#shes his mirror which is what makes it so infuriating to him when shes the one to catch on to him

[anewbrainjughead]

:)

[reignpage]

Equal Rights, Equal Fights

Summary: in which your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, lets himself get struck by a gender-bending curse Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: fem!reader, lesbian sex, gender bend, porn with little plot, thigh humping, cunnilingus, fingering, scissoring, dirty talk, choking, slight rimming, all over the place pronouns, not proofread

“It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?” Satoru remarks with a shit-eating grin. “Although, I always knew I’d make a hot chick.”

Your boyfriend returned from a mission as a woman. Something about a curse with the ability to alter the appearance of its victim for an hour or two, which apparently, intrigued him enough to let down his guard, literally, and allow himself to be struck. 

Now, before you, is a tall, skinny, but curvaceous, young woman with long, white hair. She’s drowning in Satoru’s clothes, zipper dangerously low on her chest, revealing the smooth curves of her cleavage. Wearing his blindfold, she admires herself in the bathroom mirror whilst you look on from behind in what can only be described as horror. 

“How are you so calm about this, Satoru?”

She, or he, or what fucking ever, winks at you through the reflection and cups her ample breasts. Then, with a sultry tone, replies, “I’ve already accepted my fate. So, instead of being all sad and scared, why don’t we make the most of it, sweetie?”

Judging by the words alone, you’re sure it’s him — no one else in the world could manage to be as infuriating. But the voice is so womanly, much higher than his normal pitch, smoother, and it’s throwing you for a loop. 

Satoru spins around, hair whipping with her movement. You can tell she’s serious, or he, and fuck this is confusing. She is serious. You can tell her from the mischievous glinting in her eyes and the way she’s raking down your figure, stopping at your chest to size up your tits in comparison to hers. 

Even in a situation like this, he just has to compete.

“Satoru, you need to go to Shoko,” is all you can push out. 

In a flash, she’s pinning you to the wall, breasts squished against yours and her leg trapped shoved between your thighs. She cages you within her arms, fingers tracing your jaw, travelling down your neck. When you gulp, Satoru huffs in victory, thoroughly amused by your body’s reaction.

Her fingers remain just as long as his normal ones, but his nails are even longer and sharper. They scrape against your skin, pressing just hard enough for you to hold your breath as you both watch him descend down your chest until she reaches the neckline of your shirt. 

“Let’s have some instead, hmm?”

You try to push her away, but your fists only land on her bouncy breasts instead of his hard pecs. Through her uniform, you can feel her pebbled nipples poking. Satoru gasps. Unable to help yourself, you unfurl your fists and bury your fingers within her tits, the weight leaving you both breathless. 

In retaliation, you’re sure, she hikes that leg up between yours, plumper thighs pressing against your clothed pussy. You moan, “Satoru!”

She crashes her lips against yours. 

You can taste your lipgloss; he must have gone through your makeup bag before waking you up. It’s sweet and sticky and neither of you can get enough as you stick your tongue in, meeting his in a sloppy kiss. Her tits press in harder as she arches closer, leg grinding against your moistening pussy. 

“Knew you’d cave,” he taunts.

Satoru, in any and all forms, will always be a little shit. He’ll always push the limits, get on your nerves, and he’ll do it all with an innocent smile. That realisation might be the only thing softening the blow when you realise, you’re actually just as curious and enthusiastic about this little experience. 

Because no matter how infuriating he is, he will always be your Satoru. And you can’t deny him, can’t resist his charm, no matter how hard you try. Even when you desperately don’t want him to win. 

And how can you resist him now?

When he still looks just as otherworldly, just as majestic, and jaw-dropping as a woman. And he looks even better than you. 

But he kisses the same. With so much love, so much reverence, and obsession, you almost forget what’s happened. Almost. Since there’s no way you can ignore that sickly sweet scent of a woman. Gone is all the roughness and instead it’s replaced by that warmth, that nurturing softness you melt into. 

She squeals when you shove your leg between hers too. Whilst you grind on hers, Satoru humps you, pussy juices seeping through your clothes, leaving a steamy trail on your bare skin and on her thin pants. 

“Do I feel better, baby?” He asks. “Is it better when I’m a girl? Do you like me like this, hmm? All -ngh- soft and womanly?”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

You tear off her jacket, throwing it somewhere behind her before you pull down her vest, stretching the material until it tucks itself under her tits. They’re so heavy, so intoxicatingly smooth you squeeze them under your palms. You suck at a throbbing nipple, eyes rolling back at Satoru’s whimper. 

“Oh, fuck, baby! You sucking my tit? You like sucking on mommy’s tits, baby?”

Her fingers tug at your hair, simultaneously trying to pull you off and keep you there, like she wishes she could bury you between her breasts. You have no idea where that mommy thing comes from and you make a mental note to make fun of him for it later, but right now, the term is actually making you wetter. 

Tongue swirling around her nipple, you use the same technique as you would with the tip of his cock, sucking in pulses. You flick it and rolls the bud between your teeth hard enough to make her hips stutter. 

You’re still churning your hips against her thigh, panties soaked through and making a mess of her pants. She, in turn, is grinding on yours. The both of you are chasing your high, feeling yourselves get closer to an orgasm, and you can’t muster the energy to ponder about how weird this entire thing is. You can only think about how delicious she smells and how addictive her softness feels. 

“Yes! Yes, Satoru,” you groan around her nipple, bruising her hips with your needy hands.

She’s bucking wildly, holding you tight as she spasms. Though your orgasm was just as good, it’s clear Satoru is being driven an extra mile of wild — he must be going insane from the unique feel of a woman’s orgasm. She grinds her clit harder. 

“Oh my god!” She moans. “Fuck, baby! It’s so good, it’s so fucking good.”

Kissing up her neck, you hold her as she slumps down. Unable to restrain yourself, you tease right in her ear, “Knew you wouldn’t be able to handle a woman’s body.”

That seems to rejuvenate him because he’s using his height to tower over you once more, tits jiggling right in front of your face.

“Oh, but I handle yours every night well enough, don’t I?”

You shrug. “Eh, you’re alright.”

Satoru spins you around, pushing you to sit on top of the toilet lid. She sinks onto her knees, pulling your panties off right before diving forward. Her tongue glides through your sloppy pussy, licking a stripe from your quivering hole to your clit, circling there once and twice before lowering again. 

“Satoru! Don’t stop,” you beg, hands holding your thighs up so you can get a perfect view of her long lashes fluttering as her own eyes roll back. She’s taking off her own clothes with expert hands, multitasking whilst she ravages your cunt, pushing that devilishly long tongue inside your wet hole. 

You’re writhing and clawing at the walls, knocking the toilet roll off its handle. 

When she inches her fingers inside, your hips jolt. They’re slightly thinner than his normal fingers but they’re still stretching you out as she feels the grooves inside your pulsing walls. 

Laughing, Satoru remarks, “I’m just as tight as you, baby. But you’re warmer inside.”

You look down and the sight makes you squeeze out even more cream onto his fingers. Your boyfriend, in his female form, is shoving his fingers inside his own sloppy pussy in time with the fingers he’s got inside of you. His slender arm is pushing her tits closer, make the fat bulge and bounce with every thrust. 

Bunching up her hair, you pull him in closer, urging his dirty mouth to suck your clit. Drool is dripping down your chin as he continues to pummel his fingers inside your cunt, curling them in to tease at that spongy spot inside. 

“Oh! Ngh!” Satoru whimpers. “Is that what you feel when I do that?”

The squelches filling the room are coming from both of you. It’s a filthy symphony and you’re heaving, hips rising to chase his mouth. Sweat is drenching your body and the feel of him licking up that bead of condensation falling down your thigh just as his thumb circles your clit is what pushes you over the edge. 

You cum with a scream, soaking her face with your release which she eagerly laps up, dipping low to your ass to chase any errant trails of wetness, tracing the puckered hole. Desperately inhaling air, your head falls back onto the water tank, the ceramic cooling you enough to bring back your consciousness. 

“That’s it. Go on, baby. Cum for me,” she urges. “Looks so -ngh- pretty. Prettier than me. Always so beautiful.”

Satoru is still frantically shoving her fingers inside like she can’t get enough of the euphoria stimulating her g-spot is bringing. You reach your hands out, one to clutch at her throat, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp, and the other pinches and pulls at her nipple, slipping in the sweat coating his skin.

“Shit! I’m cumming. Oh no, fuck! It’s too much.”

She cums too, juices splattering all over the tiles. Her back arches, mouth agape and eyes rolled back. Strands of hair are sticking to her clammy skin, and her sticky spare hand is gripping your wrist, smearing your own wetness all over your skin. 

It’s as gorgeous a sight as his normal cumming face. 

“I c-can’t…fuck!” She heaves, bottom lip quivering right before her head falls forward, face planting right into your pussy. Satoru takes a deep inhale before he kisses your clit like he would with your lips or your cheeks. “Love this pussy, love you so so much.”

He’s muttering sweet nothings right in your hole the same way he does after a hard cum. Even as the most badass looking woman, he’s still your pathetic little boyfriend, always so in love and unafraid to show it. 

“Accept defeat, Satoru,” you whisper as you brush his hair back. “Two orgasms from your pussy are too much for a man to handle.”

Your boyfriend, bless his competitive little heart, lifts his head and forces his blurry vision to clear up enough for him to fix you with a firm glare. He grips your ankles, stands up, and scoots you back. There isn’t enough space on the toilet, but he forces you both to balance anyways. 

Tossing a leg over yours, he declares, “I can handle another one. You can too. So, hold tight baby, we’re going until there’s a dick between my legs and inside yours.”

Then, he’s mashing his wet cunt against your pulsing pussy. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper again. 

Satoru has craziness written all over his face, a furious need sparkling in his pretty blue eyes as he pummels his pussy again and again against yours. His hard clit meets yours and jolts of electricity climb up your spine, back arching with a howl. 

Sweat and pussy juice is flying everywhere with the force of her thrusts. Your body is on fire, nerves alight as you lie helplessly beneath her, head thrown back. You can only take what she’s giving you, unable to fight off that fury in her hips as she grinds your clits together, mixing your sticky juices until it’s pooling beneath your asses.

His perfect blue eyes can’t decide where to look at. Whether to watch the way your tits bounce like his, or at your pleasured face, tongue out and drool coating your lips and chin whilst your eyes rolls back, or at your sloppy pussy, shiny with your combined mess. 

Your fingers dig into her tits, groping the flesh there before you sit up and take a nipple into your mouth. Even as a man, his nipples were his weakness, and when you swipe the tip of your tongue against the slit, her thrusts suddenly become shorter and faster until they lose all rhythm. 

Together, you howl. Your moans are broken and ragged, muscles jelly as you meet her sloppy thrusts with equally crazed ones. 

“Yes! Yes!” Satoru screams. “So good, baby. Fuck! Your pussy’s the best. Ha! I love you so much. My best girl, my favourite girl.”

“Oh god, Satoru!”

Hips still stuttering and slapping against each other, you ride out your orgasms, breaths raspy as you drench the seat with your mixing fluids, steam fogging the window. Satoru’s lips descend on yours, sucking up your dying moans and holding you close. 

Eventually, you part, limbs tangled up and eyes threatening to close. 

You fall forward into his neck, but you don’t get any rest because he’s slapping your face awake with gentle pats. You look up at him through bleary eyes. 

Gone is long hair and so is his blindfold, now you realise. His features have hardened again, jaw much sharper and cheeks less plump, but still just as flushed. And when your hand seeks out his chest, you’re a little disappointed to find only solid muscle. But you aren’t as disappointed to feel something long, thick and incredibly hard throbbing against your stomach. 

“Three orgasms from female me. Three orgasms from original me. After, you tell me which is better, okay?”

Always so competitive, always so annoying. 

[oikarma]

look me in the eye | pt.3

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable-the whole world knows that, now-but you've become so much more than just his engineer and they should know that too.

a/n: i just...max verstappen...and thank you guys sm for the love you've shown this series! here is the last part <3

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The moment you step out of the storage room-you figured that out when Max shoved you against a nice metal rack and some probably important things crashed to the ground-reality crashes down on you like a tidal wave.

You just kissed Max Verstappen.

Max Verstappen just kissed you.

You don't know how it can get worse, but it will. He looks completely at ease, like he didn't just change the trajectory of your entire life in the span of a few heated seconds. Meanwhile, you feel like you're about to combust. Your lips are still tingling, your mind racing, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the noise outside: the team is still celebrating, the media is still circling, and maybe you're being a little dramatic but people will want answers that you can't give.

Max notices your panic before you can even say anything. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Breathe."

You shoot him a glare that lacks any real venom. "Don't tell me what to do."

His lips twitch. "Then don't look like you’re about to pass out." Which is ironic, because if he hadn't kissed you senseless, you probably wouldn't look like...whatever you look like right now. You need a mirror. Your hair is all messed up from the frenzy-his is too, though it suits his post-race look-and you straighten the collar of your shirt.

