#i promise one day i will stop being the mutual who is always struggling

[bluestjayy]

*incoherent sobbing noises*

[gothcsz]

Body Language | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 2 to this bad boy right here | ~8.2k wc | Series Masterlist | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Caught in a charged and unexpected moment with Javier Peña, you struggle between resisting his relentless seduction and giving in to the tension that has been building since the last shoot.

Tags: smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, no use of Y/N, reader is shorter than javier but other than that no physical descriptions, some dirty talk, semi-public sex (we're in an elevator this time around), reader really doesn't like javi, steve being steve, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short lil thing but then my ass had to drag it out just a little because their dynamic is very fun to write 😭 he's like whyyy don't you like me and she's like how much time do you have? lmfao. this is dedicated to @auteurdelabre 🖤 #1 pornstar javi stan, i almost submitted this for your trope off but decided to save that honor for my other story! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy javier begging to eat you out 🥂 let me know what you think 🖤 mandatory mutual tags: @almostempty / @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

You sit in the cramped waiting room outside of Robbie’s office, the stale air clinging to your skin as you shift uncomfortably in the worn-out chair. The place is too quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outdoors.

You glance at the clock on the wall, anxiety creeping up your spine. You have a shift at the bar in an hour, and time is slipping through your fingers. The laundry, the groceries, the endless list of errands— it all piled up today, and now you’re cutting it too close.

But you need this check. It’s the only reason you’re here, tapping your foot in impatience. If you don’t get it today, the money won’t hit your account in time to cover rent, and you really don’t want another lecture from your landlord. It’s bad enough you’re already behind— no need to give him more ammunition to chew you out.

You sigh and lean back, eyes closing as you try to drown out the frustration swirling in your head. That’s when you hear the unmistakable ding of the elevator down the hall and turn your head to see who’s joining.

Your stomach drops and you sit up straight. No. Not now. The air feels heavier, thick with that familiar irritation, as the slow, deliberate sound of boots against the tile grows louder. 

Javier Peña.

Just the thought of him sends a hot wave through your being, a mix of irritation and something else you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t want to think about that last shoot, the one where things shifted. Where shit got weird. You behind the camera, filming as always, while he was balls deep in another woman, claiming you were on his mind.

“Bet you’d look just as pretty like this, nena.”

“Did you like what you saw? Like watching the way I fucked her but was thinking of you the whole time?”

It was like he’d stripped you bare with just a few words, leaving you more exposed than them in the midst of their carnal fucking. And the worst part? You’d been affected by it. Skin on fire, pussy wet. It also didn’t help that Steve had heard it too. The mic catching the flirting, the hitch of your breath getting stuck in your throat, clear as day.

He’d asked you about it later at Lucky’s, as promised, all smug and drinking that God-awful beer. But you’d brushed him off, hoping he’d drop it. Thankfully, he had— for the most part— but you could still feel his restlessness, wanting to stir the pot.

Now, Javier is here, of course, because the universe just loves to mess with you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, leaning back against the chair in defiance. You refuse to look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he gets under your skin. 

His footsteps stop just a few feet away, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore. You can feel him looking at you, feel the weight of his brown eyes like a physical thing as they rake over your body.

You keep your gaze glued to the wall, focusing on the ugly, generic painting hanging there like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You gonna act like you don’t see me?” His voice is deep, smooth, and frustratingly cocky, just like always. 

You grit your teeth, biting back a response. You won’t give him an inch. Not again. This motherfucker will take a mile.

“Okay, so that’s what we’re doing.” Before you can react, he plops down beside you. You stiffen immediately, moving your crossed knees to the side, angling yourself away from him, as if the few inches of space will protect you from the onslaught of whatever the hell he’s about to say next.

He spreads his thighs wide, his posture screaming obnoxious confidence. You just barely catch a glimpse of his bulge pressing up against his left thigh and how the fuck does it look so big even when he’s soft? “You know,” he says, voice dripping with that lazy, arrogant drawl, “you’re the only woman that treats me like this, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

You snort, the sound sharp and humorless. You still don’t bother looking at him.

Javier frowns, flitting his tongue across the top row of his teeth. “Is it because I came off too strong the first time we met? ‘Cause if that’s the case; then I’m sorry. Can’t help myself from flirting with pretty little things like you.”

You roll your eyes so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of their sockets. He doesn’t sound sincere at all.

Thing is, you didn’t mind the flirting. Even if he, like he’s so romantically put it, does flirt with pretty little things all the time; it did make you feel like just that. Pretty. It’s what came after that soured your Javier Peña experience.

He huffs, like a petulant child, frustrated by your silence. You don’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. Instead, you shift in your seat, your mind racing, wondering what the hell is taking Robbie so damn long. He never works, barely lifts a finger unless there’s money or something else in it for him, and now, suddenly, he’s busy? Yeah, right. He’s probably in his office jerking it to one of his films, getting off on his own work. Typical.

You’re done waiting. With a sharp movement, you stand, startling Javier, though you still don’t give him the time of day. He’s used to women catering to his every whim, hanging on his every word. You aren’t going to be one of them. Not even if he did manage to get you all hot and bothered.

You stalk over to the door and knock harder than necessary. “I’m busy,” his voice grumbles through the wooden surface, and you resist the urge to scream.

“And I need my check. Just slide it under the door or something,” you snap, the urgency in your voice making it clear that you’re not in the mood to get fucked around with.

There’s a pause, followed by the sound of shuffling papers before the door cracks open just enough for Robbie to stick his hand out, an envelope clutched between his fingers. He practically shoves it into your hand before slamming the door shut again.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the envelope with your name scrawled across the front. Surrounded by imbeciles. Just one shift to get through tonight, and then maybe, just maybe, you can get some peace. Enjoy the first weekend off you’ve had in months.

Now that you have what you came for, you spin on your heel and stride down the hallway, ignoring the handsome pornstar still lounging in the chair behind you. From your peripheral, you can see him sitting there, skinny jean clad legs spread, looking all annoyingly sexy without even trying. It would be so much easier if he were ugly— or literally anyone else. But no, it’s Javier fucking Peña, with his ridiculous good looks and that cocky smirk that could probably charm the panties off half the city if he wanted to (it probably has, to be honest).

You mentally map out the next hour: hit the bank, dash home to change, then off to work. You could walk to the bank, maybe catch a taxi home if you’re lucky. But with traffic in this city, luck isn’t really on your side. You start considering your options— do you skip changing and just head to work as you are? Would your other boss even care if you showed up a little underdressed? You’re so lost in your thoughts, focused on cutting corners to save time, that you don’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you.

It’s not until the elevator dings and you step inside that you realize you’re not alone. Javier’s slipped in just before the doors close, sliding smoothly into the cramped space beside you. The sudden proximity makes your heart do this stupid little jump, and you curse yourself for it. You’re trapped now— stuck way too close to him in the tiny metal box.

The air feels charged, his presence impossible to ignore yet again. The smell of his aftershave hits you first— spicy, with a hint of something woodsy, layered under the scent of his leather jacket and the faint, lingering whiff of cigarette smoke. He tries to drown it out with minty gum, but it’s still there, clinging to him like an old habit. And damn it, your knees go a little weak, despite your best efforts to stay cool.

The height difference between you is glaringly obvious now. You’re eye level with the habitually open portion of his cream colored shirt, the buttons undone just enough to give a peek at his brown chest. It’s frustrating how effortlessly he pulls off the whole rugged look— like he doesn’t even try, but somehow manages to look better than most men who spend hours on it.

You swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you can smell him, that you can feel the heat radiating off his body in the tight space. He’s just too close, and the damn elevator isn’t moving fast enough. You’ve got a million things to worry about right now—rent, work, your life— and the last thing you need is to be distracted by him.

But, like always, he’s right there, invading your space, making it impossible to think of anything else.

“What the fuck do you want?” You snap, breaking your vow of silence. You frown up at him, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface as you cross your arms defensively over your chest— a bad move, you realize too late, as the motion only pushes your braless tits together beneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Predictably, his eyes drop immediately. You curse yourself for not wearing something more substantial. It’s not like I was planning to run into him today, you think to yourself.

“To understand why you hate me so much,” Javier says, his voice low, carrying that annoyingly casual tone, as if this whole conversation is nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him.

Your brows knit together, and a dry laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it. “Well, for starters,” you bite out, “you can’t even look me in the eyes when you ask.” 

His gaze snaps up so fast it’s almost comical, his dark eyes locking with yours, defiance flaring there. But there’s something else too— something that makes the air between you even more tense. You hold his stare, daring him to say something, to make this worse for himself. His expression tightens, but you continue before he has a chance to speak. “And I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. You annoy the shit out of me.” 

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The smallest chink in his armor. You reach around him, your hand brushing against his side as you press the button for the main floor. The contact sends a ripple of awareness through you that you try to ignore. You don’t have time for this— for him.

Javier scowls, his mouth pulling into a frown that mirrors yours, and before you can react, he half-turns and punches a button for a different floor, effectively canceling your request. The elevator jolts, shifting direction. 

You groan audibly, exasperation washing over you. “And here you are, proving my point,” you mutter under your breath. Every second you waste in this shitty elevator with him is another second closer to being late for work. Another second closer to not getting everything done that you needed to today. He’s not just in your way—he’s deliberately in your way, and the worst part is, he knows it.

“You don’t like me,” he counters, turning back to face you fully, his tone edging into frustration, “but you never even gave me a chance.” His jaw is set now, his eyes searching yours as if he’s waiting for you to crack, to admit that there’s more to it than just annoyance. Like he wants you to say it’s something else, something deeper.

If you had the luxury of time, you’d lay it all out for him, explain in excruciating detail just why you’ve avoided giving him that chance. How his arrogance grates on you. How his charm, though admittedly effective, feels hollow. How the way he flirts isn’t even the problem—it’s the way he looks at you, like he knows something about you that you don’t want to admit.

But you don’t have that kind of time.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady your nerves. “As fun as it’d be to stand here and explain this shit to you like a child,” you say, your voice tight, “I have important things to do, and you’re keeping me from them.” You jab the elevator button again, hoping the damn thing will just go where you need it to without another unnecessary detour, but you already know it’s a losing battle. 

Javier shifts closer, just slightly, his presence looming. You can smell that damn aftershave again, all spice and leather and smoke, and it only pisses you off more because your body reacts to it before your brain can stop it. You feel your resolve slipping, just a little. His eyes are on you, unwavering, intense in a way that makes you want to both slap him and pull him closer at the same time.

“I’m not trying to keep you from anything,” he replies, softer now, the edge in his voice gone. His tone is almost... apologetic? No. It can’t be. Javier Peña doesn’t apologize. At least not in any way that feels real.

You don’t even bother responding, just stare at the numbers above the door, willing them to move faster. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

“Just—fuck, give me something. Anything,” he growls, frustrated as all hell. His eyes are wild, and you can see the cracks in his usual suave demeanor, like he’s barely holding it together. “Ever since that last shoot, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, and I don’t know why. You think you’re exasperated? How the fuck do you think I’m feeling over here?”

You raise a brow, leaning into your disdain as you pout at him mockingly. “Oh, boohoo. Cry me a river. A girl doesn’t like me back, wahh.” You mimic the sound of a crying baby, bringing your fists up to rub against your cheeks in the most exaggerated way possible. Then you drop the act, face deadpanning. 

His eyes narrow, and you think you’ve finally hit a nerve. Good. Let him stew in it. But instead of backing down, he does something you don’t expect— he turns, reaches out, and slams his palm against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a sudden halt, the hum of motion disappearing as the car freezes between floors.

Your eyes widen, a sharp spike of adrenaline shooting through you as the reality of the situation sets in. “What the hell, Javier?” You’re about to cuss him out, to let him know exactly what kind of shit he’s just gotten himself into, but before the words can leave your mouth, he takes two long, purposeful steps toward you.

Instinctively, you move back, the sudden intensity in his eyes sending warning signals through your brain. But there’s nowhere to go. You can’t escape the tight confines of the elevator, your back is pressed up against the cold metal railing. You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as his broad body looms over yours, trapping you in a way that leaves you feeling both furious and breathless.

He’s too close. His chest brushes against yours, and you can feel his gaze as it drags over your face, down your neck, and lower still, lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Any insult you were ready to hurl at him gets stuck in your throat. You hate how your pulse quickens, how your breath catches. You can feel every inch of him— solid muscle, tense with whatever storm is brewing behind those dark eyes. 

For a brief, dizzying moment, you forget to be mad. You forget that you’re supposed to dislike him, that he’s the last person you should let get under your skin like this but somehow is the only one who’s able to. All you can focus on is the way his breath fans across your cheek, the way the small space between you crackles with tension, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, making your pussy tingle in ways you wish it didn’t. “You think it’s easy for me to just... shrug it off? Because it’s not. Not when I keep thinking about you, and I don’t even fucking understand why.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that catches you off guard, making you pause to wonder if this really isn’t a game to him.

But you can’t let him see that. You can’t let him know how much he’s getting to you (even though he’s more than aware). So instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “And stopping the elevator? Trapping me in here with you? That’s your brilliant solution?”

“No,” he breathes, voice dropping to a near whisper as his face inches closer to yours. “But it’s the only way I could get you to stop running from me.” 

You hate how your stomach flips at his words. Hate how much you’re fighting against the instinct to lean into him instead of shoving him away. Every part of your body is screaming at you to tell him to fuck off and leave you the hell alone.

“Do you know what I think it is?” The words come out in a low, dangerous drawl, the kind that seems to wrap around your throat and squeeze. He leans in, crowding your space, eyes boring into you with an intensity that has your pulse skyrocketing. “I think you’re too fucking stubborn to let yourself have any fun. The idea of me fucking you is enticing, isn’t it?” His lips curl into a smirk, the kind that drips with arrogance and dark promises. “Could see it written all over your face that night at the hotel. That look in your eye while I was fucking Lexxie.”

His accusations slam into you, pulling up the exact moment you’ve been trying to bury. It should have been a professional gig, routine even, nothing personal… except that wasn’t the case. Not with the way he looked at you the entire time, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to react.

And, fuck, you had reacted. You felt the heat rise in your face, the way your body betrayed you as you stood behind the camera, mouth salivating, thighs pressing together.

“Javier…” You push at his chest, your hand meeting the hard wall of muscle beneath his shirt. The intent is to shove him back, to create some space between you. But the second your palm makes contact, it’s like the air shifts, and instead of moving him, it’s like you’ve anchored yourself to him.

Goddamn him. Goddamn you for your spineless ass, for not being able to follow through on resisting the temptation that he is.

He smirks wider, clearly reading the war going on behind your eyes. “You were shaking,” he continues, his voice a dark whisper that coils around your insides. “Damn near moaning while you watched me go down on her. Rubbing those thighs together while this pretty ass was in my face as she was sucking my cock.” 

His large hand snakes around you, catching you off guard, fingers gripping a handful of your ass and pulling you closer. Your body collides with his, and that’s when you feel it— his erection, hard and insistent, pressing into your stomach. The heat between you flares up to unbearable levels, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, every nerve ending in your body on high alert, buzzing with want.

“You’re delusional,” it’s breathless but you’re still determined to keep some semblance of control. You squirm in his grip, your body betraying your words, the friction making your mind tilt. “You just can’t stand the fact that, for once, a woman isn’t throwing herself at you. That I’m not kissing the ground you walk on or falling to my knees, ready to suck you off.”

His hold tightens briefly, pulling you even closer, and for a second, you wonder if you’ll be able to break free at all. It’s damn near impossible to ignore the ache building between your thighs at this point. But somehow, you manage to slip out of his grip, your body twisting away from his until you’ve backed yourself into the far corner of the elevator. 

You can’t breathe. Not properly, anyway. You’ve never felt so on edge, so exposed in such a small space. Every fiber of your being screams at you to keep your distance, to reassert control of the situation, but there’s a part of you— dangerous and impulsive— that wants to step right back into his arms.

Javier doesn’t move, but his eyes stay glued to you, watching your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. The elevator is still locked in place, a silent reminder that you’re trapped here with him until one of you decides to relent. His jaw clenches, and you think he’s going to say something cutting, something to tear you down. But instead, he surprises you.

“You’re right.” His voice is rough, but it carries a weight that’s different from the cocky arrogance he usually hides behind. “I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. There’s no smirk this time, no sarcastic bite. Just honesty, and it’s a fucking curveball.

You weren’t prepared for him to actually admit it. For once, he’s not trying to fuck with you, not trying to win.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You swallow hard, the weight of his confession making your heart leap out of your chest.

You don’t know what to say, so instead, you just stand there, staring at him, your body buzzing with a cocktail of adrenaline, lust, and confusion. Because as much as you want to dislike him, as much as you need to dislike him for your own sanity, you can’t deny the way your pussy responds to him. The way your mind keeps pulling you back to that night, to the way he made you feel without even touching you.

“Get over it,” you snap, cutting him off before he can sink any deeper into this conversation. You don’t need to entertain this further. It can’t happen, and it will never happen. The second you fall into bed with him, it’ll be game over. Javier Peña isn’t just a casual fuck— you know deep down he’d be the kind that wraps himself around your soul and doesn’t let go until he’s consumed every inch of you. 

The problem is, you’re terrified that you’ll let him. It’s why you’re so dead set on not giving in.

You cross your arms over your chest again, as if trying to shield yourself from the strength in his eyes, the way he seems to reach into your very core with just a look.

You try to focus on anything else— on the fact that you still need to get to the bank, then to your apartment, and finally to your bar shift. You don’t have time for this shit, for the endless back-and-forth with him.

But then he says your name.

The sound of it on his lips makes you close your eyes, every muscle in your body tensing. Damn him. It sounds so fucking sweet, almost reverent, and you know if you make the mistake of looking at him right now— if you see those beautiful, pleading brown eyes— you’ll fold.

He says your name again, softer this time, and the way his voice wraps around each syllable has your resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. “Please, just let me show you how good I can make you feel,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “Just one taste, nena, por favor.” 

And for the first time since you met Javier— he’s begging. You never imagined that he, of all people, would beg for anything. But here he is, his voice low and thick with desire, pleading with you to give him just one chance.

You blink your eyes open slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that have been ignited by his words. The synapses in your brain light up like fucking fireworks, each one triggering a new thought, a new possibility. There’s a moment— a split second— where you picture it.

You imagine his hands on your body, his lips trailing fire down your skin, his mouth between your legs. The image flashes so vividly, so intensely in your mind, that it steals the breath from your lungs. 

You can practically feel the way he’d elicit things you’ve been trying to suppress. Your legs go weak just thinking about it, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself, to remember who you are, what this is. 

But your cavewoman, horny brain betrays you— racing ahead, picturing every possible outcome. You can’t help but wonder how good it would feel to let him in, just once. How it would be to let him take control, to let him show you, like he’s promising, just how good he can make you feel. 

You’re already late getting to the bank. You should be focusing on that, on getting out of this damn elevator and away from him, but your body won’t cooperate. Every part of you is ablaze, screaming at you to just give in.

Javier’s standing there, staring at you with those chocolate eyes, his dark brows drawn together, pouty lips parted just slightly as he waits for you to say something. Anything. He’s laid it all out in front of you, leaving you to make the next move. And fuck, as much as you hate to admit it, you want to. You want to let him pull you into his world, even though you know it’ll consume you. You want to feel his hands on your skin, his mouth everywhere, his name slipping from your lips.

But you can’t. 

If you give in now, you’ll never be able to walk away from him, and you can’t afford to let yourself get tangled up in Javier Peña. He’s chaos wrapped in temptation, and once you let him in, there’s no turning back.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you try to hold on to the last shred of control you have. “Javier,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff, teetering between desire and self-preservation. The weight of his gaze presses down on you, and for a moment, you think you might just jump.

