#I’m itching to change my Lock Screen

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Her Ex Got Engaged

↳ Masterlist

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x GF! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Almost two years had passed since the end of the longest relationship she had ever had. Six years that had introduced her to romantic love—and to romantic deception. She could still picture the subtle yet undeniable shift in his expression as she spoke animatedly about the future she envisioned for them. It wasn’t until much later that she realized that moment had been a warning, a quiet revelation that he did not see her in his.

She soon learned what a breakup truly felt like—the endless crying, the ache in her chest, the unbearable helplessness. Absolute hell.

Looking back, though, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the conversation that ended it all. Painful as it had been, it had given her the clarity she needed. It had hurt—stung far too much—to realize he had known for some time that she was not the one but hadn’t ended things sooner. She had spent too long wondering why. But perhaps, if he had, she wouldn’t be where she was now—with someone who loved her the way she deserved. And for that, she was grateful.

It was late morning, and as Max played with the cats beside her, she scrolled through Instagram stories to see what her friends and other people were up to. Clubbing, dinners, traveling, running—the usual things people posted. She would glance at each for just a second before swiping to the next. But then she stopped, her finger frozen on the screen as she stared, at one point almost vacantly, before tapping on the shared post.

Engaged. She stared blankly at the caption, the single word mocking her. After what—a year? He was already engaged to someone else? How? Max barely glanced at her phone at first, still focused on scratching behind the cat’s ears. But when he noticed the way she had suddenly stilled, eyes fixed on the screen, he leaned in slightly.

“Who’s that?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “One of your friends?”

She blinked, hesitating a second too long. “Uh—”

Max smirked, nudging her playfully. “Tell me it’s not another wedding. I’m running out of excuses not to go.”

That earned a small, breathy laugh from her, but it wasn’t quite right—too forced. She locked her phone and placed it face-down beside her. “No wedding,” she said lightly. “Don’t worry.”

Max tilted his head. “Then why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing.”

His smirk faded slightly as he studied her face. “It’s someone, though.”

She sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “My ex,” she admitted. “He got engaged.”

Max’s expression didn’t change immediately. He just stared at her, then let out a quiet huh.

For a second, she thought maybe he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. But then, with that signature bluntness of his, he asked,

“So why do you care?”

She turned her head sharply. “I don’t.”

Max gave her a look, eyes flicking to her phone. “You do.”

His eyes met hers again, piercing through her, almost imploring an answer. Why did she care? It had been two years. She was happy—with herself, with him, with her life in general. And yet, it felt like a hard punch to the stomach.

“I don’t know,” she sighed.

Max’s jaw tensed slightly, his fingers drumming against his knee as he studied her. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but something about this—about her reaction—itched at him in a way he didn’t like.

“You don’t know?” he echoed, his voice quieter now, but there was an edge to it.

She ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, it’s offensive,” she said, trying to explain. “That he just—engaged so fast.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “And that bothers you because…?”

She sighed. “Because it makes me wonder how long he knew I wasn’t the one.”

Max was quiet for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, in a tone sharper than before, he asked,

“And do you still care?”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“About him,” Max clarified, his expression unreadable. “Because you look like someone just punched you, and I don’t know why else you’d be this upset if you were actually over it.”

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Max, no—”

“Because if you’re not happy with me, you should tell me,” he continued, his voice still controlled. “If you still want him—”

“I don’t,” she cut him off, shaking her head firmly. “I swear, I don’t.”

He exhaled, looking away for a second, his fingers tightening into a fist before relaxing. “Then why?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “Why does it feel like you’re still stuck in it?”

She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. It wasn’t about her ex, not really. It was about time, about the fact that she had spent years loving someone who hadn’t loved her back the same way. It was about realizing that she had been so blind to it.

But looking at Max now—his guarded expression, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for her or pull away—she realized that he didn’t see it that way.

Her chest tightened.

She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his. “Max, I’m happy, the happiest I’ve ever been,” she said, her voice softer now. “With you. I swear, I don’t want him back. I just—it caught me off guard. That’s all.”

His shoulders didn’t relax immediately, his thumb ghosting over her knuckles as he studied her face, searching for something.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and for all his bluntness, there was something vulnerable about the way he said it.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure.”

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly like he was mad at himself for even thinking otherwise. Then, finally, he tugged her closer, his hand slipping to the nape of her neck as he rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t like seeing you like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I really don’t like the thought of you still caring about him.”

She smiled, brushing her nose against his. “I don’t.”

His lips barely curved, but the tension in his body faded just slightly.

“Good,” he murmured before kissing her, slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in her. Like he was making sure she was here. With him.

Max pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand still cradling the nape of her neck. His expression had softened—still serious, but there was a hint of something else now. Something almost teasing.

“So,” he murmured, thumb brushing absently over her skin. “If you’re so bothered by him getting engaged, you wanna just… get engaged too?”

She blinked. “What?”

Max shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, why not? Even the score.”

She scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “Oh, now you want to propose, just to be petty?”

He chuckled, but there was a glint in his eyes, something more thoughtful than his usual teasing. “Maybe. I think we’d look better in engagement photos, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes while smiling. 

Max smirked and leaned in again, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before murmuring against her skin, “One day, though.”

Her breath hitched slightly.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something undeniably genuine. “Not just to ‘even the score’ or whatever,” he added, his voice quieter now. “But because I want to.”

She swallowed, her heart skipping a beat at the certainty in his tone.

“One day,” she echoed, her lips curving slightly.

Max’s grin widened. “Good, and it will be a much fancier ring than that, okay?.”

She laughed, shaking her head as he pulled her into him again. “Okay.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3

[glamourscat]

TAKE ONE | actor! TIM DRAKE x actor! reader

rivals to ..? | pt 1? | gn! reader

“How can you not understand?” Tim yelled at you, his voice rising above the relentless rain pouring down on both of you.

“I love you. I am so madly, pathetically, in love with you. And yet, you keep running back to him. Back to that damned jerk, over and over again. While me— I’m… your stupid best friend,” his voice cracked, raw and vulnerable.

“I’ve always been here, and you know that. Every late night holding you while you cried, every single t—” His words broke off as your lips collided with his, cutting him off with the force of something long overdue. Something he had dreamed of for months, no, years.

His hands moved instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was hungry yet soft, an overwhelming intensity that sent shivers down his spine. Goosebumps on his skin.

“And… cut!” the director’s voice broke through the moment, followed by an applause from the crew. “Great job, everyone. That’s the last scene for today. Go get changed. Meeting in room 2 in an hour.”

The crew began dismantling the props, the artificial rain stopped and the two of you stood there, still drenched, now with an awkward distance between you.

It wasn’t that he hated you. But he couldn’t stand you either. He’d been in this industry since he was a kid, nepotism, some would say. But haters will always be haters. Not his fault he was born loaded. Still, now at 23 he found himself needing more substantial roles. Filled with drama and twists. And, of course, his on-screen love interest had to be you.

The same person who keeps stealing Golden Globes right out of his grasp. Award after award, casting roles, and even his damn agent. So, no. He didn’t hate you. But, if he had to describe you, he would probably say you’re that annoying itch under your skin that not matter how much you scratch it, never really leaves.

Yet… there was something about you. Maybe it was the constant bickering that spilled from the script into your daily interactions. Maybe it was the fact that this kiss scene had taken six exhausting takes, but he couldn’t stop thinking about your lips on his.

And though he refused to admit it, he was beginning to crave this feeling. That terrified him.

“Why are you following me?” he asked flatly, his back still to you as you trailed behind him. “Your trailer’s on the other side,” he added, his tone deliberately detached.

“I told you this morning, but you never listen,” you scoffed. “My trailer’s out of order. There’s a leak in the bathroom, so they moved some of my stuff into yours for now.”

He stopped, turning to face you. His expression flickered between annoyance and disbelief.

“And there was no other trailer they could put you in?”

“Obviously not,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

He scoffed, resuming his pace as you followed. When he reached his trailer, he stepped inside without a backward glance, immediately peeling off his soaked clothes.

“Come in, close the door, but don’t lock it otherwise we get stuck in.” he said nonchalantly, walking around in nothing but his boxers

“You have no decency,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you stepped in.

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes trialing over your figure. “You’ve seen me in far less, considering the other scenes we had to shoot. Don’t be such a prude.”

“It’s not about being a prude. You’re just…, never mind. Jerk.” you grumbled under your breath, pulling off your drenched clothes too.

He turned, and his smirk widened. “Well, that’s a choice,” he teased, eyeing your Batman underwear, barely concealing his laugh.

“If you say anything, I swear, you’re done for,” you warned, trying not to laugh yourself.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “Whatever you say,” he hummed, turning back to dry himself off.

But in his mind, he was already storing this moment away for future need. Oh, he was absolutely going to use this against you one day.

Pt2? 👀

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 6

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 5.7k+

Note: Swag mode 😎😎. here's more William content. please don't look at the texts too hard, I have no clue how to write a convincing text exchange. i scoured a bit more willne videos to see their studio space lmao, so unnecessary, also mention of my twin orla in this one!

xxx

The next morning, I’m wrecked from staying up way too late, scrolling through flat listings and obsessively refreshing every page in hopes of some miracle. My eyes are sore, and my head feels like it’s been pounded with a hammer. I’m on my third cup of coffee, questioning whether a fourth would be pure madness or just a necessary survival tactic. The caffeine’s not helping as much as I’d like it to, but at least the warm cup in my hands feels like a small comfort.

I’m squinting at my computer screen, trying to focus, when my phone buzzes on my desk. The vibration cuts through the fog in my brain, making me jump slightly. I glance at the screen, half-expecting another spam message about payday loans or some kind of bad news. But it’s not.

It’s Will.

You free Saturday?

Will and I have still been DMing in the background. It’s weird. I don’t know what I expected to happen after the time we ran into each other at the pub, but I guess I didn’t think we'd still be talking. The messages come less frequently now, but there's still this pull every time his name lights up on my screen.

It’s like we’re both doing the bare minimum to keep the banter going without it feeling too forced. I know I’ve been busy, flat-hunting, work, trying not to drown in my bedsheets, and I assume he has too. He’s been very frequently posting on his second channel. I don’t watch them out of principle, but I would by lying if I say I didn’t check. He seems kind of person who just seems to have endless energy, but even so, I’m pretty sure he’s not sitting around waiting for my next message.

But still, here we are. Two weeks later, and I’m still somehow locked in this weird back-and-forth with him. The tension that was once a sharp sting now feels more like an itch that I can’t quite scratch. It’s not as urgent, but it’s still there, simmering.

The messages are still laced with sarcasm, just like before, but there’s a slightly different tone to them now. Less relentless. Less needling at me all the time. And, strangely, I miss it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the challenge.

never-ending game we’re both playing. I hope we’re not friends. God, that would be so much worse. Will drives me crazy—in that way where he can make me laugh when I shouldn’t, or get under my skin without even trying. I mean, it’s almost impressive how he can do both at once. But friends? Nah. Definitely not.

Sometimes, he shows up at the flat, a guest of Chris or George. He, barges in like he owns the place, strutting around with that smug look of his, making offhand comments that make me want to scream. It’s always the same. I’ll be hanging out with Chris, George, and whoever else, and it’ll be fine until it’s time for me to sleep.

Will, of course, notices. He’s always got this sixth sense for when I’m about to dip out, as if he can smell when I’m done with the noise and need to retreat. And that’s when he starts in on me.

“You’re so boring,” he’ll say, leaning back with that shit-eating grin, clearly pleased with himself for getting a rise out of me.

I’ll give him one of those looks, the kind that says don’t even but doesn’t quite stop me from firing back. “I have a degree,” I’ll say, deadpan, “I’m allowed to be boring.”

He’ll laugh, and that laugh, damn it, it always hits me like an electric shock. It’s not funny, but it is. And I hate it. I hate that I know I’ll never hear the end of it. He'll always have some smartass remark to throw back, but I’ll try my best to shut him down, even if it’s just with a quick glance or a snide comment of my own. Still, no matter how much I want to hate him, part of me gets that twisted satisfaction from sparring with him, like I’m winning a battle I never actually signed up for.

So for him to ask me if I'm free Saturday is strange to say the least. It’s totally random, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at the fact that he’s still so Will. I let it sit for an hour. I am at work after all.

Am I now buzzing for Saturday? Yes. But do I like him? No. That’s still a solid no. He's still the guy who grins like he’s got some secret joke whenever I’m around, and he’s still way too cocky for my taste.

But, I’ll admit it, there’s something there that makes me want to keep digging.

So, maybe this Saturday thing will give me a bit more insight. Maybe I’ll even see the real Will, or if my assumptions are correct, and he is just annoying at all hours of the day.

xxx

Saturday takes forever to arrive. Every day at work drags like it knows I’m waiting for something, like the universe is deliberately slowing time just to mess with me. By the time I’m in the elevator heading up to the studio, I can barely stand still. Nerves are buzzing under my skin like static.

A sudden, very real thought hits me—this could be a prank. I mean, it’s Will. Why wouldn’t it be? Maybe I should’ve actually watched some of his videos before agreeing to this. At least then I’d have some idea what I’ve signed up for. But no, I just said yes like a moron.

But then I remember, this is content, after all. And for content to be good, I have to be somebody. A character. A moment. My Instagram barely scrapes 500 followers. I’m not anybody.

So why the hell did he invite me here?

I’m not exactly sure what I expected a YouTuber’s studio to look like, but... it wasn’t this.

When Will talks about going to “the office,” I imagined something like mine—sterile, full of cold overhead lighting, open-plan with sad little partitions and passive-aggressive mugs. This is something else entirely.

The space is basically one big room, wide open, chaotic in a strangely intentional way. One wall is lined with IKEA storage cubes—every single one full to bursting. Half the fabric drawers are bulging open, and the labels are just printer paper taped on with what looks like the last sticky bit of an old roll. Minimal effort, maximal clutter.

There’s a random blue couch sitting smack in the middle of the room, like it wandered in and never left. Underneath, of course, is more stuff. There’s also a bar cart—because why not?—loaded with more spirits than a corner shop and about a dozen mismatched, vaguely fancy glasses.

Floor-to-ceiling windows should give the place an airy, open feel, but most of them are cloaked in heavy blackout curtains. A half-built Jenga tower is perched dangerously close to collapse on the floor, surrounded by wires, stray props, and what I hope is fake slime. Miscellaneous art hangs on the walls, and even more is propped up on the floor, leaning at awkward angles like it’s too tired to be displayed properly. There’s gear everywhere, light stands, mics, cables snaking across the floor like trip hazards waiting for a victim.

I get the vibe they tried to make this place cool and chic, and maybe at one point it was. But now? There’s just too much... stuff.

Toward the far end, four desks are arranged in a tight cluster, all facing inward like a gamer coven. The setups are ridiculous—giant monitors, ring lights, camera rigs, and enough SD cards and hard drives to launch a medium-sized moon mission. It makes my work desk look like a forgotten school project.

At one end of the room, there are two distinct sets. One looks like it used to be something—a cosy corner with a worn armchair and faux brick wallpaper—but now it’s been completely taken over by boxes, old office chairs, and random tech graveyard junk. Honestly, it looks a lot like my room.

The other set is clearly the main filming space. Wooden panelling lines the backdrop, LED strip lights between some of the panels, and there’s a desk front and centre with a seriously impressive lighting and camera rig aimed right at it. It looks very sleek professional, completely out of place with the rest of the office.

A woman who looks about my age—reddish-brown hair, dramatic eyeliner, cool in a way I’ll never be—is wrangling what can only be described as a mountain of shit. And by shit, I mean a completely random pile of objects: plush toys, plastic bowls, a Pokémon hat that’s seen better days. She’s also got a frankly terrifying number of energy drink cans, all in different colours. I think she’s arranging them in a specific order, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what the logic is.

I stand awkwardly just out of the way, clutching my tote bag like it’s a shield. Will’s across the room, mid-conversation with James-Jacob (the same one from the party). They’re laughing about something, completely at ease, like I’m not even here. Which, to be fair, I sort of am and sort of... am not.

James-Jacob is sitting in one of the chairs in the set, in a denim jacket that somehow looks vintage and expensive at the same time. His hair is styled in that effortless way that definitely took twenty minutes and at least two products. The moustache is… a choice, but it weirdly works for him. It's bold. He’s holding an iced long black like it’s an accessory, casually sipping it as if the studio isn’t a war zone of clutter and chaos around him. He has the arty-but-effortless thing down pat.

I don’t know what to say. Or how to announce my presence without sounding like I’ve wandered in by accident. I still don’t know why I’m here, and the longer I stand in this chaotic studio space, the more I wonder if I’ve misread the entire situation.