Damn you. You shove past him, desperate for space, for air, for something that isn't Max Verstappen and his infuriating ability to act like everything is fine. Your body betrays you, though, because even as you move, you feel his warmth lingering, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

And then, as if the universe is determined to make your life a nightmare, Christian Horner appears. The devil himself.

You barely manage to school your expression into something neutral as he approaches, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that promises nothing good.

"Max." He nods at Red Bull's star driver before turning to you. "We need to talk."

Max doesn't move. "She's busy," he quips.

You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. "Max."

Christian doesn't look amused. "Now."

You sigh, throwing Max one last look before following Christian into one of the back offices. The second the door closes, he lets out a heavy breath and pinches the bridge of his nose like he's trying to will away a migraine.

"You know why we're here."

You cross your arms, steeling yourself. "If this is about that stupid interview-"

"Stupid?" Christian cuts you off and his eyes narrow quickly. "Do you have any idea what you just walked into? The media is losing it. The fans are in a frenzy. And now I have PR breathing down my neck asking if Max Verstappen is in a relationship with one of his engineers."

This isn't good. No, not at all. Today is not a good day to have Christian Horner mad at you. "It's not-"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Christian interrupts. "Believe me. The only thing I care about is what it looks like."

You don't have an argument for that. Because he's right. Perception is everything in this sport, and right now, the perception is that you are tangled up in something that no team principal wants to deal with.

Christian sighs and it's like all his fury is evaporating. "Look. I really don't care what you do in your personal life. I don't even care what Max does, as long as he keeps winning. But I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

You hesitate. "Define 'a problem.'"

Christian levels you with a look. "Are you going to be a distraction? To him? To yourself?"

Your mind flashes back to the kiss, to the way Max looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. Your heart stutters.

"No," you say, more firmly than you feel. "This doesn't affect my work."

Christian watches you for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Then handle it."

You swallow. "Handle it?"

"Either shut it down or control the narrative," he says. "But I don't want any more surprises."

You nod, even though you don't know what exactly you're affirming with that nod. The problem is, you don't know if you can shut it down. You don't know if you even want to.

When you leave the office, Max is leaning against the wall, waiting. Of course he is.

He leaps up when he sees you. "What did he say?"

"That I need to handle it," you explain.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. "And are you going to?

"I don’t know."

There it is again. You can't read Max Verstappen. He asks, "Do you want me to?"

All your problems come from the same thing-you should say yes, no, whatever it takes to shut down all this that's happening. You should make him go on some press circuit and laugh it off as a misunderstanding, to make sure your name isn't attached to his ever again. You should be walking away from this mess because it's not part of your job description and getting involved with an athlete never seems to end well. Even if it's Max Verstappen.

But you don't.

You never do, it seems.

Instead, you look at him: the way his jaw is clenched, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but won't unless you let him, and you keep making the same choice.

"I think," you say carefully, "we should talk."

Max’s lips curve slightly. "Dinner?"

You groan, shoving his shoulder. "Not helping."

His laugh is soft, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something serious. "Then let’s talk."

It's been a long time coming, but right there, you realize you're past the point of no return.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The ride back to the hotel is suffocating. Not the air-no, the air-conditioning in Max's car is great, thankfully, because it sure cost a lot-but because Max is sitting next to you, silent, his fingers drumming against his thigh so close to you if he shifts just a little his hands will be on yours. You push that thought aside. Now's not a good time to get worked up over him. Not now.

You should say something. You should clear the air. But every time you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, you replay everything in your head: the kiss, the way he looked at you after, Christian's warning, and the way Max had asked if you wanted him to handle it. Like it was his responsibility. Like he was willing to do whatever you asked, even if it meant pretending none of this ever happened.

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

"You're thinking too much."

You blink, snapping out of your spiral. Max is watching you instead of the road. Stupid, stupid.

You roll your eyes. "And you’re not thinking at all."

He smirks, eyes darting back forward for a moment before they rest on your face. "That’s not true. I'm thinking about dinner."

"Max, this isn't a joke." You let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face him.

"I know." He's suddenly serious, his voice quieter. "That's why we should talk. Properly. Without Christian breathing down your neck."

You hesitate. You know he's right. You can't keep avoiding this, can't pretend that what happened in the storage room didn't just flip your world upside down. But you also don't know how to have this conversation without risking everything.

Max waits patiently, letting you come to your own conclusion. He always does that. He gives you space, but never too much. Always just enough to make sure you don’t run.

"Fine," you mutter. "But not dinner. We saw how that went."

He raises a brow. "Drinks?"

"No."

"A walk, then."

You sigh, but you don't argue. You suppose a walk is neutral territory. You can talk without the pressure of sitting across from him at a table, without the weight of eye contact that lasts too long.

When you arrive at the hotel, you don't give yourself time to hesitate. You step out, waiting for him, and he follows without question after tossing his keys at the valet. There's a cool breeze, and you focus on that instead of the way your fingers still tingle from where they brushed against Max's earlier.

You walk side by side, the silence stretching, but it isn't uncomfortable. It never is. That’s part of the problem, isn't it? It's always been too easy with him.

"I meant what I said," Max finally says. "I don't want this to be a problem for you."

"It's not that simple, Max."

"It could be."

You huff out a short laugh. "For you, maybe."

He stops walking, and you do too, turning to face him. There's something in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"I like you," he says, and your heart stutters. "And I think you like me too."

You swallow hard. "Max-"

"I know it's complicated. I know Christian is watching us like a hawk. I know you're worried about your job, your reputation." His voice is steady, unwavering. "But I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening just because it's inconvenient."

Your mouth feels dry. It does sound simple when he's saying it.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this is nothing, and I'll walk away."

You hate him for that. Hate him for putting the choice in your hands, for making you responsible for whatever happens next.

But you don't tell him to stop. You don't say anything at all. You look at him clearly: this man you've watched grow up from a boy. You've seen him destroy things in fits of rage after bad races, you've seen him beam like the sun, and you've seen the way his eyes turn stormy oceans when they look at you. He sees you too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

bahrain 2025 post-race interview

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

y/n 🌎 gee, max, you're going to get to my ego

y/n 🌎 first "my everything," then "the constant"

y/n 🌎 and what's that about always? i don't believe that.

my mashed potato Are you referring to us or you being the constant? Because I don't believe in that either, but you have me as long as you want

y/n 🌎 are you SERIOUSLY CHECKING YOUR PHONE DURING AN INTERVIEW

y/n 🌎 sorry for all caps i just like it a lot when you get all romantic

my mashed potato i know ❤️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: max verstappen and 3-post series are very special to me

[fancyfeathers]

I love the batfamily and daughter series!!! Now, I know this would be incredibly difficult for daughter reader to achieve but what if she kissed someone at school? When they do ask she doesn't deny it she just says, "Yeah. I kissed that person. I like them and they're smart, talented, and respectful. Shouldn't you be proud I picked someone like that?" or something along the lines of it. Thank you for reading!!!!

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

She is absolutely in trouble, so much trouble.

Damian is the first person to find out because he sees it happen, it is after school and they are supposed to be heading home because Dick is picking them up and waiting for them. Damian goes out to look for her only to find her kissing a boy from her class in the staircase and oh my god he is pissed. If he had not been restraining himself for the sake of their civilian identities he would have probably beaten the boy to death or damn near it, but instead he shoves him against the wall, holding his collar.

“If you dare even talk to my sister again I will end you, do you understand me?”

“Y-yes”

He then proceeds to drop the boy to the ground and drag his sister along to the car where Dick is waiting and he immediately tries to defuse the situation when Damian quite violently shoves her in the backseat of the car.

“Hey, hey, Damian you know we don’t ever get violent with her-“

“She was engaging in inappropriate behavior with a boy in the stairwell, Richard. Which is also not allowed, father has made that very clear.”

“Let… let me talk to him about this, you two need to behave.”

He drives them both back to the manor and while no words are said the disappointment is incredibly heavy, she can see Dick looking back at her in the rear view mirror with glances that make her heart sink to her gut.

The thing is when they get home Bruce already knows what happened, the boy’s parents called the principal’s office and now there was a whole lot of trouble brewing because of their actions. Bruce scolds Damian first, because of his threat and violent action he may have and up getting expelled and so now they’ll be having the family over to make amends and clear up this whole mess. Then after that his daughter gets chewed out for breaking one of the rules, she’s far too young (even if she is a teenager by this point ), what if he finds out about their secret identities, what if she and her mother get put in danger because that information gets leaked? It is one of those situations where he speaks without letting her speak, letting go her guilt build up to get his point across.

“Father, he is the top of my class, he is part of the service outreach program, he is-“

“That is not the point, it is to keep you safe, to keep your mother safe. There are people out there who would hurt you and your mother if they found out. I am not letting anyone die again.”

“Father-“

“I will pull you out of school if you keep fighting me on this, young lady.”

“Fine…”

She just agreed to not fight him on this, not to not kiss or date the boy.

Tim found out by listening to Damian talking to a very stressed out Dick about it and well curiosity and caution get the better of him and he does a whole background check on the boy and his family to find something to show to his little sister that this is not the type of person she want to be around or dating-

Perfect, he is literally spotless, so is his family, quite literally model citizens.

He is very bitter about this fact and it only infuriates him more because he does not want his little sister with him but there is not solid reason to give. So when the boy and his parents come by to sort out this incident, Tim hates him already, he is just so insanely perfect.

Then there is Jason who looks like he is about ready to strangle the kid when he sees him walk through the door of the manor with his parents. Tim may or may not have found the footage of what happened in the school’s security cameras and shown them to Bruce and the others, and at first Jason did not really care, she broke the rules so she will deal with the consequences, but then he sees the video and he is pissed. That boy was practically feeling up his little sister and she was to him, but that doesn’t matter. Then also like Tim, he hates how perfect he is, literally nothing to really hate, he is respectful to his sister, talented, romantic, a goody two shoes.

The other family is very civil, even after the fact that Damian threatened their son. All of them have to keep calm when they see their little sister and this boy laughing and talking all during dinner. Bruce even had to grab Jason to hold him back when the boy kisses her cheek when saying goodbye after the incident has been resolved.

“What? Shouldn’t you be happy I picked someone who is nothing like you?”

She is grounded for half a year.

Aldo a little extra bit to think about, her boyfriend and his family being a part of the Court of Owls and he is a potential yandere for her, just a thought.

[cowboybeepboop]

Love your stuff! You are such a good writer!

Could you write something about Scott and reader being in a secret relationship and she's javis little sister and every guy on both teams have been told she's off limits. Reader is more Innocent and sweet so javi is super protective of her Scott and the reader didn't listen and have been seeing each other and at the hotel one night they were making out in the truck and javi catches them and him and Scott get in fight where Tyler and Boone have to break it up. Things are said bw the reader and javi and he storms off. Scott and the reader go to her room and she cleans up his cuts from the fight and they say their first I love yous and decide no matter they are staying together have a romantic night of love making making❤️(maybe since the reader is sweet and innocent she can be a virgin thats up to you)

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Romantic smut, fluff at the end

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: Secret relationship, arguing/fighting, p in v sex (unprotected), shower sex

a/n: The virgin idea is completely up to the reader bc I never clarified. Also I lowkey went off the rails with this one, but hopefully this lives up to your expectations <3 thank you for the request and your compliment 🙏

As Javi’s little sister you’re used to his overprotective antics, starting from the day you began going to school with him. He’s always been very extreme in making sure no one gets their hands on you. Which is infuriating, to say the least.

So once you started chasing storms with him and his team, it truly was no surprise that he made sure to make it known that you were strictly off limits. But unfortunately for him, you caught the eye of his extremely tall, handsome, and romantic friend.

Scott isn’t as big of a dick as he pretends to be, which you found out after running into him at your brother's place a couple months ago. Scott had caught you coming back from the bar alone and walked you to your room. He made sure you got inside okay, he helped you change clothes, get into bed, and then even stayed until you fell asleep because you didn’t want to be alone.

He’s a total sweetheart, but you’re the only one to see that side of him. That fact is what drives you closer to him. I mean being the only person to get his princess treatment, that's enough to make you crazy for him. You’ve been secretly dating him for the past couple months since you met each other.

A soft knock on the door brings you out of your thoughts as you begrudgingly slip out of your warm bed. Opening the door you see your older brother and audibly sigh. “Javi, it's too early.” You whine.

Scott stands behind Javi and smirks, he crosses his arms and leans against one side of the doorframe. He chuckles when he hears your whining, he always did get a kick out of how cute you are when you’re half asleep. Scott looks you up and down for a moment, letting Javi speak first though.

“Come on we need to head out soon,” Javi gives you a cheesy smile while your eyes drift to the man behind your brother, your secret boyfriend. Your body straightens as his presence wakes you up instantly.

“Right okay, give me a minute.” You quickly slam the door in their faces as a blush creeps up your cheeks. Scott was the last person you expected to see, especially while looking like this.

You quickly throw on a pair of jean shorts, a little shorter than necessary, and a pink baby tee. Brushing your hair as you check your appearance in the mirror. You put on a little bit of red lipgloss and mascara, hoping that your outfit will catch the attention of Scott and finally lead to something more than a few heated kisses.