But then, with every ounce of willpower you have left, you take a shaky breath, shaking your head and breaking the spell he’s woven around you.

“No,” you say, the word barely above a whisper, but firm enough to anchor you back to reality.

His face falls, the fire in his eyes dimming just a little. You almost regret it, almost, but then you remember who he is. What he does. And you know you made the right choice, even if every part of you is berating otherwise.

You stand there, locked in a silent standoff, both of you doing a piss poor job of pretending like you don’t want to tear each other’s clothes off right here in the elevator. 

You’re hoping—no, praying— that he’ll finally let it go. That he’ll stop pushing, stop testing your resolve, and just leave you alone. You’re begging for him to go back to what he does best, to leave you to your job— both of them.

You break eye contact first, glancing down at your watch. You’re definitely not going to make it to your shift on time. Shit. You need to phone your boss and give him a heads up before this gets even worse. But right now, you can’t seem to focus, not with Javier standing there like a Roman statue, immovable and perfect, watching you with that infuriating intensity.

“Now, if you can get the elevator to take us down, I’d really appreciate it,” you say, but the words come out softer than you intended. You hate how small your voice sounds, like you’ve already lost the upper hand, and you mentally slap yourself for it. 

But he doesn’t budge. He just stands there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and it makes you want to scream. His gaze is piercing, boring holes into your entire existence, and it’s taking everything you have not to crumble beneath it.

“Do you really mean that?” He asks as he brings a hand up to smooth down his mustache. There’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips, like he already knows the answer. “Because everything about your body language is screaming otherwise.” 

When the fuck did he get so close again? He’s right there, towering over you, and suddenly the air between you feels impossibly thin.

“It’s my fuckin’ job to read a woman’s body,” he continues, his voice growing huskier with each word. “And you know what yours is telling me right now?”

Your pulse quickens, your heart slamming against your ribcage, and you can’t find the words to respond. You don’t trust yourself to speak— not when his presence is drowning you in your own body. 

He leans in, lips so close to your ear that his breath almost has you fainting. “It’s telling me that you want it.”

Your stomach flips, every nerve ending in your body coming alive as his curved nose barely grazes your skin. The touch is featherlight, but it sends electricity straight to your cunt. You grip the railing behind you like a lifeline, your knuckles flushed as goosebumps ripple across your skin. 

Javier’s smirk deepens, the asshole clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Stop fighting it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, his hand sliding down the length of your figure in a way that feels too natural, too right. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel…”

You should stop him. You should. But you don’t. You can’t. His hands are on you now, moving with a confidence that’s impossible to resist. One large hand finds its way to your tit, groping it gently through the thin fabric of your tank top, and you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it. Your body fails you, head falling back against the elevator wall, your chest arching into his touch. 

The way his hand moves, so sure, so practiced, has your resistance crumbling, piece by piece. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, peppering soft, teasing kisses along your sensitive skin. “Barely done a thing and you’re already gone.” 

Your mind is spinning, your resolve completely undone as you melt under his touch. Every kiss, every graze of his lips against your neck feels like it’s unraveling the last bit of control you have. His body is pressed up against yours, and you can feel his erection through his jeans again, the hard (pun intended) evidence of just how much he wants you.

God help you, it feels too good to resist.

You sigh, a low, breathy sound that’s equal parts surrender and relief. His lips trail lower, his hand still groping your breast, and you let him. You let him because you’ve been fighting this for too long, and right now, you just want to feel something. 

Javier grins against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he pulls you even closer, his voice hoarse in your ear. “Told you,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you wanted this.”

You don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given in, you’ll figure out how to pick up the pieces later, but right now? Right now, you’re letting yourself fall apart.

It’s like your whole body just deflates against his, sinking into the solid warmth of him as if all the fight has finally drained out of you. You’re giving him the green light, and he knows it. The grunt that escapes his throat is guttural, and you feel the weight of his palm pressing harder against your chest, his thumb and pointer finger expertly pinching your now hardened nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

“After this,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone.” His words are punctuated by a sharp tug at your nipple that sends a surge of arousal straight between your legs. Then his hand moves, sliding up to cradle your jaw with a surprising gentleness. He tilts your head so that your eyes meet his, forcing you to look at him— forcing you to really see him. “You have my word.”

You search his eyes, not entirely sure what you’re looking for— honesty, maybe? A hint of something real beyond the heat of the moment? Whatever it is, you can’t find the words to respond, so you just nod weakly, your breath bated. 

Javier smiles at that, a slow, predatory grin, and he leans in as if to kiss you. But you stop him, your hand pressing against his sternum with just enough force to halt him in his tracks.

“No kissing,” you say, your voice more resolute than you feel. “You said one taste, so get to it.” You’re setting boundaries, trying to keep some semblance of control in this situation. No kissing, no fucking— just head. That’s all this will be. He’ll get a taste of you, and you’ll finally get a taste of what all the hype is about. Then it’ll be over, and you’ll go your separate ways. That’s the deal.

His frown deepens, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features, like he’s not used to anyone telling him no in any capacity. But it’s brief, because he’s not about to take the proverbial bone you’ve thrown him for granted. He agrees in his own way, pivoting without protest, his mouth returning to your neck like he’s already forgotten the attempt to kiss you.

Now that the rules are clear, you allow yourself to let your guard down— just a little. It’s not like your sex life has been riveting lately, and truth be told, you can’t even remember the last time a partner went down on you willingly. At least you’re getting something out of this fucked-up little arrangement, and for now, that’s enough. 

He kisses and licks a line down your throat, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive flesh. You sigh, your breath hitching as you feel his hands roaming your body with a confidence that should piss you off but doesn’t. 

His rough palms map out your curves like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. He’s groping, squeezing, learning you in a way that makes you feel like you’re his personal discovery. 

The warmth of his breath, the skill in his movements— it’s intoxicating. You can’t help but respond, your hips shifting, your body bending instinctively toward him when one hand slides up under your shirt, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast.

He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. Too damn good. It’s almost like he’s a fucking pornstar.

You hate that you’re enjoying it so much, hate that you’re already melting under his touch like some lovesick fool.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs against your skin, feeling the nerves radiating off of you. 

His touch lingers as he reaches the button on your denim shorts, undoing it with a flick of his fingers before pulling down the zipper, slow and deliberate.

“You and these damn shorts…” you hear him say, more to himself than to you. His voice is gruff, frustrated, like he’s been waging a silent battle against his own restraint. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down over your hips, watching as the fabric slides off your skin. You step out of them, standing there in nothing but your underwear, top and sneakers, exposed in ways you hadn’t intended to be when you walked into that office earlier today.

His brows shoot up, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Of course, it’s laundry day. Of course, you’re left wearing your least practical pair of underwear— this skimpy, lacy purple number you hardly ever break out. The delicate string disappears between the cheeks of your ass, and the sheer front does little to conceal the soft tuft of hair just below your navel. 

And he’s drinking it all in.

“Fuckin’ hell, nena,” he breathes, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lust. His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and hungry. “You always walkin’ around like this?” His hands grip your hips, and before you can even formulate a response, he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, taking his sweet ass time, like this is some kind of worship.

“No, I—” Your voice is breathy, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “I had to do laundry today…” It’s all you can manage, barely coherent as his lips begin pressing soft, teasing kisses to the inside of your knee.

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, steadying you, his fingers gripping your thigh with enough pressure to leave you keening. You brace yourself against the elevator railing, your body tense with anticipation, your mind a chaotic swirl of logic and lust. You barely notice as the check you came here for flutters to the floor beside you, forgotten.

Don’t forget to deposit that, the reasonable part of your brain chimes in, but you tell that bitch to shut up because Javier Peña is currently on his knees in font of you, about to take you on the ride of your fucking life, and you’re nowhere near strapped in.

His head is tilted up, lips brushing dangerously close to where you want him most, and all rational thought is slipping through your fingers like sand.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes glinting with something wicked, and your breath catches again. You don’t know how to feel about any of this anymore. There’s a line you swore you wouldn’t cross, but now that he’s right there, so close to giving you what you’ve craved for longer than you care to admit, it’s hard to remember why you drew that line in the first place.

Javier’s lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and a quiet moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks against your skin, his fingers tracing a slow path up your leg, sending shivers coursing through you. “Relax, bonita,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I’ll take care of you.”

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop teasing, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale as his hands part your thighs wider, positioning you exactly how he wants you. His grip is firm, possessive, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll survive whatever it is he’s about to do to you.

You don’t even have time to dwell on the thought before his mouth is on you, lips pressing a lingering kiss over the thin fabric of your panties. The sudden pressure sends a shockwave through your body, and your eyes fall closed, surrendering to the moment. His tongue teases the fabric, nudging against your already soaked cunt, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the lace. He hums low in his throat, savoring the first taste of you.

“These are so pretty. Don’t think I’ll take ’em off.”

He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to him completely. The cool air hits your slick folds, a contrast to the heat of his breath as he hovers just inches away. He’s staring, taking you in, and when he curses under his breath, it’s like he’s caught off guard by how badly he wants this. Wants you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as he drags his nose up and down the length of your wet slit. The touch is maddeningly light, just enough to make you clench involuntarily, your body reacting without permission. More of your slick leaks out of your pussy, a response to the subtle stimulation, and you grip the elevator railing tighter to keep yourself from falling with how weak your knees get.

Javier flattens his tongue, delivering a slow, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like your entire body ignites at once. You throw your head back, a ragged cry of his name ripping from your throat as your hips buck instinctively, searching for more of him, more of that friction that feels like pure electricity.

He’s not done, though. Not even close. One hand snakes around your thighs, strong and sure. His middle and pointer fingers spread you open, forming an upside-down V, and then he does something so filthy, so perfectly Javier— he spits directly onto your exposed pussy.

The sound alone could get you off, but the sensation is something else entirely. His saliva mixes with your slick, making everything wetter, hotter, and you feel like you’re unraveling before he’s even truly begun. A series of high-pitched moans spill from your lips as he latches his mouth onto your cunt, sucking and licking with a precision that has your entire being quaking.

Lips, tongue, teeth—he’s using everything he has, dragging you deeper into a haze of pleasure where nothing exists but the heat coiling in your belly, tightening with every flick. He’s devouring you, utterly relentless, and it’s too much but not enough, all at once. Every nerve ending is on fire, your thighs trembling as you fight to keep your balance. His grip on your leg tightens, keeping you locked in place, helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling back for just a moment, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. His face is glistening, covered in your arousal, but his eyes are dark and hungry, never straying from your face. “With noises like that and a pussy this pretty— you’d be a fucking sight on camera.”

His words send another jolt through you, dirty and wrong and so fucking hot that you nearly forget how to breathe. He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving faint marks in his wake, before diving back in with that skilled tongue of his. He’s a man with something to prove, alternating between broad strokes and tight circles, zeroing in on your fleshy clit with a precision that makes your head spin.

It’s obscene, the way he’s working you over, all these years spent perfecting this art, but there’s a rawness to it too, a desperation like he can’t get enough of you. You’re soaked, dripping onto his face, and he laps it up like a man starved, the sounds of his mouth slurping against your wetness filling the small space around you. Your moans are louder now, more desperate, each one pushing you closer to that edge where you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

His fingers tighten on your thigh again, and then he’s dragging them lower, inching toward your entrance as his tongue flicks mercilessly against your clit. When he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you nearly scream. The combination of his mouth and his fingers is enough to send you spiraling, your legs trembling uncontrollably as you arch into him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts when he pulls away to get a good look at your beautiful face and how you look when he’s making you feel like you’re on top of the world. It’s enough to get him to latch onto your clit, sucking on it harshly.

“God, Javier,” you gasp, your voice shaky, barely coherent. You can’t think, can’t form any rational thought, not with the way he’s pulling you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the pleasure.

“Let go,” he growls against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your core. “I’ve got you, nena. Just let go.” 

And with that, the dam breaks. You’re coming hard, hips jerking wildly as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for a second, working you through it with that relentless mouth until you’re gasping for air, hands clenching at the railing so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped. 

Your vision blurs, your mind goes blank, and all you can do is hold on as Javier takes you on the ride of your life, just like you knew he would.

You don’t know how long it takes you to come back into your body after letting him take the reins for a little. You’re trembling, legs weak and body heavy against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s still on his knees, knuckle-deep inside you, lazily curling them as if savoring every last second.

His mouth trails soft, teasing kisses across your soaked panties, and the tenderness of the act startles you, nearly pulling you under again. But then he withdraws his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with an almost obscene groan, tasting you one last time as if to commit your flavor to memory. He carefully adjusts your underwear back into place.

Javier stands to his full height, your leg falling from his shoulder, towering over you. His hand comes to rest lightly on your waist as if to steady you. “You okay?”

You nod, though your bones feel like jelly. Your eyes stay closed as you try to gather yourself, forcing yourself back into reality, back into the woman who doesn’t fold like a house of cards for her co-worker. You bend down to retrieve your shorts and check from the floor, fingers fumbling with the zipper as you button yourself back up. He presses the button to resume the elevator, the gears shifting as you’re slowly carried back to the main floor. 

And just like that, it hits you. It happened. You’ve came on Javier’s tongue and fingers. You swore it wouldn’t— swore up and down that he was nothing more than a nuisance at work, a distraction you wouldn’t let get to you. But here you are, post-orgasm, in a goddamn public elevator, of all places, with the man who was supposed to be just a headache.

“Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again,” you mutter, trying to summon the biting edge to your words, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

Javier just smirks, that infuriating glint back in his eyes like he already knows better, but he doesn’t push it. Not now.

The elevator doors slide open with a sharp ding, and the scene before you is worse than any nightmare you could’ve concocted in the heat of the moment. Two firefighters, the building manager, and— of course because why the hell not— Steve Murphy are standing there with varying degrees of shock and amusement.

You can see the moment Steve takes it all in— your flushed cheeks, the slightly mussed state of your clothes, Javier standing just a bit too close to you. His blue eyes narrow, then widen, and then he breaks into a shit-eating grin so wide you could slap it right off his face.

“Well, well, well,” Steve drawls, barely containing his laughter. “What do we have here?”

Your stomach sinks. Not again. 

Javier, ever the cocky bastard, simply raises an eyebrow and slides his hands into his pockets, all cool nonchalance like he hasn’t just been between your thighs minutes earlier. “Just crapped out on us randomly,” he says smoothly, and you want to strangle him for the audacity.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as if he’s in on some big joke that only you and Javier are the punchline for. And as you step past him, cheeks burning, all you can think is that this will never, ever happen again.

But even as you repeat it to yourself, a small part of you— the part still buzzing from the memory of Javier’s mouth— wonders if you’re lying.

[lvverleavr]

Mutually Exclusive | Entry One

Entry One: Memories Relived

༘ Jake x f oc (Annalise)

༘2.7k words

༘warnings: language, illusions to sex

A/N: This is a first chapter to test the waters on if I should carry out a full fic of this so I'd love any feedback 🤍

Summary: In an ongoing letter to Annalise, Jake tells the perspective of his early adult life— living out his dream with his brothers and her seemingly always by his side. But when the band gets signed to a record label based out of Nashville, Anna struggles with the ability to pack up and leave. With a complicated dynamic by the day his flight leaves, Jake outlines his struggles and worries from the day he left Anna. All things that flood back the moment she shows up out of nowhere three years later.

Entry One:

I vividly remember the first time I met you, you’re barely your own person at fourteen but you were already so– you. Josh had joined the theater club and he couldn’t shut up about you. He went on and on for hours about how you jumped on stage, singing when you were told to sing and even crying with real tears on command. It didn’t take long for me to be captivated by you as well– usually I found the best reason to be out of the house when Josh had the theater group over for practices but once you began to tag along, my social life seemed to free up.

These run ins seemed to be more frequent– you quit the theater club after your first year but you never stopped coming around. Your mother rarely left her bed much past getting a glass of water and your father worked himself to death by the time you were sixteen. Our house quickly became yours too and I never minded, you stayed up even later than me and you spoke in your sleep– I could hear it through the walls when the guest bedroom slowly became entirely yours to decorate, filling it with posters of Jeff Buckley and Stevie Nicks until nearly every inch of the wallpaper had disappeared. My younger brother began to tease me for how much time I spent with you– claiming it was some hopeless crush I had, chasing after a girl who had no idea I was infatuated with her, it made me wonder at times if he saw something that even I didn’t see. Even with the comments they never seemed to phase me, never seemed to shutter the bond that you and I had created. I was really locked in on the band once we hit our senior year, convincing Josh to dedicate a few days a week to the garage and even picking Sam and his best friend Danny up early from school some Fridays for gigs without our mom knowing. You always took our pictures, claiming if we were gonna be a good band we needed some half decent shots. My father lent you his old camera and you became our very own band photographer. Still to this day we’ll all agree that you were just finding a way to feel included on nights we had gigs. By the time we graduated I couldn’t imagine having anyone else behind the stage with us.

We even went to the same school after graduation, you stayed on campus to live out some 2000’s college girl movie dream but I stayed back home and drove to campus each morning. College bars paid us $200 a night for playing from eleven until three am and we took as many as we could get. I promised my parents I’d stay in school while we played, giving me some form of plan b I never intended on using but it was either that or she’d stop letting us take Sam into bars for our shows. Small dive bars at two am quickly turned into real gigs all around town, soon we felt like a real band with a direction being paved for us. Those memories have always been accompanied by the last semester I ever enrolled in.

•••

We moved you back into your dorm, the ice still covered the walkway as we carried the rest of your boxes inside the old building– smelling of damp carpeting and old heat units. You always needed more than you packed and it drove Josh insane every year.

“You have a kitchen, why do you need a second fridge for your bedroom–” He mumbles, trudging up towards the flight of stairs.

“I don’t know my roommate, I don’t want her stealing my drinks while I’m sleeping,” You shrug, swiftly cutting past him and down a small hallway, Josh turning to look at me as I meet him with a matching shrug.

He glances down, watching you tap an elevator button with your elbow which causes him to shake his head, “could’ve told me there was a fucking elevator for our first four trips up to your room,” He mumbles under his breath, looking over his shoulder as I pass, offering a gently pat on his arm before sliding past.

“I thought you knew!” You say defensively as I watch a small smirk spread on your lips. “There’s a big sign when you first walk in that even says it.”

Josh opened his mouth for a rebuttal, quickly clamping it shut with another shake of his head and tapping the third floor button. I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, Josh’s gaze shooting to me immediately “What are you laughing at Jake?” He snaps, “All you’re carrying is a comforter, you wanna switch?”

I shrug, dropping the comforter by his feet before holding out my arms, grabbing the small fridge from his arms. “You’re a real complainer nowadays,” I say out to him as the elevator doors open, making my way down the hall first to see your apartment door open, “I thought you said you closed this,” I call back to Josh, the two of you trailing behind me.

“I did!” He calls out, “Maybe it's the wind.”

“No wind!” A voice called from inside the door, I took the first few steps in, noticing a set of boxes sat on the couch right inside the door. A short girl rounded from the small kitchenette, she held a grocery bag in her hand and her tight brown curls were pulled back by an old faded bandana. “Are you… my roommate?” She asks skeptically, smiling as I meet her with a quick denial.

“No sorry I’m– um– just helping with the move–” I explain, watching you round the corner.

“I’m your roommate,” You smile, extending your hand out from underneath the box. “I’m Annalise but you can call me Anna.”

The girl smiles, shaking your hand before shaking mine and Josh’s, “Juliet–” She replies, “and you are?” She asks, her gaze lingering on me a beat longer than anyone else.