I start to look for my phone, to check if I have the time and date right, but then Will finally spots me. Will turns around, as James-Jacob gestures to me.

“Y/N!” I almost think it's not him who says it because, for half a second, he actually sounds... genuinely pleased to see me.

That second doesn’t last long.

“You’ve finally figured out how to dress like a human!” he adds, grinning. He starts to walk over to me. “I was worried I’d have to stage an intervention after the Great Blazer Incident.”

I roll my eyes, already regretting every decision that led me here. “It was one time. I came from work.”

“And yet I still think about it at least once a week,” he says solemnly, like it haunts him.

He seems... different here. There’s an ease to him I’m not used to seeing. The usual smugness is still there, of course it is, but it’s dialled down, softened by something that looks suspiciously like genuine professionalism.

There’s a quiet, unspoken respect between him and the crew, like they all trust each other to get things done without needing to say much. He’s still cracking jokes, still being Will, but there’s something more grounded underneath it. He’s more relaxed. More personable.

And for a second, I kind of get it—the whole YouTube thing. The appeal.

Him.

“So,” I say, arms crossed, trying not to sound defensive, “are you ever going to tell me why I’m actually here? Or did I just win a competition I didn’t enter?”

Will grins, that usual glint in his eye. “Thought it was time you saw what a real job looks like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Right, because rearranging Pokémon hats is the height of professionalism.”

He leans back against the desk, clearly enjoying himself. “Also thought it might help with the whole crushing loneliness thing you’ve got going on.”

It lands sharper than he probably means it to. My smile falters for a second before I catch it.

“Ouch,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Thanks for the charity invite, then.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to walk it back, maybe to double down, but someone calls his name across the room and he just gives me a look before walking off. The look haunts me for a second. It looked almost… apologetic, Like he knew he crossed a line. This second passes when I notice the man who called for Will's attention.

The man looks maybe a year or two younger than me, he has a pearl necklace peeking out of his oversized t-shirt. He has  a full tattoo sleeve, and his other arm littered with smaller ink. God is everyone who works here just super cool? I feel out of place even more so. This man is also downright handsome.

I walk over to Will, trying to act (never a good start) casual and confident. I blurt out, “Are you planning on introducing me to anyone, or...?”

It comes out sharper than I meant. Demanding, even. Great.

Will raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Wow. Okay. Demanding guest energy. Got it.”

I open my mouth to backtrack, but then I catch a glimpse of handsome-man who is now holding a very professional-looking camera. Of course. He’s on the crew. I suddenly become painfully aware of how out of place I must look, awkward, underdressed, and clearly not cool enough to be here.

I clear my throat, shifting my tote on my shoulder like that’ll help. “I just thought... y’know, manners.”

Will smirks. “Sure. Manners. Let’s go with that.”

Will, to his credit, does introduce me, though only after a very theatrical sigh, like I’m the one interrupting his party.

“Alright, alright,” he says, waving me forward like a reluctant tour guide. “Come meet the people who actually make the videos good.”

He gestures to Handsome-Man-With-the-Camera first. “This is Ieuan, camera god, walking tripod, professional stabiliser of shaky chaos.”

I nod, trying not to be weird about the fact that he’s even better looking up close. “Hi.”

“Ieuan,” I repeat, effortlessly now. A few years ago at uni, I’d have butchered that pronunciation on site, but after enough time around Welsh names, I’ve stopped fearing vowels.

He smiles politely and gives a small wave before adjusting something on his rig. Cool and quiet. Of course.

Will points toward the woman still knee-deep in boxes. “That’s Orla. Producer, chaos coordinator, and part-time tour manager for James.”

Orla looks up briefly and gives me a smile, dramatic eyeliner still flawless despite what I can only assume has been a long morning. “Nice to meet you,” she says, with the sort of energy that suggests she’s already done three people’s jobs today and has no plans to slow down. With that being said though, her smile is very genuine.

“And this,” Will continues, clapping a hand on James’ shoulder, “is James. The other half of the so-called talent.”

James smiles at me. “I’m the one people actually like.”  His name is James. I was actually very close.

Will snorts. “True. I keep him around for the algorithm. Likes, shares, ad revenue. It’s all James.”'

But something in the way James grins back at him makes it obvious there’s more to it than that. The banter’s real, but so is the friendship. It’s written in the comfortable way they stand near each other, in the ease of being known.

“I think we met at Old Mate’s party,” I say to James.

Will gives me a bit of a look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You mean Cal’s.”

Right. Cal. Of course he has a real name. I think his internet name is Calsqueezy or something.

James nods, taking a sip of his iced coffee. “Oh yeah. I was only there for a bit, not really my scene.”

He says it casually, but I can tell he means it. There’s no judgment, just that quiet honesty some people wear without even trying. It kind of disarms me.

Will nods. “There’s also Aby,” he says, glancing around. “She’s running an errand, probably saving our asses from some scheduling disaster. She’s another producer." he thinks to himself for a moment, "Oh there's also editor Mikey but he's off today."

As the introductions wind down, Will leans casually against the desk. “This lot,” he says, with a sweeping gesture, “are far too talented to be stuck making dumb review videos with me. Ieuan’s skills are wasted behind my ridiculous face, Orla could run a small nation, and—”

He pauses, looking at James, probably searching for a compliment.

“Don’t,” James warns, pointing at him. “Just don’t.”

Will grins. “See? He knows I have one, and that’s what matters.”

He waits a beat, and then claps his hands once, loud enough to cut through the idle chatter. “Alright, let’s get started!”

He glances over at me, and for a second I think he’s about to say something sarcastic, but he just gives me a quick nod, all business, then turns back to the crew like he’s flipping a switch.

And just like that, he’s in his element.

He gives directions, laughs with the crew, makes some offhand joke that sends James into a fit of giggles, then smirks to himself like he knows he’s good. It should be annoying. It is annoying. But when it’s not aimed at me, it’s... magnetic.

I find a seat off to the side. I'm far enough away not to be in the way, but close enough to witness the chaos. From here, it looks like organised madness. Cables, lights, props being moved. Voices overlapping. Will moves through it like it’s all choreographed.

He prances around the space. yes, prances is the only word for it. he's checking angles, tweaking lighting, fussing over his camera like it’s a pet. Once or twice, he catches me watching. He flashes a grin, quick and unbothered, then gets right back to work.

No smug comment. No teasing. Just... working.

It throws me off.

It throws me off so bad I almost forget to catch a few glances at Ieuan. Almost.

xxx

The first video is about tasting a bunch of discontinued energy drinks, because apparently slowly poisoning yourself for content is just part of the brand. There’s a “good bin” and a “bad bin” where they sort each one after tasting, with Orla handing them the drinks one by one like a caffeinated sommelier. They then also add a splash of each drink to a 'mega drink' which I cant imagine is going to go well.

Turns out the method to her madness earlier was sorting them by caffeine content—from lowest to highest. Which now makes terrifying sense.

I get it now. I get why people watch this.

Will is electric. He’s practically bouncing off the walls before they even hit the halfway mark. The energy between him and James is nonstop. The rapid-fire jokes, silly moment, dramatic reactions over flavours that “taste like potpourri I used to eat as a kid.” The banter is sharp, ridiculous, and weirdly charming.

To finish off the video, Will and James down a cup of the “mega drink” and the room instantly fills with this ridiculous, contagious laughter. They’re joking, teasing, and ribbing each other like old friends who’ve known each other forever. It’s effortless, the kind of easy camaraderie that’s rare to witness. James is making the most ridiculous face I've ever seen.

I have to clamp my hand over my mouth, barely holding back my own laughter. The last thing I want is to blow the shot, but damn, it’s hard not to crack up watching them.

There’s something... phenomenal about it. Watching them like this, it’s clear this isn’t just work for them. It’s their thing. Their space. And somehow, even from the sidelines, it’s almost mesmerising.

And this is with the awkward bits still in. I can only imagine how tight and hilarious it is once it’s edited down with the fun graphics.

Watching it unfold live feels a bit like watching improv on energy drinks. Which, I suppose, it is.

Ieuan calls ‘done!’ and just like that, the chaos dissolves. Cameras go off, lights dim, and everyone moves with the kind of precision that only comes after doing this a thousand times before. Straight toward the snacks.

We gather around on the green couch, which is near a scuffed table now covered in bags of Doritos, hummus, and what might be the saddest salsa I’ve ever seen. Orla triumphantly produces it all from a mini-fridge I hadn’t even noticed earlier, probably because it’s hidden beneath a tower of tangled cables and what I’m pretty sure is a rubber chicken.

Will flops down next to me, surprisingly not saying something mocking or snide. Instead, he nods toward Orla and announces, “She’s only here for the snacks.”

“That was the deal,” I deadpan, grabbing a chip.

He grins. “She’s also here to witness a legend in action.” He throws that line to Orla like it’s an inside joke, then turns back to me. “Drinks after, by the way. You’re coming.”

I blink at him, genuinely thrown.

“Yeah, it’s rough dragging everyone in on a Saturday,” he adds, stretching back like he’s worked a double shift in a mine. “But Orla and James are off on tour soon, so we had to squeeze in an extra day. I’m compensating by putting the company card on the tab.”

“Truly a man of the people,” Orla mutters, passing me the dip.

He ignores her. “Aby and Mikey are coming too. Should be a proper send-off-slash-financial mistake.”

I'm still stuck on the drinks thing. Drinks? With them? With him? Will doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him. That’s been the whole foundation of our weird, petty little dynamic. Mutual disdain with a side of sarcasm.

But now he’s inviting me out like we’re... what? Friends?

My brain short-circuits trying to process it, but my mouth gets there first. “You sure you want me there? I might ruin your whole mysterious internet persona.”

Will smirks without missing a beat. “That’s kind of the point.”

I glance around, half-expecting one of the others to be laughing or filming me as part of some elaborate prank. But no. They’re all just eating chips like this is normal.

So maybe it is. Maybe I’ve been dropped into an alternate universe where Will isn’t actively trying to get on my nerves... and I don’t immediately want to leave.

I pop a Dorito into my mouth to avoid saying anything else. Because if he’s being weirdly nice, I need at least three more snacks to emotionally prepare.

xxx

They film the second video, and James is still clearly buzzing from all the caffeine—he’s practically vibrating with energy. The chemistry between him and Will is just as electric as before, and the banter is nonstop. I catch myself laughing louder than I realize, probably loud enough for the mics to pick up. Nobody says anything about it, but I get the sense that my unexpected outbursts just blend right into the chaos of the shoot. It’s oddly comforting to be part of this wild, caffeinated madness, even if just on the side lines.

Ieuan calls “Done!” and the room bursts into boisterous laughter. Everyone starts shuffling toward the door, energised and buzzing with excitement for the afternoon ahead. The air feels electric, full of that easy camaraderie that comes from shared chaos, and maybe just a little too much caffeine.

The pub’s within walking distance of the studio and clearly a well-loved local, no matter how divey it is. The second we step inside, I’m hit with the smell of stale beer, fried food, and whatever cleaning product they gave up on halfway through the floors.

My sneakers instantly stick to something on the ground. Great.

It’s the kind of place that has mismatched chairs, chalkboard specials that haven’t changed since 2017, and fairy lights that probably haven’t been turned off since they were first hung. But judging by the way everyone relaxes the moment we walk in, this is clearly their spot.

Orla turns to the group to proudly say, “Our booth’s free!”

There’s a sort of triumphant energy to it, like this was the final boss of the night and she’s just won. She leads the way toward a worn-in corner booth that looks like it’s absorbed every conversation, spilled drink, and questionable life choice this crew has ever made.

We’re barely seated when Will steps away from the table, already pulling out his wallet.

“Alright,” he says, pointing as he goes down the mental checklist like a bartender who moonlights as a psychic. “Orla, you’ll want a Guinness. James, lemon-lime and bitters. Ieuan, your usual IPA. Y/N…” he pauses, smirking slightly, “cider, right?”

I blink. “Yeah.”

He turns toward the bar like it’s no big deal. “Mikey and Aby are two minutes away in the Uber, so I’ll order theirs too.”

Everyone nods, completely unfazed. Business as usual. No one acts like it’s anything special—but I’m sitting there stunned.

He didn’t just know their orders, which would be impressive enough but he remembered mine. From the one time we ran into each other at the pub after my work drinks. A throwaway detail from weeks ago. He remembered.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It probably doesn’t. But there’s something oddly touching about it. And it throws me off more than any sarcastic comment ever could.

I'm just completely thrown today.

Conversations break out easily once drinks hit the table. The kind of noise that fills every space with overlapping stories and half-heard jokes.

I end up leaning toward James, asking about his upcoming tour.

He lights up immediately. “I’m excited,” he says, then after a pause, “but nervous. We’re playing a lot of the new album live for the first time. Could totally flop.”

He laughs like he’s joking, but I catch the flicker of real worry behind it. Before I can say anything reassuring, Orla cuts in to rib him about learning his own lyrics properly this time, and the moment drifts away with the laughter.

Ieuan starts talking to Orla, but I catch a few words. He’s moving in with his girlfriend. I nod politely when he mentions it, even manage a smile. My brain offers me a quiet, helpful suggestion: This is the part where you’re supposed to feel crushed.

I don’t. Not really. Just a little... floaty.

Mikey and Aby arrive a few minutes later, both looking like they’ve already been laughing about something. Apparently Aby ran into him while grabbing lunch on her “errand,” and they decided to come back together.

James snorts. “You’re scamming a living, Aby.”

She flips him off without missing a beat. Everyone laughs, so it's clearly an ongoing bit. It’s warm. Familiar.

I introduce myself, a little awkwardly, but both are immediately friendly. Aby’s effortlessly cool with her blonde hair, oversized blazer and total girlboss energy. Mikey, on the other hand, is pure chaos. His bright red hair is sticking up like he lost a fight with a wind tunnel, and he talks with his whole body, hands flailing, voice animated, bouncing between topics like he’s buffering in real time.

I like them instantly.

Will returns with a tray of drinks, and the table erupts like he’s just brought a round of gold.

“Look at this man go,” Orla says, raising her glass.

“Hero of the people,” Mikey adds, dramatically clutching his chest.

On the tray: five pints, one lemon-lime bitters, and a glass of white wine. Without saying a word, Will starts placing each drink in front of its rightful owner, setting them down with casual precision, each one on a coaster. Like it’s muscle memory.

When he reaches me, he places the pint of cider gently in front of me, with the glass turned, label facing out, like some kind of pub sommelier. And then, as he shifts the tray under his arm, his other one moves behind my chair.

He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t say anything. Just that one arm resting casually along the back of my seat.

It shouldn't mean anything. It's probably just for balance. But my breath catches in my throat anyway, sharp and embarrassing. He’s not even touching me.

And then he’s gone, walking off to return the tray like it’s nothing.

I blink, trying to reset my brain. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Just... proximity. Pub physics. Nothing to write a diary entry about.

Still, I find myself watching the space he left behind like it might explain why my pulse hasn’t slowed down yet.

Two more pints later, the table has reached a comfortable kind of chaos. The volume’s gone up, the laughter’s coming easier, and conversations have splintered off in every direction.

Orla and Aby are deep in a stream of gossip about mutual friends, names I don’t recognise, but their dramatic re-enactments are gripping. Across the table, Will and James are animatedly dissecting some obscure TV series they’ve both just discovered and apparently believe is a cultural cornerstone.

Closer to me, Ieuan’s mid-rant about the stress of moving flats, arms flailing slightly as he describes the war zone of cardboard boxes his life has become. Mikey jumps in occasionally to offer moving “advice,” most of which sounds borderline illegal.

I chime in without thinking. “I’ve got four inspections lined up this week. Four. And I’m already mentally composing my rejection emails.”

Ieuan winces. “You flat-hunting in London?”

I nod grimly. “Yeah. It’s like a full-time job where every interview ends with, ‘We’ll let you know,’ and then they don’t.”

Mikey offers me a crisp from the middle of the table, looking weirdly sympathetic. “That’s brutal. I lasted three days when I tried. Moved back home and started a fish tank.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that, but it makes me laugh.

And just like that, I realise how easy this all feels. Sitting here, wedged between people I barely know and yet somehow don’t feel out of place with. For a moment, I forget about the flat stress. I forget about the weird tension I can’t name.

I’m just... here. And it’s not terrible.

The conversation between Will and James starts to fizzle, both of them finally running out of steam, or maybe just tired of trying to convince each other to watch the same show. I’m mid-laugh at something else Mikey says when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.

I turn, and Will’s leaning in slightly, his face unreadable in the low pub light. “So,” he says, voice pitched just for me, “does this make up for Valentine’s Day?”