When you open the door both Scott and Javi are still standing in the hall in front of your room. Scott’s eyes widen when he sees you come out of your room, his heart rate picks up at the sight of your exposed skin. Javi on the other hand, rolls his eyes and shakes his head at the outfit you’ve picked.

“Are you really going to wear *that* today?” Javi says with a hint of disgust in his voice. Scott, on the other hand, is struggling to keep his eyes from wandering over your body.

“Why? What’s wrong with my outfit?” You cross your arms over your chest as your brother hands you his flannel.

“Cover up, Y/N.” Javi’s voice is firm as he clenches his jaw, stepping between you and Scott. You roll your eyes as you slip the red shirt on annoyed at his antics.

Scott can’t help but stare as you slip on Javi’s flannel, he can literally feel himself drooling while he watches you do up the buttons, covering up your baby tee and short shorts that he was enjoying a minute ago. “Jesus…” he mumbles under his breath as he tries to snap himself out of it.

“Whatever Javi, are you gonna force me to wear pants too?” You slam your door shut and lock it before he can agree to your suggestion. Walking past the two men as you head down the stairs.

Javi rolls his eyes once again at your stubbornness and follows after you down the stairs. Scott stands still for a moment as he watches the way your hips sway with each step. He sighs before slowly following after Javi and you, his eyes not leaving his view of your backside.

“It’s too hot to be fully covered.” You murmur to your brother with a soft glare, “I don’t see why you have to insist on me covering up all the time. I’m an adult you know.”

“I don’t care, I know how men think, the less skin they see the less they’ll think of you.” Javi snaps back as he follows you out of the motel and towards the parking lot. Scott watches from behind you both, not saying anything but secretly agreeing with Javi in his head.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes. “I’m not riding with you today. I’d rather go with Scott. Or anyone else.” Your words are slightly more venomous than intended but it’s just because you’re irritated with his attitude.

Scott smiles at your comment, Javi however, is not happy about the fact that you chose Scott over him, groans as you brush past him. “Why do you always have to be so difficult?” Javi mutters irritably.

Scott walks over to the passenger side door and opens it for you with a soft smile. You slide into the seat, excited to spend some more alone time with him. Javi shakes his head as he walks off toward his truck, clearly annoyed with you.

Scott shuts your door behind you and strides around to the driver’s side, still with a smile on his face. He gets in and starts it up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you defy your brother like that before.” He says with a chuckle, “I’ve never seen him so pissed off either.”

You glance over at Scott, your expression softening. “It’s about time I tell him the truth, he’s so frustrating sometimes.” With a sigh, you buckle up. “Plus it means we can spend the day together you know,” you smile at him while beginning to unbutton the flannel.

When you unbutton the flannel, Scott’s heart immediately skips a beat, his mind going back to the previous sight of your baby tee and denim shorts. “You better stop before you get us in an accident,” he mutters through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes on the road even though it’s extremely hard not to just stare at you.

A blush paints your cheeks as your hands fall from the shirt. “What do you mean?” You say softly with widened eyes.

He lets out a little laugh, “You’re going to give me a heart attack sweetheart. Wearing those damn shorts and then unbuttoning the flannel right next to me? I swear you’re trying to kill me.” Scott gives you a quick glance, his eyes wandering over the shorts that were still exposed.

“Well, I’m glad you like it.” biting down on your lip, “I tried to dress so I’d catch your eyes.” You murmur, letting your gaze wander out the window.

A low growl leaves his throat, his hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter as you mention dressing up for him. “Jesus Y/N, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” He says with a hint of irritation and lust in his voice.

Reaching over you move your hand over his, “I didn’t think it would work this well,” you giggle softly as your fingers interlock together.

A small shiver courses throughout his body before he shakes it off. He lets out a breathless chuckle, “Oh sweetheart, you have no idea how badly I want to pull over right now.” He lifts his hand up that you’re holding and kisses your knuckles.

Your face reddens with the implication of his words and the warm feeling of his lips against your skin. “I’m sure Javi would have something to say if you did,”

“Please do not mention your brother right now, his name is a total mood killer,” he says with a smirk as he brings your hand into his lap, his thumb gently stroking the back of it as he drives.

—————

After chasing the storm and getting all of the intended data you find your way back at your brother's side. The group is bustling with conversation as everyone discusses the data they collected so far. Scott, however, has a one track mind, and it centers around you.

Watching as you talk to the others, he can’t help but stare at you. He’s always been the most observant man, but right now, he wants nothing more than to take you away from the others and keep you to himself. Your eyes flick over to Scott as you give him a sweet smile.

Scott returns your smile with his own smirk, he watches as you turn your attention back to the data reports you and everyone else collected.

He then slowly crosses over to you, standing close behind you as he listens in to your conversation. You intentionally take a step back, pressing your body against him softly.

Scott tenses when you press yourself directly against him, a small gasp leaving his mouth before he has a chance to hold it in. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, the feeling of your body against him has his mind going a mile a minute.

“Okay guys why don’t we head back to the motel? We can review the data some more later.” Your brother's voice breaks up the chatter.

Hearing Javi’s voice, Scott snaps out of his daze. He clears his throat before glancing over at him, watching his expression as he looks from you to Scott and then back to you.

You give your brother an innocent smile before walking back toward Scott’s van. Javi narrows his eyes as he watches you walk with Scott back to his van, his lips pulling into a tight line. He can’t explain it, but the way Scott is acting with you is making Javi’s skin crawl.

Scott tries not to walk too quickly, but he’s honestly just trying to get you away from the others. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You smile up at him as you buckle the seatbelt.

For a brief moment, Scott’s gaze flicks down to your lap, his eyes lingering on your smooth legs before going back up to your face. A lump forms in his throat as he shuts your door, his mind wandering with thoughts of what he wants to do to you.

He quickly walks around to the driver’s side and gets into the van, letting out a huff of air and muttering, “Jesus Christ, this is torturous.”

“Torturous?” You question while glancing over to him, a confused expression finding its way on your face. Scott starts the van up, the low hum of the engine filling the awkward silence for a moment.

“It’s torturous to be so close to you,” he says with a slight growl in his voice, “and not be able to put my hands on you the way I want to.”

Reaching over you grab his hand, guiding it to your thighs as he follows the rest of the team's trucks. “You *can* touch me Scott.” Your voice is quiet as you flush once again.

A guttural groan escapes his throat when you guide his hand to your thighs. His heart rate picks up as you give him permission to touch you in the way he had been craving for months.

Scott’s hand grips the soft flesh of your thigh, his fingers digging in just slightly. He feels your smooth skin against his rough hand, his palm heating with every inch of contact.

You lean back in your seat, moaning softly at his calloused touch. Scott’s breathing becomes heavier as he hears the quiet moan you let out. He squeezes your thigh in response, his hand slowly inching higher and higher.

“Sweetheart, the things I want to do to you right now,” he says with an almost pleading tone in his voice, “You have no idea how much you’re killing me.” You grasp onto his arm softly.

After Scott is finally able to pull his hand away, he grips the steering wheel tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning white. He takes several deep breaths, trying to regain his composure.

Scott takes a glance over at you, his eyes roaming over your flushed skin, the way you’re looking at him. It takes everything he has to not pull the van over and have his way with you

“Scott? What’s wrong?” You look at him with a slight pout, unhappy with the lack of his touch. Scott lets out a shaky breath as he parks the van and shuts it off. He shakes his head, trying to get his mind back in the right place.

He looks over at you, your pout making his chest ache with desire, “Please sweetheart, don’t look at me like that right now,” he groans with desperation in his voice, “I’m trying my best to take things slowly with you, but your making it incredibly difficult.”

The rest of the team heads toward the motel as you and Scott stay put in the van. Unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning closer to him you sigh out “Scott… who said we have to take things slow?”

When you unbuckle your seatbelt, he can’t help but tighten his grip on the steering wheel again, his muscles going rigid at your words. He looks at you with eyes darkened with lust as your face inches closer to his, but he stays in his seat.

“I-“ Scott’s voice is low and hoarse, he swallows hard. “I don’t want to rush into things with you, I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for,” he groans softly.

“Scott,” you let out a breathless sigh as you pull him by his collar pressing his lips to yours. All the willpower Scott has left snaps at the feeling of your lips on his. He groans into the kiss, his hand instantly going to the back of your head, holding you close.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips and into your mouth. “F-fuck…” he mutters between kisses. Your hand reaches up, cupping his cheek as you lean into him.

Scott’s head spins with the taste of you, you’re so sweet it’s almost overwhelming. He slowly moves his hand to the nape of your neck, his fingers gripping your hair and pulling you even closer. He lets out a low moan of your name as he kisses you desperately, needing more of you.

Before you can go any further, Scott is ripped out of the van and slammed into the ground. Your eyes widen as you see the fury in your brother's expression. “Javi?” You mutter, rushing out the vehicle you try to stop your brother.

Scott lands on the ground with a heavy impact and is met with Javi’s furious face looking down at him. Every ounce of Scott’s being wants to beat the shit out of Javi right now, but instead he stays put as you rush to get in between them.

Scott gets up with a grunt, spitting a little blood from his mouth “What the hell Javi?”

“Y/N, move.” Your brother's voice is cold as he rolls up his sleeves. “I told you to stay the fuck away from her and you couldn’t listen.” Your feet stay planted on the ground.

When Javi tells you to move, Scott’s eyes instantly land on you. He can see the determination in your face to stay between them.

His hands ball up into fists at the sight of Javi moving closer towards him. “She’s a goddamn adult, she can make her own decisions and I’m not letting her brother boss her around,” Scott says with an equal amount of coldness in his voice.

“It doesn’t matter what *you* think she’s my baby sister.” Your brother pulls you back despite your resistance and throws a punch to Scott’s jaw.

Scott’s jaw snaps to the side with the force of the punch. He winces at the pain, but turns his head back and looks up at Javi through a split lip.

His mind is a million miles a minute, a part of him wants to fight Javi, to put him in his place. But the other part of him is worried for you. “Stop Javi,” he grunts out, “this isn’t about what I think or don’t think, Y/N is old enough to choose who she wants.” Scott swallows. “And she wants me.”

His words fill your brother with more rage as he stalks forward, not letting up on his stance. You try to hold your brother back by his waist.

“Javi stop it, please.” You try to plead with him but he just tells you to stay out of it, peeling your arms away from him.

Scott doesn’t want to fight Javi, but he can’t just sit and let him attack him either. He throws punches at Javi, landing a few in his gut and in his face, bloodying his nose. Every punch he throws is filled with a mixture of anger and worry.

“Stop Javi, this is insanity!” he mutters between clenched teeth. Tyler and Boone come over with confused expressions as they separate the two.

“Javi? What’s going on here?” Tyler questions as they successfully separate the two. Scott glares at Javi through the blood on his face, breathing hard from the fight. When he sees Tyler and Boone, his eyes flicker over to you, checking to make sure you’re okay.

Javi has bloody knuckles and a swollen lip. He points at Scott with his bloodied hand. “He was disrespecting my sister,” he growls out.

“He wasn’t disrespecting me Javi!” You step in front of your brother, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re acting like a child. I’m allowed to make my own choices.” Your voice is harsh.

Javi’s expression hardens as you speak, standing at his full height and towering over you as you step in front. He scoffs at you as you tell him you can make your own choices.

“I’m trying to protect you! He’s only going to break your heart. He’s not good enough for you,” he practically snarls at you.

“I don’t need your protection.” Your eyes narrow, “Javi I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to protect me anymore.”

Javi’s expression darkens as you say you can take care of yourself. He shakes his head, letting out a scoff. “Why are you so hellbent on defying me all of a sudden?” He glares at you. “Do you seriously think I’m going to just stand by and let him break your goddamn heart?”

You let out a frustrated sigh as Boone and Tyler release the two other men, noticing their less aggressive demeanors. “Javi just stop it, please.” your eyes soften as you look at him.

Javi’s expression softens as you look at him with pleading eyes, his shoulders drooping at the sight of your look.

“Fine.” He mutters before walking past you, “But I’m only backing off because you asked…” He storms off to his motel room and shuts the door behind him.

You let out an exhausted sigh as you thank Tyler and Boone, apologizing for your brother's outburst. They both assure you that it’s okay and understand that your brother is just looking to protect you in his own way.

Scott stands off to the side, watching the whole time and trying not to interfere. He uses the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his lip and chin. Everything is quiet for a moment before he speaks up. “Sweetheart..”

You turn to him with worried eyes, “Are you okay?” your tone is soft as you brush a hand over his bruised cheek.

Scott’s expression softens at your question. He lets out a small sigh and reaches up to gently grasp the hand you’re using to touch his cheek. Scott leans into your touch, his eyes studying your face.

“I’m fine,” he replies in a quiet voice, “I just can’t stand seeing you caught in the middle like this.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to him being so hot headed.” You murmur softly. “Come, let’s go to my room. I’ll clean you up.” teeth clamping down on your lip as you gaze up at him.

Scott nods silently, a small smirk forming on his cut lips. He reaches down to grab your hand, intertwining his calloused fingers with yours as you lead him to your motel room.