The eye contact caused my cheeks to heat up slightly as if on their own, “Right. I’m Jake-” I introduce myself, her fingers slowly grazing my palm as she pulls away from the shake.

“Lovely to meet you…” She smiles, turning her attention back to you, “Especially you, Anna– I took the liberty of loading my stuff into the smaller room, had a feeling you already set up in the bigger one.”

I could feel your eyes on me as her touches seemed to linger on my skin, you rolled your eyes at me slightly before finally turning your attention back to what she was saying. “I’ll just be setting up all my stuff just let me know if you need me,” You smiled to her, Josh and I following closely behind you. “Do not even think about it.” You said to me the moment the door closed. I could barely put down the things in my hand before feeling your scowl on me.

“What are you talking about-” I ask, Josh giggling as he sat up on your bed, taking the liberty to rip open a few boxes while you stayed focused on me.

“I saw her looking at you. Do not under any circumstances try to fuck my new roommate.” Your gaze narrowed, pulling a box from my hands and taking it into your own.

“Who said I wanted to!” I ask defensively. You weren't wrong, she intrigued me to say the least but was it really that bad of a thing?

“Because I know you. Don’t do it” You warn, “I have to live with her for the rest of the year. I do not need to put up with hearing about you like that for the next five months.”

“She kind of looks like you a little” Josh chimes in as he picks through the box of snacks he very thoughtfully chose to open first.

“Ew no c’mon don’t say that” I groan, shaking my head. He was right, her hair was the exact same color, her eyes shone the same shade of green and even her smile had a slight crook to it like yours did.

“No Josh you’re absolutely right and you know what Jacob I hope it ruins it for you” You bite, tossing your comforter from the floor and onto the bed beside Josh.

“Whatever okay” I roll my eyes, watching as you open up another box “I'm not that terrible to hear about, don't act like i'm horrible.”

•

Those next few weeks I crashed on your couch between classes, even spending nights there after late Sunday gigs. It was better than driving back and forth to the house and Juliet never seemed to mind. One club had a standing gig with us on the first Sunday of the month, we played the last set of the night and we even started getting a regular crowd to show up and see us. It was small but had a real backstage, it felt like the real deal to us. “I’m not even here stop looking at me,” You giggled, waving Josh off as he kept glancing into the camera lens. “Jake you're next-”

Your voice was faint, my focus on the conversation I was having with Juliet as she tagged along for the night. Her hair was down, draped over her shoulders and it framed the heart shaped neckline of her top. I wish I could say I barely noticed how low cut it was but that would be a lie and she knew it. “No, I never really get the chance to go out to shows. I'm really excited to see you out there.” She smiles, leaning against the beam running floor to ceiling beside one of the curtains.

“The real show is from the front, you should make your way out to the floor to see.” I smile, feeling her fingers brushing my arm. She didn’t even hide that she was flirting with me and at one point I stopped caring and started flirting back.

“Jake-” You repeat, pulling me from my conversation as I look over.

“My turn?” I ask, still feeling Juliet’s eyes wandering across the features of my face as you nod. “Don’t move, hm?” I smile at her, offering a small wink before walking over to you. “Alright where do you want me?”

“Just go fix your hair in the mirror, I need more candid stuff” You say, your tone flattening from what I heard you using with Josh.

“You don't have to get all weird,” I mumble, taking my fingers to gently rake them through my hair. “It's harmless flirting,” You don't reply, the click of your camera is all I can hear, so I keep talking, “Even if something happens you don't have to know about it-”

“Stop talking your messing up the shot,” You finally say, and all I can do is sigh in response. “You can do whatever you want, I just don't need to hear about you two if it happens.” You continue after a few moments of silence, “it's gross.”

I can't help but chuckle, rolling my eyes “You're so dramatic.” Finally turning to look at you, “Like I didn’t have to hear about that god awful sociology TA you had ‘sexual tension’ with all last year.”

You grab a pillow from the small chair in the room, throwing it at me as I start to laugh. “We did, he wanted me and that's why I passed with a 97 on my exam. You're just gonna take the only friend I made here and fuck her.”

I roll my eyes, “You can be friends with her and I can fuck her, they’re not mutually exclusive.”

•

I spent that night on the couch, Juliet leaving for her own bedroom not long before you went to bed as well. I shifted on the couch, finally settling in before needing to shift again. It must've been near two am by the time I felt sleep crowding my vision, jolting back awake to the quiet sound of a door knob twisting open. The soft light from Juliet’s bedroom filled the space just inside the living room, enough for my eyes to adjust to her outline, she glanced at me, offering me a small smile as she noticed I was awake. “Did I wake you up?” She whispers softly, I shake my head in response, “Oh good-” Her eyes linger on me for a moment before making her way past me to the kitchen. I couldn't help but watch as she passed, the warm light outlined her silhouette, her shorts barely covered to her thighs and her shirt lifted up her stomach slightly as she reached into the cabinet for a glass.

“It’s very rude to stare,” I hear her whisper, my cheeks warming slightly as I realize she noticed my lingering stares.

“Oh um I’m-” I start, noticing a smile on her lips as she looks at me.

“I don't mind,” She replies, filling the glass halfway with water before leaning against the counter. Her fingers gripped the edge of it as she brought the glass to her lips. I sat up further, seeing her rested against the counter as she looked at me from over the back of the couch. “Anna didn't seem too happy that you were flirting with me tonight.” She says after a few moments of silence. “You two have something going on?”

I can't help but laugh, quickly clearing my throat to cover it up “Sorry no… no nothing,” I correct her, shaking my head, “She just doesn't wanna hear if something happens… The girls she’s friends with and the girls I date aren't allowed to mix apparently.”

She nods, setting her glass on the counter before stepping towards me. “It doesn't matter though if she doesn't know they mix,” she smiles, “right?” She was standing at the arm of the couch by now and I couldn't seem to pull my eyes away from her, all I could muster up was a small nod. “I’m just saying I’m not one to kiss and tell…”

I sat up the rest of the way, allowing her to sit in front of me on the couch. “You're not one to be subtle are you?” I finally ask, watching as she rests her elbow on the back of the couch, shaking her head as she rests it on her palm.

“I’m not… But then again you're not very subtle yourself” She smiles, watching my eyes trail to your bedroom door. “She's not gonna wake up… We both know that.” She says softly, my attention turning back to her as I feel her fingers graze my knee. Everything in those next moments felt like a blur, a sped up memory and before I could think her lips were on mine. My hand cupped her jaw as her lips pressed to mine, parting slightly as her tongue slid past my lips and dipped into my mouth. My thumb circled her jaw softly as my other hand dropped to her hip, my teeth gently tugging at her bottom lip which pulled a quiet moan from her. My mind swirled as I continued to kiss her, my lips were sore but I craved to taste her even more.

“We should stop” She whispers against my lips, I nod and kiss her harder and she gently tugs at my hair. “Or you can come in my bedroom-” Her words fell from her lips in nearly a whimper, I nodded eagerly, barely able to stand and follow her to her room before I kissed her again.

The night with her came in flashes, the sheer impulsivity of the decision stayed in my mind in bits and pieces but the most I could remember was waking up the next morning. She laid beside me, the blanket covering her bare chest as the sun just barely lit up parts of the room. I knew I wasn't supposed to be in there but I barely remembered even falling asleep beside her. I slid on my shorts quietly, slipping out of her room in an attempt to make my way back to the couch before you left your room, but stopping dead in my tracks as you stood in the kitchen.

“Anna-” I whisper. I don't know why the sight of you had me frozen in place, like I was caught in some terrible act. You glanced up at me, looking me over for only a moment before picking up your mug and walking into your bedroom without another word.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

*LEAPS INTO ASKBOX* okay, for a potential idea could we please have Cardinal Copia with feisty Dewdrop agere? Dew is feeling around 5-6 but very sleepy and bratty. He just needs someone who is patient and a tad bit stern :')

anon bc i'm shy about these things but obvious mutual emoji so you know who it is

-🧃

Send some agere/regressed ghoul requests

It had been a long day. Travelling all day to a new venue, then playing a show, then getting back on the bus to move on to the next venue had been exhausting. All the ghouls were tired. Copia could see the tiredness in their faces, hell, he could feel it in his own, the heaviness in his eyes. But one ghoul in particular he could see the exhaustion on more than the others.

He been watching Dew fight sleep for the last twenty minutes now. He watched as the little ghouls eyes would droop until they were almost closed before his head would jerk back and he’d wake up abruptly. As determined as Dew seemed to be to finish the film the ghouls had picked out to watch for the evening, there was only so many times Copia could watch him struggle like this.

He made his was over to him, kneeling in front of him and placing a gentle hand on his knees. Dew jumps and makes an annoyed squeak, glaring down at Copia.

“Wha’ was tha’ for?” He slurs, slow blinking at him.

“I think it’s time you went to bed, little one.” Copia whispers, trying not to disturb the other ghouls.

Dew pouts at him, frowning in a way Copia thinks might be him trying to intimidating but he looks more like an angry kitten. “M not little, I’m big.”

“Oh yes, of course. My bad.” Copia puts on a serious voice, trying his hardest not to giggle when Dew yawns. “But I still think it’s time for bed, even for big ghouls like you.”

Dew rubs his eye with his fist, yawning again. “But I’m watchin’.” He lazily points to the tv, yawning again. “The films.”

Copia can’t help but chuckle then, watching as Dew blinks hard trying to stay awake.

“Do you even know the plot of the film at this point.”

Dew frowns at him again and the image of an angry kitten pops into Copias head again. “Uh huh. S’ got people in it. And a dragon.” He blinks in confusion. “Or maybe it’s just a big lizard.”

Copia laughs as he stands, grimacing when his knees crack at the shift of weight.

“Definitely time for bed.” He hold a hand out expecting Dew to take it but he bats it away with a glare.

“Nooooo.” Dew pouts up at him. “Don’t wanna. Not even tired.”

A full belly laugh bubbles from Copia before he can even stop it. “I know that’s a lie, little one. I’ve watched you try not to fall asleep for the last twenty minutes now.”

Dew huffs and crosses his arms across his chest.

“No you haven’t.”

“Oh, but I have. I know you’ve been tired all day, so now it’s time to sleep.” Copia holds his hand out again for Dew to take.

Dew whines and pouts, shaking his head. Copia rolls his eyes at his typical fire chill stubbornness.

“I’ll give you two options. You can either take your own little butt off to bed.” Copia pauses, waiting for Dew to answer. He doesn’t. “Or, I’ll pick you up and carry you to bed.” Knowing how much Dew usually hates being carried, he expects the ghoul to jump straight up and rush always.

To his surprise however, Dew takes a second to think about it, biting his lip as he does. He eventually looks up at Copia with wide puppy eyes.

“Up.” He lifts his arms up, making grabby hand at him.

Copia feels his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Up? Are you sure?” He asks warily, not wanting to get ripped to shreds by ghoul claws.

Dew pouts at him, and nods. “Up!”

Copia doesn’t hesitate scooping the little ghoul up then, letting Dew wrap his legs around his waist and rest his head in his shoulder. He carries him off towards where the bunks are as Dew purrs into his neck.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” Dew whispers.

Copia hums, rubbing a hand down Dews back. “Of course, little one. Whatever you want.”

Dew perks up a little a that promise. “Will you rub my belly?”

Copia laughs, expecting a request like that from Dew. “Of course.” He presses a kiss to Dews temple. “Anything you want.”

Dew lets out a happy but very sleepy chirp into his neck. He’s fast asleep, snoring on Copias shoulder before they even make it to his bed.

[rumor-imbris]

Solstice day 2023

My dearest readers, mutuals, followers, friends Sorry for leaving very few traces of me on here lately but my absence. My heart feels very heavy and now that this year is heading towards its end I felt the need to lighten it a bit, as much as I can.

This year started badly and ended worse. From the beginning I had to struggle with my mental health, personal issues, fears, insecurities, phobias and constant self-doubt; always pushing myself to find the strength to live on my own height, in my job, in my passions and hobbies, to be good at everything I do, to be someone, anyone, to be perfect. And if I'm not, then it's a reason to ask myself what's wrong.

I achieved some goals, little ones. Giant ones for somebody, never big enough to me, but I keep on trying. I try to keep on trying. I thought I could save the year... stepping on the path to face my deepest fears, being impeccable at the last audition, starting to write down anything of the dreamed novel sleeping in my mind... But then a new hole swallowed me, striking from under my feet unexpectedly.

Yesterday I lost my little ginger joy, my beloved prince, my furry friend, comfort, a piece of my soul. My cat Lucifero (Lu for almost everybody) was 11 years and 4 months old and was majestically beautiful. He suffered from a renal failure which turned very serious in a few days, until his kidneys became totally inactive. We had to euthanize him to stop his sufferings, for he wasn't able to eat, drink or even stand on his paws anymore. It was the worst thing I ever did in my life, one of the most painful moments my memory got marked with. I was forced to take that decision for his own good, helped by the great kindness and clarity from the veterinarian stuff who guided me during the whole heartbreaking procedure. Even my parents, who took care of Lu since I went to live elsewhere, are in such pain and can't believe it.

Still I wonder if I did a big mistake, if I do deserve to live while he is in the ground now, if I do deserve to breathe since I was the one who allowed to make his breath cease...

I cry all my tears still, my pain has come to know a new unknown depth and I sincerely say that I hate life, for beginning and for ending the way it does. This carousel of night and day, give and take, live and die, eat and be eaten really made me tired. Dead tired. And the most beautiful things, the most beloved wither as frail flowers, while I keep walking, rot inside.

I don't know what the new year will take, I just know I have this march to continue, with a heavier heart weighing me down... and I cannot stop, for those I love. When I kissed my baby Lu goodbye, I promised him we'll be together again as atoms shining in the same bright star someday, and I believe we will.

I hope I didn't sadden you guys too much, and I'm sorry for such a gloom post; but I think it's fair from me, especially for those of you who were gently waiting for new posts, to say that I might take a hiatus time and not be around for a while. At least, until inspiration comes back igniting me again, as Ratonhnhaké:ton still fills my dreams and heartbeats.

Until then, Happy Holidays; wish you the greatest opportunities and joys for the new coming year. Be strong, whatever you all are going through, whatever demon you're fighting, outside or inside of you. I root for you.

Take care

Yours truly

Rumor Imbris

[frigid-moon-fall]

Hmm... Tonight, I'm remembering the ice cream scene, where Stahn takes a third option.

I hope it was some kind of foreshadowing.

With every day closer that TOD2's patch gets, my anxiety grows.

I'll put this under a read-more, just in case. Again, I don't know what actually goes on in TOD2, but I know some contextless facts, and this is ranting about the possibilities regarding one of those facts. So like. Pseudo-spoilers?

So, I know some kind of time fuckery ends up happening. I almost avoided this spoiler. I could have been ignorant to it even with all these little Rays comics sort of almost referencing it. But I made the grave mistake of wanting to listen to every NORMAL battle theme of the series, and the track titles spoil it. :\

Anyway. I'm worried that the game is going to pull the trope that "some things are inevitable" or "necessary". That we'll be staring an important event like Leon's death (or Stahn's death? I don't know the truth about that yet) in the face, fully able to stop it, and someone's going to say no. Someone's going to say it needs to be this way.

And the name of the game is Tales of DESTINY. Leon's theme always has the word "fate" in it for every iteration. I get that. But I'm going back to Proust again. In Proust, Leon accepts that everything that's been happening to him is just his fate, and that it's not worth fighting it. But he sees everyone around him fighting what he considers their fate, and he admires that. In that continuity, he doesn't really get to fight what he considers his fate. He kind of does in the end where he really doesn't like the party's struggle against Mictlan being called fate, so much so that he actually revives to go help them. I think that's a ridiculous thing to write, even more ridiculous than the PSX game's literal zombie Leon. But I will accept with open arms the notion that he finally had the resolve to fight fate.

And now a left turn to Director's Cut, which gave us the line, "No matter how many times I'm reborn, I'll always make this choice." And that sounds damning, but it's also untrue. Yes, he always picks Marian above all else, but the way he gets there and the way he treats the party is different in most adaptations. In the original, he's regretful but goes out of his way to try and make the party angry enough to fight him with all they have, and continues even after he's lost. In the first manga, he's silent, sad, and does the bare minimum. In the original drama CD, he's all business and fights to the bitter end. In the second manga, he also intentionally angers the party, but would have accepted help after losing if not for the explosion cutting them off. In Director's Cut, he's silent but desperate, then sacrifices himself to get the party out. In Tales of the Rays, the situation he's put in perfectly mirrors the one he's in in Destiny proper. Marian is held hostage, he works for the villain with the promise that she'll be safe, and he fights Stahn for her sake. But he stands down and he accepts help in Rays. He's cornered again shortly after that, and he still chooses Stahn's side even when Marian's safety is no longer guaranteed. Stahn takes his place sacrificing himself in Rays, but Leon does come back for him and saves him, and they all get out together, and later they have a fully animated scene together, the two of them, about mutually helping each-other and having faith in each-other. I know Rays is like the furthest thing from canon, but it's still demonstrable proof that no, he will not always make the same choice, and his fate is not absolute. It does not have to be.

Now, back to Tales of Destiny 2 and its time travel and my fear for it. I'm scared that they'll insist some things need to happen, and that Judas will agree, or even be the one to say it, and I don't believe that that meshes with the arc that Leon's character should take. He really should be someone who has grown to fight the fate that he resented, and he can do so while saying the same words. He can say, "I'll always make the same choice", and forsake whatever assured path is laid out for them in favor of an unknown that he'll selfishly take and grasp. Whether that's letting himself be saved 18 years ago, or saving Stahn. He can do it selfishly, at the possible cost of everything, just like he did with Marian, just that this time he's placing faith in an unknown future instead of one he already knows is doomed whether he succeeds or fails.

That's how I believe it should go, and I am really scared that it's not even going to be a nuanced subversion of that, but literally the opposite of that. And the sad part is that they could have both, technically. He could fight fate, and the party fights him because they're the ones who believe in fate, and he'll lose and not get the chance to see if he could have changed things. And it could be infuriating for him and breed all kinds of resentment and self-loathing for not being strong enough.

UghhhhhHHHHHHH I HATE THIS. I'm getting mad at things that I don't even know about!! I don't want TOD2 to ruin my enjoyment the way so many sequels do. I don't want to let it, but it's not like I'll have a choice in how I feel about whatever happens. I can talk all I want about how canon doesn't matter and we're free to disregard it and make up whatever we want, but that doesn't mean I'll actually feel it strongly enough in my heart to keep delightedly splashing around in this tiny puddle of fandom.

I don't even want to tag this one, really.

[islawritesmegumi]

Prompt: One act of kindness was all it took for him to realize he’s in love with you.

Pairing: MSBY boys x gn!reader

A/N: unedited and rushed, I know, but I needed to get this out of my system before I take off for final szn ಥ_ಥ

“Kou, hurry up and take your bento. You’re going to be late for practice!” you shouted at the man who was still in the confines of your room.

“Coming,” he yelled as he struggled to put on his sweatpants. He took his duffel bag and immediately made his way to the kitchen. He was greeted by the sight of you wearing the apron he gifted you as you worked your magic on the lunch boxes. 

It was a normal sight for him. Eight months of being together in which the last two months consisted of him sleeping at your place was enough to get used to the domesticity you granted. You complained, of course, but Bokuto was a man with ruthless persistence-- he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted. Reason why he got you too. 

But Bokuto was used to you making two lunch boxes only so he was confused to see a green bento box he hasn’t seen before. 

“Babe, are you seeing someone else other than me?” Bokuto wasn’t Bokuto without his dramatic speech. 

“No.” 

“Then, why are you making three?” he pouted. Your boyfriend will sulk regardless of the time of the day and now, at 6:00 AM in the morning, were one of the times he chose to mope. 