It takes me a second. “What?”

“I couldn't take you out” he continues, like it’s obvious. “So. Drinks. Company. Pint on me. Consider it... delayed compensation.”

I blink at him, genuinely thrown. “You remember that?”

He just shrugs, casual. Too casual. “I remember everything you say.”

That quiet little sentence knocks the wind out of me more than I care to admit. He says it like it’s nothing, like it's just true. But it lands with way more weight than it should.

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to hide the fact that my brain is short-circuiting. “Okay, whoa. No. I want cocky Will back. This version’s way too emotionally available.”

He smirks, sitting back like I’ve walked straight into his trap. “Fine. You’re welcome, by the way—for being the most interesting part of your boring little 9 to 5 life.”

I snort. “There he is.”

He grins wider, clearly pleased with himself. “Missed me?”

“Like a toothache,” I smirk, but I find it hard for it to not turn into a fully-fledged smile.

After a surprisingly good steak (courtesy of Will, no less) and more pints than I’m willing to admit to in writing, I fish my phone out of my bag and start tapping for an Uber.

Before I can get past the address screen, Will reaches across the table and gently pushes my hand down. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, already pulling out his own phone. “I’ve got it.”

I blink at him. “You’ve got it?”

He’s typing something in before I can argue. “Yeah. I already know where you live.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Okay, stalker?”

He rolls his eyes. “You live with Chris and George. It’s not that deep.”

Right. That.

I sit back, feeling weirdly... thrown. For a second, I forgot about the shared connections, the overlapping social circles. I forgot he’s not just the guy who gets under my skin, but also the guy who shows up to our flat like he’s part of the furniture.

Still. There’s something strange about the way he does it without asking. Like it’s second nature.

I glance at him, but he’s already looking at his phone, scrolling to confirm the ride like it’s no big deal.

Maybe it’s not, but for some reason, it kind of feels like it is.

He even walks me out to wait for the Uber. It’s not quite dark yet, but the sun’s sliding low, casting a lazy orange glow. Typical London, never a good sunset, but somehow I don’t notice.

“Thanks for coming today, Y/N,” he says quietly. I brace myself for a snarky comment, but it doesn’t come. “I hope you had a good time.” I check my phone. The Uber should be just around the corner.

“Thanks. I genuinely did have a good day,” I say, turning to look at him. His expression is unreadable, like he’s holding something back, or maybe trying not to.

The Uber pulls up just then. I reach for the door handle before he can beat me to it.

Inside the car, Will’s words from earlier echo in my head, the ones about the crushing loneliness thing I have going on. The way he said it so flippantly earlier made my skin crawl. And honestly? Part of me wants to snap back, “How dare he make my loneliness his problem?” Like, since when did my mess become his to carry? I’m supposed to be the one who manages my life, not someone else’s charity case.

I didn’t ask him to notice. I didn’t invite his pity or his concern. I’m used to burying those feelings deep, pretending they don’t exist. So why does it sting so much that he saw through the act? It’s infuriating, really. The idea that someone else is holding a mirror up to my cracks and expecting me to care. Because caring means admitting I’m not fine. And admitting that? That feels like losing.

But then there’s this other part, stubborn and reluctant, that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he genuinely did just see that I have no friends here, and offered some of his to me.

Still. I’m not ready to hand him a damn map to my loneliness. Not yet. Not ever.

I'm just a little bit too drunk to think about it any further, about whether he invited me for a different reason entirely.

Then my phone buzzed.

Oh my god...

[hannahssimblr]

It is by coincidence, not intention, I join the meditators. The sign, soul healing meditation, only happened to invite me down a pathway, shaded, winding through the banyans. I followed it to escape sun that beat so intensely into my head I thought I’d faint at the beach, and has me missing the downpour of Bangkok. It is not out of curiosity I followed the sign, for I’m not, and never have been, curious about spirituality or any vaguely mystical practices. It was a need to cool down. And now I have, actually.

The meditation studio is cool and shaded, the trickle of water from a fountain outside on the lawn, birdsong in the trees. The others shuffle around, get seated on the floor. They’re Buddhists, aren’t they? People who meditate? Well, I’m a protestant, and not even an acceptable one; unable to recite even one complete verse of The Holly and the Ivy at the Church of Ireland Christmas service by heart. I stay at the back of the room by the door, close enough to my shoes, beaten up white runners among a pile of leather sandals, in case someone will be able to tell by looking at me I shouldn’t be doing this. An imposter amongst them.

God, they move glacially, these people. Dyed silk scarves thrown across their chests, serene looks on their faces like they’re floating in the clouds. Nine others, a combined age of one thousand. These are the kinds of people I get trapped behind on the street when I’m running for the train, ambling along in groups, aimlessly gazing at the architecture. Or in the supermarket, not getting out of the way of the fridge, too busy contemplating different salamis to let me grab what I’ve already decided I want. Is it places like this, meditation retreats, where they learn to be so slow?

Ah, there he is, speaking now. The bald man with the interesting face. The guru, or whatever. Nobody has explained to me what I should call him, and I say guru, because of this rumour I heard about a lad from school. Did too many magic mushrooms and got obsessed with some spiritual bigwig in Costa Rica. Made him the lock screen on his phone. His guru, he says. Wears wooden beads around his neck and let his hair get all long allegedly. My hair’s all long now, too, actually. Maybe it’s fitting I’m here, finding my guru, too. This could be the beginning of a life changing, enriching kind of relationship. 

“Just breathe,” he’s saying. “Feel the breath as it enters. Let it soften you. Focus only on it, and let other thoughts go.”

Breathing is extremely easy for me. I just do it, like, there it is in my nose and all. Going into my lungs. I can feel that like I’m supposed to.

“Imagine you are a tree with roots deep in the earth, grounding you where you sit.”

Right, yeah. I can imagine I am a tree too if I want to. This is like drama in primary school, when the teacher put us into groups and had us pretend to be the four elements. “Jude, into the wind group,” she said, and I pretended to be a tornado until I accidentally knocked the drying art projects off the rack, getting wet paint on the side of my uniform. Insisting I did it on purpose, she sent me to the principal for a telling off. Years later, I’d feel bad for ruining the fun. I was like that; always getting too carried away with myself, taking the fun too far. Probably still am. 

“Watch the thoughts come and go like clouds. Try not to follow them.”

So what am I supposed to do, then? Just sit? Sit and breathe? I do sit, but soon the floor is uncomfortable. I shift, and the boards creak under my weight. There I am, making noises again, shifting around too much, my clothing the only clothing making any noise in a room of people, and by the way, there’s an itch on my eyebrow. What do I do about an itch? Scratch it, or mindfully observe it until it goes away? 

 A mosquito. My senses are fine-tuned to the presence of them now, three weeks in Southeast Asia having primed me for hypervigilance. Surely another person is bothered by the presence of a mosquito. It buzzes. If it bites me, can I open my eyes or move, or do I need to mindfully observe the biting?

Guru is still on the tree thing, I think, though I lost track of what he was saying. “...like the roots. In stillness, you are both grounded and free.”

I am meant to be thinking of the present moment, and I am thinking about mosquitoes. This wasn’t supposed to be hard. I shift again, in frustration this time, the discomfort secondary. I peel one eye open and peer at the others. All of them serene, hands in their laps, backs perfectly straight, their breath slow and even. Are they having some sort of experience I am exempt from? I think, annoyed, actually, at their engrossment in the process. This is it? All that meditation is, is breathing and sitting and thinking about how I’m doing just that? I expected something more, as much as I expected this to be simpler. I can’t sit for three seconds without my mind wandering. There it goes again. Wandering, thinking about itself wandering. Fuck sake.

I take a deep breath, shuddering with emotion, closed eyes twitching. Of all the skills to be bad at, I am bad at doing nothing. My life is a joke. I was good at school without wanting to be. Maths, even, a subject everyone automatically assumed I'd be shit at. Tutoring Jen back then, Pythagoras theorem and so on, all of it falling into place in my head without effort while she struggled to the point of tears. Art, brilliant. The way the tutors at college fawned over my pieces, saying things about how wonderful I am, what vision, what creativity, what skill. Extraordinary talent. And people. I excel. I wish I was confident like you are, they say, up in my face at the pub Fridays after school. You just know what to say to people, you know how to make them laugh. Funny boy, clever boy, lucky boy, so bloody gorgeous. You know I fancied you for ages, Jude, was too shy to say something. I shouldn’t be saying it, so drunk, but you’re beautiful. I’d say people tell you that all the time, don’t they? Dangerous beauty. When you look at me like that, I forget my own name. A natural leader, you are, man. You just say what you want and everyone runs to give it to you. You’d do serious damage with that personality if you wanted to. Could lead people astray. Cult leader, Turner, that’s you! Ha!

“...Continue following the breath. Now, let it flow through your arms. From your shoulders to the tips of your fingers.”

No. Sorry, no. I can't. I untangle my legs from underneath me and get up. Loud, obnoxious creaks on the floorboards which no one reacts to. The guru’s eyes remain closed and his lined face tranquil, likely treating the disruption like a passing cloud, as my stockinged feet pound across the floor to retrieve my shoes. The pile of leather Jesus sandals topples, while I smash my feet into my old runners and yank the laces into submission. I am noisy, not just now, but intrinsically, shamefully. Even the way I open the door, which squeaks on metal hinges, swishes and bangs shut behind me, reverberating through the hallway.

I pass the sign, the arrow in the opposite direction. Face hot, teeth clenched. Meditation hour, it says. It has been seven minutes. 

“Did you ever go to the mindfulness session?” Jonas says later, lying in the bunk above me, triumphant since eating a banana and not vomiting it back up. 

“Yeah, actually,” I say. “It was shit, though. Not going again.”

“Thought so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hm.” Outside, the night is alive with crickets and insects that hit against the mosquito nets in pursuit of our light. “I guess you would struggle with meditation.”

“Well, no, because I struggle with nothing.”

A sleepy chuckle. “Okay.”

Too hot. I kick the covers to the end of the bed. “I can do anything I want.”

“Whatever your ego needs to believe, but nobody is good at everything.”

I grunt. 

“Does it bother you to hear this? Or do you not believe it?”

“Actually, I’m too tired to talk, Jonas. Go to sleep.”

And he does. The bed jitters as he rolls onto his side and drifts off, soon snoring contentedly while I stare at the slats above me. Think of the present moment, Jude, go on. Think of your breath. The way the bed feels. The lumps inside the mattress, and the existence of your little toe.

But fifteen seconds of trying, and I am a thousand miles away again, thinking of everything and everyone instead. Sleeping, eventually, only to escape the racket in my head. A horrible meditator. Useless. Good at everything, it seems, but the simplest thing in the world.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[i8ickygrl]

（⭒ ˘˘）ᵎ🖋️➞﹕ready player one 🪷

featuring: streamer!gojo satoru x fem reader warnings: dubcon, mention of spit, a bit of exhibitionism, blowjob proofread(?): i think so authors note: thank you guys soooo much for the support on my last two fics! this one is a little rushed so i'm not sure if i'll keep it up but my brain was itching to write this concept. don't forget to like, reblog or leave a comment if you can! hope you enjoy! thank you for reading, lovey <3

streamer!gojo who spends so much time around that desk. you know how much he enjoys being a streamer, interacting with his followers and basically getting paid to hang out with his friends all day. but you can’t help but whine when his attention isn’t on you.

“yes, love?” he’d pull one side of his headphones off of his ear and raise an eyebrow. 

“what time do you think you’ll be off?” your plump lips formed into a pout.

“soon, baby. i promise.” he’d take one of your hands and rub his thumb over your knuckles loving before turning back to his screen.

it was the same every time. you really didn’t mean to be annoying, you just missed him so much… so how could he blame you for crawling under his desk and seating yourself in between his legs?

streamer!gojo who’s still so caught up in his little game, yelling at someone to revive him. not to worry though. his attention would be all on you soon enough. you smooth your hair behind your shoulders and lick your lips before sliding your hands over his knees. 

streamer!gojo jumps slightly at the feeling, stopping his sentence mid way and looking down at you. you smile sweetly and bring your finger up to your lips, silently shushing him. 

streamer!gojo who plays off his sudden change in demeanor, making up some dumb excuse. his eyes are wide as he tries to refocus his attention, feeling you palm him through his shorts.

you feel his cock twitch under your grip, looking up at him through your lashes and smiling wickedly. feeling him close to being fully hard, you tug at the waistband of his shorts signaling him to lift his hips. 

streamer!gojo glances anxiously at the chat, noticing a few “you good?”s but nothing too alarming yet. he didn’t know how far you’d take it but he was sure he could play it off. 

he was in his boxers now and you smiled further before sliding your hand into the slip and pulling his cock out. you hummed happily at the sight and began slow strokes around the tip, watching his length grow in your hands.

you hear his breath hitch above you and it only encourages you to go further. you place your other hand around the base and stroke faster, giving him kitten licks every now and then as his pink tint began to swell from the stimulation. 

streamer!gojo who’s face is starting to contort is pleasure. he attempts to clench his jaw to hide it but its a bit too far gone now. he looks down at you, seeing you begin blissfully sucking his cock. your head bobbed in rhythm with the hand you twisted at the base as you happily and hummed around him.

“uhhmmm… is he okay?”

“bro does your stomach hurt or something?”

“gojo??”

he glances at the chat and curses under his breath before hearing a loud voice blare through his headphones.

“LOCK THE FUCK IN SATORU!” 

“i’m sorry, ma- fuuck.”

streamer!gojo who looks down at you, your shirt off now and his cock wet with your spit. your mouth was opened slightly as you looked up at him, panting and silently encouraging him to cum for you. god, he wished he could take a picture. you looked so damn perfect. 

streamer!gojo is close to his limit now, barely trying to hide the way he lovingly looks down into your eyes and sighs in pleasure. 

suddenly you push your breasts up against his cock and he swears he could cum right there. you pump his length, still keeping eye contact, and your lips moves to say something barely above a whisper. 

“come play with me gojo.” a moan slipping past your lips as you speak.

streamer!gojo is immediately ripping off his headphones, spewing apologies to his chat while whoever he was playing with screams through his headphones. he frantically closes various screens and waves bye to his chat before hurriedly guiding you towards him by your chin, surprising you with a deep, heated kiss.

“let’s go finished what you started.”

[freakshowtwopointoh]

All Bets Are Off

@pinkcrocss suggested this and i had to

“I don’t think the two of you could be closer to each other unless you were literally in each other's skin.” Andre teased, watching as Marie and Jordan readjusted their limbs once more.

“We’re not trying to get closer, we’re trying to get comfortable. The human body is a burden.” Jordan complained, shifting Marie’s body slightly to a better position.

“The two of you are essentially attached at the hip, I’m surprised your brains and bodies haven’t merged together.” Emma added. “You’re lucky I like you, Jordan. Considering you basically stole my best friend and roommate.” That got her a stuffed turtle thrown at her head. “Hey!”

“We’re not that clingy.” Marie protested, but it was such a boldfaced lie that the entire room burst into laughter, Marie and Jordan included.

“I don’t think you guys could manage a day without contacting each other.” Cate teased. And Jordan knew a challenge when they heard one, especially from Cate. Marie gave them a slight nod and they grinned despite the racing of their heart.

“Wanna bet?” Jordan asked, a smirk playing on their lips. And so, the bet was on. From midnight tonight to midnight next Monday, Marie and Jordan weren’t allowed to contact each other. Eye contact or brief conversation in public is permitted, but no texting or calls, and absolutely no touching. The winner takes everyone out that weekend. 

Marie and Jordan would pretend that it was no big deal, which was how the bet ended up lasting for a full week. The rest of the crew had money on who would cave first.

Place Your Bets Here (Emma, Sam, Cate, Luke, Andre)

jumanji: i dont think jor will make it past day 4

cricket: r u kidding? they wont make it past day 2. trust me, i live with marie. theyre always around

magneto: i think we’re all underestimating jordans stubbornness. i think marie will almost make it, but give in after jor does something reckless and she goes to yell at them

cricket: marie might be willing to die (or kill) for jordan but she’d never willingly lose a bet to them.

fuego: tbh i think they’re both too stubborn to give in but they will make it our problem during this week and after

jumanji: yeah id bet extra money that jor will spend at least one night this week in my dorm

kong: [liked cricket’s message]

kong: [liked cricket’s message]

It would take less than twenty four hours for both Marie and Jordan to begin to feel the struggle. For Jordan, it was like a persistent itch under their skin. They scrolled through her minimal social media constantly, or flipping through their camera roll just to see her perfect, sunshiney smile. It was marginally better when they were in the same room as her, but that tested their discipline in a whole different way. They were acutely aware of her every move. It took everything in them to keep their eyes on the board. Their notes were... non-existent. 