“You sure your brother won’t kill me when we go in there?” he teases, referencing the earlier fight. You roll your eyes playfully while pulling him behind you.

“Just forget about him Scott,” you unlock the door leading him inside. Scott lets out a quiet chuckle as he follows you into the room. He runs a hand through this messy hair as he stands by the bed, suddenly realizing how disheveled he must look. The blood on his face is starting to dry and the bruise on his jaw is starting to purple.

Grabbing your first aid kit you turn back to him pressing a hand to his chest as you push him down onto the edge of your bed.

Scott can’t help but let out a soft gasp as you push him back onto the bed. He looks up at you, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing in his chest.

“You going to play nurse for me, sweetheart?” He teases. You brush an alcohol wipe over his lip, cleaning up the blood.

“Mhm,” your eyes focus on his wounds, “after all I’m the reason you got beat up.” Your touch is gentle as you slip between his legs to get a closer look.

Scott’s hands rest on your hips as you clean the blood from his face. He watches the expression on your face as you tend to his wounds.

He can’t help but notice how beautiful you are as you focus on him, your face so close he can almost feel your breath on his skin.

“You’re the reason I got beat up?” He mutters with a slight smirk, “Not really. Pretty sure that’s your pain in the ass brother’s fault.” You sigh quietly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect him to see us…” your voice trails off as you cup his face.

Scott leans into your touch, nuzzling against your palm as you cup his face. He looks up at you with the same gentle look and sighs.

“Your brother knows how to pack a punch, I’ll give him that, but don’t be sorry sweetheart.” He mutters, speaking softly.

Scott’s heart stutters in his chest at your soft voice and the way you’re looking at him. He swallows hard, his heart aching with the words he wants to say in reply. “Y/N, I love you.”

Your eyes widen at his sudden confession, “I love you too, Scott,” you practically whisper in response.

The words you speak make Scott’s chest tight with elation. He couldn’t fight the way his lips turn up into a soft smile, eyes watching your face intently.

Scott reaches up to cup your face in his large, calloused hand. His fingers brush against your skin as they slip into your hair. “Say it again.” He mutters.

“I love you.” You slip onto his lap, your arms moving to his neck as you press a delicate kiss to his bruised lips. Scott’s arms instantly wrap around your waist as you settle on his lap, pulling you as close as possible. He lets out a soft moan against your lips as you kiss him, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

The feeling of you on his lap ignites a fire in his chest. As you kiss him, he groans against your lips, pulling you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you against him.

He nips at your lower lip and deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You pull away from his lips, gasping for air as you whisper into his ear. “Scott.. I want you,”

You feel Scott shudder slightly as the breath of your whisper caresses his ear. He lets out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening.

"What are you trying to do to me, sweetheart? Are you purposely trying to drive me mad?"

Scott moves his attention to the sensitive skin of your neck, placing soft kisses and nips along the skin there. You moan desperately as your hips move against his.

“Scott please,” you gasp softly as he flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours.

The sound of you moaning his name is almost too much for Scott to handle. His heart thumps in his chest as his body presses yours against the bed. He gazes down at you as he hovers above you. Scott can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly as you breathe.

He lets out a low growl as he grinds his hips against yours. “Please what, sweetheart?” he mutters, his lips millimeters from yours.

“Please..” your eyes squeeze in embarrassment as you groan out, “touch me, anywhere, everywhere, please.”

All the air leaves Scott's lungs as you say those words. His eyes rake over you, taking in the sight of you lying beneath him, breathless and begging for him to touch you. Scott's body feels like it's on fire, he's burning from the inside out, and knowing he's the one who's made you like this only sends him further into a frenzy.

He leans down and presses his lips against your neck. “You have to be more specific,” he whispers against your skin. “Where do you want me to touch you, sweetheart?”

You bury your face into his neck, “Scott, don’t make me say it…” you sigh, your body trembling slightly against his.

"It's okay, baby," he whispers, his voice as tender as a lover's caress. "I'll take it slow, just show me where you want me to touch." His hand moves to the hem of your shirt, his touch feather-light as he starts to peel it up, revealing your smooth stomach.

You gasp, your body arching slightly as he presses a gentle kiss to the soft skin just above your navel. His eyes never leave yours, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. He's determined to make this moment perfect for you, to cherish every inch of your body like it's the first and last time he'll ever touch you.

With trembling hands, you grasp Scott's wrist and guide his hand down the length of your body, until it rests at the apex of your thighs. His eyes widen with understanding, and you nod shyly, silently begging him to touch you there. His fingers trace the fabric of your shorts, feeling the heat and dampness emanating from you.

His eyes never leave yours as he gently presses against the seam, eliciting a whimper from your parted lips. The warmth of his palm sends waves of pleasure through you, and you squirm beneath his touch, desperate for more. Scott's eyes darken with desire as he slowly begins to rub the spot that's driving you wild, his thumb making delicate circles that have you biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the moans escaping your throat.

His touch is electric, sending jolts of pleasure to every corner of your body, and you can't help but arch into his hand, silently urging him to continue his sweet torment. Scott's eyes remain locked with yours as he slowly pulls your shirt over your head, his gaze lingering on the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath you take. He takes his time, his calloused hands moving with surprising gentleness as he unbuttons your shorts and slides them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear.

You watch him, your heart racing as you feel his breath against your skin, his hands roaming over you with a mix of reverence and hunger. He leans down to kiss you again, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. With trembling fingers, he traces the edge of your panties before his hand settles back between your legs, his touch setting your nerves alight.

You gasp as he gently presses against your dampness, his thumb making slow circles around your clit. The room seems to spin as the intensity of his touch grows, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for more. His mouth finds yours again, the kiss deepening as his hand works its magic, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure to send you spiraling towards the edge of pleasure.

"Scott, please," you whimper into his mouth, your hips bucking against his hand. "I need you inside me." Your voice is shaky with desire, your eyes pleading with him to take the final step. His own passion flares up at your words, his eyes darkening even further. He leans back slightly, his hand moving away from your underwear, making you whine in protest.

But he only does it to pull off his shirt, revealing his broad, muscular chest, marred slightly by the bruises from the fight. He reaches down to his belt, his movements jerky with need. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice thick with lust. You nod fervently, unable to form coherent words. He smiles, a smug look crossing his face as he undoes his pants, his erection straining against the fabric.

He pulls his boxers down just enough to free himself, his cock standing tall and proud. You bite your lip, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of him. He reaches down to touch you again, his fingers slipping under the fabric of your panties, and you arch into his touch, desperate for more. He groans against your neck, his hand moving to the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you deeply.

His other hand hooks into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. You're fully exposed to him now, and the vulnerability makes your cheeks flush even redder. But Scott's eyes are full of love and want, and you feel safe, cherished. He kisses you once more, then pulls away, his gaze dropping to your bare skin.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice full of awe. "And all mine." With that, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in, inch by torturous inch, carefully filling you completely. You cry out, your nails digging into his back as he starts to move, his hips setting a slow, steady rhythm that has you seeing stars.

Each thrust is heaven, his body moving in sync with yours as if you were made to fit together. Scott kisses along your neck as he moves his hand down to cup your cheek, holding you in place as he takes you in. His eyes never leave yours, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but all he sees is the love and desire reflected back at him. His cock stretches and fills you completely, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

He’s so careful, so tender, as if he’s afraid he might break you. His movements are slow and deliberate, each one designed to bring you closer to the edge without pushing you over it too soon. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back, trying to keep control.

But it’s not just his body that’s on the edge—it’s his heart too. He’s never felt this way before, never been this in love, and he’s afraid of losing you. So he takes his time, savoring every second, every gasp, every shiver that runs through your body as he makes love to you.

As he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, you know that this isn’t just a fling or a fleeting moment—this is something real, something that’s going to last. And for now, all that matters is the feel of him inside you, the sound of his breath in your ear, and the love that’s growing between you with every beat of your heart.

Scott's eyes darken with need as he watches you come apart beneath him, feeling your inner walls tighten around him. He can't hold back anymore. His strokes become more erratic, more desperate, as he chases his own climax. His teeth clench and his hips piston into you as he whispers your name against your skin, his whole body taut with tension.

You're so close, so incredibly close, and the sight of you like this, lost in pleasure, is almost too much for him to handle. He feels your orgasm building, the way your breath catches and your body tenses, and he knows he's not far behind. With one final, powerful thrust, he releases himself inside you, groaning your name as he fills you completely.

The world fades away as you both ride the waves of pleasure, lost in the intimacy of the moment. For a brief second, there's nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the feeling of his warmth spilling into you.

With a final, lingering kiss, Scott gently pulls out of you and scoops you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling boneless and utterly satisfied as he carries you into the bathroom. The cool air of the room contrasts with the heat still radiating from your bodies.

He sets you down on the edge of the bathtub, the sound of the water filling the small space. He then carefully picks you up again and steps into the shower, holding you tight against his chest as the water cascades over the both of you. The warm water mixes with the sweat on your skin, washing away the evidence of your passionate encounter.

With a sudden surge of desire, you pull Scott closer to you, deepening the kiss as you crave more of his touch. Your hands roam over his slick, soapy back, feeling the contours of his muscles and the warmth of his skin. His own hands move to cup your breasts, kneading gently as the water rains down on you both. The steam in the shower envelops you like a warm embrace, amplifying the sensations as your bodies press against one another.

Scott's kisses become more urgent, his tongue dancing with yours as the warm water runs down your faces. You moan into his mouth, feeling a renewed energy as your passion reignites. He lifts you again, your legs wrapping around his waist, and you can feel his hardness against you. The slickness of the soap makes it easy for you to slide against him, teasing and tempting.

Your breath hitches as he breaks the kiss, looking into your eyes with a fiery gaze that speaks volumes of his love and need for you. "I can't get enough of you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

You whimper as Scott enters you once more, his movements measured and precise. The cold tiles of the shower wall press against your back, sending a shiver down your spine that only adds to the exquisite sensation of him filling you completely. Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him deeper as he starts to move, his hips rocking into yours in a steady, rhythmic motion.

The warm water falling over your bodies mingles with the heat of your passion, creating a steamy cocoon around the two of you. His hands move to your hips, holding you in place as he picks up the pace, his eyes never leaving yours. The love and intensity in his gaze only serve to fuel your desire as you begin to move with him, your bodies in perfect harmony.

Each stroke sends a bolt of pleasure through you, and you can feel yourself inching closer to the brink of ecstasy once more. Your breath comes in short gasps as you lean into him, your mouth finding his in a desperate kiss. His tongue tangles with yours, mimicking the motion of his hips as they drive into you, over and over again.

The water runs in rivulets down your skin, mixing with the slickness of your arousal, creating a symphony of sensations that threaten to overwhelm you. As he deepens the kiss, you can feel his love, his need, his everything, all wrapped up in the tender way he holds you, the possessive way he claims you with every thrust.

Your moans become louder, echoing off the tiles as the pressure builds within you, your orgasm looming just out of reach. And when he finally brings you to the edge, you let go, moaning his name as you shatter in his arms, the warmth of his love surrounding you like the water that drenches your bodies.

Scott’s body tenses, and with a final, powerful surge, he cums into you, his head resting on the tiles next to your neck. The warmth of his release fills you, and his breaths come out in heavy pants against your skin. You hold onto him tightly, feeling the tremors of his climax as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. His arms wrap around you, supporting your weight as your legs slowly unravel from around his waist.

The water from the showerhead runs down your bodies, mixing with the passion that lingers in the air.

Scott's hands are gentle as he helps you clean, his touch tender as he runs a washcloth over your body, removing the stickiness that lingers from your love making. His eyes are filled with a soft adoration that makes your heart flutter in your chest. As the water rinses away the soap, he kisses you again.

The quiet of the bathroom wraps around you, leaving only the sound of your breaths and the occasional drip of water as you stand there, lost in each other's embrace.

The tempest of emotions inside of you only grows stronger as you realize how deeply you've fallen for him. The way he looks at you, the way he touches you, it's all so real, so raw, and so beautifully overwhelming. You can't imagine ever wanting to leave this moment, this cocoon of love and passion that you've created together.

Scott reaches for a towel, wrapping it around you with the same care he's shown since the moment he first touched you. His eyes are filled with a softness that makes your heart swell, and as he dries your skin, you can feel his love in every stroke. His touch is gentle, his gaze lingering on every part of you as if he's memorizing every curve and freckle.

You stand there, soaking in the warmth of the towel and his affection, feeling cherished and desired. The motel room outside the bathroom is forgotten, and it's just the two of you, in this intimate space, sharing something so profound that it feels as if nothing else in the world matters. Each time he wipes away the water, it's like he's also wiping away the stress and the worries that have clung to you, leaving you feeling lighter, cleaner, and more alive than you've ever been.

His hands move over your skin with a tenderness that makes you shiver, he takes his time, ensuring that every inch of you is cared for. When he's done, he wraps the towel around your body and pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he's afraid to let you go. His heart beats against your chest, a steady rhythm that matches the beat of your own heart, reminding you that you're not alone in this, that he's there with you, loving you with everything he has.