“Who are they? Do they satisfy you like I do? Huh? I am stronger, I am the bestest, there’s no one that can possible be better than me,” there he goes with his litany. You rolled your eyes and pushed him away in front of the last box you were finishing up. 

“Oh, now you’re pushing me,” he ‘guilt-tripped’ you. You chuckled and kissed his cheeks to somehow ease the nerves of the love of your life. 

“Sorry, baby. Can you grab me those apple slices?” Bokuto then reached his arms to take the apples and slid it to you. 

“Hmm, hope he’ll like it,” you muttered but Bokuto still heard. 

“Aha, it’s a he,” he crossed his arms in front of you but you ignored it and just told him the story. 

“I have this kid in class. Always goes to the bathroom or sleeps when it’s time for lunch. I talked to him yesterday and he said that his mom doesn’t have enough money to give him snacks for school. Kid only eats breakfast and dinner. And I just couldn’t stand seeing the poor kid hold his stomach as if he was preventing anyone from hearing how hungry he was. I gave him money yesterday but he refused so, I just figured I’ll make him a lunchbox. I’ll say the strongest and bestest person made it for him,” your heart broke remembering how the kid looked. 

How he bit his lip as he stared at his classmates’ lunch then bowing his head to prevent the loud grumbles of his stomach. How his teary eyes looked at you when he told his story and how skinny he felt when he hugged you. You promised yourself you would help him the best way you knew how. 

Bokuto stared at you in amazement. At this point, it felt like his feelings weren't mere infatuation anymore. It felt like the jar that contained his emotions were now overflowing and he knew it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. And he had been thinking about it for a couple of months now yet it was always blocked by the priorities he set in his life. 

Now as he watched you finish up with a soft smile on your face, he realized he wouldn’t keep coming back to you if he wasn’t in love with you. Maybe he had already been feeling this way and he turned a blind eye because he felt underserving of your love. Bokuto discarded all of the negativity-- even if he wasn’t deserving, he will work hard to deserve you.

And his feelings now resembled spring-- his love and acceptance bloomed like the flowers and leaves. Although, he was still unsure of the mutuality, he was ready to embrace the warmth and occasional coldness. And as the sun continued to shine more, his feelings will follow suit to shower you with the love he had been keeping.

He went closer to you and hugged your frame. He couldn’t explain the fullness of his heart, freshness of his mind and how at peace his whole body was. He planted a kiss on your temples and said those three words for the first time ever, “I love you.” 

“Babe, delivery!” Atsumu called out to you from the living room. You were in his room, tidying up the clothes he needed for training. It wasn’t your job, really, but you wanted to do it for him anyway. There were things that Atsumu couldn’t do and you loved it because that means you get to do it for him making Atsumu feel beyond grateful. 

“Yeah, just a sec,” you replied, picking up the last pair of sock and putting it in his closet. You made your way into the living room and sanitized the products you bought. 

“Didn’t know you’re still into childish stuff,” he teased you when you grabbed the colouring books and several wrapping papers and put it into the table in the living room. 

“Dummy, it’s not for me,” you retorted. You grabbed the little papers you cut up and proceeded to write short messages.

Atsumu sat beside you and read the little messages you created,

��I hope you enjoy’

‘Keep fighting’

‘Always here for you’

‘You’re doing great’ 

“Okay, did you magically and suddenly have kids when I was away?” he was confused. He really had no idea what these items and messages were for. 

“Hmm. They’re for the sick children in the hospital. I know what it’s like to be exhausted as you continuously wait for an update from the doctors. I figured it’ll lift up their boredom or sadness, if they feel sad, through these books,” you smiled up at him, your eyes shining bright. 

The way you talked about the people you don’t even know about and still giving them something baffled Atsumu. He didn’t think he could do that-- he didn’t think he’d ever come close to the kindness you constantly give to others. You were always so giving and caring and Atsumu really was dumb if he wasn’t going to try and keep you for himself forever. 

“I love you,” he suddenly blurted. He couldn’t help it. 

His confession felt like the summer breeze-- hot and heavy. But unlike its short timespan, he knew his feelings were here to stay. At that point, Atsumu knew it wasn't just lust anymore. His world was on fire with you and this newfound love was like gasoline serving as a fuel... creating an even bigger flame he wasn’t going to put out anytime soon. 

Now, he viewed your relationship with so much passion. And now, he approached the idea of holding your hand without the intention of ever letting go. 

I want a lover who calls me baby.

Sorry, you lost that right. 

How ‘bout babe?

Overused. 

Ou, I know. How ‘bout dixie normous?

Too long :((

You laughed at your boyfriend’s innocent nature. It’ll probably take a while before he gets it but not even five minutes later, he already sent 5 continuous replies, all with your name written on caps lock.

You’re so embarrassing. I’m going to take you back to your parents, we’re over (;｀O´)o

Then, you’ll really lose a lover  (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

I’m going to pay for that privilege ( ｰ̀εｰ́ )

But I complimented your pp o(╥﹏╥)o

At the expense of my thin face.

Shut up, you and I both know your face is thick 〴⋋_⋌〵

Hmp, I’m home. Where are you? I need you to coddle my heart back to life. 

Secret :)

Then, when are you coming home? 

In about 10 minutes, they just needed to finish up. 

They? Where are you even?

*You sent a picture* 

Donating my hair today for my cancer patients :)

To Hinata, love felt like sending a text and receiving an immediate reply. The urgency and the excitement over continuous share of text messages was something Hinata always looked forward to-- even before you two got together. But at this moment, love felt like falling in love. He let his feelings ran free and be immersed in the surge of dopamine that was running through his system. He let the smile decorate his lips, he let his heart thump harder and he let himself freely love you... because you were worthy of all the love he can give.

With all the kindness and hardwork you consistently give your patients, there was nowhere for Hinata to go but be with you. And so it felt like autumn: Hinata’s favourite time of the year... now more than ever, because the falling leaves were finally in sync with his feelings. But the cold temperature also starts to rise yet it was okay, Hinata yearned for the cold. Maybe because it was an excuse for him to hold your hand inside his coat pocket. Maybe it really was an excuse because Shoyo found that you were not just a part of his day anymore, you were already a part of him.

He yearned for the cold because you and your warmth were already a part of him. 

Hinata got into his car and drove to the salon you went to. When he got to the salon, you were surprised to see him and you were even more surprised to have his lips immediately planted on yours.  

“I.. love you.”

Sakusa was so tired the night before that he fell asleep on the couch. So, he woke up to the sound of your humming and rustling of a variety of things he didn’t know. He opened his eyes and the sight of you sitting with your legs folded underneath greeted him. You were busy packing up different chips and towels to a box you took from the pile beside you. 

He sat up making you look at him, “Hi, good morning.”

You stood up and planted a kiss on his cheeks then went back to your sitting position. Sakusa closed his eyes as contentment washed through him. He never let anyone inside his apartment yet you always made him do things that he hasn’t done before and that included living together. 

It had been almost nine months and Sakusa may have acquired patience as strong as steel. You were everything opposite of him and he always had to stop and stare whenever you find yourself in an impossible mess. But you were a cute mess, he remembered the sight of you spilling your coffee when both of your eyes met the first time you saw each other. 

“Please hand me those hygiene kits.”

“What are these for? You finally tired of being grimy?”

“You’re so mean, Omi! And I’m not dirty, I’m just messy,” you pouted.

“Hmm, looks like you still know your synonyms,” he retorted making you throw something at him when you realized the words that just left your mouth. 

“Kidding aside, you remember I told you that I try to send care packages to soldiers abroad twice a year... it should be often but this will do for now,” as you gave him a smile. 

It was seven in the morning and it still baffled your boyfriend on how you were able to be so jolly this early. Your hair was in a messy form but you looked unbothered in the clothes you stole from Sakusa’s closet. Even though Sakusa grumbled so much about his clothes, nothing can beat the bliss he feels whenever you were in one... especially when you wear it outside.

It felt very territorial and Sakusa was split between thinking if this behaviour was a good thing or not. But at those moments, he couldn’t care less because all that mattered was how cute and comfortable you looked in it. 

Was your cuteness the trait that made Sakusa stand up and ask for your number after so many days that passed? Was it really that quality that despite his inhibitions, he chose to get to know you?

Maybe. But Sakusa saw your kindness first. And he continued to see that as days passed by. 

He couldn’t help but be amazed at the different ways you show your kindness to others. Probably because he didn’t bother with showing one or maybe because he never received any. Sakusa was famous but people around him were only kind because he had a lot of connections. And even though he tried to deny, he resembled a harsh winter, one that was mercilessly cold and one that could bring unpleasantries. 

But there was ought to be one good thing about winter and it was the warmth that people continuously seek for... and you were analogous to that warmth he had been craving for so long. 

Sakusa stared at you for a moment, taking in the glowing vibe you radiated. He thought he was lucky, way too fortunate to find a home where he can feel all the fervour he desired. Then, he sat beside you and helped you with the packages. He also decided he would wake up early tomorrow. 

And when tomorrow came, Sakusa stood in the kitchen, realizing he had never cooked before. But that one time he realized he truly was in love with you, he decided to show it by sending you his own love and care package.

© Do not repost. Likes and reblogs are appreciated, though <3

[lemons-beignets]

🖤 seven of my silly little team rocket headcanons 🖤

jessie & james = wlw & mlm solidarity 🌈

2. james has tried for years to explain technology to jessie, and he's exceptionally patient & kind while he teaches her, but she's much too proud to admit when she doesn't understand and won't ever let him finish an explanation so she never learns anything.

3. james gives fantastic hugs and is very affectionate, but jessie is initially much too guarded to comfortably engage in physical affection. it took a while, but she eventually became more open to hugs as the trio found themselves in frequent frightening situations and james & meowth had enough opportunities to prove to her that they aren't going to abandon her. after enough time as a team, she lets her walls down and hugs them back. james & meowth finally learn that jessie gives truly wonderful hugs when her heart's in it. nobody else gets to know this though, and jessie never once verbally admits to being a hugger. james & meowth respect her need to put up a front and never tell her how amazing her hugs are because they know she'd just get embarrassed, but it's a mutual understanding among the trio.

4. once, meowth dared to ask his teammates why james always drives when they have a car/van even though he doesn't have a license. james made a joke about how letting jessie drive should be a much more serious crime than driving without a license, and an insulted jessie yanked the car keys right out of his pocket and forced her teammates into a car. she hopped in the front seat despite james's frantic protests and barreled down the road doing no less than 90mph at all times, swerving like a maniac, ignoring every traffic law & common courtesy, driving as poorly as she possibly could until the boys finally convinced her to stop, terrified for their lives. james promised never to make fun of her driving again and meowth vowed to himself that he'd just keep his big mouth shut next time he had a question.

5. [minor cw for body image]

jessie & james both have days where they struggle with body image (they make a lot of references — especially in early seasons — to dieting & body size, plus they rarely have easy access to food, which i imagine complicates their relationships with it). when one of them is having a bad day, the other knows exactly how they're feeling and how to help them through it. it's not uncommon for one of them to cook/buy/steal food for the other because they know it's hard to do that for yourself when you're feeling low, and they frequently have to remind each other that even on bad days you need to take care of yourself.

6. jessie wishes that meowth would ride on her shoulder more often as he usually favors james, but she doesn't want to say anything because she refuses to come off as needy or sentimental. james has an excellent ability to tune into jessie's feelings by now though and one day discreetly tells meowth that jessie would love it if the scratch cat got on her shoulder. the next day while they're traipsing around following the twerps, meowth hops up on her shoulder, complaining about the long walk. jessie roasts him for being lazy, but james & meowth notice her softly smiling for the rest of the afternoon. now he does it more often !!

7. james wasn't quite 18 yet when he tried to join team rocket, so he lied about his birthday so he'd still be allowed in. when he met jessie, who was a little over a year older than him, he quickly learned how insecure she is about aging, so when she eventually asked his birthday, he thought it would be better to tell her his fake one so she wouldn't know that he's actually younger than her. he kept up the lie for years, pretending to be the oldest of the trio and letting jessie & meowth celebrate his birthday in the totally wrong season, until finally he accidentally lets slip his real zodiac sign in a conversation. jessie immediately calls him on it, as the birthday he's told her is months off from the zodiac sign he claims. he's forced to admit that he lied to his teammates about his birthday. jessie flies into a rage, meowth fury swipes him across the face, and james apologizes profusely until everyone drops it. later that night, jessie turns to him and says, "i don't even care that you're younger than me. i care that i've never been able to tell you 'happy birthday' when it actually mattered." james thinks his heart might just explode.

[haleigh-sloth]

have you seen the english translation for the season 6 ED? i’m pretty sure it’s supposed to represent deku and shigaraki or deku and bakugo, I was curious if you had anything to say about it

I have, and it’s emotional as heck. And I love it. Also for anyone who hasn’t listened to the whole song, I highly recommend.

So honestly, my first knee jerk reaction to this ask was to say that I am so fucking tired of bkdk shippers making everything about the goddamn ship. But I knew that was just me being annoyed, so I consulted with a mutual and now my head is cleared lol.

This turned out really long so I'm putting a cut:

Honestly, the way people want to interpret this song is going to be up to them. Looking at the lyrics closely, I can see why people take it as Bakugo's POV toward Izuku during the VHA. However, I personally saw it as Izuku's POV toward Tomura immediately following the war arc.

Obviously, that's my preferred way to look at it, and there is nothing concrete or any statements from the singer (like with the S5 Cour 2 ED who SAID it was about Izuku and Tomura) to stop me from doing so. But on the contrary there is nothing to stop people from seeing it the other way either.

So, take this as me picking the way I want to look at it, but I'm going to point out the parts that hit very close to home as a "From Izuku, to Tomura" type of POV.

I read the lyrics for the first time a few days ago, and for this ask I re-read them and underlined parts that stuck out to me.

"Even if I'm the only one who thinks so in a carefree way"

So, Izuku wants to save Tomura. But Tomura doesn't know this. Yes, we know that he wants him to, but does he really think Izuku will? Hoping and believing are different! I think he's hoping, thinking that IF anyone would ever, it would be Izuku. But really thinking and believing he will? Not sure on that one. We know it's not one-sided, but looking at this from Izuku's POV, to Izuku it IS one-sided. He wants to save him. Doesn't know if he can. Doesn't know if it's something Tomura even truly wants. And he doesn't know what to do in order to save him. On the contrary take--Bakugo is the one who has had the upper end of the stick in his relationship with Izuku. He's always had the advantage, even if he was struggling internally too. It feels like kind of a stretch to put it this way but it could be read as Bakugo running to "catch up to" Izuku in a carefree way as well. Both work., technically.

"Unable to even speak of your pain"

Tomura literally can't speak for his pain, currently. But even before this current arc where his consciousness has become really ambiguous, he wasn't able to speak of it back then either. During MVA it was "I wanted to kill my family, so I don't feel guilty anymore. All is good!" Right before waking up during the war arc he tried to give himself closure, but couldn't beCAUSE of the damage done during MVA where he just swallowed his true feelings and embraced a lie--a lie that makes him feel worse about himself and about his family.

On the contrary--Izuku doesn't talk about his pain either. He swallows it and bears it until he can't anymore and he reaches his emotional limit. Due to his issues from feeling useless before meeting All Might, and his belief that he needs to shoulder it all to become the next All Might. Hence, the VHA.

"Don't disappear"

Tomura is literally at risk of disappearing.

"Carefree Promises made with a tap on the shoulder, always mean one or the other will break them. This time too, it just wasn't me who broke it."

This one is very VERY song lyric-y so, kinda hard to pinpoint exactly what is being said here. But I seriously read it as "The idea of a hero promises something. The promise to you from heroes was broken. But it wasn't ME who broke it." Izuku isn't the reason Tenko ended up the way he did. That's how I read all of that. And I'm not sure how to relate it to the Bakugo POV, but I'm sure someone can do it.

"There aren't many people who can keep holding onto kindness. When you think of yourself, of who you are, isn't it painful?"

This can definitely be applied to both. But for Tomura--we have the visual representation of Shigaraki still being there by using Tenko. I read it as Tomura holding onto his kindness by keeping himself present in the merge mess (visualized by Tenko!). And when he thinks of himself and who he became, it hurts. His self-hatred is his biggest obstacle, and getting over that self-hatred is what's going to set him free. So it hurts to face and acknowledge who he has become. But he has to so he can move on. For Izuku--he used to be "useless". He was nicknamed it by Bakugo. Izuku keeps being kind to Bakugo regardless, and has saved him a few times now. And has only really wanted the best for him, despite everything. And it isn't AS present currently ever since the VHA, but assuming this is Bakugo's POV during the VHA, this totally applies.

"Something like wanting a different heart--don't say such a sad thing. Your own face isn't something you can see for yourself, though a mirror that reflects the heart exists."

Two things here:

First--"wanting a different heart", in a way, Shigaraki willingly took AFO in. He didn't know what the repercussions were going to be, but he made this choice:

Because of alllll of the issues he has with himself and the world, all piling on and leading up to him making this choice. And in a way, taking on a whole other person's heart. Not literally. But, he is losing in the identity war to AFO. AFO is taking over. So, in a way. Lol.

Onto the notation about the mirror--Izuku saw someone who needed saving. Tomura wants saving deep down. But he doesn't view himself as someone who needs it, or rather as someone who deserves it. I read this as Izuku becoming the mirror for Tomura, and Tomura seeing himself through Izuku's eyes. But also---this is playing off of inevitable occurrence where Izuku gains more insight into Tomura and has to convince him that he isn't a fated murderer and destroyer. I read it as Tomura having to see himself as someone who had something really bad happen to him back then--NOT someone who made the bad things happen because he wanted them to. Which is something Izuku is set up to help him realize. So when I read the part about seeing yourself through someone else's eyes--I immediately thought of them.

But on the contrary, it could be about Izuku seeing himself through everyone else's eyes. Everybody thinks he's great, thinks he tries so hard for everyone and does his best. Everyone sees him as someone who makes the world a better place. So it can be read as Izuku seeing himself in a more positive light. Both interpretations work.

Again, you can take it both ways. But I feel like it shouldn't be overlooked that the person who was solely responsible for storyboarding the ED chose to focus on the hero/villain bonds in the story, and Izuku's focus in the ED on that time period between the ending of the PLF war and the beginning of the VHA. The time period where he chose to save Shigaraki.

Honestly there is absolutely nothing wrong with the Bakugo POV. I just have one main reason I'm not really a fan of the Bakugo POV:

I'm a little tired of people erasing Tomura from Izuku's arc. And most of the people who do this are the people who want to make Izuku's and Bakugo's arcs entirely about each other. And I feel that at this point in the story we are beyond that in both of their arcs. Bakugo's arc is about changing (parallels Shigaraki--the butterfly--in that way). And his change is oriented to how he treats Izuku. So I CAN understand people making his arc all about Izuku, but they do it in a way that is just beyond what the story is actually doing with him. He's growing as a person. He is Izuku's friend, yes, but that is not his entire existence in the story. And it bothers me when people make it out to be that way. That's me being annoyed by annoying fandom though, take that with that information.

So yeah. Those are my thoughts. Totally biased. But there is no concrete information (like a statement from the singer) to say what we have to interpret the song as. So this is one of those times where I'm not citing manga panels or whatever to think these things. It's simply how I want to look at it.

[sukirichi]

overtime

You let your boyfriend release stress from working overtime.