Marie had the opposite problem. Life was boring without Jordan, but she knew boring. She could handle boredom. But being in the same room as them and not speaking to them? Not touching them? She could barely look at them. Their eyes were always on her, piercing through her, so obviously wanting her. How was she supposed to stay away from those eyes? She barely looked at Instagram, and came close to changing her lock screen just to avoid the temptation. 

This was going to be a long week.

By the third day, Jordan had walked up to Marie’s dorm before walking away three times, and nearly called her countless times. They had also snapped five pens and three pencils while attempting to focus. 

Cate opened her door before Jordan even knocked.

“I’m surprised it took you this long. Come in.” She said lightly, a small smile on her lips.

“I’m actually going fucking insane. Like honest-to-god, I swear I hallucinated her voice in the library earlier. What has this girl done to me?” Jordan flopped back on Cate’s bed, ignoring her irritated look. 

“You’re just in love.” She said casually, finishing taking off her makeup as Jordan spoke.

“That’s worse, Cate! Don’t you see how that’s worse? I’m not prepared for this.” Their legs shortened suddenly, leaving their feet dangling off the edge of Cate’s bed as they shifted.

“Jordan Li. Did you think you could plan falling in love?” Cate admonished, looking directly into the eyes of her anxious friend.

“I thought I could plan it a bit easier than this!” They whined.

“Maybe you are insane. Do you schedule your other feelings?” She teased. 

“... Sometimes.” Cate shook her head and chuckled.

“Jor, stop fighting your feelings and feel them.” She said seriously, before deftly changing the subject.

Marie was in even deeper denial than Jordan. She refused to admit to Emma that she was coming close to losing the bet - even when it was painfully obvious.

“Marie. Marie. Maaaaaaaaarie.” Finally, she resorted to throwing a pillow at her head. “Stop daydreaming about Jordan and help me film this video for my class.”

“I don’t daydream. I’m thinking.” She retorted, but she was clearly staring at Jordan’s hoodie, which was draped over a chair.

“Yeah, sure. And I’m a math whiz. Now help me.” Emma teased, grabbing Marie’s arm and dragging her out of the chair. She would have an enjoyable evening helping Emma with her homework, but night came and she dialed Jordan’s number for the millionth time before turning her phone off and trying to sleep.

But as it turned out, no one could have predicted the outcome of this bet - the two lovebirds were so distracted trying not to think about the other that they walked directly into each other outside of Brink’s office. Fumbling over their things, handing books and papers back to each other, their fingers brushed and it was all over.

“Fuck this.” they muttered in unison. Jordan helped Marie up before sliding their hand directly into hers and dragging her back to their dorm.

"I missed you, Moreau." Jordan mumbled against Marie's lips, their hands cupping her face. She hummed contentedly, resting her hand on the nape of their neck and keeping them close to her.

They took their time with each other, relearning every curve and edge of their bodies. Marie's skin was covered in hickies and bite marks, a blossoming masterpiece that Jordan could not get enough of. She was theirs. It was addictive. They just couldn't get enough of each other. And every small gasp or moan Jordan made sent desire coursing through Marie, a reminder of the power she held over them.

But Jordan couldn't be kept from between Marie's legs for much longer. Her body was incredibly responsive, arching into every touch. They needed to taste her again, feel her come entirely undone for them. They let their tongue trace along her inner thighs, feeling their own arousal surge as she moaned softly.

"Jor, please-" She whined as their tongue teased her wet folds. They smirked, sinking their long fingers into the flesh of her ass, pulling her closer.

"Patience, princess." They said huskily, unable to keep from teasing her a little longer. But finally, their tongue brushed against her clit, causing her body to buck into their mouth. A dark, lustful laugh came from Jordan's throat before they dove in, their lips wrapping around her clit.

Jordan could honestly spend their whole life between Marie's legs, making her whimper, moan, and cry just for them, putting their mouth and tongue to work. But when she cums for the third time, that perfect, fucked out look in her eyes, they can't help themselves. They're shifting without thinking, pulling away from her center and pulling out their cock.

"Fuck, Marie, I need to feel that tight cunt wrapped around me, right now." They groaned, pushing her back fully onto the bed before they pushed themself inside of her cunt, still dripping with her most recent orgasm.

They were both screaming each other's names all night long.

They’d both say the other broke the bet first. Their friends were just glad they didn’t have to deal with the couple’s pouting for a full week.

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E27

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 27th | behind the scenes | the daring interviewer, zena daren, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and advertise krayt house’s first full-length pornographic series. the new frontier of breaking through this industry’s stigma is a challenge she’s up to face. joined by any member of the cast that’ll lend their mouth to the microphone, zena wants to know the answers to questions the people are too afraid to ask. WC: 0.6k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker, zena daren (oc) WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: october 22nd | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“I’m dying to know,” Zena begins, clutching onto the edge of her clipboard as she engages with her on-screen counter part. Anakin Skywalker regards her with a glance and a nod as he takes a sip of his provided and Krayt House labelled water. “Episode twenty-two, what’s the story there?” In case— for whatever reason— it could be sensitive subject as a condition, Zena lets him fill in the gaps.

“Oh, sexsomnia?” he confirms, rather bored as he places as bottle aside his chair leg. “Don’t believe everything you see, it is a set. No, I wasn’t asleep.”

“But…” she presses, eyeing him through her brows and he concedes.

“I have it.”

“How did you discover something like that?” There’s a genuine interest bubbling within Zena that Anakin tilts his head at. It’s easy to oblige her, he has no reason to hide it.

“When I was, uh,” He gestures vaguely with his hand. “making videos with someone I used to see. You know, home stuff— before I got started in all this. She was letting me crash at her place.” By the sound of his voice, his past isn’t a story he likes to dig up, but for some reason he’s relaying it for Zena, glancing into the camera lens every so often. “I was kinda living out of my car at the time.”

Zena didn’t realize that aspect, a delicate line to her inner brow as he listens intently.

“Anyway, sharing a bed it’s a little hard to hide. Didn’t know I had it. It comes from… stress? I think.” Anakin wipes a hand down his face. “She started making me sleep on the couch.”

It’s time for a subject change. Especially because Zena’s getting too hung up on the girl Anakin used to see. Part of her itched to deep search his history to see if she can uncover any of these old home videos he’s referring to. “Is this our last interview together, Mr. Skywalker?”

He stretches his lips into a thin line, etching dimples as he nods with feigned solemnity. “That it is, Ms. Daren. You gonna miss me?”

“Oh, yes. I always miss my most difficult interviewees. I mean, you just now started opening up to me and it’s time to move on.” Her words are sincere, even if she’s pulling his leg— it’s worth it, because she managed to pull a genuine grin from him. An exceedingly rare, and dazzling image. She’s sure she’ll think about it for months.

“Oh, I am?” he questions in a taunt, raising his brows as a low chuckle escapes him. “Well,” he checks himself, adjusting in his seat as he crosses his arms. “you’ve got my information, you know where to find me if you need anything from me.”

“Exclusivity?” Zena dares for the long-shot, a suggestive and hopeful countenance replacing her features as she side-eyes him. If only she could lock him down as a steady client, she’d have rights not many could get. He’s already a social recluse in this industry, and if he likes her as much as she thinks he does, maybe she’ll get lucky.

He moistens his lips, rolling his tongue between them as he keeps that intense gaze on hers. “I can’t promise that,” he chides playfully, “I have a career, and you,” he points to the camera leisurely, “have an audience.”

“Not like that, Mr. Skywalker. My goodness, you are a flirt.”

“Don’t play that game with me, I know you let me do it because you think it keeps me coming back.”

“Will you?”

He hums inquiringly.

“Keep coming back?”

A pause.

“We’ll see, Zena.”

[quibble-auk]

Transformer OC chapter thing!

Previous

Yeah, a little prewar chapter. It’s got a bit more world building surrounding the areas in it. Not too much tho.

I’m really just having fun with my gals.

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil, here’s my fluff. Wholesome Sunrazor content.

I wrote this while listening to “when he sees me” from the original broadway cast of Waitress. I’ve been itching to make an animatic with that song for ages but every time I sit down to do it I stare at my screen for thirty minutes then doom-scroll.

WARNINGS!! Hah, there are none. Just an idiot in love. Oh and me putting stuff in here so I hopefully don’t forget it for my exam tomorrow. You’ll know it when you see it. I actually know nothing about plants. Idk what I’m doing at an agriculture school.

Valkyrie hummed slightly as she quickly returned her communicator into her subspace. She rose from her seat at the bar counter with an effortless grace, the movement fluid and composed, and sauntered over to where Sunrazor was hunched on the floor. She looked over the larger golden mech’s shoulder thoughtfully, smiling fondly, her hands positioned behind her back as she leaned over.

Sunrazor didn’t pay the motion any attention. Instead, she focused more on the small tree-like houseplant she was actively crouched over. Her large hands cradling one of its fragile branches as she inspected it with a careful, almost reverent touch. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally break it.

Despite how the Towers mech seemed to wait patiently for acknowledgement, Sunrazor could hear her fingers tapping each other as she waited. The golden mech paid it no mind. The entire reason she had risked coming over to Valkyrie’s personal apartment had been to see what was wrong with this plant. Valkyrie could be patient enough to at least let her do that before bombarding her with personal questions Sunrazor didn’t have the answers to.

She exhaled slowly, muttering to herself as her eyes scanned the plant’s condition. “Yeah, it’s definitely got gall,” Sunrazor mused aloud, eyes narrowing in concentration. “It looks like crown gall disease, probably a bacterial infection, Agrobacterium tumefaciens is usually the culprit.”

Sunrazor settled her weight backwards a bit, pulling her hand away from the plant and resting them on her thighs, “Was it repotted recently?” The guardian looked over her shoulder just in time to see Valkyrie blink back an expression of shock. Sunrazor almost jumped back when her helm almost collided with Valkyrie’s.

The pastel mech had rested a delicate hand on her shoulder and had leaned in further to look at the plant. Her brow furrowed and lip down turned in a small pout as she contemplated the information. Which was not adorable at all.

“Not too recently. I picked it up from the offworld importing center a few weeks ago and haven’t repotted it yet,” Valkyrie’s proximity had not changed at all as her face went from deep concentration to shocked, “Wait– you can tell all of that from just looking at it?”

“Well– I um– no? I mean– Kinda?” Sunrazor stumbled over her words, which was a great move on her part, really, Powercase would be so impressed. She hastily moved her head back down to look at the plant. Valkyrie shouldn’t have been so close to her, a mech of her standing shouldn’t be acknowledging her, let alone be friends with her! “Insects aren’t really a problem on Cybertron, at least not for a houseplant, so that just leaves bacterial and fungal galls. Crown gall is pretty common in woody plants, especially after they’ve been–”

Sunrazor cut herself off and blinked, “Sorry–you probably don’t wanna hear about that. I um– I can write down some treatments I’d recommend you use, if you’d like.”

Valkyrie looked over at Sunrazor, “Do you have plants of your own?”

Why hadn’t she backed up yet? Sunrazor suppressed the urge to lean away from the other or look at them, keeping her gaze firmly locked onto the plant. She shook her head slightly, “No, most plants have to be imported and I– well, you know— sentry salary and all that.”

Sunrazor tried to smile it off, but maybe she was forcing the smile just a bit too much? She didn’t know, she was never good at this, not like Blight or Powercase. Sunrazor watched the other from the corner of her eye for a reaction. The Towers mech had no idea what she was talking about, judging from how her expression had shifted, “Plants are expensive, I don’t earn enough to buy one.”

Primus, she was making this worse.

“Oh,” Valkyrie looked back down at the plant, removing her hand from Sunrazor’s shoulder.

She really was amazing at this, wasn’t she? Sunrazor just had to go and make it awkward, she could have just said no and left it at that! Instead she just had to bring up her work and how much money she made! Drawing attention to the fact that they should not be in a room alone together. They shouldn’t even be talking to each other! Sunrazor was going to get reassigned! What was she thinking? Why did she think this would ever-

“Well, you know a lot about them,” Valkyrie butted into Sunrazor’s thoughts, finally pulling away completely and stretching a bit. She looked down at the other, laughing softly “I really shouldn’t be surprised, considering how much time you spend in the gardens here!”

Sunrazor felt her eyes widen at the statement. It was true, on the rare occurrence that she did get a break she would spend her time in the Tower’s gardens. And she had been lucky enough to be added to the rotation list of sentries positioned in them. Valkyrie wasn’t wrong at all, she did spend a lot of time in the gardens.

But Valkyrie knew she did and Sunrazor hadn’t told her that.

That meant that Valkyrie had either been asking around for her, or had begun to actively seek her out. This Tower’s mech wanted something from Sunrazor and she couldn’t figure out what it was, and if she didn’t figure it out soon she was going to get into trouble. Was she trying to get her reassigned? Was she looking for friendship? For something more? Sunrazor clenched her jaw tightly, she needed to write down what Valkyrie should use to treat the plant and get out of here before she messed up.

The pastel mech was looking at her communicator again, “A couple friends and I were planning on going to the arena in Polyhex soon, but one of them canceled so now we’ve got an extra ticket. I know you're pretty busy, but would you want to come?”

She looked innocently up from the communicator and at Sunrazor. Who was staring at her in shock now, limbs locked painfully into place and she struggled to process what had just been offered.

Valkyrie—a Towers mech—wanted to take Sunrazor—some random guardian sentry—to go watch gladiator matches with her other Towers mech friends.

Sunrazor’s thoughts spiraled. This couldn’t be real. No one would believe her. Not in a million years. She opened her mouth, trying to find the words, but they escaped her, leaving her struggling to respond, her voice stuck somewhere between disbelief and utter confusion. She blinked harshly as Valkyrie waited for a response. After several beats of silence Sunrazor finally managed to find her voice, “I uh– I can’t go.”

Smooth. Real smooth Sunrazor, now she’s going to think you don't want to hang out with her. The golden mech would have kicked herself had she not still been crouched on the floor. She could feel her fans start to pick up as plating pressed against her. Sunrazor unlocked her joints and quickly stood up to face Valkyrie. She ignored the various popping and groaning of her protesting frame, “It's not that I wouldn’t want to go or anything!”

Sunrazor was stammering, speaking way too quickly than she should have, “I just can’t! I’m a guardian, we aren't allowed to attend!” She deserved a gold star for how well this conversation was going.

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting slightly as she processed Sunrazor’s words, looking the towering mech up and down. For a moment, there was only a quiet tension in the air.

“You’re not allowed?” Valkyrie repeated, her tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

Sunrazor’s eyes flickered nervously, and she fumbled to find the right way to explain herself. “It’s—uh—well, I mean, technically it’s against the rules. Guardians aren’t supposed to–unless you work there of course–watch the matches? Not, um, not in person at least. It could–um–trigger more… aggressive… programs and–well. Yeah. That stuff,” she stammered. The words were coming out in a jumble now, and she could feel the pressure mounting as Valkyrie’s gaze didn’t waver.

Once again the silence stretched on for an awkwardly long time, Valkyrie seemingly weighing the options of potential responses. Eventually she seemed to land on one, “Have you ever wanted to go?”

The golden mech might have laughed, had she ever wanted to go to one? Who didn’t? It was almost impossible to go anywhere without hearing about them, it was the ultimate form of entertainment after all. The only place the richest of Cybertron mingled with the common people.

Sunrazor and her roommates always watched the occasional broadcast that Kaon sent out of their larger matches; they had been content with this. At least for the most part. But it wasn’t like they could do anything about it, this was just the way the world worked. They had aggressive and possibly harmful programming, not attending these matches was a small price to pay in order to protect others.

Her hesitant silence must have answered for her, a mischievous and sly smile found its home on Valkyrie’s face, “What if you didn’t go as Sunrazor?”

The guardian blinked a couple times, struggling to catch up with the words that just escaped Valkyrie��s lips. “What?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. She could have sworn she heard wrong, but the amused gleam in Valkyrie’s eyes said otherwise. There was something devious in the way she was smirking.

“What if you didn’t go as you?” Valkyrie repeated, her tone lighter, almost teasing. “You could come with me as someone else.”

Sunrazor’s plating flared slightly in confusion and alarm before snapping back down to press tightly against her. Her gaze snapped to Valkyrie’s, her body tensing involuntarily, her limbs locking again. “What are you saying?” she asked, her voice quieter this time, as if speaking louder might unravel the strange thread that Valkyrie was weaving. She manually unlocked them and there were audible clicks as the locks were released.