And in that moment, you know that no matter what Javi or anyone else might say, you've made the right choice in giving your heart to Scott. You lead him back into the room laying down on the bed with exhaustion.

He lays next to you, pulling you onto his chest. As you lie in Scott’s arms, you feel his hand gently caressing your bare back. The motel room is quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the air conditioning mixed with the soft sounds of your breathing. Scott’s thumb rubs small, soothing circles along your spine, the touch both comforting and sensual. You can feel the firmness of his chest against your cheek, the steady rise and fall of his breath syncing with your own.

The silence is comfortable, a testament to the bond that has grown between you two. You feel safe, cared for, and loved.

[charlottecutepie]

｡ꪆৎ ˚ Bully (Michael Afton x fem!reader)

while I'm writing fics with William (and making some people’s requests!), i decided to post Michael smut bc there’s lack of content about this boy :)

summary: you're mad at both Simon and Michael for not helping you with project. But guys only mock you, saying stupid jokes about your ex. Wait, was it you or Michael’s voice sounded rather… jealous?

tags: Michael is jealous and kind of possessive, bully!Mike, mention of break up, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, kind of rough sex?? (Michael can’t control himself), William Afton mentioned

"Stop smoking." in a loud, angry tone, you tell to a couple of guys beside. One of them turns around and blows smoke right in your face, laughing. "Fuck you, Simon."

"Don't tell me what to do, tuts," Simon frowns and leans against his friend Michael, who was busy reading comics, not paying attention to you. "You've been too nervous and angry lately." guy notices. "Is it because of your ex?"

"Of course, no dick and she's all worked up." Michael adds fuel to the fire without even bothering to turn to you. However, his back stiffened.

"What are you talking about? What does this have to do here? We have a fucking project together and I'm only one doing something, that's why I'm mad at you!"

Simon didn't answer because he just didn't know what to say. You were right. He and Michael didn't do shit, only you worked on the task. Simon just gave you a blank look, raising his eyebrows mockingly. There was a rage boiling inside you that almost made your face turn red.

"Ran after him like a tail." Michael lets out a strangled laugh, finally turning to you, his fingers clutching the comic. "You really loved that boy so much, didn't you?"

Now it's your turn to shut up. Insults and obscenities rise in your throat, threatening to jump out. Michael's face didn't flinch for a second as he continued to pierce you with blue eyes, as if trying to make you uncomfortable, which was puzzling. Michael has always been like this: aggressive, with cruel and stupid jokes, cheeky taunts. But why do his words sound like he's jealous now? Why so much attention to your personal life?

"You two are completely useless, I'll have to ask teacher to pair me with other students." you sigh, putting all your notes, notebooks, sunglasses in your bag, and the next second you leave both guys behind.

Their behavior, especially Simon, who was like Michael's faithful dog, doing everything just to get approval from its owner, infuriated and caused indignation. But more than that, you were hurt their comments about your personal life. Your ex has nothing to do with it.

You go back to school walking through empty corridors since classes have already ended. Of course, you'd have been home a long time ago, too, but thanks to a couple of jerks, you're stuck here until tonight. You angrily punch Michael's school locker, ripping off the poster of his favorite rock band.

"Fuck you, Michael Afton!" you swear, crumpling the poster in your hands and throwing it on the floor.

You had no idea that someone was following you slowly and carefully through the corridors.

Upset and frustrated, you enter lady's bathroom, go to the mirror and look at yourself carefully. Why, you think, he broke up with me? What happened between us?

You straighten your hair, carefully laying it on your shoulders, without interrupting eye contact with your reflection. You need to push these thoughts away, now is not the best time for self-reflection, you need to gather your strength and finish this damn project.

You try to find something in your bag as you take out a lip gloss from your makeup bag. And again feeling of sadness and longing comes through. Now it feels wrong and hurtful whenever you look at that gloss. Your boyfriend always liked it when you applied it. And now it's a painful reminder that will haunt you for a long time. It's just not fair.

Just when you're about to throw that lip gloss in the trash, someone comes into the bathroom. You think it's another girl, so you don't pay attention.

"It was my favorite poster." Michael's voice is slightly angry. An unpleasant surprise is reflected on your face as you turn to him, pressing lip gloss to your chest. This is definitely not what you expected to see in the women's bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" you hiss at Afton, looking him up and down. "You've been following me?"

"Knowing what a crybaby you are, it was the right decision." Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, leaning against the wall. "What if you went to hang yourself? And then Simon and I would be accused of driving to suicide."

"Stop your idiotic jokes at least now! Can't you see that I feel too bad?" you grit your teeth and frown. Your voice sounds offended. Michael's behavior has always been infuriating, but now it crosses all boundaries.

"My father taught me that if a girl is upset, she needs to be supported. That's how all gentlemen behave." the young man says with a sneer.

"Fuck you and your dad, Mike," you shout. "you're just like him, you selfish jerk!"

"Mmm," Michael nods, grinning. "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

You are silent again, not knowing what to say to this insolence. Does Afton really think that in eyes of other people, he's all cool and cocky? Doesn't he realize how stupid his behavior is? Yes, he is certainly a copy of his dad, Mr. Afton, but with a slight difference. The last one has at least some brains.

"My eyes are up here, honey," Michael grins, noticing your gaze. You blink in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"I didn't even look there, you idiot." you fold your arms over your chest and turn away, lifting your chin. That's when Michael pushes you against the wall, towering over you.

"Sure." he can't help but smile stupidly. "I must say, you have beautiful eyes, princess. That's what he called you, right?" there was something wrong with Michael's intonation, even this mockery sounded like he wanted to hurt not you, but himself. There was definitely a hint of jealousy in the young man's tone, although you didn't pay attention to it.

With every action and word of Michael, anger grows inside you, which has been accumulating all this time. And then the mixture of all the negative emotions finally reaches the top. You can't get over how much of an asshole Michael is. You'd do anything to shut him up, just to show him his place. But it doesn't take much time, the anger breaks out. Putting the lip gloss back in the bag, you raise your hand and slap Michael hard in the face.

Afton's cheek burns from your blow, it hurts unpleasantly so it takes him a couple of seconds to come to his senses, then he raises his head at you. His hand instantly reaches for the red mark, stroking it to ease the pain. Yes, it was insulting, even a little humiliating, but again he hides it behind an arrogant and satisfied grin.

However, his next words are strangely surprising.

"You know what?" Michael says in a calm voice. "That was hot."

You look at him, not even hiding your disgust at his words. Michael is such an asshole, even much worse than Simon and their two other bully friends. No wonder why Afton is the leader of their stupid bully four.

Just as you're about to slap him again, Afton grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes widen with shock from his his behavior, you try to break free. Your heart is beating faster from misunderstanding. Being in the hands of a bully, in such an intimate position, when anyone can enter here, makes the situation even more dangerous.

"How stupid of him to lose a beautiful girl like you," Michael whispers, looking at your face, at how your lips are trembling. "I'll repeat, my father taught me to support when girl is sad." the last thing he says before leaning in for a kiss.

For a second, everything in your body, especially brain, stopped working, you froze. Even though Michael is holding you, you don't even try to pull away. Afton's actions become bolder because he sees no resistance, so he tries to get his tongue into your mouth. And that's when you finally realize what's going on and push him away.

"Fuck off, you idiot." you mumble, looking at him point-blank.

"I see that such support isnt enough." Michael bares his teeth and pushes his knee right between your legs what makes your skirt rise a little. At that moment, you blush and try to pull it back, but Michael's hand stops you.

You froze in another shock from another sudden kiss. You expected him to do everything but that. You try to push him away, but it's hard to get out of his grip. Or is it you who's fighting too weakly? At first kiss doesn't seem so pleasant, but then Michael deepens it as his hand moves to your waist, hugging you. The kiss gets more intense when you start responding, your body melts under Afton's touch. You don't even have time to keep up with your thoughts, confused by your own actions.

His lips suddenly feel so warm and pleasant which makes you want more, crave even more of this feeling: to be held like this, to be kissed like this even if it's Michael damn Afton. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder. This isn't what you planned when you went here.

When he pulls away from you, you are in oblivion, heat is burning inside. Michael looks at you hungrily, not understanding why you responded. He lets you go and you stumble away from him, but after a moment your back hits wall. You're trying to figure out what just happened. Did he really just kissed you? And you responded with same? Why did this happen at all? There are more questions than answers.

Your heart is pounding as you stare at him, into his eyes, trying to read the answers in them. He caught you off guard, but you didn't push him off right away, you even started responding. The bitter truth is that you liked it more than you wanted to admit. The way he kisses, kind of rude but so hot… It caused an exciting pleasant feeling. But you don't understand how you can be attracted to this bully, in fact, a tormentor, a brute. All thoughts are fucked up and your legs feel like cotton wool.

Michael is elated to see the confusion on your face.

"Little miss hard-to-get," he says, running a finger over his lips. "always trying to be unapproachable." you're staring at him, heart is still pounding from the kiss. You can't find words. Michael feels your vulnerability and it only gives him confidence. "Don't pretend you didn't like it," he says with a sly grin. "I know it by the way you melt in my arms.

So he's also a romantic. However, he sucks at making tremulous speeches.

Feeling of annoyance reappears.

You try to deny it, but deep inside you know that Michael's words are true. You hate what's happening, what you've gotten yourself into. You blame yourself for enjoying it. A feeling of incomprehensible and inexplicable resentment grows inside: why couldn't HE make you feel like this? Why does it have to be Michael? It's unfair.

It's wrong to be aroused by Michael, to feel a pleasant tingling in the lower belly. Wrong, you keep telling yourself. You need to slap that cocky face one more time and get out of here. Forget about everything that just happened.

Why the hell does it have to be Michael? You have to act like this with your boyfriend, it's almost cheating. But a second later, a bitter realization comes to your clouded mind. Right… You don't have a boyfriend anymore.

Michael sees the contradiction on your face and decides to try his luck, as if reading your mind.

"Maybe I'm the one you should be with," he leans closer. "I mean look at me," he says, pointing at himself. "I'm handsome, confident and I know how to treat a girl." he chuckles softly.

No way! You shake your head trying to come to your senses. You know what he's doing, trying to manipulate emotions by hitting on your weak spot: ex. But for some reason, you don't deny his words. It's strange, the feeling of impermanence, misunderstanding is infuriating. And Michael is like some kind of drug right now that you can't resist. Your palms sweating.

You're trying to regain your composure, push him away. But you don't don't strength, especially moral one, to do that. So you just look into his blue eyes, trying to understand the strange feeling inside.

"Have you been jealous all this time?" you ask, without realizing the question yourself, now you are acting only on emotions.

That's when the picture finally starts to show up… Michael's words, actions. All those stares, all those sneers. It was Michael's jealousy, which he could only show in this way.

"Jealous?" he repeats, his eyes widen slightly at your question. Michael was even surprised that you understood so quickly. "You have a rich imagination."

But you know better now. You didn't notice it at all before, spending all your time with your boyfriend. But others, especially Michael's friends, noticed the way he looked at you. Now it's getting clearer, now you see it. He was motivated and is still by something more than just hatred and the desire to mock you forever.

"Don't lie, you're really jealous." it seems that your words hurt him more than you thought. He looks away, staring at the floor.

"Maybe," Michael admits quietly. "maybe i am."

You feel a strange sense of victory, realizing that you've figured out reason of his stupid behavior. But at the same time, you feel guilty. You shouldn't like how the situation is developing and where it's all leading.

When you look into Michael's eyes, the tension only increases. It's as if all the pent-up emotions have been spilling out for so long, turning into an inexplicable lump that confuses both of you.

Suddenly his hands pull your hips closer to him, and you feel his erection through his pants. You both sigh from the close contact. Michael leans in kissing you again, his fingers sliding under your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts. You moan softly into his mouth. Afton pulls away and begins to cover your chin line with hot, wet kisses, then your neck. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, surrendering to the sensations. You don't want to think so you drive common sense and thoughts away.

Michael slips his fingers behind your bra, unbuttoning it. After that, he gently rolls your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it a little. You exhale, clutching at his hair. This is madness, it's impossible to stand it anymore. Michael's lips leave a trail of passionate kisses along your collarbone, his fingers teasingly descend to your stomach. He stops for a moment to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You know," he begins, his voice already hoarse with arousal. "I can get any girl I want."

You bite your lip, trying not to show how much you enjoy it. You realize that Michael is just trying to play on your nerves.

"Yeah?" you ask, trying to hide a groan. "Then what makes me so special?"

Michael grins darkly, his fingers tracing your sensitive nipple.

"I don't know," he replies, and gets a menacing look from you that says he's about to get a smack on head. "Maybe it's because you're so damn sexy when you play hard to get."

His compliments and flirting, if you can call it so, are pretty stupid and dumb, but then why do they cause pleasant goosebumps that cover the whole body? You want this. You need him. You can feel desire intensifying with every second, body craves his touch. You turn to face the wall, pressing your butt against his hard-on, letting him know exactly what you want, even though Michael understood everything a long time ago. And he wants the same thing.