REQUEST. med! student au / doctor! au + forbidden relationship + praising kink + dacryphilia

CONTENT/WARNINGS. praising kink, dacryphilia, face fucking, huge age gap (Nanami is like 20 years older), mentions of gloomy atmospheres expected of medical centres, gagging, mentions of previous lovemaking sessions

NOTES. ah thank you for this request anon, i’m really in love with the whole med student / doctor au ingredient cuz well...it’s sorta self-indulgent. i hope you liked this as much as i did!

The familiar stingy aroma of disinfectant looms at every corner of the wall, pressing down beneath your scrubs and deep into your scrubs. You find it ironic that the walls are always so white, barely any colour to surround the entire building. Growing up, you believe that white represents tranquillity, silence, and serenity – which is the exact opposite of what university hospitals really are.

You’re no stranger to the pained moans echoing at the ends of the hall, the sight of children with sunken cheeks playing with a cannula almost too painful to look at.

The clock above the front desks reads that it’s a little past four in the morning, and you’re beyond weary. You’ve grown used to just being high off caffeine and being satisfied with quick ten minute naps before you’re summoned again. People always ask you, why choose this profession? You could make as much money without having to be this tired, to which you always respond with a frown, claiming that it’s never about the money and actual working professionals are a lot more exhausted than you are, yet not once have they complained.

They do have their days though, and it just so happens that it’s one of your superior’s days as he tugs at your wrist, dragging you inside the nearest empty room before soft lips dive down to capture yours.

You don’t have to open your eyes to know it’s him.

You’ve fooled around long enough with your superior to know it’s his scent washing over yours, that all too familiar tent growing in his pants pressing between your legs and bumping your core as a silent promise of what’s to come next. A stuttered, breathy moan immediately greets his ears when he pins your arms overhead, his lips falling into the sweet column of your neck.

It’s clear that this is wrong – both of you know this – but the pleasure and need to relieve stress in such an overwhelming environment clouds both your consciousness that neither parties pull away.

Your relationship with him started off with just curiosity.

Doctor Nanami is a well accomplished man, earning beyond money and titles in his twenty years of service in the field. He knows he looks good, knows he’s irresistible every time he comes in front of the class, looking equally dashing in either a nude suit or in white coats. Someone of his age and experience definitely is no fool to the way his bright eyed student’s gaze lingers over his lips as she stays behind in class to ask about something she doesn’t get far longer than should be necessary.

He’s an expert at the human body more than anything else – Nanami knows lust when he sees one.

And he’s always been such a kind, concerned doctor who only wants everyone to feel better that how could he say no to you, especially when you’re only so eager to suck him off under the table, getting off to the fact your pretty lips are wrapped around his thick and veiny cock?

What once starts off as a mutual agreement to use each other for pleasure while still keeping the faux professionalism to not lose face, something shifts during the stolen kisses during break times and heated touches as promises of I’ll see you later after overtimes. Private tutoring sessions turns into moments of reminiscing childhoods, hands splayed all over his chest while he tucks you in his arms, mumbling something about always have wanting to be his own version of a hero.

Things move faster than both of you realize, the titles dropped and replaced with sweethearts and good morning sir topped with a sweet, intimate smile that only he could ever know the meaning of.

It’s simple, longing, and definitely unprofessional, even more so when Nanami pushes you down on the floor, eager hands unbuckling his belt to spring his cock free. Your mouth salivates at the red pulsing tip already leaking with pre-cum, your tiny hands on its way to wrap itself around his base when Nanami takes matters into his own hands and slips his cock through your lips in one thrust.

Your back hits the wall and your eyes spring with tears, gurgled sounds of Nanami fucking down your throat lewd and dirty in the empty room. He sighs, chest panting and hands cradling your head. “You feel so good, sweetheart,” he praises, bucking his hips further inside. “Don’t know what I’d do without you here, always so ready to make me feel good.”

The moan you let out vibrates around his cock, fuelling his desire intensely.

Nanami has always been gentle with you; as a man who values time over anything else, he likes to savour each second he has with you, slow, rough hands running up and down the curve of your spine before he flicks his tongue deep within your pussy, wanting to make you cum countless times before he makes love to you. Had you both been home, he’d cradle your face and stare deep into your eyes as he fucks you, sweat tinged from the slight burrow of his brows as he commands, “Look at me. Look at me when I’m fucking you, angel.”

And you being you, you’ll remain submissive to the pleasure he’s more than glad to give you, leg wrapping around his waist all to feel the way he’s hitting deep inside your sopping cunt.

He’s impatient this time around, and you can’t blame him. You’ve barely seen each other from hours of working overtime, with you staying up late to study for finals and him barely leaving the operating rooms. You gladly let him use you like this just as he’s allowed you to cum multiple times before despite his clear order to hold back, but Nanami is a soft man at heart, unable to resist his precious lover when you’re trembling around him like that.

Nanami places a palm at the back of your head to prevent you getting fucked into the wall, his pace not slowing down a bit. He gazes at you under his lashes, cheeks hollowed and drool dribbling from the edges of your lips.

He finds you utterly filthy, a complete contrast to the well-put med-student who’s always admired and looked up to by their peers. Nanami groans as his tip hits the back of your throat, your nose pressing down on the neatly trimmed blond hairs brushed on his base. You gag around him, the tears crystallizing your cheeks. Filthy, yet still so pretty his little angel is, and for a moment, Nanami pauses, captivated by your beauty.

His cock is still pulsing inside your mouth, a thumb running across your tears to wipe them away. Nanami grabs your chin to tilt your head up, and he swears he could cum right then and there. You’re kneeling on the bleached floors, eyes wide with a tinge of innocence, tears collected in your lashes and cheeks sucked to take him in deep.

“Always so pretty for me, angel,” he coos, sliding his drenched cock out your mouth gruesomely slow, stopping only with the tip in. “Is my cock making you cry? You’ve taken me before, angel, this isn’t difficult for you now, is it?”

You hum around his cock as a response, and Nanami bucks into your mouth by accident, causing his length to slip past your walls until he’s right at your throat.

He’s big and long, his dick always having been a blessing to the both of you, but at this time, it feels more like a curse. Drips of cum paints the back of your mouth but you only grip your thigh harder, ignoring the painful throbbing of your cunt that’s so needy for him already. You remind yourself not to be selfish and focus on him instead, to your precious superior who needs you to help get his mind off things.

Eager to be of service as always, you swipe your tongue all over the ridges of his cock, making sure to press the wet muscle harder on the prominent veins. Nanami throws his head back to moan, his nails gently scraping your scalp with each thrust.

It’s hard to tell who’s setting the pace, but it becomes clear as you kneel there motionlessly, squeezing his ass instead while he relentlessly fucks your mouth. His groans are growing louder, breaths falling out of rhythm with each passing seconds. Your eyes are shut tight as you let him abuse your throat, hitting deep inside you with each precise thrust in addition to his balls slapping your chin.

Your face is sopping wet, both from drool, tears, and his cum. You stay there like a good girl, doing your best to breathe through your nose as he throbs inside you. Nanami’s words are garbled and incomprehensible, enticed to only snap his harder when he sees your tears streaming down your face and wetting your scrubs.

His length slips past inside your mouth into an impossibly deeper angle as he tugs your hair up, his knees bent just to continuously pummel against your tonsils as if it was his own winning goal. Your cries increase in volume at the way he’s losing himself in you, forgetting to watch the back of your head before he thrusts all the way, keeping you flat and frozen gagging on his cock, nose nudged against his hairs.

Nanami’s groan is accompanied by the twitching of his cock, and he cums, thick spurts of white shooting down your throat. You try to pull yourself away from him after that, thinking that he’s satisfied, but he only grips your hair harder as a warning.

Still struggling to breathe, you swallow around his thick saliva-drenched length, the mere motion of you gulping making your walls close down on him.

Nanami grunts at the oversensitivity and he pulls out, his dick growing boneless and soft.

He’s utterly spent, your drool and his cum dripping down to the floors in audible plaps. Nanami sighs as he takes sanitary wipes from the unused desk to wipe his dick clean, while you stay on the ground, palms flat beneath you as you pant for air.

You can tell you’ll have a sore throat by tomorrow because you utterly fucked, voice growing hoarse with each failed cough. Falling back onto the wall, you close your eyes, only to snap them open again when you feel something wet and warm rubbing your skin.

Nanami is in front of you, his touch gentle and eyes soft as he cleans your face, thumb absentmindedly cradling your bottom lip.

You don’t fight back the smile that matches his. Even after everything, Nanami is still your boyfriend, someone who isn’t just a good fuck to you anymore. This is only one of the reasons you’ve fallen so madly in love with him; his effortless ability to take care of others truly meritorious of him.

He dunks them into nearest bin and kisses you flat on the lips, his large hand cupping your cheeks. You sigh into the slow kiss, enjoying what little – and fleeting – time you have with him.

Nanami pulls away with a popping sound, a lovesick smile on his usually stoic expression. It makes you feel giddy and even a little shy, forgetting the fact he just fucked your skull seconds ago, but it’s rare that he lets his guard down anywhere that isn’t the comfort and safety of his home. You’re his home though, and he kisses you one last time, the gesture telling a thousand more words than he’s ever able to.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “I promise I’ll make it up to you when we’re both home.”

You don’t stop him once he finally leaves the room, his rushed footsteps to make it back to the operating room a signal for you to get back to work too. It’s already five am when you’ve made it back to your post, but instead of feeling tired, you’re a lot more energized compared to when you first got here.

Perhaps working overtime isn’t so bad after all, not when there’s always a promise you and Nanami are never leaving the bed for the free weekend.

You’ll just have to be patient.

[princess-of-riviaa]

No Strings

Kinktober Day 6 Prompt: blowjob

Pairing: Captain Syverson (Sand Castle) x Female Reader

Summary: The title says it all.

Author's Note: As promised in this post, I am writing all the kinktober prompts that I didn't have time to finish for October.

warning(s): fwb, grumpy Sy, blowjob, dirty talk, mentions of mutual masturbation, phone sex

Word Count: 1530

Sy was in a mood. And honestly, it was pissing you off. Here he was, in the middle of the party celebrating his return from deployment, and he couldn’t be bothered to put on even a hint of a smile. You could tell his friends were picking up on it too. So you were intent on solving the problem.

You grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away from the few friends who still had hopes of cheering him up. His tipsiness caused him to stumble behind you a bit. You didn’t stop until you were in the guest bathroom of your house, the scent of rose and chamomile wrapping around you. You flicked the switch and the cold light of the lightbulbs brightened the room, revealing a purple shower mat and a few stereotypical sayings like “family is everything” and “you can’t see the stars without the darkness.”

“What are you doing?” Sy asked.

You didn’t bother responding. Instead, you pushed him against the wall and got to your knees in front of him.

“Oh,” was all he said.

You and Sy had a deal. Because you were both still single at 30 years old, and because your friendship was strong enough that you could never ask too much, you had agreed to a “friends with benefits” type thing. He was in the field or in some country in the Middle East most of the time, so your hookups were usually over the phone. On nights when one of you was so horny you couldn’t think straight, you’d FaceTime and jerk off together, and then you’d send stupid memes to each other after. It was easy. Casual. No strings attached.

If you were being honest, you preferred it when he was back home. Granted, the captain had such a filthy mouth on him that it wasn’t hard for you to cum when it was just over FaceTime. He whispered such dirty things from the other side of the phone. You always came one, two, three times when he was talking to you like that. And your wanton moans never made it hard for him to cum either. You watched him until he’d spilled his load across his stomach and hairy chest, wishing with everything in you that you could taste his warm, salty seed.

But when he was home… god, he destroyed you. He had a thing for eating you out—he loved it more than he loved blowjobs—and trust me, he loved those a lot. But when he was between your legs… it was no longer about your pleasure. He’d make you cum too many times to count, blurring your vision until you couldn’t remember anything but his name, making you scream and moan until your voice was hoarse. He was a hungry—a pure, unrelenting animal. It was the best thing you had ever experienced.

So he didn’t blink at the sight of you on your knees for him now. His breath caught in his throat as you undid his belt. And when you unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down with his underwear just enough to let his growing erection spring free, his chest started to move a little bit faster.

He was big. The biggest cock you’d ever seen if you were being honest. It was still a struggle to fit him in your mouth, let alone deepthroat him. He was thick and long. The hardening tip was already red and you watched as precum began to coat it. You licked your lips and practically moaned at the thought of all the times you’d had him in your mouth before.

You coated your hand with a good layer of spit before wrapping it around his girth, which was fully erect now. You began to move it up and down as you jerked him off slowly. It was teasing, the way you touched him.

His head hit the wall as he threw it back. “Fuck, baby. Feels so good when you jerk me off like that. So much better than when I do it.”

You simply hummed in approval. Pride swelled in your chest at his words, glad that you were able to make him feel insatiable heat in the pit of his stomach. The same sensation he was already making you feel. You had to squeeze your legs together to provide the friction you needed. It wasn’t good enough. You needed more—you needed him. Nothing compared to the feeling of his cock inside of you, fucking you until your entire body was shaking with endless orgasms, making you unsure of where one ended and the other began.

You continued to move your hand up and down his shaft. You’d speed up every now and then, only to return to the same teasing pace. He growled at you—a wordless threat. You simply smirked up at him. He was a fan of teasing you and used that technique often, only giving you what you needed when you begged him to fill you up, whether that was with his fingers or mouth or cock.

He managed to wrap a hand around your throat, squeezing it just the way you liked. He forced you to look up at him as he looked into your eyes. “Don’t make me beg,” he growled.

You lost all control when he revealed that dominant side. It was different from the whole captain thing. Sure, his position required bossing others around all day, but that wasn’t the same. He turned into a different person in the bedroom. Unforgiving, rough, always in control. It made your knees shake every time. The sight of him in that role flipped a switch inside of you too. You weren’t at all submissive in your everyday life, but when he became dominant like that… god, you’d let him do anything to you.

So it only made sense that you finally gave him what he wanted, even though your teasing had only lasted a few moments. You licked the tip, sighing as you tasted the all-so-familiar salty taste of his precum. It melted on your tongue. You had realized long ago that the taste of him was as addictive as candy.

Maybe that was why he always ate you ate for hours at a time. He needed to get his fix of your nectar.

“Don’t fucking tease me.” His voice was a rumble in his chest.

You obeyed, submissive like you always were. Denying him what he wanted always proved impossible for you. His length was already coated in your spit, but you dragged your tongue along the sides anyways. He released another growl. You were still teasing him, only giving him a hint of what he really wanted, and it was pissing him off as the seconds wore on. You finally wrapped your mouth around him. The tip pushed past your lips, and you took a moment to let it on your tongue. It always took a moment to get used to his size again, especially when it came to blowjobs. You pushed more of him inside of you as you slowly adjusted. Your tongue swirled around his tip as his cock filled your mouth and you had to switch to breathing through your nose. Too soon, he reached the back of your throat. He was barely halfway inside of you.

“Come on, baby,” he moaned. “You know what I want. Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You bobbed your head up and down his shaft—or at least what you could fit in your mouth. You jerked off the rest of his length and massaged his balls with your other hand.

His head hit the wall again as he let out a deep moan. That fucking sound—god. It only urged you on. Your hand sped up as you moved your mouth along his shaft faster.

“Fucking hell.” He muttered your name, and the way he said it… You were glad you were already on the ground because that alone would have made your legs give out.

Your spit began to drip down your mouth, but you ignored it. His growls gave away that he was close. You craved the taste that would fill your mouth when he spilled his load down your throat.

“God, you’re fucking—” He couldn’t even finish his sentence before he slid his fingers into your hair. He clutched the roots and began you move you at the pace that he needed. You gagged as his cock hit the back of your throat again and again, and then he was coming in your mouth, filling it with that warm, salty seed that you craved the taste of. You only pulled back when you had swallowed it all.

The sink water was cold as you wiped your chin off and rinsed your mouth out. You glanced at Sy in the mirror. He was in the same spot, eyes closed as he caught his breath.

“In a better mood now?” you asked his reflection.

He opened his eyes to look back at you. That familiar cocky smirk tugged at his mouth. “Fuck yeah.”

You smiled victoriously. Mission accomplished.

[sunsents]

Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

[sariahsue]

A Cat of Their Own - Ch 6

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Adrien raced through his window after a late-night patrol. The house was quiet. The window didn't squeak as he closed it. Nothing in the house moved as he went to the panel by his door and re-engaged the security system. The glow of the buttons wasn't strong enough to reflect off the doorknob.

He wasn't sure Tim and Serena would still be awake – he'd discovered that they usually went to bed fairly early – but he had to check. Something was very wrong. They probably knew about it already, but if not, then he needed to tell them.

Adrien: Is Ladybug okay? She was really upset on patrol, but she didn't want to talk about it.

He probably wasn't going to get an answer tonight, but he kept the phone close as he pulled out his pajamas and started to change. She'd been quiet the whole patrol, and she barely even smiled when he joked with her. She avoided looking at him. At first, he thought maybe he'd done something wrong. The uncertainty had nagged at him all night, even though she shook her head sadly when he'd asked her about it.

So he'd tried cheering her up, telling her jokes and funny stories to try to make her laugh, but she started to sniffle and looked away so he wouldn't see her start to cry.

By the end of patrol, Ladybug was dragging her feet, her shoulders sagged with unseen weights, and she hadn't protested when he suggested they sit down and take a break before calling it a night. She'd put her head on his shoulder. Her breathing had been uneven. Her body trembled next to him as she struggled to hold back her tears. Her head had been heavy against his arm. Cat Noir had never felt so helpless in his life.

Adrien's phone screen lit up with an incoming message.

Serena: She's all right. She overheard a conversation at school today that she would rather not have.

Tim: It was that guy that she likes.

Adrien's heart started to race. What had she heard?

Serena: He knows about that?

Adrien: What happened? What's going on?

Tim: She heard him talking to a friend of theirs at school today. The boy admitted to having a crush on a girl that their mutual friend didn't know.

Adrien: So it couldn't have been her. I get it.

Several emotions attacked Adrien at once. Anger at the idiot who broke her heart and hurt his Lady, who was so ungrateful about having what Adrien wanted most and just throwing it away like that. Relief that this other guy might have just removed himself from the picture and given him a better chance with Ladybug, followed quickly by guilt at being happy that she'd just had her heart broken. He consoled himself by promising that he'd make up for it by making her doubly happy for the rest of her life if she picked him.

Adrien: She probably doesn't want to hear it from me, but that guy's an idiot and doesn't deserve her.

A few streets away, Tom and Sabine were fighting the same feeling. They didn't want to think ill of Adrien, who was always so kind to everyone and hadn't meant to cause Marinette so much trouble, but it was hard to think rationally when they'd watched Marinette come home from school and crumple to the ground, sobbing after holding her tears in all day at school.

----

The next day at school, Adrien discovered that Ladybug wasn't the only one with personal problems. Marinette came to school looking very watery and upset, though she tried to smile whenever Adrien turned around to check on her.

"You okay, Marinette?" he asked as they walked to their third class. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, n-nothing," she said, clutching her books tightly to her chest and staring at the ground directly in front of her feet.

Adrien put a hand on her shoulder to stop her at the door of the science classroom, but she still didn't look at him. For the second time in 24 hours, he felt completely at a loss for how to help. (His next question to Tim and Serena should probably be something about comforting crying girls.) He would just have to try his best anyway. Marinette needed help right now.

"You don't have to talk about it, okay? Just know that I'll listen if you want." He gave her a hug, but Marinette stiffened and he drew back quickly. He'd messed up again. Her face was blotchy, but frozen in surprise.

"Why are you such a nice person?" she asked. "It's not fair!" And she ran into the classroom without an explanation. Adrien was left to wonder if he'd interpreted her reaction correctly.

One thing was clear. It was very unlucky that two of his favorite girls were both hurting, and he couldn't do anything about either one.

