviously the two of you had gotten very close as of late, sharing more than a couple romantic moments, but you had never brought up the topic.

It’s fair to say that Vincent is a little flustered when he next sees you but you had truly made his day, made his week even.

Lester Sinclair

You were in Ambrose when a pair of strangers walked into the garage, telling you that their car broke down and some guy gave them a lift into down, saying that his brother owned the garage. 

“I’m guessing it was my boyfriend who gave you a ride” you chuckled fondly, obviously knowing that it was Lester but keeping up some sort of act. 

“Yeah, he did” Lester beamed proudly as he walked into the garage behind the pair. 

You blushed a little, getting a little flustered by getting caught referring to him as your boyfriend, not that he seemed to mind.

When he heard the way you referred to him, it just put a huge smile on his face. He kind of knew that he was your boyfriend but this was the first time you had actually said it.

He greeted you warmly, pulling you into a hug and kissing your cheek, still beaming. It was sweet really. If Bo had seen, he probably would have gagged.

Bubba Sawyer

The brothers had been bickering and arguing, which was nothing new. Of course, you had started to defend Bubba, since he was pretty unconfrontational.

Drayton had scoffed and complained about you defending Bubba. 

You had just responded with “well, he is my boyfriend”, without even thinking about it.

Nobody else (other than Bubba) was surprised by the word ‘boyfriend’. Just rolling their eyes at you and continuing with their bickering.

Bubba had the biggest smile on his face.

He accepts his new position as your boyfriend instantly. Yes, he is your boyfriend and he loves you so much.

He just gets a little giddy and wants to give and receive a lot of affection from you after that.

Billy Lenz 

You had been on the phone with a friend. They had invited you out for the evening but you had politely declined, telling them that you were spending the night in with your boyfriend.

Of course, Billy had been listening in on the conversation, and as soon as you referred to him as your boyfriend he was grinning like an idiot.

It was more than obvious that the two of you were in fact dating, you just hadn’t put a name on it and Billy hadn’t really thought to do so. He felt like you had just made the relationship official, but he was more giddy at the thought of other people knowing that he was your boyfriend, that you would talk about him so fondly to your friends.

As soon as you put the phone down, Billy is on you, wrapping you up in his embrace, making you giggle as you returned the gesture, wondering what had gotten into him.

“I’m your boyfriend” he stated proudly, grinning from ear to ear before peppering your face with kisses, making you giggle again.

“Yes you are” you agreed fondly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

You were at Asa’s home when you got a phone call from a friend, asking if you wanted to hang out that evening but you already had plans with Asa. And that’s what you told them.

“Sorry, I’m spending the evening with my boyfriend” you told them, smiling when they complained about not having met your boyfriend yet.

As soon as you hung up, Asa appeared next to you, holding out a drink for you. You couldn’t help but get a little flustered, knowing he had heard and also knowing that you hadn’t really defined your relationship like that yet.

“You could have told me” was all he really responded with as he sat down beside you. Clearly not minding the way you referred to him.

Asa isn’t an idiot, he knew that’s where your relationship was, he just hadn’t brought up the conversation yet. Now it seemed like it didn’t have too, and that was good to know.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

You had decided to visit Jesse at his office, which he had told you that you could do whenever you pleased. When you arrive and were asking for him and the location of his office, you were met by a woman who seemed pretty hostile about your presence.

You definitely didn’t want to cause any trouble at Jesse’s work but she was being rude and you were getting tired, you just wanted to visit Jesse for lunch. 

“Look, I’m just here to visit my boyfriend, I’ll just call him and let him know I’m here” you sighed, about to give up as you pulled your phone out of your pocket.

Luckily, Jesse had just been passing through the reception and had witnessed the end of your conversation. Smirking to himself when you referred to him as your boyfriend.

He approached before you could unlock your phone, tucking it away again as you smiled up at him. 

Jesse nods to the woman, placing a hand on your back before guiding you up to his office.

Once you’re alone, he will playfully question you about how you had referred to him. After messing with you a bit and making you a little flustered, he reassures you that it’s perfectly fine. He is happy to call himself your boyfriend and to call you his partner.

From then on, everyone knows who you are and that Jesse is your boyfriend. You won’t be stopped or questioned again, don’t worry.

Otis Driftwood

You and Otis had gone to a nearby bar together, just to get out of the house and have a little fun. You had wandered over to the bar without him and when Otis looked over, he saw some guy flirting with you.

Jealousy and protectiveness (maybe some possessiveness) had Otis marching over to the two of you. 

“Uh, yeah sorry, I have a boyfriend” he heard you tell the man, shifting away from him in discomfort. You glanced around and relaxed when you saw Otis approaching. “There he is!” you smiled brightly, you were quick to push yourself away from the bar and meet Otis.

He instantly wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him, protectively and possessively as he glared the man down.

Damn right, he’s your boyfriend. And he’ll make sure everyone here knows it.

You had never actually called him that before, never actually made whatever the two of you had official. But now you had, that’s all he had to know.

Baby Firefly

You and Baby had gone out to a bar to have a few drinks and probably cause some trouble. She was dancing even though nobody else was, just her, having a great time, as you watched on adoringly.

Some guy and come up beside you and asked who she was. 

With a grin, you had proudly exclaimed “that’s my girlfriend!” 

Of course, Baby had heard you and smiled about it to herself.

Once she finished dancing, she returned to you and the same guy moved closer, introducing himself to her and asking for her to introduce herself in return. 

“I’m their fucking girlfriend” Baby stated proudly with a grin of her own, wrapping her arms around you as if to get her point across even more.

Yautja (Predator)

Of course introducing your family or your friends to your current partner (or ‘mate’, as he would call you) wasn’t really an option at the moment. But you had mentioned that you were seeing someone.

You were on the phone to a friend when they started asking about this mysterious person you had been seeing.

So, finally you told them to give your boyfriend some privacy, the two of you laughing before ending the call.

He had been referring to you as his mate for a while now and you assumed that was the same level, if not even more serious, than the title of boyfriend, so you figured it was okay.

And your mate thought so too. He knew what ‘boyfriend’ meant since you explained human dating to him, so when he heard, he knew what you meant and it just filled him with pride, knowing that you definitely felt the same as him.