Valkyrie leaned in a bit closer, giddily looking up at the other, “What if you went in a disguise! You could pretend to be my bodyguard!” She was grinning, eyes alight with something.

Sunrazor wasn't sure if it was adorably endearing or absolutely terrifying.

“We can give you a new name so Skyline and Vexstrider won't have any idea who you are!” Valkyrie had grabbed Sunrazor’s forearm now, eagerly holding it with both hands. Her door wings were raised from their usual resting position in excitement, “We can touch up your paint too!”

The golden clad mech couldn’t stop herself from looking down at her paint in a small panic. Did she need to get a touch up? Had she been with Valkyrie this entire time with chips or scratches in it? Valkyrie seemed to notice and giggled, wings fluttering.

Primus, help me.

(Our girl is only kinda head over heels. It’s just an itty bitty crush. Nothing much. A+ for effort tho. She’s trying so hard to not admit it. Another good song is “I won’t say (I’m in love)” from Hercules

[edna-skiffens]

Okay I kind of have a dilemma.

I’m itching to write again. The creative juices are scratching at my brain, eager to be let loose and flow, but.. idk who to write for anymore.

I know I used to write for Tom and Harrison and I still love them both dearly. But here’s the deal: Tom is barely on a screen I’m looking at anymore so it’s kinda one of those ‘out of sight out of mind’ deals plus he’s so locked down with Zendaya (which I love) and idk.. I just don’t have it in me to write for him anymore. Or at least right now. The idea or urge may come! Especially with new projects potentially coming out! But for now he’s off the table and I kind of feel the same way for Harrison but for different reasons. I suppose I’d be more inclined to write for him because (I’m pretty sure) he’s single again and he’s more present on his social media but idk. And I know I’ve written for both of them when they were in relationships in the past - the main point is I just haven’t been following those boys as much lately. 😢

So that brings me to my next point. Who, my lovely followers if you’re still here, would you like to see me write for? Who do you like to read? I have a barely started/quickly abandoned Harry Styles fic? I absolutely adore Spencer Reid and read some Top Gun Maverick fics occasionally but have never attempted writing for either of them and typically don’t write for fictional characters… idk.

I agree with the old saying of write what you want to read but you know it’s disheartening when you work on stuff and then it sits there collecting dust and no one pays any attention to it. I may as well daydream and not waste my time putting thoughts to the Google Doc.

What I’ve been obsessed with reading lately are young marauders fics. And the kicker here is I’ve never even read or seen Harry Potter. I know. How have I lived? I do plan on watching the movies.. there’s a line of people that have offered to do a marathon whenever I’m ready so I just have to find that time. But basically I somehow stumbled into that fandom and now I’m obsessed. I’m obsessed with the characters and their personalities but I feel very insecure and inadequate writing for something I’ve never seen/read the source material for.. even if I’ve been reading fanfiction for months and inferred many things. But that’s kind of the main world my head is in now and what even has sparked this recent inspiration to start writing again. Sooo anyone even interested in that? (And if so what references do I need to get started bc I don’t think I have all of those books in me haha)

Anyway if you made it to this end, wow, thank you.

There’s recently been some .. life changing circumstances.. that I’ll get into another time, but I have a bit more time on my hands and instead of sitting at home bored I’d love to do something like write. I just need to find my next subject. Again, I’m not saying goodbye to Tom or Harrison forever (and I may even finish some started fics just to dip my toes back in). But I don’t think anything would feel authentic right now focused on them.

Please feel free to send me any suggestions on any and all things! Thank you!

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex Ch. 26: Hunt and Chase

Scheduling this ahead of time since I've had time issues with getting posts up on Fridays.... This chapter is definitely one of my favorite examples of what happens when @baelpenrose and I are really working in a cohesive way. Tech stuff happens, plot moves forward, but people stuff happens as well.

Interested to see who can spot the most easter eggs in the online handles...

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stifled a groan at the stiffness in my shoulder as I scooted to the edge of Nils’ bed.  Fingers clumsily fumbled down my back, forcing me to stand up before he tried to yank me back down in his sleep.  I grabbed the first shirt that I found on the floor and padded out into the living room, opening my laptop to scratch the itch in my brain that was keeping me awake - we knew one person who was looking for us, time to find the other.

Ever since the interview with Agent Watson - and ever since I had royally screwed up - I had been trying to track down the person who was working to seduce Nils’ minions away for their own nefarious purposes.  For the past four days, I had been practically living off antacids to keep from vomiting at the amount of absolute trash that filled the message boards these people frequented, but something told me I was getting close.  I just didn’t know what.

There was no telling how much time had passed when I felt a chunk of my hair being lifted and played with - at some point it had started raining again, so for all I knew the sun had been up for hours. “How are you not cold?” Nils yawned while twisting the lock between his fingers.

“Fat deposits,” I muttered. “Besides, your bed is rock hard, so cold and soft wins.”  Drumming my nails on the screen, I finally turned toward him only to be momentarily distracted by his bare chest.  I blinked rapidly to get my brain back on track. “They’re here.  I know it.  I found them in two other boards, under different names, but I know it has to be them.”

Nils continued playing with my hair, slowly braiding it. “How do you know it’s them, Elakshi?” His voice was probing, but there was an odd cheer to it. “You’ve made progress?” 

I nodded, changing tabs. “Right now, this one in particular.” Highlighting one user, than another, I pointed to the names. “VassilisaAura and CasparsNERVE. They’re arguing, but look at the way they talk… They’re either very good friends in real life, or the same person.”

He gave an interested grunt.. “Same style of pseudonym…that’s interesting. Certainly I’ve run that trick when I want to get people talking about the same thing, regardless of where they go with it, so I can steer them with account number 3. So…we seeing anyone else who is steering them? Ideally with the same name?” 

“Even better,” I confirmed, switching tabs again. “EcoDekorashion. There’s some sub-tagging, but it’s like whoever this is decided to pick AI names from whatever anime they had on the shelf.  I’m not even going to start on their taste, honestly.” I tapped my chin before digging his hand out of my hair so I wouldn’t be distracted. “Then again, these are so obscure that they honestly don’t clock unless you know what you’re looking at.”

“Which we do, because we’re nerds. So, next step. How do we know this is our guy?” 

“We’ll have to trace the accounts, which is going to be a righteous pain in the ass,” I yawned. “But I know it has to be the right person… All three accounts I’ve found aren’t arguing if we are right or wrong, they’re arguing over why it could have been done better.” Tipping my head over, I dropped it onto his shoulder before looking up at him. “And, just so you’re aware, there is a not-insignificant amount of mockery over the names of your factions, mister clever.”

Nils gave a light smirk. “I’d love to say I gave a shit, but it was clearly clever enough. I don’t have to be a genius, just smarter than the mark. And as long as he’s not fucking that up, rather than…” 

He looked at it, where it was obvious that the three accounts were pushing the idea that whoever was doing it was making up names for real stuff because he thought people were too stupid to understand codenames. One of them was arguing that Nothing had made the whole thing up, and getting shouted down by idiots - Nils pointed out that one was also arguing that Q was bullshit to begin with and that the new guy was clearly just digging deeper - and the third one was simply mocking the names of these “pretentious assholes” who thought the world was their playground. 

All in all, I had to admit it was pretty clever, given the crowd we were playing. Mock while drawing attention to power that these idiots claimed. Make denial unpopular. Make it okay to believe in it while mocking it because everyone on these boards was irony-poisoned half to death. That was perfect - almost exactly what we needed. “This person doesn’t want to deescalate. They either want to usurp us…or want in.” I gave Nils a sleepy grin. “So, let’s bring them in.”  He looked like he was going to argue, so I sat up and clicked over to one of the dozen or so tabs I had going. “Here.  VassilisaAura again, basically calling out whoever hit the banks and called for the people behind the fire to be taken care of.  Claiming that, if we meant it, we would be recruiting, not dividing.  And, right on schedule, EcoDekorashion pointing out that, as pretentious as we sound, more people benefitted from our ‘sloppy’ work than from just sitting around and bitching.”

Nils rubbed my shoulders. “Alright. You were right, babe. This is a good idea. We’ll get him on our side.” He took a step. “So, do we want to trace him and get a meeting?”

“Hmmm.” I considered it. “This is more your court than mine.  Would it be better to track them down and set up something, or to give them a challenge to find us?”

His eyebrows raised. “Depends on how serious he is. My issue is that if we dangle ‘find me’ in front of them and piss them off, we’re looking at a person fluent on a board famous for hosting dox who will have found out where we are. If they can meet the challenge. Plus, seeking them out for a meeting indicates we know what’s happening and we’re able to probe - but he’s strong enough to attract our attention. Issuing a challenge means we aren’t worried - but also puts power in his hands if he can meet it, and that he doesn’t get that power if we ping him through enough proxies. And that’s assuming he can find us, because if he can’t he may just fuck off and then we lose the option. Which matters more here, real power or perceived power?” He clearly had an opinion on it. “I’d edge towards perceived power since we’re trying to prove that the government isn’t as strong as they say, and we need to let them think we’re stronger than we actually are to do that. But we are at risk if someone pushes and we actually can’t shove them back.” 

I was hesitant, but made the decision to trust his judgment. “Like I said, your court, so it’s your call.  Do we want to set up contingencies if this person is halfway across the country? Like, a neutral ground situation?  Because I know, I know you aren’t about to ask me to fly out to some other state to meet someone face to face while we’re under FBI scrutiny.”

“No, I was talking about an end-to-end encrypted Usenet Chatroom that we scrub the minute we’re done with it, actually. Horrible system, lots of absolutely awful shit gets moved across the bones of the original internet. But it is amazing for privacy.” He sounded distracted. “No, I think perceived power is better, but there’s practical reasons as well. If we reach out to him as a response to what he’s already said, and he’s a mole, we’re fucked. If we say ‘come find us’ then that’s much easier to fake like he made a mistake, or claim we were trolling online if caught. Challenge is better. So…let’s give him a challenge.” 

At this point my brain was spinning trying to trace what had just spewed forth from Nils’ mouth.  Challenge was dangerous, but perceived power was advantageous, no challenge, yes challenge… “So, yes challenge,” I finally worked out, feeling on more firm ground. “How does ‘could be mistaken for viral marketing in the wrong hands’ sound? I can definitely whip up some images with links and shit contrasted into them, some flash cartoons with binary or hex glitches, that kind of stuff.”

“That’s brilliant. I’ll frame it, you make the links and shit? We stick in some code and dog-whistles that these idiots will recognize that most people won’t and we draw smart boy to come to us?” He was sounding more coherent now. 

“Double order of dog-whistles with cheese, coming up,” I agreed, yawning again, this time hard enough to pop my jaw. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Uh…” He glanced at the clock. “10. We slept in.” 

I craned my neck around to scowl at him. “We who? You and the mouse in your pocket?  I’ve been awake for hours, at least.”

“Mattress shopping so you can sleep better at my apartment? Is that where we’re going next?” 

“Orrr,” I teased, “we can just sleep on your couch when I stay the night?”

“Or, and hear me out, we get a mattress my amazing girlfriend doesn’t hate. So that she wants to come over more often.” 

My nerves spiked outrageously, and I fought not to show it. “That sounds like a pretty major step.  I don’t even have a toothbrush over here.”

“Yes, my bathroom and its famous black hole that makes toothbrushes of yours just. Vanish.” He said, quietly. “Lash, it’s okay if you aren’t comfortable coming over here more often but I still want to get a bed that’s comfortable for you when you do.” 

I started squirming when he called me out. “I like being over here, especially with Mori and the kids staying in the apartment while my parents are still in the hospital.  But you bought that bed - which, I’m not stupid, was a few grand easy - because it’s what you prefer, and you live here.”  I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt before looking back up. “Can we compromise on a mattress topper for half of it?”

“We can get a mattress topper with a lot of memory foam or something to make it more comfy for you. Does that work?” 

I nodded, biting my lip to hide my residual anxiety. “And I’ll figure out what’s causing the black hole and stop the vanishing toothbrushes.” And we are totally going to pretend I haven’t been throwing them away. “With that decided… do we have time for me to take a nap before our regularly scheduled shenanigans, or am I running on coffee and the promise of an early night?”

“Class starts in half an hour, so coffee, unfortunately. Not even that if you don’t get dressed.”

I looked down at myself and realized several things: I had no pants on, not even shorts; I was wearing Nils’ shirt from yesterday, backwards and inside out, and at no point had I thought to grab - “Oh my god,” I bolted to my feet. “Shower, dressed, give me five minutes and we’ll be out the door.”

[pr3ttym3l]

nakedtoaster angst (bloomic fanfic)

Dear Diary,

The Bloomic Discord server has been gone for a month now, and damn it, I miss her so fucking bad.

Life has lost all color. The world around me is gray, dull, lifeless—just like me. I stare at my monitors, my fingers absently tapping at the keyboard, searching, searching, always searching. Social media tabs are open, usernames typed and retyped, each variation a desperate attempt to find her, to trace her digital footprints. Maybe I’m spelling it wrong. Maybe she changed it. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. The thought makes my stomach twist, but I keep going anyway. I try to guess her real name, scrolling through endless profiles, hoping—no, begging—to see a glimpse of her, to know she’s still out there, to know she hasn't just disappeared forever.

I don't know how long I’ve been sitting here. Hours? Days? Weeks? Time bleeds together, a formless, meaningless concept now. I probably stink. No, I definitely stink. I shift in my chair, and an unsettling squelch echoes in my ears. My shirt clings to my skin, damp with sweat and filth. My room reeks—a putrid mix of unwashed clothes, rotting food, and something even fouler, something... alive.

I glance down. Empty Monster cans litter the floor, piled around me like the ruins of some forgotten kingdom. But as my gaze lingers, my stomach churns. Maggots. They crawl through the discarded cans, writhing, feasting, breeding in the filth I’ve surrounded myself with. I should clean. I really should. But my body is heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, by emptiness. The thought of moving, of doing anything, is overwhelming.

My legs feel strange. An itch—no, a burning sensation—claws at my skin. Hesitantly, I lift my pajama pants and nearly gag at what I see. Mushrooms. Small, pale, grotesque fungi sprout from my calves, twisting and curling as if feeding off my decaying flesh. My fingers tremble as I brush one, and it dislodges easily, tearing away with a sickening wet sound. A fresh wave of blood seeps from the wound, dark and sluggish. My skin is peeling, cracking, sloughing away in sickly, damp patches.

I am rotting.

How... unfortunate.

I lean back, letting my head fall against the chair. My vision blurs. My body feels light, as if I could drift away at any moment. Maybe she’s over me. Maybe she’s forgotten I even exist. And here I am, wasting away, letting maggots and mushrooms consume what’s left of me. People might call this depression, but I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel anything at all. And that’s the worst part.

End of the journal...

"I came into his place to check on him. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and I was worried. I thought maybe he was just isolating himself like he used to, but when I opened the door, the smell hit me like a wall. Rot. Decay. Something was very, very wrong.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of his monitors. My brother sat in the chair, unmoving, staring blankly at the screens. His pink hair, once vibrant, was now a dull, greasy mess, sticking to his forehead. His glasses were cracked, one lens missing entirely. But it was his face that terrified me the most. His eyes—sunken, lifeless—locked onto mine as if he didn’t recognize me. His skin was pale, almost translucent, marred by dried blood and open sores.

I stepped closer, hesitantly reaching out to him. "Taylor...?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

He moved then, his arm sluggishly dragging across the desk, his fingers wrapping around a massive bottle of whiskey. I didn't even know he drank. And by the way the bottle was still full, I don’t think he does.

Before I could stop him, before I could even process what was happening, he lifted the bottle high above his head and—

CRASH.

Glass shattered. His face crumpled under the impact, shards embedding deep into his skin. Blood splattered in every direction—onto the walls, onto his desk, onto me. Warm, sticky droplets clung to my cheeks. My brain struggled to comprehend what I had just witnessed. My brother, my stupid, broken brother, had just smashed a whiskey bottle against his own face.

He swayed, his breath ragged, his body barely holding itself together. And then he collapsed.

I screamed."

[figonas]

Thank you for the tag @lizziebxnnet 💚💚💚

Rules: post a screenshot of your Lock Screen, the last song you listened to, and your last downloaded pic

@lizziebxnnet ‘s lovely jurdan edit, a song from my magnum opus; my Raleigh Becket playlist, & a reaction meme I downloaded 😂😂

Tagging: @koibens @abundanceofklingons @frootloopscereal @wraithberrywine @acciomanorian @clockworkgraystairs @booksandlewks

[reminiscingtonight]

O Captain My Captain

Rose Lavelle x Reader

Word Count: 678

[WOSO Masterlist]

You should’ve expected trouble the second you walked through the doors. 