Read ch 7 here

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Author’s note: Thank you all so much for the support on the last chapter! Of everything I've written for this story, I really had a problem with how I'd executed four and five, and all the comments and love it received really helped motivate me. I loved knowing that what I wrote was loved! (Chapter seven will be up next week!)

@redhoodsdoll @lunadensmidnightprowl @fleurie3am15inspo @ladybug-182 @vixen-uchiha @secretacademia @little-boats-on-a-lake @wonderbat91939 @thecatsart0406 @heinrode @dawn-the-rithmatist @maybe-potato @tbehartoo

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Newcomer: Chapter 2

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!Reader

Words: 2.3k 

Summary: The Outer Banks was a place you’d only heard of until recently. The unfolding changes in your life had led you to this very moment, and it appears you still have much to learn... 

Warnings: swearing, (***) minor time jumps 

A/N - sorry for the delay, had a huge assignment due and work <3 I know this is a slow ass start to the series, but trust I’m trying to build momentum LMAO 

It had been just over a week, and seemingly still trying to settle in. Majority of your belongings, clothes and other sentiments have now been unpacked and neatly placed away in their new space, although you felt the hardest part wasn’t over just yet. Yourself, Caleb and Anya still struggled to find your way around town, mostly succumbing to the help of Topper, who despite initially being ever so welcoming, had grown slightly agitated from the coercion of having to always help. He’d be dragged out of whatever event or plans he had made, just to help out, especially during the grueling days of the unpacking stages of moving. Not to mention the not so discrete argument you’d overheard, just a few days ago, that he had with his mother, complaining about not being able to enjoy his own summer break. 

You couldn’t deny that your presence did somewhat impede on his break, therefore, the guilt was there. You knew you’d have to start taking on some accountability, with or without Topper’s help. 

“Y/N, can we just run to the store real quick, I need to grab a few things and you know how hopeless I am with directions…Please, come with, or else I’ll have to get Topper and we both know how much he loves-”

“Yeah, yeah-”

With a reluctant sigh, you tagged the page you’d just turned over in your book and propped yourself off the bed, adjusting your midi skirt before nodding in agreement. 

One of the most convenient things about the Outer Banks was that nearly everything was within walking distance. It gave you a chance to explore the scenic landscape and water front, and perhaps even chat with a few of the locals you hadn’t yet properly met. 

“So, how are things looking with that JJ guy? He seems pretty cute,” You intrigued, nudging your sister’s shoulder into conversation. 

“Yeah he’s great actually, he's a really funny guy. He, uhm, he wants to meet but-” 

“But what, Anya? That’s exciting! We sure could do with someone else’s company that isn’t Topper.” 

“Yeah, I know but, I, well we, don’t really know him that well. Who’s to say he isn’t some sociopath, Y/N.”

“I highly doubt anyone around here is a psychopath, Anya. Look around, this is a place people come around to relax or retire.”

“Don’t speak too soon, Y/N…”

For some odd reason, you hesitated in a response. Anya was right, you had no familiarity with the people of Outer Banks, although it just seemed like an outrageous place for crime. Ever since arriving, you felt some unexplainable ease here. 

“But I mean yeah sure. I’ll probably meet up with JJ some time… In public though, and you need to promise me that you’ll be on the lookout. Not like you’re busy with any plans at the moment, huh,” Anya remarks, as you appeasingly roll your eyes: God she could be so paranoid. 

“Yeah, yeah. I promise. Think we turn right up ahead-”

Continuing right on the pathway, you could just faintly decipher the movement of people bustling in and out of the stores, and with that a wave of relief settled over you. Seemed like you knew your way around after all, having doubts along each turn of the walk.  

“Make this quick, Anya, the sun’s starting to set, okay.”

“Whatever, Mum!” Anya quips, before rushing off into the convenience store, leaving your lonesome self outside waiting. 

You watched the crowd across the street at the diner, enjoying their dinner, as you observed the locals in action, contemplating who was who, as you heard Evelyn exchange many names with your father over endless dinner conversations. 

One name that stuck by you was “Cameron.” 

Evelyn mentioned it countless of times, although you’d simply assumed they were one of the many well-known families that had established themselves in town. There wasn’t much else you knew, or wanted to know. You hardly met anyone else outside of the house, nor were you in any rush to. 

“Hey!-”

Instantly snapping from your extensive thoughts, the familiar voice dragged you back to reality, as you turned your sight to its direction. 

“It’s Y/N, right? Anya’s sister! It’s me, JJ, the waiter-”

“Yeah, of course, I remember you-”

As formal and proper as your manners from childhood were, just as you’d gone in for a handshake, JJ wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in warmly for a friendly embrace, before letting you go. 

It had caught you off-guard, although not at all in a distasteful way. 

“How are you? How’s Anya?” He asked, folding his arms as he leant against the wooden post of the front deck. 

“Yeah we’re good! I’m sure Anya’s kept you posted, we’ve pretty much moved in now. How about you? I haven't seen you around.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been pretty good! Oh that’s great to hear, that would mean you guys are free to come to the Boneyard tonight!” 

“The what?”

“The Boneyard? Where we have this party with a kegger, Topper didn’t tell you?” 

By the puzzled expression reeked across your face, JJ knew to take that as an immediate no, not questioning it any further. 

“Well if you’d like, I could meet with you guys later and escort you there myself. There’s a few friends of mine I’d like to introduce you guys to.” 

“Yeah, sure. That would be lovely, JJ-” 

And as perfect as the timing could get, Anya returned from her little store run, stunned by JJ’s unexpected presence. 

“Anya- I was just telling Y/N, I’d love to take you guys out tonight to the Boneyard, I was going to text you about it before, but something with my Dad-” 

“That’s fine, but we just don’t know where exactly the Boneyard is.”

“That’s okay, JJ’s got us covered,” You exclaimed, before exchanging a friendly wink to JJ who just managed to catch it.

***

“You texted JJ our address right?” You persisted, growing anxious by the thought that perhaps JJ might’ve forgotten about you two. 

“Yes, for the last time Y/N could you just relax. He should be here any minute now!” 

And just on cue, in the close distance, the roaring sound of an old engine with dull headlights belonging to one of those old, retro “hippie” vans had pulled up through your drive-way. JJ’s head popped out excitedly by the window, waving for you guys to join, and immediately you both walked over. 

It was difficult to convince your father of going out tonight, in fact, he’d been pestering you both to get out and mingle. As soon as you’d both approached him with the idea of heading out to some party, he leaped with relief, and encouraged you both to take up the offer. He was easy going like that, trusted you both knowing how well he’d raised you both. Of course, he covered some basic ground-rules: no drinking, no drugs, no smoking. 

By the time you’d both arrived to the van, you could just make out the silhouettes of some figures inside the van through the grimey windows. JJ was out of the van, as the courteous man that he was, pulling the side door right open. 

“John B-” Pointing to the boy on the driver’s seat, who gave you a friendly wave, made himself known. 

“Kie-” A lovely, young girl, exchanged a gracious smile and nod to both Anya and yourself, before JJ finally introduced “And this is Pope-”, a young, pleasant man sat beside Kie. 

“Guys this is Anya, and her older sister Y/N. They just moved here like a week ago.” 

“Nice to meet you all, thanks for letting us join you guys tonight-” You warmly proclaimed, before gesturing Anya into the van with you following her behind. 

As JJ was carefully closing the door behind you, John B mentioned how JJ spoke of you two, confessing you to be the “mystery newcomers” before kindly welcoming you to the Outer Banks. 

You felt Kie’s over gaze fall between yourself and Anya, and felt somewhat intimidated, although it there was no threatening intent to it, however more of a protective sentiment. 

“So you guys are Kooks, huh?” Kie blatantly questioned, before Pope nudged his elbow into her, as though to signal her to stop whatever interrogation she had planned. 

“Sorry, what?”- Anya questioned in response, frowning as she looked around the van, back to you.

“Kie, stop. They don’t know about any of that stuff. Just drop it, okay!” JJ insisted, as he ran his fingers through his blonde locks, almost in frustration. 

“We really have no idea what this whole Pogue-Kook business is, but perhaps you could enlighten us one day, Kie-” You suggested, as amiable as possible, not wanting to already cross the line with the few locals you’d just met. 

“I sure will, I just can’t believe you guys live with Topper. He’s such an-”

“Ass?-” Anya intervened, finishing off Kie’s sentence precisely the way she intended, making Kie smile in agreement. 

“Yeah, I don’t think he likes us very much,” Anya confessed, and as much as you hated “gossiping”, you couldn’t deny this one. 

“Well Kie, you’re on to talk… What about your Kook year?” John B laughingly mocked, as Kie infuriatingly shoved his shoulder. 

“S-So what exactly is the difference between a Pogue and a Kook?” You intriguingly questioned, shifting your gaze from Kie to Pope. 

“Well, to put it short, Pogues live on the Cut, which I assume Topper would rather die than enter. Whereas yourselves and our Kie here, live on Figure 8,” Pope answered.

“So it’s just a social class thing?” You quipped, being reminded again of how very unprogressive things were around the Outer Banks. 

“Exactly!-” Kie shouted, a hint of relief, as though finally finding someone who’d shared mutual understanding with her cause. 

“I mean there’s more to it-” JJ added.

“But it’s best if you guys don’t get as involved, your only just new here-” He calmly reassured.

“Just keep an eye out for the Kooks, they usually come to these sort of events anyways for the booze they can’t afford-” Kie ridiculed. 

“Yeah, especially Rafe-” Pope uttered, his tone reeking of bitterness to the name. 

“Wait-Who exactly is that? The name just sounds familiar-” You brush off, not wanting to vex Pope any further. 

“Good God, he’s the worst of the worst-” Pope scorned. 

“An asshole-” Kie provoked. 

“He’s the older brother of Sarah Cameron, I’m sure you’ve met her. She’s Topper’s girlfriend,” John B confessed.

“HA! Topper has a girlfriend, since when?!” Anya broke out mockingly laughing: as Kie and JJ chuckled to her comedic outburst. 

“He must be that bad, huh?” You uttered, as the rest began to settle themselves. 

“He’s a terrible person, Y/N. If I was you guys, I’d avoid him at all costs,-” Pope insisted, although by the seriousness of his voice, it seemed more of a warning than anything. 

***

The Boneyard was a secluded location of the island, where the ashy white trunks of dead logs were arranged in a way to accompany large crowds, and rowdy parties far from the complaints of the adults. As you’d all arrived, kegs ready at the hand, the party had already commenced, as people from which John B described had consisted of Pogues, Kook and tourists. Regardless, all strangers to you. 

As you finally eased yourself into that party mood, you found yourself enjoying the company of the Pogues, they were quite the friendly bunch. And it seemed ANya was letting loose as well, no thanks to her new-found companions: it always seemed like an impossible mission for Anya to enjoy herself, although witnessing her from the standpoint of a bystander, you felt comforted. 

“I’m just going to go grab myself a drink-” You assured John B, as he nodded in agreement. 

As you crammed yourself through the crowd, you felt a tight grip pulling on your elbow, making you topple in the direction of whomever it was that grabbed you. 

“Topper, what the fuck?”

“How the hell did you get here, let alone find out about this?” He exclaimed, by the faint smell of the beer oozing with each breath, you could tell he was slowly becoming intoxicated.

“No thanks to you-” You snapped, before jolting your arm out of his strained grip. 

“Seriously, Y/N. Does your Dad even know you’re here?”

Before you could even respond, some sort of internal sixth sense, felt an intense pair of eyes on you. As you shifted your gaze, to a bunch of people standing behind Topper, you’d immediately recognised his face. 

For some odd reason you felt a shiver crawl down your spine, as though in fright of seeing some ghostly figure. His intense, blue eyes just fixated on you and only you, as he took sips of his drink, with one hand snugged away in a front pocket. It seemed he was in conversation with a bunch of other guys, all dressed quite similarly to one another in their polo shirts and summer shorts, and yet he was not at all engaged... Only to you.  

“Earth to Y/N!” Topper loudly interjected, stirring you to snap back, as you fixed your view on him. 

“Y-Yes, yes he does. Now could you just let me be?” 

And before you knew it, you instinctively stormed off, before Topper had the chance to drunkenly question you any longer. As you disappeared into the crowd, heading for the kegger, your mind persisted in contemplation. 

That was Rafe, surely. You vividly remembered the whole, minor incident during your first encounter with him. 

After what the Pogues had confessed about him, and by his looming nature, you’d never felt so unnerved by someone, you’d in fact, never even met.

But why?

TAGLIST - @juliep7654 @foggybanditgardenprune​

[thedeadhandofseldon]

The Anti-Mercer Effect

On the Accessibility of D&D, Why Unprepared Casters is so Fun, and Why Haley Whipjack is possibly the greatest DM of our generation.

(Apologies to my mutuals who aren’t in this fandom for the length of this, but as you all know I have never in my life shut up about anything so… we’ll call it even for the number of posts about Destiel I see every day.

To fellow UC fans - I haven’t listened to arc 4 yet, I started drafting this in early August, and I promise I will write a nice post about how great Gus the Bard is once I get the chance to listen to more of his DMing).

Structure - Or, “This is not the finale, there will be more podding cast”

So, first of all, let’s just talk about how Unprepared Casters works. Because it’s kind of unusual! Most of the other big-name D&D podcasts favor this long, grand arcs; UC has about 10 hours of podcast per each arc. And that’s a major strength in a lot of ways: it makes it really accessible to new listeners, because you can just start with the current arc and understand what’s going on!

And by starting new arcs every six or seven episodes, they can explore lots of ways to play D&D! Classic dungeon delve arc! Heist arc! Epic heroes save the world arc! Sportsball arc! They can touch on all sorts of things!

And while I’m talking about that: Dragons in Dungeons, the first arc, makes it incredibly accessible as a show - because it lets the unfamiliar listener get a sense of what D&D actually is. (It’s about telling stories and making your friends feel heroic and laugh and cry, for the record). If I had to pick a way to introduce someone to the game without actually playing it with them, that arc would definitely be it.

And I’d be remise not to note one very important thing: Haley Whipjack and Gus the Bard are just very funny, very charismatic people. Look. Episode 0s tend to be about 50%(?) those two just talking to each other about their own podcast. It shouldn’t work. And yet it DOES, its one of my favorite parts, because Haley and Gus are just cool.

And a side note that doesn’t fit anywhere else: I throw my soul at him! I throw a scone at him - that’s it, that’s the vibe. The whole podcast alternates between laughing with your friends and brooding alone in a dark tavern corner - but the laughs never forced and the dark corner is never too dark for too long.

Whipjack the Great - Or, the DM is Also a Player!

I think Haley Whipjack is one of the greatest Dungeon Masters alive. The plots and characters! The mechanical shenanigans! The descriptions!

Actually, let’s start there: with the descriptions. (Both Haley and Gus do this really fucking well). As we know, Episode 0 of each arc sees the DM reading a description - of a small town, or the Up North, or the recent history of a great party. And Haley always strikes this tricky balance - one I think a lot of us who DM struggle with - between giving too much description and  worldbuilding, and not telling us anything at all. She describes people and events in just enough detail to imagine them, but never so much they seem static and unreal - just clear enough to envision, but with enough vagueness left to let your imagination begin to run wild.

While I’m thinking about arc 3’s party, let’s talk about a really bold move she made in that arc: letting the players have ongoing control of their history. Loser Lars! She didn’t try to spell out every detail of this high-level party’s history, or restrict their past to only what she decided to allow - she gave them the broad outlines, and let them embellish it. And that made for a much more alive story than any attempt to create it by herself would have - but I think it takes a lot of courage to let your players have that agency. Most Dungeon Masters (myself included) tend to struggle with being control freaks.

And the plots! Yeah, arc one is built of classic tropes - but she actually uses them, she doesn’t get caught up in subverting everything or laughing at the cliches. And it’s fun! In arc 3, there really isn’t a straight line for the players to follow, either - which makes the game much more interesting and much trickier to run. And her NPCs are fantastic and I will talk about them in the next section.

Above all, though, I think what is really impressive is how Haley balances mechanics, and rules as written, with the narrative and rule of cool - and puts both rules and story in the service of playing a fun game. And the secret to that? She’s the DM, but the DM is a player, and the DM is clearly having fun. Hope Lovejoy mechanically shouldn’t get that spellslot back, but she does, and it’s fun. The changeling merchant in Thymore doesn’t really make some Grand Artistic Narrative better, but wow is it fun. And she never tries to force it one way or the other - the story might be more dramatic if Annie didn’t manage to banish the demon from the vault, but it’s a lot cooler and a lot more fun for the players if Annie gets to be a badass instead - and the rules and the dice say that Annie managed it.

Settings feel like places, NPCs feel like people, and the narrative plot feels like a real villainous plot.

Anyway. I could go on about the various ways in which Whipjack is awesome for quite a while - she’s right, first place in D&D is when your friends laugh and super first place is when they cry - but I’m going to stop here and just. Make another post about it some other time. For now, for the record I hold her opinions about the game in higher esteem than I do several official sourcebooks; that is all.

Characters - Or, Bombyx Mori Is Not an Asshole, And That Matters

Okay, I said I would talk about characters! And I will!

Just a general place to start: the party! All of the first three parties are interesting to me, because they all care about each other. Not even necessarily in a Found Family Trope sort of way, though often that too. But they generally aren’t assholes to each other. The players create characters that actually work together, that are interesting; even when there’s internal divisions like SK-73 v. Sir Mr. Person, they aren’t just unpleasant and antagonistic all the time. Listening to the podcast, we’re “with” these people for a couple hours - and it isn’t unpleasant. That matters a lot. (To take a counter-example: I love Critical Role, but the episode when Vox Machina pranked Scanlan after he died and was resurrected wasn’t fun to listen to, it was just uncomfortable and angering and vaguely cruel).

All of the PCs are amazing, and the players in each arc did a great job. If you disagree with me about that, well, you have the right to be incorrect and I am sorry for your loss. Annie Wintersummer, for one example: tragic and sad and I want to give her a hug, but also Fuck Yeah Wintersummer, and also her familiar Charles the Owl is the cutest and funniest and I love him. And we understand what’s going on with Annie, she isn’t some infinite pool of hidden depths because this arc is 7 episodes and we don’t have time for that, but she also has enough complexity to be interesting. Same with Fey Moss: yeah, a lot of her is a silly pun about fame that carries into how she behaves, but a lot of how she behaves is also down to some good classic half-elven angst about parenthood and wanting to be known and seen and important. (Side note: if your half-elf character doesn’t have angst, well, that’s impressive and also I don’t think I believe you).

There are multiple lesbian cat-people in a 4-person party and they both have requited romantic interests who aren’t each other. This is the future liberals want and I am glad for it.

Sir Mister Person, the human fighter! Thavius, the edge lord! Even when a character is “simple,” they’re interesting, because of how they’re played as people and not action-figures. And that matters a lot.

In the same way: the NPCs. There really aren’t a lot of them! And some of them come from Patreon submissions, so uh good work gang, you’re part of the awesomeness and I’m proud of you! The point being, the NPCs work because enough of them are interesting to matter. It’s not just a servant who opens Count Michael’s door, it’s a character with a name (Oleandra!) and a personality and history. They’re interesting. Penny Lovejoy didn’t need to be interesting, the merchant outside the Laughing Mausoleum didn’t need to be interesting, but they ARE! And Haley and Gus EXCEL at making the NPCs matter, not just to the story but to us as viewers. I agree with Sir Mister Person, actually, I would die for the princesses of the kingdom. I actually care about Gem Lovejoy of all people - that wouldn’t happen in an ordinary campaign! That’s the thing that makes Unprepared Casters spectacular - and, frankly, it’s especially impressive because D&D does not tend to be good at making a lot of interesting compared to a lot of other sorts of stories.