"That's it," he breathes, giving you a kiss on the neck. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

"Yes," you're squirming. "I want you to fuck me." you meet his gaze, giving him puppy eyes.

Without wasting a second, he lowers his hand down, his fingers push your soaked panties aside, exposing your already dripping pussy to the cool air.

"God, you're so fucking wet…"

Michael's fingers slide between your folds, exploring your wet cunt. Your knees are buckling, and you have to lean against the wall to keep your balance. Michael smiles slyly, his fingers sweetly toying with your clit. You're whimpering, snuggling up against him, pushing up your skirt. He sighs noisily, thrusting two fingers into you at once, sliding them deeper and deeper inside, stretching you as your body shudders with pleasure.

"Lovely, such a good girl." he mutters, still moving his fingers. "cum for me, cum on my fingers." he whispers.

You grab onto the wall as a pleasant shiver runs through your whole body. Michael continues to stimulate your clit, making you arch. And you reach the peak, your body shivers.

"I've wanted you for so long." his hand turns your face to him, Michael looks deep into your eyes. "Your ex," he says in a low and angry voice. "he's a loser, a real idiot, because he couldn't satisfy you. That's why you're here, with me, in my arms."

Your desire is mixed with guilt, realizing what Michael is hinting at. You think you've somehow betrayed your ex by falling into the hands of someone else. But it's not like that. And Michael will prove it to you.

"You're mine now. That bastard missed his chance." Michael says, pressing his lips to yours.

As soon as Michael's words reach you, he straightens up and pulls your body closer, spreading your legs. He rubs his hard cock against your wet entrance and you shudder again in anticipation, responding to his caresses.

Michael pushes inside you, trying to stifle the desire to fuck you hard and rough, to make you cry, to make you forget that you ever dated anyone before him. Jealousy devours him and a disgusting picture forms in his brain… of you hugging and kissing HIM. But not Michael.

He stops, he pulls almost out only to slam back inside again, this time much deeper. Your walls tighten around his cock, waves of pleasure overwhelm both of you. Michael exhales loudly, squeezes your hips and picks up speed, furiously driving into you.

He can't control himself.

You scream into your own fist, all thoughts of the wrongness of the situation disappear, Michael hits all the right places, causing you to moan sweetly. Each hard thrust echoes with vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, which only excites you both more. Michael holds you tightly, fucking you as you move your hips in response to his thrusts. The orgasm grows again, a tight knot of pleasure twists in your lower abdomen.

"Michael, I'm… I'm gonna!…" you whimper.

Michael growls in response, already breaking into a wheeze. Sweat rolls off his forehead and he frowns as he continues to ruin your sweet pussy. He likes to hear you lose touch with the world around, knowing full well that he's reason of it. Pushing into you harder and faster, he lowers his hand between your legs, finding your clit with his thumb, ripping off another moan from you.

You cry, arching your back, his finger starts tracing your sensitive nub. The additional stimulation pushes you to the limit, your pussy walls clenches hard around his dick. Orgasm hits you like a wave, forcing you to swallow air.

But even when you're shaking from overstimulation, Michael doesn't stop. He continues to thrust, desperately driving deeper, already reaching your cervix, determined to show you what good sex is. Aggression, jealousy and resentment flare up inside him, regardless of the fact that you're completely his now, he cannot contain his emotions. He grabs you by the neck, squeezing just a little. Michael buries his nose in your hair, hiding his face in it and breathing heavily.

Michael fucks you so hard, so furiously, so fast that there's lack of air in your chest.

"His cock wasn't good as mine?" he pulls back slightly, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. It's like he purposely leaves bite marks and kisses to make sure that you really belong only to him.

You can't think, your eyes roll back in pleasure. You can only mumble plaintively to yourself.

"Yes! Your cock is so good, so good!. . ." you admit between ragged breaths. Michael smiles dreamily, feeling a sense of triumph, such recognition fills him with pride.

"That's right, baby," he bites your earlobe. "all you need is me."

The pleasure becomes all-consuming, hitting right into brain. Michael growls raggedly, feeling that hes also close. Another orgasm snaps in you, a discharge passes through your body. Mike also reaches his climax. His body is shaking. He pulls out of you at the last moment, cumming on the wall, moaning through clenched lips.

Both of you are just standing there, panting and trying to come to your senses. But you feel weak, still not understanding a single bit of what happened. You almost fall, but Michael holds you tight, both bodies sweaty and hot. Michael closes his eyes, breathing down your neck. Unlike you, he is aware and understands well what happened because he planned it all. Anger leaves him, but not jealousy. Michael is a very jealous person, especially when it comes to you.

The muscles begin to relax, a pleasant fatigue covers your body. Suddenly you feel his teeth digging into your neck, leaving a small painful bite. Michael runs his tongue over the small wound, at the same time his hands begin to squeeze your breasts, as if he is afraid to let you go.

"You're disgusting." you're mumbling.

"I take after my father." Michael answers you, not hiding the joy in his voice.

Though Michael will throw away the lip gloss anyway.

[cinnaleaf]

「 Mistletoe | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: you’re at an ugly christmas sweater party and levi won’t stop pressing your buttons — literally and figuratively. | MDNI 18+

warnings: teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, party setting, dirty talk, language, alcohol, major banter, mistletoe game i made up 🎅🏾: ho ho ho, a little elf told me you asked for this | pt 1 of my ficmas mini series (jude is next) wc: ~4.6k

Levi was the kind of man you wanted to fight on sight. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Not because he did anything diabolical, but because everything about him was annoying. The way his Christmas jumper blinked annoyed you. The way he leaned against the counter with his drink, grinning at everyone like he just blessed the party with his presence annoyed you. What irritated you the most was the way he caught you glaring at him from across the party, smirking with audacity like he knew exactly how much he got under your skin.

You took a long sip of rum and Coke, narrowing your eyes as your friend, Zara, hopped on the countertop with a wireless mic in her hand – chaos in her eyes. “Okay, everyone shut up for a sec!”

The other partygoers quieted down, turning their attention to Zara. She was wearing a bright red jumper that said “LET’S GET ELFED UP!” written in glittery letters, paired with an elf handing out pints of beer to other elves, jingle bells scattered across the warm fuzzy fabric.

“We’re gonna play a game” she announced, waving her hand toward the absurd amount of mistletoe hanging around the house. “I went a little crazy with the decor if you haven’t noticed.” Small conversations and laughter diffused through the crowd as they glanced around at the ridiculous amount of Christmas lights, tinsel, and garland covering nearly every inch of Zara’s house.

“The rules are really simple. if you get caught under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss. No dodging, no excuses. If you refuse…” She paused dramatically, widening her smile. “You have to do a shot of special eggnog.”

The crowd groaned collectively. The ‘special’ eggnog in question was thick, lukewarm, and spiked with whatever unholy combination of liquor she could find. She got you with it last year, and it tasted like regret, disappointment and bad decisions blended into one vile concoction.

“So keep your eyes open, people!” Zara said with a laugh, hopping off the counter top while her jumper jingled. “And don’t even try to cheat. I have eyes everywhere.”

As the party resumed, you caught Levi in your peripherals, grinning while making his way to the drink station. He was wearing an obnoxious, green monstrosity that had a mirror stitched onto the chest with the words “UGLIEST SWEATER AWARD” right above it in bold white letters, scattered with blinking lights. Every time someone glanced in the mirror, it essentially called them ugly and Levi was loving every second of it.

You glanced down at your own jumper, which you personally thought was a comedic masterpiece. It was a bright red knit that had a big button in the center. When pressed, LED lights and a cheery voice announced whether someone was on the naughty or nice list. It was an instant hit the minute you walked in, everyone was eager to learn their fate.

But of course, your joy didn’t last long when Levi finally spotted you alone.

“Y/N!” he called out, weaving through the crowd toward you. His grin, although beautiful and bright, had you infuriated. “One hell of a jumper you got there. What’s that button for?”

“For people with manners” you shot back, sipping your drink.

“Good thing I’m exactly that” he quipped, stepping right into your personal space. Before you could swat his hand away, he reached out to press the button. The LED lights showed an image of Santa tapping his cheek, before the cheery voice finally declared: Naughty!

Levi gave an amused snicker. “Yeah, that’s accurate. Let me try again.”

“No–” you started, but his hand was already pressing the button again.

“Naughty!” the jumper repeated, and Levi was doubled over laughing, nearly in tears.

“Nah. This thing has to be broken. No shot it gave me naughty again.” he said, shaking his head as he leaned in to press it again.

“Levi can you fucking not?”

Naughty!

You shoved his hand away finally, scowling. “I think you’ve made your point now.”

“Nahhh, I don’t know. It feels like a fluke if I keep getting naughty. Third time is clearly not the charm so let’s make it four.”

He pressed the button again before you could react, but this time the lights on the jumper flickered weakly before going out entirely.

“What the hell?” you groaned, tugging at the wires inside the knit to check for damage. “You broke it!”

“It was already broken,” Levi said, entirely too pleased with himself.

“You’re so fucking annoying” you muttered, clutching your drink and storming off to the laundry room to fix the jumper.

Levi called after you innocently, but it was anything but. “Y/N!”

“Let me know if you need a hand, yeah? I have a mirror with the perfect view!” he added.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, stepping into the laundry room and slamming the door harder than you needed to. You muttered under your breath as you set your drink down on top of the washing machine. “I swear if I can’t fix this I’m actually going to fight him.”

You tugged the jumper over your head, leaving you in just a bra and jeans. The wires inside were a mess thanks to Levi’s relentless button pushing, no pun intended. You were determined to fix it before he had another chance to fuck something else up with it. Just as you started untangling the tiny LED strands, the door creaked open. You glanced up, already irritated.

“Whatever you want, the answer is no.”

Levi leaned against the frame of the door casually, smugly grinning while holding an empty cup. “Relax. Just came in here for..uh…a refill.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “In the laundry room? Be forreal.”

“It’s quieter in here” he said, shrugging as he stepped inside. “And I thought I’d check on you. You seemed like you were mad or something.”

“I am.” you said, glaring as you messed with the wires. “You broke my jumper!”

Levi smirked, dragging his eyes downward as he caught sight of your bra. He didn’t bother hiding it which made you even more irritated.

“Can you not?” you snappily asked, waving the jumper at him. “I’m trying to fix this thing.”

He licked over his lips when he noticed how your chest bounced slightly with the jerk of your arms from trying to fix the wires. “Looks like that jumper isn’t the only thing working overtime.”

Your head whipped up and he nodded toward your bra, smirking. “Nice choice.”

“Levi... I swear if you don’t shut –”

Before you could finish, Zara’s loud voice cut through the air from the hallway. “Ooooh! Laundry room mistletoe!!”

You groaned out loud as Levi’s head tilted upward, that same infuriating grin from before plastered all over his face. Sure enough, there was a tiny sprig of mistletoe dangling over a light.

Zara appeared in the doorway, delighted and chaotically cheerful. “You know the rules! KISS!”

“No. Absolutely not.” you muttered, yanking your jumper back over your head, though it wasn’t fixed just yet. “Laundry rooms don’t count! This should be a safe zone.”

“There are no safe zones in this house,” Zara said with an evil grin. “Kiss or its eggnog time!”

“Can we just not? Is that not a choice?” you snapped, glaring at Levi who was leaning casually against the washing machine, not bothered in the slightest by a suggestion of a kiss.

“Rules are rules Y/N” Levi said, flashing another cheeky grin. 

“Besides..you already look like you’re considering it” he winked, pointing at the mirror on his ugly Christmas sweater. You caught yourself glancing in the mirror, instantly annoyed that he was able to trick you that easily.

“I’ll do the eggnog.” you said flatly, crossing your arms.

“You sure about that?” Zara teased, a sudden crowd now gathering behind her. Partiers were pushing into the hallway, echoing with laughter as more people realized what was happening. Everyone knew you couldn’t stand Levi, so this was prime entertainment for them.

“Mistletoooooooe!!!” someone called out, and the chanting began. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

If you could disappear to literally anywhere else in that moment you would’ve. The crowd was loving it and phones were already coming out to film like you were in some sick reality show back on some island in Fiji.

Zara crossed her arms and gave you a look. “Babe, you’re gonna regret that eggnog more than a kiss. It’s a vintage batch from last year..and I added more Everclear.”

“Just get it over with! I’m missing out on my spades game for this!” Someone in the crowd called out.

You scowled at Levi, then back at Zara and the crowd behind her. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” you snapped, stepping closer to Levi.

Levi straightened, looking way too pleased as he tilted his head down toward you. “Didn’t think you had it in you to kiss me with an audience.”

“Shut the fuck up” you muttered before grabbing the front of his jumper and pulling him into a kiss.

The crowd erupted into cheers, hoots, hollers, and whistles the second your lips met his. You planned for it to be a quick peck, barely there kiss, but Levi had other ideas. His lips were warm, surprisingly soft, and sort of delicious. You could faintly taste mulled wine on his lips as one of his hands lightly fell onto your hip, like he was testing the waters. This kiss wasn’t rushed or sloppy...it was annoyingly good.

When you pulled back, you were breathless and way more flustered than you wanted to admit, and Levi’s grin was back in full force.