Katie was stood near the door, tiny mic in hand as she bounced from teammate to teammate. She was filming something either for the Arsenal social media or her own. Katie’s videos have always been known to be wild. 

But still, you’re not expecting it when she jumps right into your face.

The rest of the room watches on with silent amusement as she thumbs through her question sheet. 

“Who’s your favorite captain?”

You blink. It takes a second for the question to sink in. When it finally does, you frown, confused. “Like Arsenal specific, or?”

“Ah sorry, my bad. Should’ve been more specific. I know I’m your all-time favorite captain in the whole world, so taking myself out of the equation,” she pretends not to notice you rolling your eyes, “who’s your favorite captain you’ve ever played with or against?”

“Rose Lavelle.”

Your response comes without hesitation. As does Leah’s strangled cry of dismay.

“The hell, mate? Where’s the love for your best friend?”

“You obviously rank below her girlfriend,” Katie jokes back.

“Oh shut it, you wouldn’t even make top ten.” Leah was always a sore loser. You smile apologetically at your best friend. 

“Love you to pieces, but it’s always going to be Rosie.”

A couple years ago you thought the best feeling in the world was wearing the Lionesses emblem as you stepped onto the field. With the summer under your belt now though, co-captaining with your best friend as you brought the trophy home definitely became a new favorite of yours. 

But Rose. Well, she always made everything pale in comparison.

“You shut it too,” she good heartedly rolls her eyes at you. 

“Did you see the way Rosie wore the armband?” You take a seat on the bench, quickly changing into your practice clothes. 

This time when Leah rolls her eyes at you, she actually means it. “How could I not? You wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You feel bad for Leah, you really do. But it’s not your fault Rose looks so good with the captain’s armband. 

You had woken up early just to watch the USWNT match against New Zealand. Leah had grumbled when you banged about your shared apartment, but she also got up to join you. Every time you caught sight of your girlfriend, you made sure to make a noise. It didn’t take long before Leah was threatening to smother you with a pillow. 

By the time the game had ended, you had blown up your text thread with the brunette. Anything from a range of [My captain ❤️] to [I know we hate white shorts but I’m not hating the view #sorrynotsorry] to [NO FUCKING WAY THAT WAS SUCH A GOOD SHOT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH]. 

You were on your fourth cup of coffee when Rose finally responded. 

[You should be sleeping]

Leah got a laugh out of the way your face instantly dropped into a pout. Even over ten-thousand miles away, Rose still had your heart in a vice-like grip.

By the time practice ends, you’re itching to get off the field. 

“Hey, cappy,” you grin, collapsing onto the bench. Your hair’s still freshly wet, clothes thrown haphazardly throughout the locker room. Most of your teammates have left by now, so you were taking full advantage of it. 

“What’s that?” Leah’s paused by the door, giving you an expectant look.

“Oh, sorry, not you.”

“Not me?” Leah looks even more confused. “Mate, Kim’s not in the room, so unless you’re talking to yourself…”

A staticy laughter bursts out from your phone, drawing both of your attentions.

Lifting your phone, you turn it so Leah can see the screen.

“Hi Leah.” Rose sheepishly waves at the blonde through the screen. 

Leah sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know what? I don’t even care anymore. Hi Rose. Bye Rose.”

Your laughter follows her all the way out of the facility. 

It’s no surprise when Leah ends up locking you out of her car.

[hotwings0203]

now we need a part 4 with izuku and bakugo on what happens next to the poor reader 😩✋🏼

Aight imma do a two for one here so MASSIVE BET

Tw:noncon, gangbang

When your hand reaches the doorknob, you know something is off only half a millisecond before another large hand settles itself on your wrist and another one caressing your side.

You freeze immediately at the voices that croon and snarl to you.

“Open the door quietly and we don’t have to make this any more difficult than it’s already gonna be.”

“God, you smell so good. You still haven’t changed your shampoo even after all these weeks huh? I like it.”

Your hand starts to shake and your body starts to sweat as you wildly try to find a way out of this situation. The voices sound eerily familiar, with one being higher and the other more aggressive and raspy, but you don’t dare turn around to locate the faces.

One of them seems to be catching onto your hesitation, because your wrist is crushed underneath a hard grasp and you cry out softly as they growl.

“Open. This. Fucking. Door. Right now.”

It takes a good 15 more seconds to jimmy the lock open, and once you do all three of you go tumbling in.

You whip back around to see both men standing over you, merely watching you with crossed arms and equally perverse leers.

“D-deku? Bakugo? What’s going on?”

Deku practically bounces on the balls of his feet, itching with inappropriate anticipation for what’s to come.

“We wanted to play with you! Are you ready? You can’t fucking ignore me anymore!” His voice is cheery as always but it breaks when he curses, the strains in his vocal cords sticking out while he forces himself from holding back.

Bakugo steps forward.

“Didnt I tell you I was gonna come again for you, you teasing cunt? Didn’t I say to watch your back? Now look at you, sprawled on the floor like rapetoys should be.”

Both men start slowly uncrossing their arms and advance towards you.

“No-no please, why? I didn’t do anything to you! Deku, please!” You blubber as you scuttle backwards, their strides equally as long.

You continue evading them as they play around with you.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words. ‘Deku, please.’ Although, I’d very much rather you moan it for me.” He has the audacity to blush, and then Bakugo interjects.

“You deserve this y’know, so don’t start crying now. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.” He spreads his hands and his uncharacteristic grin stretches from ear to ear, his vermillion eyes flashing in the dim light of your dorm.

“Anyone whose stupid enough to not realize how this creep has been sniffin’ your panties for months-hell, maybe even years now should get raped. You’re so fucking stupid, you didn’t realize I was protecting you from him.”

“But now look at you. Alone, afraid, vulnerable…oh, and going to the bedroom. You really are an easy slut, huh?”

Deku’s eyes light up when he realizes you truly are unknowingly backing up into the bedroom, but you realize it too late.

It’s only after Bakugo’s words come out that you try to look for a detour for the lock-induced bathroom, but Deku has a different idea.

Out of pure excitement he laughs and sprints towards you, hands outreached to touch your pretty skin, mouth open with drool softly filling the tile below him and eyes bloodshot with lust.

He looks like a creature from hell, and in the pure terror of watching him come at you like that your plan to detour was thwarted and you mindlessly trip back over your feet onto the bed, scrambling as far away as you can from them to the headboard.

You look to your left and quickly seize your bedside lamp, raising it above your head.

“Domt come any closer you closer perv. God, I shouldve known you were fucked in the head. I kept trying to make excuses for you, I thought you were my friend-“ you break down in sobs as the green haired man continues looking at you like you’re a piece of meat, absentmindedly wiping his hand across his mouth.

“And you,” you point to Bakugo who bares his teeth and smirks madly, “I already knew you were the embodiment of hell, but I thought you had a limit of how low you could stoop. You didn’t protect me from shit, you forced your way inside of me day in and day out.”

“Well now that your useless little monologue is over, Deku, tie her legs to the posts. I swear Y/N, you’re making this way too easy for me. It’s almost boring, I already know what I’m gonna get.” He raises his eyebrows at you while he lets his minion do all the work for him, goosebumps racing up his arm at the sight of you screaming and fighting tooth and nail against your fate.

But at the end of the day, after all your curses and sobs and monologues, you’re no match for either of them, especially Deku, who cooes at you to scream louder while he caresses your face and uses nylon string to secure your wrists to the wooden posts. Your legs are also bound after Bakugo seizes them from kicking, and a gag is placed over your mouth by his hands.

He roughly taps the tape covering your trembling lips and smiles condescendingly down at you.

“You’re doing so well for us, rapemeat. Keep up the good work and try to spread those legs as much as you can.” He chuckles when you scream your lungs out, thrashing as he yanks your knees apart.

“Aw, Kacchan, can’t we take the gag off? I wanted to hear her in my ears,” he pouts and looks glumly at your writhing figure.

“No, how fucked in the head are you? Someones gonna come down if she’s hollering for the whole building to hear. And cut her clothes off, I’m getting impatient.”

It seems like Deku too was at his last fiber of self control as his hands shake equally as much as yours, except for an entirely different reason altogether, the opposite reason of yours in fact.

He fishes in his back pockets for something, and produces a glinting steel knife with a black handle.

You still immediately as his descends his hands to the top of your v-neck shirt, right above your collarbones. His eyes fog up as your satiny smooth skin comes in contact with the blade, the coldness of the steel sending shivers down your spine and making you sob harder.

“Kacchan…did you ever get a taste of her blood? How does she taste?” He lifts his head to look into your tear-streaked eyes, but he addresses his childhood friend.

Bakugo snorts. “Calm down Toga, don’t get too crazy yet. We’ll have some more fun later, right now my dick is about to explode. ‘Need a hole,” he mumbles at the end and finally clambers onto the bed right atop your legs.

You stay absolutely silent as pressure from the knife rips the thin strands of your clothes apart, and Deku takes careful care to ensure you at least have thin red lines running down your stomach if not for actual blood.

“Oh fuckkkk,just look at her. You look good enough to eat…” he looks at you and licks his lips, salivating when you whine and twist at your restraints.

“Yeah yeah, you do whatever the fuck you want. Just choose what you’re gonna stick it in and hurry up.”

The blond looks bored almost as the more eager one whips to the side to face him.

“You mean it Kacchan? I can pick?”

They speak as if you’re not alive, no feelings or humanity involved. All you can do is watch and yell into your makeshift gag as the blond waves him off.

“Go for it. It’s your first time satisfying that sick head of yours, ‘must get boring doing it from behind a screen all the time.”

His slowly turns to face you, a kind leer etched across his features, eyebrows slanted and hand coming up to pull your ripped clothes apart.

You struggle and spit muffled profanities out as he slowly drags the bridge of your bra down, eyes wide open as your nipples pop out and eventually both of your tits bounce out.

He hisses and takes his nails up your stomach to fondle your breast. You can tell Deku’s too excited, too inexperienced from the way he handles them like stress balls. You grunt as his mouth latches onto a pert nipple, suckling and looking up at you as if he were some kind of demonic baby.

Bakugo watches all this with a dark glint in his eyes, absentmindedly palming himself as he watches the show unfold in front of him.

It’s entertaining seeing all of the creep’s hormones spiral out of control from years of pent-up lust. He’s never seen the dork so fired up and hungry, he’s never seen him so brutal with a civilian before, the type of people he used to say he’d protect at all costs.

After he’s done playing with your sore tits, he wasted no time in yanking your sweats off. You don’t even trash around anymore, the only thing you’re capable of in this state of terror and shock is weak moans and little sobs, maybe a writhe or two here and there.

Your panties are also torn off and you howl when the elastic cuts into your skin within the process. Bakugo takes this last stripping as an indication for him to move now. He lifts himself up on his knees and moves around your head while Deku situates himself between your violently twitching legs.

“I’m gonna take the gag out now. If you scream or pull any funny business I’ll plug your pussy and your throat with this knife, got it?” He snatches the weapon from the bed and waves it dangerously close to your face.

You nod frantically and try to turn your head to the side, but he yanks you back into place and decides to have his own fun.

While Izuku hurriedly takes his own shorts off the hothead slowly takes the tape off your mouth, staring down at you with unblinking eyes. The knife which you’re so afraid of is traced around your own squeezed shut eyes, down your cheeks and around your lips.

But the horrified trance on which he keeps you in is broken when Izuku suddenly shoved his entire length inside your dry cavern.

Luckily Bakugo has enough foresight to slam a hand over your howling mouth before the entire building can be woken up, and he glares at the sheepish-looking man down the bed from him.

“Are you a fucking virgin? At least rub her clit or something so she doesn’t go hollering at every thrust you damn nerd!”

The man between your legs winces and rubs the back of his neck, chuckling nervously.

“Oops, sorry, got a little carried away there.”

He doesn’t pull out, he merely thrusts slower, trying to fit his fat dick inside your unwilling cunt.

A string of curses leaves your lips and you grimace as the pain becomes near blinding.

Bakugo looks down at you again, the knife forgotten.

“No teeth either.” Your breaths come out in little frantic pants when his bare cock springs out of his own pants.

He taps the leaking purple tip on your lips and you open hesitantly. There’s no point in resisting anymore, they’ve got you quite literally cornered.

“Wider, slut,” he snarls, and you do-but only because Deku’s paps get more aggressive, causing your mouth to fall open in a long whine.

The blond takes this opportunity to slam his length down your throat, groaning around when he sees your throat swell with his bulge.

You immediately start gagging and trying to pull at your restraints for air, his heavy balls rest right on top of your nose and you feel like you’re going to pass out.

You can barely hear him over Deku’s animalistic grunts and whines. He’s going way too fast, as if he’s possessed by your pussy. It numbs you, taking away some of the pain in a flip side.

But on the other end of your body, you’re desperate for air while a fuzzy ballsack paps against your nose and eyes.

Each sadistic stroke he puts inside of you widens your sore esophagus, bringing bile up sometimes and large amounts of saliva too.

He’s not as loud as Deku, but he’s equally as greedy with your holes.

Your body literally hovers up almost in midair as Bakugo thrusts in and lifts his hips up, taking your upper half along with it and Deku does the same unconsciously, trying to fuck up into your womb.

It’s an exact replica of a perverted spit roast, with both of them catching each other’s rhythm and slamming inside your holes at the same time.

Your clit is suddenly rubbed inexpertly to the point of overstimulation, and the incoming sob forced out of your throat warps into a pained scream.

The vibrations of your scream makes Bakugo cum suddenly with a hoarse groan. He doubled over your body and gnaws at your bouncing tits, licking and teething at them the same way his counterpart did.

The sight of copious amounts of cum being leaked out of your filled mouth propels the green-haired man to whimper and shove himself back in one more time, hitting your cervix and causing both his and your eyes to roll back.

He cums too, but both men keep their semi-hard cocks inside of your aching body.

You don’t know what’s worse, having both of them by your side or both of them inside.

[itsallyscorner]

Bring Me Back

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Filming “Cherry” had its ups and downs for Tom. When filming finally takes its toll on him, you’re there to instantly bring him back from the world of Cherry.

Warnings: Mentions of drug abuse, PTSD, murder. A smidge of smut.

A/n: In honor of the Cherry🍒 trailer dropping, I decided to write this!

(GIF creds: @atealiers )

Any kind of project was a blessing to Tom. He loved being an actor. He was fond of telling stories through the big screen and got a kick from portraying many different characters. Acting was something he felt passionate about, it was his craft and he was very dedicated when it came to becoming his roles. Cherry was quite different from the other movies he’s been in. It was dark and contained many subjects like drug addiction, PTSD, and crime. The world of Cherry was something Tom was not used to; it was twisted. He hasn’t been exposed to things like drugs or the events that Nico Walker had been through. Which was why he was hesitant to take on the role of Cherry.

When the Russo Brothers approached him with the idea, he was excited. He was getting the opportunity to tell another story and would explore the world of a new character. Though the more he looked into it, he realized that maybe he wasn’t up for the role. Was he really ready to dive into the dark and traumatizing life of Nico Walker? As an actor, he was willing to take the job, it would give him an opportunity to expand his career and would possibly be one of his best work. As Tom, he wasn’t sure if he could handle learning or re-enacting the events that occurred in Cherry. But Tom did like a challenge, which was why he ended up agreeing to become Cherry.

He prepared himself mentally and physically pre- production. For research, he interviewed army veterans and former drug addicts to get an idea of what it was like to be in those positions. To get the look of Cherry, he did a variety of things. For example, going on a diet and losing weight, then gaining said weight again once they had to shoot the army scenes. Another thing he did was shave off the gorgeous brown curls that adorned his head. At first you weren’t too happy with his change in hairstyle, but later on you found yourself running your hands along the short strands of hair, loving the fuzzy feeling it gave your palms.

After the interviews and hearing others’ experience, Tom felt a level of responsibility to tell the story of millions of people around the world. Not only was it telling the story of Nico, but of other army veterans who suffered from PTSD and people who’ve had drug addictions. He was fully on board now and there was no looking back. He was going to push himself to the limit and to places he’s never been before.

Filming was tough. There were scenes he had to do that were so unlike him, that felt wrong, and sometimes he just had to take a step back. They didn’t feel right, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. This was his job, if he wanted this movie to be the best that it can, he was going to commit. Thankfully, he was working with the Russos, who he’s known for a while now. He was familiar with the two and they were patient with him, giving him the time to regain himself before shooting an intense scene. The cast and crew were very understanding as well, creating a safe space for him on set. Having Harry along with him helped as well, the familiarity of his brother kept him grounded and avoided him from falling into the void of Cherry. Though he had all these supportive people around him, there was only one person who could calm him down when things got suffocating on set. The only person he wanted to be in Cleveland with him but wasn’t. You. Since you had your own life and job, you were unable to fly out to Cleveland with him. Instead you stayed at your shared home with Tessa as company. All he needed was you when he felt the affects of Cherry caging in on him. Just the sound of your comforting voice over the phone could clear his head and make him breath again.