And, just as an exemplar of all this: Bombyx Mori. Immortal, reincarnating(?), and described as the incarnation of the player’s ADHD. I expected to hate Bombyx, because as the mom friend both in and out of my friend-group’s campaigns, the chaos-causer is always exhausting to me. And yeah, Bombyx causes problems on purpose! But! She is not an asshole.

And that’s important. Bombyx goes and sits with the queen and comforts her. Bombyx gives Annie emotional support. Bombyx isn’t just a vehicle to jerk around the DM and other players; Bombyx really is a character we can care about. To compare with another case - in the first couple episodes of The Adventure Zone, the PCs are just dicks. Funny, but dicks. Bombyx holds out an arm “covered in larva” to shake with a count, and robs him of magical items, but she also cares about her friends and other people! She uses a powerful magical gem to save her fertilizer guy from death! Yeah, Bombyx is ridiculous, but she’s not just an asshole the party has to keep around for plot reasons; you can see why her party would keep her around. And one layer of meta up, she’s the perfect example of how to make a chaotic character like that while still being fun for everyone you’re playing with, which is often not the case. And I love her.

The Anti-Mercer Effect - Or, “I think we proved it can be fun, you can have a good time with your friends. And it doesn’t have to be scary, you can just work with what you know”

The Mercer Effect basically constitutes this: Matthew Mercer, Dungeon Master of Critical Role, is incredible (as are all of his players). They’re all professional story-tellers in a way, remember, and so Critical Role treats D&D like a narrative art-form, and it’s inspiring. Seeing that on Critical Role sets impossible standards - and people go into their own home games imagining that their campaigns will be like Critical Role, and the burden of that expectation tends to fall disproportionately on the DM. And the end result, I think, of the Mercer Effect is that we get discouraged or intimidated, because our game isn’t “as good as” theirs. (And I should note - Matt certainly doesn’t want that to be our reaction).

So the Anti-Mercer Effect is two things: it’s D&D treated like a game, and it’s inspiring but not intimidating. And Unprepared Casters manages both of those really freaking well. Because they play it like a game! A UC arc looks just like a good campaign in anyone’s home game. They have the vibes of 20-somethings and college students playing D&D for fun because that’s who they are (as a 20-something college student who plays a lot of D&D, watching it felt like watching my friends play an especially good campaign). They’re trying to tell a good story, sure, and they always do. But first and foremost, they’re trying to have fun, and it shows, and I love the UC cast for it.

And that’s the other half of it: it’s inspiring! It’s approachable; you can see that Haley and Gus put plenty of work into preparing the game but it also doesn’t make you feel like you need hundreds of pages of worldbuilding to run a game. Sometimes a cleric makes Haley cry and she gives them back a spell-slot from their deity! That’s fantastic! It’s just inspiring - listening to this over the summer, when my last campaign had fallen apart under the strain of graduation, is why I decided to plan and run my new one!

That quote from Haley Whipjack that I used as the title for this section? That’s the whole core of this idea, and really, I think, the core of the podcast.

The Mercer Effect is when you go “that’s really cool, I could never do that.” But Unprepared Casters makes you look at D&D and go “wow, that looks really fun. I bet I can do that!” And I love the show for it.

And I bet a lot of you do too.

[kurokoros]

three’s company | iwaizumi + oikawa (kinktober day one)

Rated: M

Words: 7.3K

Pairing: iwaizumi x fem!reader x oikawa

Summary: Really, it was only a matter of time before Iwaizumi had you with your back pressed against his chest, his lips on your neck and his hand shoved down the front of your panties while Oikawa was forced to watch.

AN: I chickened out of writing a beefy captain gangbang, but I don’t think anyone is complaining lmao Fingers crossed this actually shows up in the tags!

Kinktober 2020 Day One: Threesomes + Day Eight: Anal

Warnings: smut, threesome, double penetration, oral (male receiving), cuckolding (?), voyeurism (?), anal play/sex, manhandling, edging, orgasm delay/denial, choking, biting, spanking, dirty talk (degradation and praise)

X

Warm lips trail across your cheek, wandering aimlessly along the curve of your jawline until Iwaizumi latches onto a sensitive spot that has you exhaling a breathy version of his name. Teeth scrape against you. He’s rewarded with a shaky sound as he starts to suckle on that same spot. Your thighs tense around his as you squirm, but his grip is firm around your hip, holding you down with a type of languid ease that makes your heart race.

His chest rumbles against your back. A pleased sound is muffled against the underside of your jaw. Tentative fingers brush against the back of his neck before slipping into his thick hair and pulling. There’s a hitch in his breathing, and then a groan that’s just dripping with want.

Iwaizumi’s breath fans across the side of your neck, and the heat makes your toes curl as his lips ghost over your fluttering pulse. It jumps beneath his touch, perfectly in time with the small hitch in your breathing. A shaky sound falls from your mouth as your head drops back against his shoulder, granting him further access to your exposed throat. Greedily, he takes advantage of it, marking your soft, smooth skin with his teeth and tongue. He drinks it all in. The little gasps you make as he drags his fingertips against your bare waist. The way your hair tickles his neck and chest. The sweet smell of your perfume that’s sure to linger on his skin.

You weren’t expecting tonight to end like this. Though, you can’t say you’re entirely surprised, either. Oikawa was acting like a brat earlier, after all. And he knows exactly which buttons to push to make your other boyfriend snap. Really, it was only a matter of time before Iwaizumi had you with your back pressed against his chest, his lips on your neck and his hand shoved down the front of your panties while Oikawa was forced to watch.

Two fingers thrust into you lazily as his thumb continues to tease you. Iwaizumi’s already made you cum once, softening you up with slow, purposeful circles against your puffy clit, all while promising filthy things in your ear. Telling you exactly what he and Oikawa are going to do to you tonight.

Fingertips glide over the curve of your hip and waist, tracing a slow path all the way to your throat. The light touch makes you sigh, your eyes fluttering until they’re half-lidded, unwilling to close them completely as you focus on the sight across from you.

Lips press against the corner of your mouth and trail across your cheek. Iwaizumi nips at your ear, his gaze sliding sideways to follow yours. The grip he has on you tightens. His cock twitches where he’s pressed against your ass, thick and hard. The edges of his lips barely curve upwards in a self-satisfied smirk, and you whimper as you lock eyes with Oikawa.

He’s already smirking at you, a predatory look in his eyes as his gaze drags down your body, watching in fascination as Iwaizumi’s big hand settles on your chest. You sigh as he palms your breast roughly.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines from his spot on the bed, an overly dramatic pout forming on his lips. Despite his tone, he does nothing to hide the amusement in his eyes, taking pleasure from your squirming and panting. His cock twitches in his hand. “Stop teasing.”

To anyone else, maybe it would seem like Oikawa is the only one being teased—being punished—but you know better. Oikawa’s grip on his dick is a little too loose, his cheeks flushed red as he thumbs the head of his cock. Mirth swirls in his eyes as he watches Iwaizumi play with you. Your legs are spread obscenely, wide open for Oikawa as Iwaizumi’s thick fingers split you open, the view obscured by the wet, silky fabric between your thighs. Your back arches away from Iwaizumi’s chest as his thumb swirls around your clit, his finger work purposely sloppy just to keep you on edge.

Oikawa may not be allowed to touch you, but both men have you right where they want you. A panting mess and they’ve hardly done anything. They’re almost disturbingly in tune, playing off of each other so well. It’s no surprise that you get caught up in their games.

On the bed, Oikawa moans as he watches Iwaizumi’s teeth scrape over the curve of your neck and shoulder. His grip tightens around his cock, the steady rhythm of his hand stuttering for the first time.

Fleetingly, you wonder if he likes being cucked by your mutual lover, but your train of thought comes to an abrupt end when Iwaizumi’s thumb rolls over your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs as you shudder in his lap. Whimpering, you tug on his hair a little harder, earning a grunt in response. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He mouths at your shoulder, his hand already slipping beneath your bra to roll over your nipple.

“Hajime.” His name is a breathless gasp, and you watch Oikawa’s throat move with a harsh swallow as you call out a name that isn’t his. Pride swells in Iwaizumi’s chest.

The heat of his breath tickles your ear, and he presses a deceptively sweet kiss to your cheek. His fingers stop thrusting into you. “What do you think, baby?” he asks, just loud enough for you and Oikawa to hear him. “Does Tooru deserve you tonight?”

Oikawa makes another soft, whining sound from across the room, but Iwaizumi ignores him, attention solely on you. He releases your breast, left hand sliding over your collarbone to grip your chin, making sure you’re looking at Oikawa.

Iwaizumi hides a grin when you nod. “Yeah?” he echoes your silent agreement, calloused thumb brushing across your lips. Before he can let go, you part your lips and take the tip of his finger into your mouth. You make sure Oikawa’s eyes are on you when you give the digit a gentle suck. His eyes widen. Iwaizumi presses another kiss to your cheek before pulling his finger from your mouth.

You whine when he pulls his hand from your panties, his slick fingers ghosting over your clit purposely. His other hand lightly smacks the outside of your thigh as he lets you go. “Be a good girl and suck his cock.”

You do as you’re told, sliding off his lap onto shaky legs. A soft squeal escapes you as he delivers another sharp slap to your skin, this time on your ass cheek. It’s more surprising than painful, but his palm lingers, soothing you for a brief moment before giving you another nudge towards the bed.  

Oikawa merely watches from his spot near the headboard as you cross the room. A grin appears on his face when you kneel onto the bed and crawl towards him. Iwaizumi’s gaze burns into your back, his eyes following the sway of your hips. With your back turned, Oikawa is the only one who sees when he brings his slick fingers to his mouth to suck them clean.

“Hello, angel,” Oikawa coos when you’re practically in his lap. He reaches for you with one hand, still stroking himself lazily, and you let him pull you in for a dizzying kiss. His tongue slides across your lips, and he groans when you part them, allowing him to kiss you harder, deeper. He can practically taste Iwaizumi on your tongue. Not as sweet as you, but just as intoxicating.

A soft, almost breathy sound fans against your lips as your fingers tease his bare thighs, slyly sliding higher as you steal another kiss. He pouts as you pull away, leaning just out of reach.

“Minx,” he calls you this time, but there’s no heat behind it. You’re just as bad as him when it comes to teasing. A low groan leaves him when your smooth fingers replace his around his aching cock. “Fuck,” he murmurs, head falling back against the headboard. You’re stroking him slowly, languidly, kneeling between his thighs with smirk that’s far from coy. And it’s so much better than when he was touching himself. Your hands are softer, smaller, and watching through half-lidded eyes as your fingers struggle to wrap all the way around his cock only makes him harder.

You shiver under the wight of their combined gazes, two sets of eyes watching you carefully. You stroke Oikawa from base to tip, grip tightening the way you know he likes it. The vein on the side of his cock throbs under your touch as your thumb swirls around the head at a torturously slow pace.

Oikawa’s palm slides up your arm. He ghosts over your collarbone and throat, only to stop when he’s cradling your jaw in the palm of his hand. For a moment, his thumb only sweeps across your cheek sweetly.

You gasp when his grip tightens, his fingers squeezing around you with near bruising force. White-hot arousal rips through you, pooling low in your belly, and you shiver as he draws your face closer to his. It’s always a gamble which side of him will come out in the bedroom. And with the way he’s looking down at you, amusement dancing in the depths of his eyes, you know that tonight they’re going to ruin you.

Maybe that was their game all along.

“Hajime gave you an order, angel,” Oikawa reminds you, a sing-song lilt to his voice. “You wouldn’t want him to punish you, would you?”

Oh, but you do. Oikawa knows it. And you’re sure Iwaizumi knows it, too. Just the thought of what he might do has your legs clenching. Slick arousal threatens to drip down your thighs. You’re close enough for Oikawa to hear the way your breath catches, a little whimper falling from your pretty lips. He pulls you in for another chaste kiss.

His palm brushes against your throat as he lets you go.

With Oikawa breathing unevenly in front of you, his pupils blown wide with lust, and Iwaizumi’s impatient stare on your back, you finally slide yourself further down the bed. Your free hand drags down Oikawa’s thigh, and you feel his muscles tense beneath your touch. Momentarily, you consider teasing both of them more, pushing the limits of Iwaizumi’s command until he snaps, but Oikawa’s heated look spurs you forward.

You lean down, immediately taking the head of his cock into your mouth. Without warning, you bob forward, sliding him deeper into your wet mouth, tongue laving attention to the underside of his dick. Smug satisfaction bursts in your chest when Oikawa makes a choking sound, caught off guard. One of them calls you a brat—Iwaizumi, you think, but it’s hard to focus when you’re swallowing around Oikawa’s cock. Your fingers dig into his thighs for balance, and his hand grasps the back of your head, brushing your hair back while pulling you closer.

Relaxing your jaw, you allow him to push you down on his cock, another inch slipping down your throat before he yanks you back. Your lips slide off of him with a slick, wet pop, and you gasp for air. Saliva drips down his cock, and you stare down at the flushed tip, pink and swollen from your work.

He pushes you down again without a word, and you eagerly take him back into your mouth, moaning around the stretch of your jaw. Oikawa isn’t as thick as Iwaizumi, but he’s long, and you struggle to take him deeper as he slides against your tongue. The louder you choke around him, the tighter Oikawa’s grip becomes. Breathy moans fall from his silver tongue, the wicked look in his eyes never disappearing for a second.

Breathing slowly through your nose, you glance up at him through your eyelashes.

Oikawa swears as you bob your head again, bucking into your mouth. “So pretty,” he calls you, panting at the way your throat constricts around him when you try to swallow, gagging on him. “Such a good cockslut.” Your lips are stretched obscenely around him. Slowly, you drag yourself back up, inching off him. Saliva sticks to his cock, and your tongue swirls around his tip in teasing circles before you suck.

He thrusts up into your mouth again. You choke.

The bed dips behind you with added weight, and you moan around Oikawa’s cock as Iwaizumi’s hands grab your hips. Calloused palms run along your waist, his thumbs ghosting your back on either side of your spine. You arch into his touch, and he grinds his cock against your ass. A choked moan leaves you as Iwaizumi leans over you, the heat of his body sinking into you as he presses his bare chest against you. His lips brush against your back.

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, the throaty sound of his voice muffled against your shoulder. He places another kiss there, hands running back down your sides until he reaches your hips. You whimper around Oikawa’s cock when he nips at your shoulder blade. “You just don’t fucking listen, do you?”

Iwaizumi lurches away from your back suddenly, straightening. Before you have the chance to miss his warmth, his hand comes down on your ass in a harsh slap. It sends you jolting forward, Oikawa’s cock forced deeper down your throat. You choke around him again, fighting the urge to gag. Tears well in your eyes at the delicious mixture of pain and pleasure.

A hissed exhale is breathed above you. Oikawa curses under his breath as Iwaizumi rubs your hip with his thumb soothingly. “Do you like when Hajime spanks you?” Oikawa coos. His hand slides from your hair to cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth where your lips are split around his cock. You look so pretty choking on him, the head of his cock pressed against the back of your throat.

Shakily, you raise yourself off of Oikawa, your tongue dragging against the underside of his cock. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip. When only half of his dick is left in your mouth, Iwaizumi’s hand comes down on you again, the force of the slap making you take Oikawa all the way to the back of your throat.

This time, you moan. Your thighs squeeze together again, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by the observant pair on either side of you.

“Oh, you do,” Oikawa says teasingly, your reaction answering his previous question. Iwaizumi grabs your ass, spreading you from behind, and Oikawa’s head tilts to the side thoughtfully. “Hmm, you really are a naughty little thing.” He strokes your hair away from your face. “Our little slut.” He punctuates the statement by thrusting up into your mouth, quickening his pace.

You must whine, because Iwaizumi hushes you. His thumb slips between your legs, rubbing against the damp spot in your panties. Another moan vibrates around Oikawa’s cock as Iwaizumi finds your clit, rubbing just enough to make your hips jerk. He grinds against your thigh, holding you in place with an iron grip.

They tease you like that until you’re squirming, Iwaizumi’s cock rutting against your thigh, his hand shoved between your legs to play with your clit while Oikawa uses you. He’s fucking your mouth at this point, holding your head still as he shoves his cock down your throat. Each roll of his hips is harder than the last, and he relishes in the soft gagging sounds you make.

A finger slips beneath your panties to touch you directly, and you grind down against Iwaizumi’s hand, desperate for more contact.

He slaps the back of your thigh. “Greedy slut.” The thought of shoving you down onto the bed and splitting you open with his cock makes his fingers twitch, but there’s something he wants to do even more.

Slowly, he eases your underwear down your legs, allowing the soiled fabric to bunch around your knees before he slips them off entirely. You’re pliant beneath him, allowing him to bend and move you anyway he wants, and you’re rewarded with his cock gliding against your dripping slit, the head rubbing against your clit perfectly. Another moan is muffled around Oikawa’s dick, and his rhythm stutters, then slows.

He’s close. You can tell by the way his cock twitches against your tongue when your swirl the muscle around his tip, his breathing growing heavier with each harsh suck. His fingers twitch against your cheek.

A rough hand wraps around your throat from behind, and then you’re ripped away from Oikawa’s cock. Your mouth leaves him with a wet pop. Spit sticks to your lips and drips down his dick as you’re forced upright. Heat surrounds you as your back is pulled flush against Iwaizumi’s chest. The new angle had him grinding against your clit, pleasure making your legs tremble beneath you.

Oikawa whines as he tosses his head back against the headboard, pouting up at the two of you. His cock twitches, glistening with your saliva, and his hand is quick to wrap around his aching length, stroking slowly. There’s a feral gleam in his eyes, and you know he won’t be cumming anywhere but down your throat once Iwaizumi lets you go.

Two fingers dig into the side of your throat, pressing against your pulse as it starts to race.

A sweet kiss is placed on the curve of your neck, just beneath where his thumb is digging into you, threatening to choke you. Then, his lips are on your temple, your cheek, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “You’re doing such a good job, baby,” he tells you, his other hand skimming across the inside of your thigh. “Fuck.” He hisses as he grinds his cock against you, biting down on the curve of your shoulder. It hurts. The lick of pain only makes you wetter, and you tremble as his tip massages your clit. “You’re going to feel so fucking good squeezing around my cock.”

“Hajime,” you whimper as he nips at your shoulder again, just below a mark be made earlier. The spots will be tender later. Sore for at least a few days. But they’ll take care of you. They always do.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Iwaizumi presses his lips against the spot where his teeth were just digging into your smooth skin. The kiss is gentle—soft in a way that makes your chest tight with overflowing affection. The momentary sweetness is contrasted by the deep, husky tone of his voice when he growls, “Beg,” against your ear.

Your eyes widen at the command; Oikawa’s eyes glint with arousal as he leans back to enjoy the show, content to keep his mouth shut for a little while longer.

“Beg me to fuck your pussy,” Iwaizumi continues when you don’t respond. His grip tightens around your throat, reaffirming the demand, and his thumb rubs against your rapidly beating pulse. You already know he won’t ask you a second time.

His cock rubbing against your slit and the grip he has around your throat make you lightheaded. You must sputter something out, because Oikawa releases a breathy sound of amusement.

“Come on, angel,” he says, tone just shy of condescending. “You can do so much better than that.” You whine when Iwaizumi hums an agreement against the back of your shoulder. His fingers finally stop skimming against your inner thigh. A surprised squeal falls from your mouth when he pinches your clit between his thumb and finger. Oikawa’s grin widens as he sees the tears brimming in your eyes—of pleasure or pain, it doesn’t matter. “Why don’t you tell Iwa-chan how desperate you are to be stuffed full of his big cock? I bet you can’t wait to have his cum dripping from your pretty pussy.” What he’s saying is absolutely filthy, but it has you shivering with anticipation, and you feel more than hear Iwaizumi’s breath hitch behind you. Oikawa’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. “Or maybe you’d rather have him fuck your ass instead?”