“Didn’t hate it, did you?” he murmured in a low tone that only you could hear.

You shoved his chest, rolling your eyes as you pushed through the crowd to head back to the party.

After the spectacle in the laundry room, you needed space. Preferably somewhere Levi wasn’t smirking and people weren’t shouting “Mistletoe!” like it was the second coming of Christ. So you headed to the kitchen because you were hungry.

The kitchen was a lot more calm than the rest of the party, with the exception of s small group playing spades at a table, loudly flinging cards on the tabletop and yelling. Plates of food were scattered across the counters, but you chose the jerk chicken wings first. You grabbed a wing, biting into it as you surveyed the rest of the options. You spotted Levi by the drinks where he was refilling on mulled wine. He looked calm, like he didn’t just kiss you in front of half the party and make you question why he was so damn good at it. You wanted to ignore him, but he turned and his eyes met yours like he felt you watching him. He smiled and you immediately looked back down at the chicken wings, grabbing another and biting into it.

Levi walked over with his mulled wine sloshing around in his cup. “Better slow down before you choke on it.” he said, eying the chicken wing in your grasp. “Unless you like that type of thing..”

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “I do, actually. But not with you watching. Now leave.”

Levi chuckled and leaned against the counter next to you, not planning on going anywhere. “Nah, I can’t take my eyes off you tearing it up like that. I’m CPR certified, you know?”

You scoffed, grabbing a napkin to dab your mouth. “If that were true you’d know it’s actually the Heimlich that’s used for choking, Big Brain.”

Levi grinned, enjoying your frustration but then you heard a shout from the spades table.

“MISTLETOE!” someone hollered, pointing toward the end of the counter where a rogue mistletoe sprig was tied around the neck of an empty bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream, hidden behind all the food.

You stared at it in disbelief. “I know you’re fucking lying” you muttered under your breath, unable to comprehend how the placement of mistletoe made any sense. Surely someone was fucking with you.

Levi followed your gaze, his grin growing more smug as he took in the setup. “Damn, that’s creative. Gotta give Zara her props for that one.”

The crowd playing spades in the kitchen caught on fast and started yelling.

“Girl, you know you wanna kiss him again!” someone yelled while laughing.

“Yeah, don’t front!” another chimed in, hyping the situation.

You whipped around and glared at Levi, who was basking in all the attention. “This is your fault. I told you to leave.”

He raised his hands, laughing. “It’s Zara’s fault. I didn’t make the rules, Y/N.”

The crowd wasn’t letting up on the chants. Phones were out, cameras ready, and Zara was posted up against the fridge like the instigator she was, sipping her drink and grinning like you should thank her.

You groaned at the thought of Zara’s cursed eggnog and shuddered internally. Levi stepped closer to you, shrinking the space between you. “You’ll enjoy this one too. I promise.”

You parted your lips to respond – maybe even argue, but Levi tilted his head and moved his hands to your waist.

“This doesn’t mean anything by the way” you whispered, gripping the counter behind you for balance.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” he teased in a barely audible voice over all the noise.

This time, there was no awkward start. It was hot. His mouth moved on yours like he had something to prove. It felt like he was trying to carve his name into your mouth and leave it there. His tongue slid past your lips, making your grip on the counter tighten. The room felt like it was spinning, or maybe it was just you. Levi’s hands slightly pushed your jumper up, and he brushed his thumbs over your sides. Suddenly, your body betrayed you and your hands found their way around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer as you leaned back against the counter. There was a natural rhythm to the kiss and the two of you nearly forgot there was a crowd watching.

Was it hot in here, or was it just you? Or him?? Both???

You felt him smile against your lips when you let out a small moan from the intensity of the kiss. You pulled away annoyed, but breathlessly impressed.

“Better than eggnog, right?” he questioned rhetorically.

You stared at him, lips still tingling, breath uneven. “Maybe....” you answered, pushing him away and grabbing your jerk chicken wing plate. You walked over to Zara and pulled her off to the side, away from the party and away from Levi’s smug, annoyingly handsome face.

Zara raised her eyebrows, barely managing to hold onto her drink as you dragged her away. “What? What did I do now? I’m just an innocent bystander.”

“Innocent my ass” you jabbed, setting your plate down on a nearby table. “What’s wrong with him?”

Zara smiled, tilting her head. “Define ‘wrong’.”

“That kiss” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen where the chaos unfolded. “It was...good. Like way too good. It’s hot in here.”

Zara smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “Sooo...you liked it then?”

“That’s not what I said” you countered quickly, but the way your eyes were darting back and forth gave your lie away. “He’s doing something to me and I hate it.”

“No you don’t” Zara snorted, leaning against the wall. “Maybe you need to just get laid. Blow off some steam or something, I don’t know.”

“Zara” you groaned, rubbing your temples.

“What?” she said with a laugh. “He’s cute. You’re cute. You’re clearly into each other. A little hook up might be fun. Based on that last kiss, you’re already halfway there anyway.”

You shot her a glare, turning your heel away from her in annoyance. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Sure babe” Zara called after you. “But you know I’m not wrong!”

You splashed cold water on your face in the refuge of the bathroom, trying to shake off the throbs your body felt from the kiss. Levi’s hands, his soft lips, and the way he smiled against your lips had you thinking what else he could be good at. You stared in the mirror, shaking your head. “He’s so irritating,” you muttered to your reflection. “And so fucking fine.”

With a sigh, you stepped back into the hallway but your peace lasted for all of three seconds.

Levi appeared at the other end of the hallway, casually strolling toward you with his drink in hand. He looked like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to bother you. His jumper was still obnoxiously blinking, a grin already forming. Levi stopped in front of you, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip while peering at you over the rim. The silence stretched for a long time as he drank, until he pointed up with his index finger, bringing attention to another piece of mistletoe. He didn’t say a word after and stood there smirking at you, waiting. 

That cocky, knowing curve of his mouth was your undoing and you grabbed him by his jumper, kissing him with every intention of taking it farther. The kiss wasn’t just hot, nor was it something to shut him up or get it over with. It was like someone had taken a match to dry kindling. There was no one else in the hallway, but even if there was, you couldn’t care less. 

Levi froze for half a second, not expecting you to make the first move, but then he was kissing you back with one hand caressing your ass, the other pressed up against the wall next to the door. The way he was moving his tongue against yours sent fiery heat straight to your core, making your breath hitch in its wake.

You were not a passive participant in this game. Your hands slid up under his jumper, grazing over his happy trail above the waistband of his jeans. Your back bumped up against the doorframe, but the wood pressing into you didn’t matter because Levi’s dick was also pressing into you, straining against his jeans. 

“Y/N” he muttered against your mouth rough and low, trying to hold himself back.

It wasn’t a question or even a statement. He was teetering on the edge, one breath away from losing control. You didn’t have to think twice and you stepped back, pulling him into the bathroom with you as he kicked the door closed behind him, locking the door without pulling from your lips. His lips trailed down to your neck, his fingers teasing the zipper of your jeans. 

“I knew you wanted me” he murmured against your skin.

“Keep talking and I’ll change my mind” you teased, fumbling with the button of his jeans as your breath came in short, heated gasps.

When his jeans hit the floor you barely registered the sound of the button on your Christmas jumper malfunctioning. The automated voice cheerily kept declaring “Naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty!” until it finally sputtered and died.

Levi laughed, brushing his lips against your ear. “Guess it’s not wrong.”

Once your jeans were off, he ran his hands over your panties, instantly making you bite your lip to stop a moan. He hooked a finger, pulling them off in one swift motion. His fingers striped between your folds as you pulled your jumper and bra off, making you grip the countertop.

“Mistletoe” he whispered against your chest, taking in your nipple and circling his tongue around its peak. You leaned your head back, closing your eyes while grazing your hands over the top of his head. You couldn’t see it, but there was another sprig of mistletoe reflecting from the mirror that was taped to the wall that you hadn’t noticed earlier.

You were losing it. You hated how good it felt. You hated the way his smug smile against your skin made you wetter when he kissed down your body, then back up to your neck. You couldn’t help but moan from the sensation.

“You’re loud” he drawled against your skin. “You need to be quiet unless you want the whole party to know how good I’m about to fuck you.”

You glared at him, but the fire in your eyes wasn’t overpowering the fire between your legs. “Stop teasing me and get on with it.” The tone in your voice let him know just how badly you wanted him.

Levi smirked, grazing your jawline as he trailed his lips back to yours. “You’re so impatient.” he said, dipping his fingers inside of you before he took them out again. Your hips jerked toward him involuntarily and you moaned again before you could stop it.

“Levi..I–”

He cut you off and pressed a kiss to your lips that stole the rest of the sentence and every coherent thought in your head. He moved his fingers slowly, drawing circles around your clit that made your knees buckle.

“You’re soaked” He breathed against your mouth, satisfied. “Why are you so worked up, Y/N? Was it the mistletoe?”

Your nails dug into his biceps, trying to focus on the onslaught of sensations. “You talk too much shit” you gasped, arching into him as his fingers slid lower, dipping inside you just enough to make you arch into him more.

“Fuck..” you moaned.

“Seems like you like it though” he quipped, pulling his hand away just to hear you whine. 

Your hand shot out and gripped the back of his neck, trying to pull him closer. “I swear to god if you don’t stop playing..”

Levi spun you around and pressed you against the counter before you could argue with him anymore. The cold marble made you hiss, but Levi gave you no time to adjust to the sensation. His hands were on your ass, spreading you open as he leaned in close, brushing his lips against your ear.

“Admit you want me” he demanded. “Or I’ll make you beg for it.”

You turned your head, glaring over your shoulder. “I’m not begging for shit.”

“We’ll see about that.” he laughed, unbothered.

You felt the head of his dick press against you, teasing you, but he didn’t push in. Instead, he slid it up and down, coating himself in your wetness to drive you up the wall.

“Levi don’t piss me off” you groaned, grinding back against him, desperate.

“Say it.”

Your body was heating with equal parts irritation and need. You didn’t know who the fuck he thought he was, trying to make you beg. 

If he wanted to be funny, you were going to be hilarious.

Without another word, you reached behind, gripping him in your hand. His dick twitched under your touch as you ran your thumb down the vein on his shaft, and you heard him suck in his breath. You lined him up and pushed yourself into him, a delicious stretch stole the air from your lungs. He filled you slowly, inch by inch, making you bite your lip to stop from moaning.

“Fuck you feel so good” Levi muttered, gripping your hips as he gave you some time to adjust. “Tight as hell too. No wonder you’re loud.”

You were going to snap back at him but when he started moving, he pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, making you loudly moan his name.

“Y/N!” Zara’s voice echoed from the hallway, followed by a cackle. “I fucking knew it!”

You buried your face against the marble from embarrassment, but Levi didn’t stop. If anything, her little interruption hyped him up. “Guess there’s no point being quiet now” he grinned, snapping his hips harder. “Let ‘em hear how good I’m fucking you.”

You glared at him through the mirror but your mouth fell open when his hips thrusted into you again. “You–” Another deep thrust followed and your words broke into a moan. You hated how loud you were but your body was uncontrollably reacting to him. He wasn’t just pressing one button, he was pressing all of them; mapping out each nerve to set you off.

“What was that, Y/N?” Levi asked, teasing you with unrelenting thrusts. “Didn’t catch what you said. Too busy making you lose your head.”

“Shut up” you gasped, clutching the counter like it could save you.

“You first.” He grinned, smacking your ass as he hit a spot that made your legs shake. “But you can’t, can you?”

Your nails scratched against the counter, moans spilling out. You could feel your stomach coiling tighter with every stroke and roll of his hips. You were going to tell him to shut up again but what came out of your mouth was the complete opposite.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded.

“Ah, there it is,” he voiced arrogantly. “Good girl.”

You tried to bite back a cry but it tore from you when he thrust harder, making you arch your back. Your mind felt foggy, you were gasping between moans, only focused on him as Christmas music muffled from the door. He was filling you, stretching you, and ruining you in the best way.

“Say it again” he growled, sliding his hand around your waist to press your stomach. “Say you want me to make you cum.”

You gasped at his words, the pressure of his hands, and the stretch of him inside you – the perfect trio to make you crash over the edge. “Levi..fuck. I’m close” you whimpered, grinding against him as you came closer to a breaking point.

He slowed his thrusts just enough to drive you mad, brushing his lips over your ear. “Not yet. Not until I’m in so deep you forget your name.” He pulled out of you slowly, leaving you aching for him. Before you could complain he flipped you around, lifting you onto the counter. His hands hooked under your thighs and pulled you closer, sliding back into you in one smooth, deep stroke. This angle hit different and stole the air from your lungs, making your head fall back on the mirror.

“Eyes on me” Levi demanded roughly, though he sounded a little needy. “I wanna see you when you cum.”

Your heavy lidded eyes locked on his and the intensity of his gaze made you pulse against his dick. He groaned and pounded into you, no mercy. You cried out, squeezing his dick with your orgasm as the hot pleasure coursed through you. 

“Goddamn” Levi groaned, feeling you clench your muscles against him. 