He had his bad days on set, where he would have to take a moment and hide in his trailer for a few minutes. During those few minutes he liked to be alone as he waited for you to answer your phone. The line would ring, it’d stop, then the sound of your sweet voice would be the only thing he’d hear. Sometimes you didn’t answer the first time, but nonetheless you answered eventually. It wasn’t the same as having you with him in person, you had your responsibilities, and he understood that. He just wished that one day you’d come to Cleveland. He wanted to be in your arms, stuff his face into your neck, breath in your familiar scent, he just wanted to feel you. You were his home. His safe haven. And it was all he wanted right now.

•

Glancing at your phone, you wondered why Tom hasn’t texted you yet. Not that you were itching for him to text you, but because around this time he would be blowing up your phone telling you things that happened during filming or how his day was going. You decided that filming probably went into overtime making him busy during his break. You shrug to yourself and continue working on your laptop.

You hear the sound of Tessa’s nails clicking against the floors as she enters the office of your home. You greet her with a smile as she settles herself beside your legs.

“Is it dinner time already, Tess?” You scratch her head as you glance at the time on your screen. It was currently nine at night, a bit late for dinner, but you haven’t noticed.

“Just give me five more minutes and I’ll get us dinner. How does that sound, love?” A somewhat sound of approval emits from Tessa. You get back to work, fingers typing away as you finish off the last of your work.

You finish in four minutes, finally satisfied with your work. You let out a content sigh and turn your laptop off. When you get up you stretch and let your bones crack after being in the same position for hours. Tessa joins you, stretching out her front paws then shaking her body out. You chuckle as you lead the way to the kitchen. Taking the scoop for Tessa’s kibble, you fill her bowl up, causing the dog to look up in curiosity. Once you placed the bowl down, her tail wagged wildly as she stuffed her face into her food.

You decided on going for something simple, ramen noodles. You were too tired too cook anything and ramen noodles were the quickest thing to cook in your pantry. While you waited for the noodles to heat up you checked your phone. You went through your notifications, but there were still no texts from Tom. Though you were concerned, you assumed that they had a long shooting day, making him too busy to text. 

Hi love! I hope you’re doing well in Cleveland. I know you’re probably busy, but hopefully filming isn’t tiring you out too much. Have an amazing day! Don’t forget to drink some water from time to time and eat :) Tess and I miss you and love you so much! Talk soon xxx

You send the text with a smile. He won’t read it till he was free or done with filming, but you knew he’d see the message while you were asleep.

The microwave beeps, letting you know that your food was done. You end your night catching up on episodes of New Girl and eating soup. When you were done you did your nightly routine and settled in bed. You turn the lights off and snuggled under the warm sheets.

“Night Tessa.” You whisper to her. A huff comes out of her as she makes herself comfortable on the foot of your bed. When the both of you were settled, you slowly drifted off to sleep.

Buzz

Buzz

The harsh vibrations of your phone shook you awake. Desperate for sleep, you blindly grab your phone and turn it off. Silence fills the room again as you turn around to stuff your face into Tom’s pillow. You were slowly drifting back to sleep when your phone began to vibrate again. With a groan you stretch back and snatch for phone off the night stand. You don’t bother looking at the caller id.

“Hello?” Your voice rasps out.

“Thank God you answered.” The person on the other line said. “I know you’re busy, but how soon can you visit Cleveland?” The deep voice was belonged to Harry.

“Uh—I’m not too sure, I’ll need to check in with my boss.” You reply. When you start feeling more awake you become curious as to why Harry can be calling you. “Why? Is everything ok? How’s Tom? I haven’t heard from him all day.”

The younger Holland sighs. He takes a moment to answer your questions making you suffer in silence, wondering what could have happened to your boyfriend. “Um, they’ve been shooting some intense scenes lately. Tom’s been trying his best but everyone’s noticed that he’s been a bit different.”

You sit up in bed feeling more awake. “What do you mean by different, Haz?”

“Well he’s snapped at the Russos quite a few times. There was this one scene, that they shot multiple times, and Tom would just break down after every one. (Y/n), I’m concerned for my brother, I don’t know what else to do. He’s locked himself in his room after every shoot. A—and I don’t know. I’ve tried to tell him that he can talk to me but he wouldn’t.” Harry explained, his voice croaked. You heart felt heavy for him. Harry was always there for his older brother, so to see him feel so helpless made you feel sorry.

“Haz, calm down, you know how your brother can get. How long has this been happening?”

Harry sniffed over the phone, “About a few weeks now. It’s only started becoming worse last week and now.”

The concern you felt for Tom grew. From what he’s been texting you, filming had been going great. He appeared happy on your FaceTime calls and sounded like his usual self. But maybe he actually wasn’t.

“Harry everything’s gonna be fine, alright?” You assure him. “I’ll call my boss first thing in the morning and when I get the ‘ok’ to leave I’ll get the first flight out to Cleveland. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds good. Can you tell me if you can make it? I’ll have someone come with me to pick you up at the airport.” His voice is quiet, almost muffled.

“Yeah I will, don’t worry.”

“Ok, thank you (y/n).” A small smile forms on your lips. You rub the sleep out your eyes as you glance at your closet. “Alright Haz, I’m gonna go now. But if there’s anything else, just text me or call.”

“I know, stay safe (y/n).” You bid him goodbye and place your phone on the empty space beside your side of the bed. Tom’s side of the bed. You bite your lip in thought as you worry about your boyfriend. You knew he was doing almost everything he can to make sure the movie came out perfect. If that meant shredding himself emotionally and physically, he was going to do it. Tom was dedicated to his work, but he’s never done anything close to Cherry, making you worried about the thoughts that could possibly be going through your lover’s head.

Tessa, who’s now woken up, waddles closer to you, sensing your uneasiness. You appreciate the dog’s gesture and pull her into your side, resting your chin on her head. You were basically sleepless the whole night. Although you haven’t emailed your boss yet, you already had a suitcase packed of your clothes. Your passport and other important belongings were already in a bag, ready to leave London.

The morning had been hectic. You’ve managed to get two hours of sleep, waking up at six in the morning. Still in bed, you sent your boss an email about a family emergency and how you needed to be out of the country for at least a week. As if the gods above knew of your situation, your boss willingly let you go, no questions asked and gave you well wishes. With that out the way, you scowered the Internet for flights to Cleveland. Luck was on your side that morning because you’ve booked a flight that took off in the afternoon. With your bags packed, you drove to Nikki and Dom’s to drop off Tessa.

Now all checked in, you were at Heathrow Airport waiting to be called for your flight. You were sat at your gate, with an iced coffee and a croissant from Starbucks, texting Harry. The two of you were discussing the time you’d arrive and how he’d pick you up. When you were both in agreement, you two decided to catch up. He had been in Tom’s trailer eating his breakfast. An hour passes and you were being called to board the plane.

You settle in your seat, but your leg bounced in anticipation. After the things Harry told you, you just wanted to have your boyfriend in your arms. You knew everything was probably getting to his head, all you wanted to do was hold him and tell him that he was going to be ok. As the plane began to take off, your lack of sleep caught up on you. Throughout the whole flight, you slept soundly, the worries of Tom subsiding for the time being.

~🛬~

The plane lands in Cleveland safely. It was night when you arrived. With your bags, you looked around the airport for a familiar curly haired boy. Harry waves wildly at you before running and pulling you into a tight hug. You laugh wrapping your arms around the slender boy.

“How’s your day been, Haz?” You ruffle his hair as he rolls your suitcase to the parking lot. He shrugs, “The usual. Was on set with Tom, ran around and got things for him, nothing much happened honestly. But you’re here now, so this is the highlight of my night.”

The two of you approach a black car with a driver inside, Harry motions for him to unlock the trunk. He lifts your case in before the two of you get into the backseat.

“How was your flight?” Harry asks you. The car began to move, exiting the airport and entering the highway.

“I slept through all of it, I don’t remember a thing about the flight besides getting on and off it.” You chuckle, leaning your head back against the headrest.

Harry nudges your shoulder, “Thanks for coming out with such short notice.” You wave him off. “It’s no worries, anything for my boys.”

The car is quiet, the only sounds that could be heard is the car’s wheels against the pavement. You turn to Harry, “How was he today?”

“He was pretty good in the morning.” Harry started. “Then filming started and he would grow frustrated after a few scenes. His temper’s been short. He snapped at me during lunch, which is normal, but I just asked him if he wanted some water. He broke down after a certain scene today, I tried talking to him but he still wouldn’t open up about it.” Tom wasn’t too open about his feelings sometimes. He struggled to voice them at times making all his frustrations and feelings bottled up in his head.

Half an hour later and you guys arrive at Tom’s rented home in Atlanta. As soon as you opened the door, you felt the heavy atmosphere. It was somber and tense, the chilliness of the weather also felt inside the house. Harry gestures up the stairs, “Don’t worry, go see him. His room is the first door on the left.”

You quietly thank him and climb up the stairs. You find his door, taking a deep breath before knocking. You hear some shuffling behind the door, “Harry I’m fine! Leave me alone!” His voice was deep, a bit scratchy. You frown at the door.

“Tom?” The room falls quiet. Suddenly you hear fumbling and the sound of heavy footsteps behind the door. The door opens and you finally see him. He was dressed in a large shirt with sweatpants. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, eyes glassy, and chapped lips.

“(Y/n)? You’re here?” He asks you in disbelief. A tight lipped grin forms on your lips.

“Yeah, Har—“ You were going to explain how you got there but he immediately threw himself at you. His arms wrap tightly around your figure, his head dipped into your neck, pulling your closer into him. One of your arms go around his neck while the other rubs his back soothingly. A whimper bubbles out of him, his shoulders beginning to shake. You managed to shuffle the both of you back into his room, closing the door behind you.

“You’re ok.” You whisper into his ear, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. His grip around you never falters. Though he was much taller than you, he seemed so small at the moment. His body drowned in the shirt he wore, making him look thinner. You feel tears soaking into your shirt, making your heart clench in pain. You rest your forehead against his shoulder, holding and whispering sweet nothings into his ear until he was ready to speak.

A few minutes pass until his removes his head from your neck. You frown at his tear stained face, his eyes and cheeks red from quietly sobbing into your shoulder. Your hands cup his face, wiping the trails of tears on his cheeks. Tom leans closer to your touch, his eyes shut while his lips kiss your palm.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably tired from the flight.” He apologizes but you shake your head. You lead him to his bed and sit against the headboard. Tom follows in suit, desperately trying to get closer to you. His arms wrap around your torso, his head rests on your chest, while your legs tangle themselves together.

“I’ve had plenty of sleep on the flight, how are you?” Your lips are against his short hair from holding him so close. You nails scratch softly at his hair, calming him down.

“I don’t know if I could finish it.” He quietly admits. He shakes his head at himself.

“Why’s that, Tom?” Your boyfriend takes a deep breath as he sits up, removing himself from your touch. He sits across from you with legs crossed as he holds his head in his hands.

“I—I, it’s too much. There’s so much fucked up things he’s done. And all the things he’s seen. I just—sometimes I feel like it’s me who’s committed all of those things. When we shoot the scenes in the war and when I had to do drugs and rob banks, I felt like I lost myself—“ He cries interrupting himself to take a breath in. Compared to your fingers that ran gently through his hair, his clawed at his head. His palms rub harshly at his face, turning his skin a bright tint of red. To see Tom in such pain made you sad. You hated seeing him like this.

You gently remove his hands from scratching at his face and hold them in his lap. He stares down at your hands, clinging onto them as if his life depended on it. “I get lost in the character sometimes and I have to pull myself out of it to bring me back. But it keeps on happening over and over again. Then the Russos kept telling me to reshoot the scene more like Cherry, and I lost it and yelled at them.” You feel his tears fall to your your hands, making tears well up in your own eyes. You shuffle closer to him and kiss his forehead before pulling him into you. You stay quiet, letting him get whatever he wanted to get out.

Tom’s face is against your shoulder again. He sniffs before continuing, “It’s like everyday I find something he and I have in common. Then I think that maybe I’m turning into him. I don’t want him to be part of me. (Y/n), I don’t want to be him, I don’t want to do the things he’s done.” He sobs into your shoulder. Your heart breaks at how broken he sounded. His shoulders shook again, his back burning up with tension. A few tears made it’s way down your cheeks as you pulled his face away from you.

“Look at me.” You urged him. His jaw clenched, still looking down at his lap. He shook his head in response. “Tom, please. Look at me.” Your voice cracks. He slowly tilts his head up, your eyes connecting. He didn’t have that twinkle in his eyes, it’s like they’ve lost the light in them. Instead they were dark, like there was no life behind them. There was a mix of sadness, confusion, and even fear in his eyes.

You sadly smiled at him, cupping his face with your hands. “You’re not going to be him. You never will. You’re Tom. You are nothing close to Nico or Cherry. You are the sweetest man I have known in the world, you wouldn’t even hurt a damn fly. You’re not him. I know you aren’t. You wouldn’t do the things he’s ever done even if you were forced to. I know you Tom, I assure you, you’re nothing like him.” Tom hiccups, gripping onto your wrists.

“When this is all over and you’re done filming, we can forget about him. We won’t even mention him.” You assure him, stroking his cheeks.

“What if—,” You cut him off.

“No, there’s no what if’s. You’re going to be fine Tom. You’re surrounded by people who love you and will make you realize that you’re nothing even near him. You are the kindest man ever, you love your family, you care about your fans, and your brothers. You’re busy always taking care of everyone else, I think it’s time you take care of yourself, love.” You tell him. A small smile is on your face but it falters, “You don’t have to go through this alone, Tom.”

Tom takes a shaky breath in. “You’ll be there right?” He asks like a child making sure his mother will be there when he wakes up. “You’ll be there with me to bring me back?”

Your thumb smooths the crinkle between his brows, “I always will. I promise.” He nods and pulls you into him. You climb onto his lap and settle on his legs. He stares up at you, one of his his hands supporting your back, the other pressed against your cheek. “Thank you. I missed you so much. I’m sorry for not texting, everything’s just been so taxing mentally and physically.”

“No, don’t worry I get it.” You turn your face to press a light kiss on his palm. For the first time since you’ve seen him, Tom managed to crack a smile on his lips. He moves some strands of hair away from your face before resting his large hand on the back of your head. “I love you. I love you so much, (y/n).”

“I love you too, Tom.” You whisper against his lips. He takes that as a sign to finally crash your lips together. After months being apart, the feeling of his lips against yours felt like coming home. The kiss was desperate, like it was the air you both breathed. Tom had been longing for your touch, he craved you every second of the day, whether it be sexually or just missing you. The kiss grew rough, your teeth clashing, tongues poking and gliding against each other.

Tom lays you down on the bed, hovering over you. His hands grab and stroke at your body, trying to pull off your clothes to get close to your skin. He suddenly pulls away from your lips. “I need you. Please, I need you.” He almost begs you. Panting, you nod and push him to lay on his back. “Ok, let me take care of you, Tommy.”

He yanks his shirt off, throwing it to the side. You do the same, leaning down to meet his lips again. You kiss your way along his jaw and down to his neck. When you find that certain spot, he lets out a throaty groan, head falling back against the pillows. You run your nails along his chiseled abs and slightly roll your hips against his growing length. Tom grunts, hands instantly connecting to your ass and gripping onto your cheeks. He helps you roll your hips more, deeper with more friction against you two.

“Mm, Tom. I missed you.” You moan against his neck. You bite down and soothe the spot with your tongue after.

Tom looks down at you, lifting his hips to meet your clothes pussy. “Fucking miss you so much. You have no idea how much I’ve been dreaming of being buried in you again.” You kiss your way down his chest, but Tom stops you. His hands grab onto your leggings and slide them off.

“N-no foreplay. I need to feel you.” He stutters out, mouth agape. You nod in agreement and take his sweatpants off along with his boxers. You spit in your hand, running your hand along his dick to give it some wetness. Tom helps you lift yourself over him and guides your hips down his erected cock. You let out a combination of a sigh and moan as your walls envelop and stretch around him. Tom slightly sits up against the headboard, your tightness wrapping around him. He lets out a cry of relief, your walls around him feeding his cravings. You use his shoulders as leverage to pull yourself up but Tom stops you.