Your head lolls back against Iwaizumi’s shoulder, and you let out a barely audible moan that might be a name, feeling like all of the air has been ripped out of your lungs. They’re still waiting for an answer—waiting for you to beg—but it’s hard to breathe, let alone speak. And then your mouth is moving, words as filthy as Oikawa’s, but sounding so sweet to both of them. “Please,” you gasp, trying to grind back against Iwaizumi despite the bruising grip he has around your thigh. “Please, fuck me, Hajime. I need you to fuck me with your fat cock.”

Iwaizumi’s hand shifts to your jaw. “Good girl,” he murmurs, tilting your head back. Leaning in, he presses his lips to yours. He kisses you just as hard as Oikawa did, but his thumb brushes against your cheek affectionately. Fingers dig into your hipbone, and his teeth bite down on your bottom lip until you whimper. Pulling away from your lips, Iwaizumi leans back, and you’re barely given a second to breathe before you’re being bent over.

Immediately, there’s a hand on your jaw, guiding you back down to Oikawa’s dick. The flushed tip rubs against your mouth, spit and pre-cum smearing across your swollen lips before his cock is shoved inside. At the same time, Iwaizumi shifts behind you. Big hands hold you in place as he rolls his hips forward.

The dick in your mouth is the only thing to muffle your sob as Iwaizumi splits you open with his cock. He’s big inside you. Thick. And the stretch burns in the best way, bringing tears to your eyes. You always have liked it rough, and that’s exactly how he’s going to give it to you.

The next roll has him sinking another inch into your pussy, and you whimper around Oikawa, who shushes you, petting your hair and murmuring praises, telling you how good you are and how well you take Iwaizumi’s cock. He’s only halfway inside, but you’re already shaking, practically gushing around him.

Oikawa coos when you moan, and that condescending tone returns when Iwaizumi’s dick drags along your inner walls slowly, pulling back out. “So pretty,” he says, thumb stroking your cheek to brush away a tear that slips out. You swallow around his cock, tongue trembling against him.

There’s no warning before Iwaizumi thrusts forward and shoves his entire cock into your dripping cunt. His hips slap against your ass, pressing against the tender spots where he spanked you before. The force behind the thrust sends you forward into Oikawa’s lap, and he moans as you take him all the way into your throat. Your nose brushes against his pelvis, your jaw already aching from the repeated stretch.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi murmurs, groaning as your pussy clenches around him sporadically, spasming. Even the slightest shift from him has pure bliss rippling through you. He’s so thick it’s impossible for him not to rub against your sweet spot, his cock stroking your insides just right. His hands flex around your hips. Blunt fingernails dig into you. The lick of pain makes you squirm, unsure if you’re trying to pull away or take him even deeper, if that’s even possible.

Oikawa allows you to pull yourself half-way off his dick to breathe, your chest heaving. “Oh?” He sounds amused. “Are you going to cum already, angel? Just from that?” He snickers when you shake your head stubbornly, forcing yourself to relax, unwilling to give either one the satisfaction of making you cum that quickly. “I guess Iwa-chan will just have to try harder then.”

A grunt of agreement comes from behind you. Still buried inside you, Iwaizumi pries one of his hands away from your hips. You clench around him embarrassingly when he spanks you this time. The rough treatment makes you keen.

They set a brutal pace. Iwaizumi fucks you from behind, hips slapping against your ass with every harsh thrust. Oikawa leans back, content to watch through half-lidded eyes as you whine and gag around his cock, taking him deeper each time Iwaizumi forces you down. You’re making a mess on both of them, spit and slick dripping around their cocks, but it only makes them fuck you harder.

You lose yourself in the sensations. The tangy taste of Oikawa on your tongue. The lingering ache of Iwaizumi’s hips slapping against you. The combined sounds of their heavy pants and groans. Oikawa is louder, higher-pitched and unrestrained as he moans; you can hardly hear Iwaizumi, his grunts and groans muffled as they slip through grit teeth, held back so he can focus on the slick, wet sounds of his cock filling your pussy over and over. Sweat drips down your back. Everything is hot. Too hot.

One of Iwaizumi’s hands slides around your hips and snakes between your thighs. Calloused fingers rub against your clit until you’re squirming under him, caught between leaning into the overwhelming pleasure and trying to pull away, already so, so sensitive from before. Before you can make the choice, his fingers disappear.

Your hips jerk when he grabs your ass, spreading you from behind. He leans back, just enough to watch his cock disappear inside your pussy. The slick press of his finger against your puckered asshole makes you gasp around Oikawa, but it quickly dissolves into a moan when the digit slips inside you, stretching you out. You’re warm and wet already, loose from earlier preparation, and you melt into his touch.

He crooks his finger just right, and you tighten around his cock, sucking Oikawa’s harder. The latter hisses, gripping your jaw so tightly that you wince. He hisses for Iwaizumi to “do that again”, and the other man complies, playing with your ass.

The hand Oikawa isn’t gripping your jaw with is fisted in the sheets, his knuckles white with how hard he’s squeezing. By now he’s holding you still, fucking your face with frenzied rolls of his hips. All you can do is whimper around him, swallowing and choking until his rhythm stutters. “Fuck,” he groans, tensing as he cums in your mouth, spilling down your throat.

He’s salty on your tongue as you swallow, and you gasp as he pulls his softening cock from your mouth. There’s nothing to muffle your whimpers and whines now, and it only spurs Iwaizumi on when you mewl, “Hajime,” as he slams against your sweet spot.

A hand in your hair pulls you up, gentler than before, and Oikawa leans in to kiss you, swallowing the sounds you make. He cradles your jaw in his palm, thumb rubbing circles against a sore spot. More praise is mumbled against your mouth, but what he’s saying is lost between feverish kisses and panting mouths as he tastes himself on your tongue.

Upright like this, your back is pressed against Iwaizumi’s chest again, and he takes advantage of the position. Another finger slips into your ass, thrusting slowly. His grip on your hip loosens, his palm sliding up your back and over your ribcage.  Lips press against your neck. His tongue pokes out to taste the salt on your skin. And then he’s all teeth, nipping and sucking at you as he yanks at the clasp holding your bra together.

It snaps loose. The straps slide down your shoulders. One of them rips it off the rest of the way, and you whimper when a warm hand palms your breast, groping and squeezing before pinching your nipple.

Oikawa leans back, still stroking your cheek.

Iwaizumi shoves you forward suddenly, and you brace your hands against the headboard next to Oikawa. You’re positioned over his lap, knees pressed against the mattress on either side of his hips. His palms land on your legs, teasingly stroking from your knees to the tops of your thighs, his head tilted back against the headboard to look at you.

He looks content, face flushed and panting. Chocolate brown hair is mused, messy and sticking to his forehead. Pupils are blown wide, his eyes hazy from his orgasm. Though, they haven’t lost that spark of mischief. He smirks when he sees your own expression of bliss. Oikawa’s hands slide up your sides, replacing Iwaizumi’s on your breast when his palm shifts to your throat, squeezing slightly.

“How rude, Iwa-chan, fucking her right in front of me.” Oikawa is absolutely shameless with the way his gaze drops between your legs, watching as your cute little cunt is stretched around Iwaizumi’s cock. Slim fingers play with your nipples.

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, breath fanning over the back of your neck. His pace slows, rough thrusts turning to a deep grind. “Maybe if you hadn’t cum in her mouth,” he grumbles, words slightly muffled by your shoulder as he leans in to kiss you.

Feigning innocence, Oikawa pouts up at Iwaizumi. “I thought you wanted her to suck my cock?” he asks. He pinches your nipple hard enough to make you gasp, a devilish smile spreading across his face. “Weren’t those your orders?”

He’s goading Iwaizumi. Trying to piss him off, make him fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. All three of you know it. And it’s working.

The fingers around your throat twitch. His hips slap against your ass with more force than before, but his slow pace doesn’t pick up. “I could have made you watch me fuck her on the chair.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it.

“You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

A snort. Iwaizumi fucks you a little harder, a little faster. Your toes curl. “You better hurry up if you want to fuck her, too,” he warns Oikawa, eyes rolling at the impish look he receives in return.

“Are you going to cum early, Iwa-chan?” By now, neither of them are paying attention to you, bickering over your shoulder as if Iwaizumi isn’t buried deep in your pussy and your ass, and the taste of Oikawa’s cum isn’t lingering on your tongue. “I don’t think our girl would like that much.” Brown eyes blink up at you to avoid the glare Iwaizumi is sending him. “You look so pretty when Iwa-chan fucks you like this,” he compliments you, releasing your breasts and trailing his hands back down. “But I bet you’ll look even prettier when I’m fucking you, too.” His thumb circles your clit, still swollen and sensitive from when you came on Iwaizumi’s fingers earlier. “Think you can take both of us tonight, angel?”

You nod, eyes squeezing shut as a breathless yes falls from your mouth, because fuck, of course you want them both. You always do. And you’re so fucking close to cumming again. Your body is just buzzing with pleasure. Iwaizumi lets your head fall back against his shoulder, his sturdy frame and strong hand on your neck the only things keeping you upright. He’s still grinding against you, pace almost painfully slow.

With your eyes shut tight, you don’t see the way Oikawa grins. “Good.”

Iwaizumi’s cock pulls out of you. His fingers slip out of your ass. Your eyes snap open in alarm, a protest already on the tip of your tongue, but Iwaizumi silences you with a sharp slap against your sore ass cheek.

“Hajime,” you whine, only to gasp when he spreads you from behind. He lets go of your throat as Oikawa swipes a bottle off the nightstand. You know what it is without having to look, but you still shiver when cold, sticky fluid drips onto your skin. Iwaizumi hisses between his teeth as lube leaks onto his cock and fingers. He strokes himself slowly.

Oikawa grinds you down against his hips, his dick rubbing against your clit teasingly. The hands on your hips hold you still, the pair in perfect sync as they move you where they want you. Your fingers bite into the headboard as Oikawa snakes a hand around your hips, helping Iwaizumi hold you open.

The head of his dick presses against your ass, rubbing against your puckered entrance. His name drips from your tongue, sweet like honey, and you whimper at the stretch of his cock sinking into you just an inch. The lube makes the glide easy, but he’s still so big inside of you, stretching you to your absolute limit.

“Just relax, baby,” he murmurs against your temple, face buried in your hair. “Let us make you feel good.” His palm presses against your abdomen, pushing you against his chest.

Oikawa pouts. He leans in, pressing a kiss against your jaw that quickly turns into a bite. The pain doesn’t last as he pulls away just as fast. “How come you never say my name that pretty?” he asks you, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips.

Even through half-lidded eyes you see the glance the pair share over your shoulder. One of them slaps your thigh when you don’t answer fast enough, but you’re too overwhelmed by the onslaught of stimulation to tell who. The same hand slips between your legs to stroke your clit.

“Please, Tooru.” He shivers at the way you practically purr his name, all breathy and needy. “Please, fuck me. I want—” A choked scream tears from your throat as Iwaizumi suddenly thrusts forward, taking you by surprise as the full length of his cock is shoved inside you. His other hand slaps against the wall by Oikawa’s head for balance. “Fuck,” you whimper, clenching around him. Slick drips from your cunt, and you tremble, realizing you came just from that.

Oikawa’s thumb doesn’t stop rubbing your clit. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You’re shifted over his lap, and then his dick is pressed against your slit, the tip rubbing through the sloppy mess between your legs. Hushing your little gasps and whines, Oikawa murmurs in your ear how pretty you are before he thrusts inside you, stuffing you full of his cock. The fullness makes you moan, but the sound is swallowed by Oikawa’s lips on yours.

Neither of them gives you a moment to breathe before they’re thrusting and grinding against you, taking you roughly, hard and fast. They know you can take it—can take them. You’re always so good for them, taking them so well. Your hands scramble for something to ground you, and you end up clutching Iwaizumi’s bicep like a lifeline as he pounds into your ass.

Absolutely filthy things are whispered in your ear, but it’s too hard to focus on anything more than the deep, throaty sound of Iwaizumi’s voice and the heat of his breath fanning across the back of your neck. Oikawa hisses between his teeth as your walls tighten around him, sucking him in deeper every time you bounce on his lap.

At this angle, he’s perfectly positioned to rub against your sweet spot with every thrust. You’re mostly grinding against him. Shoved onto his cock with the force of Iwaizumi’s hips slapping against your ass. They’re both panting and swearing, twin groans falling from their mouths as your muscles squeeze around them sporadically.

“I bet you just love being fucked like this, don’t you?” Oikawa sneers, one hand sliding up your side to palm your breast. Pinching and pulling at your nipple, he leans down to lick a strip up the side of your throat, tasting the salt on your skin. When his lips brush against your ear he continues. “Split open on both of our cocks.”

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh. “Cock hungry little slut.”

The way you moan is almost embarrassing, and it only spurs them on.

Oikawa pinches your clit between two fingers, rubbing your sensitive nerves harshly, just enough to bring you to the edge before he snatches his hand back. “Well, angel?” he starts. “Tell us how much you love it. Beg us to fuck you just the way you want it.” Letting go of your breast, he grabs your waist, forcing you down harder on his and Iwaizumi’s cocks. “Or does Hajime need to punish you again?”

“Please.” It slips out before you can stop it, breathy and needy. “I—fuck.” Iwaizumi slaps your ass again, and this time it’s hard enough to make tears well in your eyes. Pain and pleasure swirl into an intoxicating combination. “Please. Right there. I love it when you fuck me with your big, hard cocks.” You’re babbling at this point, only half-aware of what you’re saying, but you don’t care. You’re so close to cumming again. The knot of tension in your lower belly is so close to snapping. “Please, don’t stop.”

By now, you’re barely able to hold yourself up. Their strong hands are the only thing keeping you from collapsing. They know it, too, judging by Iwaizumi’s tight grip and the smirk on Oikawa’s face. Purposely, you clench around them a little harder, just to watch the way Oikawa’s brow furrows, his eyes squeezed shut in absolute bliss. Iwaizumi only grunts, pounding into you harder in retaliation.

Fingertips slide up your torso, and you cling to Iwaizumi’s bicep harder. His hand wraps around your throat, choking you, and you scramble to grab his forearm as he guides your head back against his shoulder, arching your back in a perfect curve. Your fingernails bite into his skin, but he only groans against your ear. Spots burst across your vision. Oikawa’s lips are on your collarbone, sucking a bruise against an already tender spot.

“Come on, baby.” Iwaizumi pants against your ear, distracting you as Oikawa’s hand slips back between your legs. His thumb swipes over your clit, rubbing in hard, fast circles.

You clench down around them again, tighter than before as you cum hard, your orgasm ripping straight through you. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream. The only sound you manage is a choked gasp that might be one or both of their names as you tremble, spasming around them as they continue to thrust inside of you, drawing out your orgasm until you’re overstimulated and so sensitive it almost hurts.

Moaning, Oikawa cums deep inside you, harder than before and so fucking sensitive as your pussy squeezes around his dick. The rush of warmth inside your cunt makes you whimper. A second later, Iwaizumi swears, shoving himself back and pulling his cock from inside you just in time to cum on your ass. Thick, milky fluid slides down your skin, mixing with the mess of cum that drips from your pussy as Oikawa pulls out of you.

None of you move. For a long moment the only sounds in the room are harsh pants as the three of you try to catch your breaths, too sore and sticky with fluids to do anything else.

It’s Iwaizumi that moves first. He presses a hard kiss against your temple, reassuring and warm. His thumb strokes the side of your neck gently, his grip around your throat now loose. A quiet whine leaves you when his warmth disappears, but it turns into a sigh as you’re shifted off of Oikawa’s lap and laid down on the bed. The mattress shifts as Iwaizumi gets off the bed.

Oikawa stays leaning against the headboard as the other man pads across the floor and leaves the room without a word. When Iwaizumi disappears down the hallway, Oikawa turns back to you. He reaches for you slowly, and you relax as his knuckles rub against your cheek soothingly.

“Such a good girl,” he coos down at you, moving to pet your hair. “You did so well for us. Hajime will be right back, okay? So just relax, sweetheart.” Your heart swells with the petname. It’s one he only uses in moments like this, where you’re both exhausted, craving contact and praise.

He continues to coo and whisper until Iwaizumi returns a moment later, a loose pair of sweatpants pulled over his hips and a set of damp towels in one hand. Without looking, he tosses one of them at Oikawa, who yelps as it smacks him in the face. “Clean yourself up, shithead,” Iwaizumi tells him, tone gruff. His entire demeanor softens when he looks at you, still spread out on the bedsheets, exhausted, with cum dripping down your ass and thighs.

“So mean, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa huffs, but does as he’s told, wiping himself off before tossing the towel onto the floor.

Ignoring Oikawa’s tone, Iwaizumi climbs onto the bed on top of you, his knees on either side of your legs. “Okay, baby?” he mumbles, kissing your temple, then your cheek, coaxing you to nod. Once he’s sure you’re okay, his lips lovingly brush over one of the bitemarks he left on the back of your shoulder. “Let’s clean you up.”

You wince as the towel rubs against your sensitive skin, but he’s nothing but gentle as he wipes away the sticky fluids.

Unlike Iwaizumi, Oikawa doesn’t bother putting on pants before he shuffles down onto the bed, sprawled out beside you. He clicks his tongue, a dramatic pout forming on his lips as he looks at you and Iwaizumi. “How come you don’t treat me like that, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi raises a brow. The look he throws Oikawa is nothing short of exasperated. “You’re not the one I just fucked,” he says blandly, making you smile. When Oikawa only pouts more, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You want me to fuck your ass next time?”

“Well,” your other boyfriend drawls, a mischievous flicker in the depths of his eyes, “I wouldn’t be opposed.” Before Iwaizumi can respond, he rolls onto his side to face you. “And how are you feeling, angel? Need anything?”

It’s always the same routine after they fuck your brains out. The two of them bicker as they make sure you’re okay, then settle in on either side of you. They’re always clingy after sex, but you’re no better. Sometimes, Oikawa will coax you into a bath, or persuade Iwaizumi to order food, craving conversation until the three of you are half-asleep and too tired to continue; Iwaizumi only ever wants to pull you both close, reassure himself that you’re both okay. He can be too rough sometimes, and he knows it, always whispering apologies when one of you wince, big hands soothing away the pain.

You hum as Iwaizumi slots in beside you, sliding partway underneath you so that your head is resting on his chest. His fingertips brush against your skin, his palm smoothing over your naked back. Lips press against the top of your head, and you sink into his embrace as his steady heartbeat thrums through you. “Sore,” you admit, sighing as he kneads your lower back. You tilt your chin enough to kiss Iwaizumi’s chest before turning to Oikawa. Your lips quirk up.

“Someone looks satisfied with himself,” you tease him, voice slurred as you start to feel drowsy, lulled by the warmth around you.

“And you look like you’ve been attacked by an animal.” He reaches out to poke one of the bitemarks on your neck, faint indents from teeth just barely visible in the light. The grin on his face becomes even more cheeky. “But, ah, what can you expect with our Hajime. Such a brute.”

Iwaizumi reaches around you to cuff Oikawa over the head, but there’s no force behind it. A love tap. Oikawa whines anyway, and you dissolve into giggles as he throws himself on top of you and Iwaizumi, careful to rest most of his weight against the other man, who grunts, but doesn’t bother to shove him off.

“Idiots,” Iwaizumi grumbles, wrapping his arms around the two of you.