“What’s wrong?” You eye him cautiously. Tom shakes his head, “Nothing’s wrong. I just—can we stay like this for a while? I just want to feel you, please?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” You send him a reassuring smile as you settle back down on him. His hands make themselves comfortable around your waist. You maneuver your arms under his and wrap them around his back. Tom smiles at you, rubbing your back and guiding you into his chest. Before you can nuzzle your face into his neck, he presses a kiss to your temple and lets his fingers get tangled in your hair.

With his eyes closed in bliss, he whispers, “Thank you for bringing me back. I love you.”

You kiss his collarbone basking in the feeling him being so close to you. “I’ll always be here. I love you too.”

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Hello!! sorry to bother you could write a ben 10 x reader? (the reader is kidnapped by vilgax and ben has to save her, after that ben and the reader has an argument) please, i love your fics!!

Storm Before The Calm

Pairing: Pre-Established; Ben Tennyson x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.4k words

A/N: I changed up the request a bit (I figured it shouldn't matter which villain was used here) also I was planning to have this as sort of a damsel in distress situation but after having a chat with some boys pigs I decided a self indulgant badass reader was right up my alley

Additional A/N: I have a math exam on Thursday and I cannot focus for the life of me. So, I decided to finish up one of my drafts. Now hopefully I'll be able to work like a robot for the next week, after satisfying my creative side. Also, this fic was super self indulgant.

"I trust Ben.” You did. With your entire being.

Kevin chuckled from beside you, “Yeah, try saying that without cracking the fillings in your teeth and maybe we’ll believe you.”

His words caused you to relax, only then realizing how hard your jaw was clenched in fury. Gwen sighed in disappointment and for a second you wanted to defend her cousin and your boyfriend. Until you realized that he deserved every bit of unbridled anger coming to him.

“I trust him. Doesn’t mean I’m not mad at him.”

Your hands were balled into tight fists and even though you wanted to take your eyes off the television screen and take a warm bath, you also for some reason couldn’t stop yourself from watching it.

Like you were afraid something would happen when your eyes were off the screen for even a second. Maybe you didn’t trust him.

But honestly how could you, you were currently watching your boyfriend relax in a hot tub with Jennifer Nocturne and the sight was enough to send bile up your throat.

Ben wasn’t returning any of her advances, but he wasn’t stopping her either. And the thought made you sick to your stomach. You knew Ben was faithful and you knew he would never cheat on you but watching how the Hollywood starlet continued to hang off him sent waves of jealousy through you.

Not to mention anger at the fact that he wasn’t doing anything to stop her. When he got back, you were going to wring his neck.

Trusting him was getting harder with Gwen constantly insisting that you dump him.

Honestly, you wondered how that girl even kept a relationship.

When Ben eventually came home, all the entertainment channels were still talking about the two of them and the well-known picture of Jennifer Nocturne kissing him was circulating about. Each time you looked at that image, you wanted to shoot an arrow at the TV.

As time went by, your anger slowly fizzled out. You were unable to maintain your rage at Ben, quickly getting a headache and feeling tired of trying to maintain negative emotions. Even then, you couldn't push down the uneasy feeling in your heart that seized your stomach.

You kept expecting a text message from Ben, an apology call but as the night proceeded you understood that he was having way too much fun with another woman to even think about how you must be feeling.

The thought of that made you want to go back home and crawl underneath the covers, hiding away from the rest of the world.

But Gwen was persistent and any time you tried to wiggle away from the pair of them and go home, she insisted that you stay and make sure Ben knew how upset he made you tonight.

You were more than happy to give your boyfriend the cold shoulder until he apologized rather than have to confront him. That was just how your relationship with Ben worked. Neither of you were the type to lose your tempers and yell and scream at each other.

Although you were worried what would come out of this. Would you be able to peacefully discuss your feelings and then come to some sort of conclusion civilly? Seems too good to be true honestly.

Even then you waited until Ben came home, listening to Gwen and Kevin about how you should rip the band aid off and get everything off your chest rather than ignore him for a couple of days until the two of you got bored.

Usually, the latter would work but you had an inkling that it wouldn't be the solution for this particular argument because if you didn't communicate your emotions then he would never know how you felt about it.

So, even though your stomach filled with anxiety and sadness as the hours passed, you still didn't leave, determined to talk to him about it.

Your jaw was clenched tight when he finally did come back home, utterly relaxed and even happy like he wasn't just curled up against some Hollywood starlet while his girlfriend was watching it on E!

"I'm really upset with you." You ground out when Kevin and Gwen left, not knowing how else to start the conversation.

"What for?"

You didn't reply, picking up the remote and flicking to a gossip channel, then a news channel, then an interview show and all of them had the picture of Ben Tennyson and Jennifer Nocturne locking lips.

Ben winced, "She kissed me! I didn't even return it."

You still refused to look at you, crossing your arms aggressively, "Uh huh and what was today all about?"

"It's just publicity. Jennifer thinks that it'll help with my career."

You scoffed, "What career?"

Ben's back tensed up and he turned to give you a stiff expression, "I'm a superhero. I've saved the universe a thousand times and now that I'm finally getting recognition for it, you want to be petty?"

"Petty? You think I'm being petty? Well forgive me for getting upset after watching my boyfriend curl up to some other woman in a hot tub for the last five hours!" You bit, standing up from the couch.

"It wasn't like that! Stop blowing everything out of proportion!"

"No, you stop pretending like this isn't a big deal! Ever since your secret got out you've been acting like an ass and since meeting that blonde rat it's only gone through your head more!" You shouted, clenching your hands at your sides. How could he not see your side of this?

"Well shouldn't I get to enjoy my life once in a while?! I'm the one saving the planet constantly! I'm the one with constant death threats and near death experiences every other week! Shouldn't I get some attention for it?! God knows I don't get any from you!" He yelled back and you grit your teeth.

"Don't forget that while you were out there risking your life, we were right beside you!"

"Oh, so that's what it is, you're jealous that everyone thinks of you as the sidekick!"

"That is so NOT what this is about!"

"Oh really? Because it sounds like you're jealous because you're not getting attention by mooching off of me!"

Your eyes widened in shock. Mooching? Did he seriously think that you risked your life alongside him every day to help other people and more importantly, keep him safe, for attention?

Your body trembled, outraged and you didn't say another word, leaving his house in a rush and slamming the door behind you.

You needed something to hit.

***

Your body pumped with adrenaline and anger, muscles itching to be used as you sauntered through the old and run-down factory with reckless abandon. You briefly wondered whether you should've told Gwen or Kevin you were going there but then decided against it, pride and anger too great.

Any doubts or hesitation you had disappeared when you saw Vulkanus, standing tall and broad in his metal suit. And as per usual, he had his herd of minions doing his physical labour.

"If it isn't the Plumber's sweetheart." He drawled once he noticed you. You didn't bother with the stealth, leaving the door wide open behind you and letting the sunlight seep in. If he knew what was good for him, then this would be over quick.

"Hello Vulkanus." You greeted politely and he rolled his eyes. Of all people, he knew just how misleading your innocence was.

"Where's the cavalry?"

"Just me today." You answered and for a second you were confused by your own confidence. Maybe you were taking this just a little too easy. Oh well, that was another thing you could blame your pig-headed boyfriend for.

"Well then, this is going to be easier than I thought. Hope you said goodbye to your boyfriend, sweetheart." He rasped out and the corner of your mouth twitched into a smirk. Without another word, you raised your arms, feeling the familiar heat of fire in the palm of your hand before chucking it at him.

Just as you knew he would, he sent his minions towards you first. They were embarrassingly unskilled but the problem came in numbers. They swarmed around you like ants and you felt yourself getting irritated at the clicking sound they were making.

Unfortunately for Vulkanus his make-shift factory was right beside a dam which gave you an endless supply of the elements to work with.

Summoning all the water you could manoeuvre, you pulled it into the factory, shattering the windows along with it and flooding the room. It only took a few flicks of your wrist to create a whirlpool in the centre, knocking all the workers off their feet.

You stiffened your hands, curling in your fingers and the temperature dropped, the water solidifying with each second until all of them were encased in ice. Another flick of the wrist had the path clearing between you and Vulkanus, who was still warm.

"You-You're sparing me?" He asked, confused and a dry laugh left you.

"Not at all," You sang, eyes turning dark, "I'm giving you special treatment."

Vulkanus bounded towards you, holding his mallet high and you swiftly dodged, using water on the floor to slide quickly. He crashed into the engine of one of his machines, the fuel tank exploding and spewing fowl smelling petrol onto the floor.

It floated above the level of water and began surrounding both of you.

He once again came at you, letting out a roar and you used the water to sink through the crevices of his suit, freezing it from within and you heard the satisfying sound of his suit cracking.

Just a little more strength and forcing a gust of air through the cracks had it falling apart and his frail body fell out of its metal encasing.

"You'll pay for this! You big bully!"

"Thanks for the fun time today, Vulkanus." You smiled, strutting to the door just as confidently as you came in. Even though your body was burning from the workout and you could barely breathe, you still couldn't get over the high.

Before leaving the building, you turned around to see him still glaring at you from his place on the floor.

"Oh, I should probably free your minions, right?" You commented, eyes flickering between the ones still encased in ice and the floor that was still flooded with water and petrol.

You let out a fake sigh, "I guess I'll be nice today," You winked at Vulkanus, "Thanks for the playdate, sweetheart."

His eyes widened when you blew a kiss to him, watching in fear as you ignited a flare in your palm and blew it towards him before turning around and using the wind to slam the doors behind you. When you were just a few feet away you heard the place blow apart.

Slowly, the adrenaline began melting and the blood rushing through your ears was much more audible. You were panting, tired from the exercise and the thought of calling Kevin to come and pick you up. Or maybe even Ben. You were calm enough now to have a conversation with him.

When you pulled your phone out of your pocket you felt a hand on your shoulder and spun around to meet eyes with Captain Nemesis. For a brief second you were wondering if he was here to invite you to some inane party or even to tell you that Ben was at one.

Although you hardly looked the part, you were sweating and your face was probably red and blotchy.

"Can I help you?" You asked, taking a step back, he was a little too close to you and the look in his eye freaked you out.

"As a matter of fact, you can." He said, "You see I'm arranging a little stunt for Ben Tennyson. An opportunity if you will, to showcase some of his heroism."

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him. The last thing you wanted to do was feed Ben's ego at the moment.

"With all due respect, I don't really think I'm up for a damsel in distress routine right now, Captain, I'd rather just get home. And If you take another step towards me, I'll kick you where the sun doesn't shine." You snapped and he backed off obediently, raising his hands in a form of surrender.

"That's too bad." He mused and you turned away from him, intent on walking back home or even calling a cab. Anything to get away from this creep faster.

"Too bad you don't really have a choice."

You felt his hand on your bare shoulder again but before you could even react you felt volts of electricity rush through you. You gasped painfully, feeling fire through your veins before everything started to hurt.

White burned in your vision and colours started to blur together as your eyes filled with tears. Your body crumbled, falling forward and Captain Nemesis caught you.

Right before your consciousness slipped away you heard him say something.

"For your sake, you better hope that Ben Tennyson is as great as those gossip channels make him out to be."

***

When you felt yourself regaining consciousness, you could feel your weight pulling down and also couldn't feel the ground. This had your eyes snapping open, regardless of how dizzy you were and how many dots were in your vision.

You hazily made out the venue, Nemesis Tower, before recognize the blonde woman tied up beside you. It didn't take long before you realized she was tied to the other end of the rope, suspended through mid-air just like you.

This was no doubt going to be some sort of deathly choice.

You noticed when Ben came in, turning into Ultimate Humangasaur. He looked furious, like you've never seen him before and you knew it was because Ben was certain he'd teach him a lesson today.

"Where's (Y/N)." He all but growled and your heart soared. You didn't realize how much you missed him until now, everything from before was forgotten.

"Right up there. And so is Jennifer." He replied, still smug despite the way Ben was pining him to the ground by his throat. Ben followed his gaze to meet your eyes and you took a deep breathe, bracing yourself.

A selfish part of you wanted to stay and see what Ben would do, would he save you even though Jennifer was a civilian and world famous?

Even then you figured that you shouldn't risk anyone's life for petty jealousy, so you took a deep breath, blowing it out through your mouth and watching as a gust of wind blew past, the pressure making you swing.

You swung a few feet back, letting your body fall a little before blowing again. Once you gained enough momentum, you looked up to the rope tying the two of you together and spitting fire at it, falling at an angle. You briefly heard Jennifer scream and revelled in her karma for a hot second.

On your way down, you quickly burnt off the rest of the ropes, bringing a pool of water to crystallize into a makeshift slide as you slide on your knees across the floor, just in time to catch Jennifer in your arms.

Your knees stung as they scraped across the concrete and the wind was knocked out of you when the woman fell into your form.

She gasped and her eyes that was screwed shut gently fluttered open. Up close you could understand why everyone was in love with her. Even then you couldn't spare her any concern.

You quickly pushed her out of your arms, noticing Gwen and Kevin staring at you in awe when you stood up. You cracked your knuckles, making your way over to the older man with a scowl.

"For your sake, you better hope that I'm just as weak as you think I am. Spoiler alert, I'm not."

Ben spared a small smile at you but you couldn't feel anything aside from hot fury. You felt water surge beneath your fingers and threw it at him, pulling up a wall of earth to block his blasts.

Your boyfriend immediately began fighting alongside you and your bodies fell into a familiar rhythm. Even though there was a crazed narcissist trying to kill you, you felt safe beside Ben.

It wasn't long before the four of you managed to overpower him, rendering his armour useless until he was defeated, lying pathetically on the ground.

You walked up to him and your lips twisted into an unimpressed frown when you noticed the way he had the audacity to glare at you. Without a second word, you raised your leg and kicked him right between the legs.

"I always keep my promises, Captain."

Kevin began laughing behind you and Ben cringed.

Finally, when you turned to meet Ben, now de-transformed, all the fight left your body and you relaxed. He looked apologetic and you let him approach you.

His arms wrapped around your waist and you leaned into him, breathing the familiar scent of his deodorant and snaking your arms under his jacket to fist his T-shirt.

He sighed into your hair, arms tightening around your body, "I'm sorry. For being an ass to you and saying all those horrible things, I was being an idiot and you deserve an apology."

You didn't move, not pulling away from the way your forehead was pressed against the length of his neck, "Thank you for coming to save me."

"Didn't look like you needed much help." He chuckled and you felt happy hearing the pride in his voice.

"I missed you." You murmured, holding him a little tighter and he turned his head to kiss your forehead gently. And just like that, everything was right in the world. Just as long as you were in each other's arms.

"I love you."

You heard the click of a camera and your head snapped up to see a herd of cameramen and reporters along with a couple of police cars. Ben laughed nervously beside you, "I guess we won't have to worry about another actress coming between us."

You gave him an unimpressed frown and he just smiled, leaning to peck your lips and you heard the crowd of reporters’ gasp and heard the shutters of cameras before they began shouting questions at you.

You pulled away from him when you saw Jennifer Nocturne make her way towards you. You figured she wanted to snuggle up to Ben now that the cameras were filming.

Instead, she walked right up to you, hugging you tightly and your arms flailed pathetically beside her, unsure of what to do, "You saved my life! I don't know how to thank you!"

She pulled away for just a second before pressing a kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened in alarm and the shutters began once again and flashes practically blinded you.

"Huh, so that's what that feels like." Ben murmured when she pulled away from you. Kevin was smirking beside him, satisfied that he got a taste of his own medicine and Gwen was just in shock.

Ben felt his stomach turn at the sight of Jennifer’s lipstick on your mouth and you were unsure whether you should feel repulsed or cocky.

But as you wiped the pigment off your lips and curled back into Ben's side you couldn't feel anything other than your burning muscles and your drooping eyelids.

You squinted because of the bright lights, feeling a headache grow as the exhaustion from before crept up on you again. After 2 fights and a kidnapping today, there was nothing more you wanted than a nap.

"Wanna go home?" Your ever observant boyfriend asked just as the nausea started to kick in. You nodded and he guided you away from the reporters to his car.

He gently placed you into the front seat, shielding your head as you got in to prevent you from hitting it against the hood before buckling your seatbelt, watching carefully as you drifted into a sound sleep.

Ben heard everyone behind him swoon as he lovingly placed a kiss to your knuckles and then climbed into the seat beside you, sparing you one last warm glance before starting the car and driving away.

He'd definitely notice the shy smile on your face when you saw that Ben kissing you was on the front page of a magazine.

And you'd notice the jealous scowl he'd have when he saw that Jennifer kissing you was on the front page of another.