His grip on your thighs tightened and he pulled out at the last second, stroking his dick with one hand, the other keeping your legs wide. “Ah, shit” he cursed under his breath as he came, painting your stomach with his cum. Your body trembled from the aftershocks of your orgasm as you watched him pump himself empty. For a while, the bathroom was filled with nothing but heavy breaths and the distant party sounds beyond the door. Levi grabbed a towel on the edge of the counter to clean you up with care; that smug little grin still hadn’t left his face.

“You good?” he asked, low and gravelly, still catching his own breath.

You nodded, still panting as you sat up on the counter, running a hand over your hair. Levi’s hand stayed on your thigh and he smirked at you. As irritating as his confidence was – it was also hot.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, breathlessly.

On the floor, your malfunctioning Christmas jumper sprung back to life. The cheery automated voice chimed in once again.

Naughty!

Naughty!

Naughty!

[mintedwitcher]

I spent the last two days catching up on all the episodes of 911 that I've missed, and I need to say a few things. actually, a lot of things. this got long so I'm putting it under a cut.

8b is significantly better overall than 8a. the storylines, the pacing, the character interactions. it is significantly better in this half of the season. that being said:

I have mixed feelings about Eddie's SL. on the one hand, I'm proud of him for finally making a good parenting decision (putting his son first). on the other, I hate how it felt like he was essentially rewarded for the bare minimum. I also hate how he treated Buck, but that's a sidenote.

I didn't like Maddie's kidnapping arc. I hate that they made the villain a cheap, bad example of DID, when it would've been far more interesting for her to be entirely neurotypical. people with mental illness are more likely to be the victims of violent crime than the perpetrators of it, and this plot felt like a slap in the face to anyone with mental health concerns, especially with the addition of Maddie talking a man into suicide (even though it didn't really happen), and then slapping the suicide hotline on the end credits like that was going to do anything. I'm not even actively suicidal and Maddie's speech to the "kidnapper" was triggering as all hell for me. I can't imagine how much worse it was for people who are still fighting that battle. I do like that they didn't just let Maddie brush it all off like nothing happened, however I do think she still should've faced actual consequences for what she said on the phone. In season 2, Gloria got fired just for hanging up on people. Maddie talked a caller into killing himself. That should've had consequences.

Athena, for once, I have no complaints about. her storylines felt more grounded in reality in 8b, and there was significantly less of the 'vigilante cop' angle, which I'm definitely happy about. (I don't know or care what happened in the Dr Odyssey crossover, so I can't speak on that.) I liked her having a rookie, AND I like that the rookie faced consequences in-universe for what he did. I wish that was more common, but I'm still glad it happened, and I'm looking forward to s9 bringing in a new (hopefully better) rookie for Athena to train.

Ravi, no notes, he was amazing in every episode.

now for the Big One: Bobby.

I loved this arc. it felt real and serious in a way that 911 frankly hasn't been lately. Bobby dedicating himself to saving his team is so entirely in character. it's what he's always done, ever since we were first introduced to Bobby Nash. he has always and will always put his team and his family before himself, every single time, because the one time he didn't, he lost everything. this is a man who knows the agony of loss, the pain of guilt, and who will do whatever it takes to protect others from feeling the same thing. the fact that his death is an act of personal sacrifice - letting Chim take the antiviral, keeping silent about his own infection - is the only way he could possibly go out.

(I've seen a lot of theories about him still being alive, but I have to disagree, vehemently. this is not a sci-fi show, this is not Supernatural. characters who die in 911 stay dead, even if the memory of them doesn't.)

showcasing Athena and Chim's grief in the funeral episode was an amazing choice. mirroring Athena's grief with Leah, mirroring both women's denial, it was a fantastic narrative decision, and it works so well. Leah couldn't let go of Micah, Athena couldn't let go of Bobby. they were both prolonging and delaying their grief, and they were only finally able to put down that weight when they accepted that their loved ones were truly gone. when they accepted the permanence of it.

and Chimney - the guy who stays level-headed, the guy who doesn't get angry, not really, not often - being the one full of rage at Bobby's death was so important. grief is painful, and the unfairness of it is infuriating. and for Chim to be the one to express that, I think, was the best choice they could've made. it would've been too easy to give anger to Eddie, or Buck, but giving it to Chim felt more real. because yeah, out of all of them, Chim has arguably the most reason to be angry. Bobby lied to him, to all of them, and while it did save Chim's life, it still hurts, because what if... you know? what if there was another way, what if there was a way to buy time, what if there was something he could do. Chim is a paramedic, his entire life revolves around healing people, keeping them alive. watching Bobby go out like that would've felt like a failing on Chim's part, like he didn't do enough, like he wasn't good enough. so yeah, Chim being angry was the perfect choice.

I'm looking forward to seeing how the grief is handled for Ravi, Hen, Eddie, and Buck in the next two episodes. if they keep the same tempo as this one, I'm guessing we'll get to focus on two mains per ep, with some scenes to show how the others are coping in the meantime.

I saw someone on here theorise that the show is essentially using the characters to personify the stages of grief, so it's definitely going to be interesting to see who takes which role in the next two episodes. I feel like Ravi and Eddie are both going to be 'bargaining' - they both feel a measure of personal responsibility, as if they could've 'done more', we saw glimpses of it already in e16. I think Hen will be 'acceptance'. she went back to work a week early to be there for her team.

and so that leaves 'depression' for Buck, which I think is very accurate. he's holding on for now, for everyone else, but I think the more he pushes it down, the worse it's going to be, and the more numb he's going to become. out of everyone in the 118, Buck takes their losses the hardest. he cares so much, and with so much of himself, that he just can't help it. he feels every single loss like a personal one, and this might be the most personal loss he's ever endured. Bobby was like a father to him, and he was the one who had to watch, who had to relay the news, who had to walk away and let Bobby die. that is going to break him, I think.

I can't wait to see how it goes down for the next two episodes. I've been saying for months that 911 needs to shake things up if they want to stay afloat, and the only options for Bobby going forward were always going to be death or retirement. I'm sad that he's gone, and I'll miss Bobby all the time going forward, but I am so excited to see what new storylines can come from this change.

I know not everyone is going to agree with me, so I'm asking now, if you want to add your opinions here, go ahead, but be civil about it. I'm not looking for discourse. any hate will be deleted and blocked on sight. my asks are currently open if anyone wants to discuss the show there.

[nyoomfruits]

38 landoscar

38. kiss because they’re running out of time

“Boys?” The voice of Oscar’s mum floats up the stairs into Oscar’s bedroom. “Are you ready? I want to take some picture before you leave!”

“We’ll be right down!” Oscar shouts back, before he turns back to the mirror, fiddling with his bowtie. “God, this thing.”

“Here, let me,” Lando says, getting up from where he was sprawled on Oscar’s bed, having already put on his own suit and tied his tie. He moves over to where Oscar is standing, takes the ends of his bowtie out of his hands.

They’re close, like this, faces only inches apart as Lando desperately tries to focus on the bowtie and not on the way he can pretty much count Oscar’s individual lashes from here. “Nervous?” He asks, just to have something to say.

Oscar shrugs. “It’s prom,” he says, in a rather deadpan voice. Like it’s any other night. And the beauty is, to Oscar, it is. He doesn’t care about this stuff. The dressing up, the dates, the dancing. Which makes it all the more infuriating he actually got a date when Lando didn’t.

Well, that, and the fact that Lando wishes desperately he was said date.

“There,” Lando says, finishes tying the bowtie. “Perfect.”

“Thank,” Oscar says, glancing at himself in the mirror and smiling. “Where did you even learn how to do that?”

“Oliver,” Lando says, noncommittally, because it would be embarrassing to admit that he learned it when it was just him and Oscar going to prom together, when Lando was still hoping something was going to happen, when Lando thought this might be his moment, if it happened.

But then Lily asked him. So.

Speaking of, she should be here any minute, so they can take perfectly cute prom pics in front of the stairs, show them to their kids later, tell them the story of how they met.

Lando’s stomach churns.

He always thought. His entire high school career he thought there was time. He isn’t a hopeless romantic or anything, but he always thought him and Oscar would have this moment. Where they both realized how much they meant to each other. And then they would kiss and everything would be perfect.

But now it’s prom night, and high school is almost over, and the clock is ticking, and nothing has happened.

And the real, harrowing truth is nothing is going to happen, unless.

“Oscar, wait,” Lando says, because seriously. Fuck it. He spend all these years waiting on Oscar, but why can’t he take the plunge instead?

Oscar, by the door, turns around. “Yeah?” He asks, and then lets out a surprised noise when Lando marches over, grabs him by the face, and kisses him full on the mouth.

There’s a second where it’s the most awkward moment of Lando’s life, where they’re just standing in the bedroom they’ve spend so much of their time hanging out together, lips pressed to lips, and then Oscar lets out a shaky breath, and his shoulders fall, and his arms wrap around Lando’s waist, and he kisses back.

It’s the best 30 second of Lando’s life. And then a door opens downstairs.

“Oscar! Lily’s here!”

“Shit,” Lando says, jumping away, nearly launching himself into Oscar’s desk. “Shit, Lily,” he presses. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I made you like. Cheat on your girlfriend, what the fuck. What is wrong with me. Holy shit I’m so not a girl’s girl right now.”

“Lando, what,” Oscar says, still standing by the door a little dazed. “Me and Lily are friends.”

“But you’re going to Prom together,” Lando says, trying so hard not to cry. God, he’s being a horrible friend right now. And Lily. Lily is so nice. Seriously what’s wrong with him.

“Yeah, as friends,” Oscar stresses. “Because you never asked me.”

Lando pauses. Blinks. “But. No, but you didn’t ask me,” he says.

Oscar laughs then. And god, Lando’s heard it a million times, by now, but it never stops being the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard. “Oh, we’re idiots aren’t we?”

It all starts sinking in now, and Lando laughs too. A loud, relieved thing. “God, we really are,” he says.

There’s a moment where they just stare at each other and then Lando thinks. Take the plunge. “Do you think Lily minds?” He asks. “If I steal her Prom date?”

Oscar laughs, shakes his head. “As long as we still dance with her, I think she’ll mostly be glad to be rid of my pining.”

Lando’s eyebrows shoot up. “Pining? Oh my god, was there pining?” He rushes past Oscar suddenly, heads to the stairs. “Lily! Lily my love you have to tell me about the pining.”

Oscar’s laughter, his delightful, beautiful, show stopping laughter, follows him all the way down the stairs.

[r-memberme]

tell me love, do you dance | k.m

⎯⎯“You owe me a favor,” he reminds her, that maddening glint in his eye.

warnings: fluff

part I part II part III

She stands in front of the mirror, arms crossed, glaring at her reflection as if sheer force of will could undo the situation she’s found herself in.

A date. With Klaus Mikaelson.

She had tried to convince herself it wasn’t a date, just an unfortunate consequence of a poorly placed golf shot and his insufferable need to win. But when he arrived at her door, dressed in a dark button-down with sleeves casually rolled, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he surveyed her, she knew—oh, she knew—this was exactly what he wanted it to be.

And worse? She had let it happen.

Now, she sits across from him at an intimate corner table, candlelight flickering between them. He had chosen the restaurant with an almost lazy confidence, barely letting her protest before ushering her inside. And damn it, she had tried to argue, to insist on something casual, something with bright lighting and absolutely zero romantic ambiance, but Klaus had merely smirked, tilting his head like he was indulging a child’s tantrum.

Which, naturally, had only made her more determined to prove this wasn’t affecting her.

She clears her throat, reaching for her glass of wine. “So,” she begins, attempting nonchalance, “is this where you tell me my second favor involves something ridiculous? Because I swear, if you make me wear a ‘Klaus Mikaelson is Always Right’ shirt in public—”

Klaus chuckles, swirling his own glass. “Tempting,” he muses, “but no.”

She narrows her eyes. “Then what is it?”

He leans back, watching her, fingers tapping idly against the stem of his glass. “You’ll know soon enough.”

That is not reassuring.

She exhales sharply, tapping her fork against the plate. “I don’t like surprises.”

Klaus smiles, slow and knowing. “And yet, you keep walking right into them.”

She huffs, taking a sip of her wine, refusing to acknowledge the way that statement makes something twist in her stomach.

They fall into conversation—somehow, effortlessly. It’s infuriating how easily he can drag her into a debate, how he counters her jabs with effortless charm. And then, just as she’s beginning to forget that this—this—is exactly what he wanted, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, and says, “Tell me, love, do you dance?”

She blinks. “What?”

“Dance,” he repeats, like it’s obvious. “Do you?”

“I mean—” She frowns. “Sort of? I took some lessons when I was younger, but why—”

His smirk deepens, and before she can protest, he stands, extending a hand.

“Klaus,” she warns.

“You owe me a favor,” he reminds her, that maddening glint in his eye.

Oh. Oh no.

She looks around, suddenly hyperaware of the quiet music drifting through the restaurant, of the space near the back where a few couples sway lazily, lost in their own little worlds.

“You’re joking,” she says flatly.

Klaus merely quirks a brow. “Am I?”

She glares. He waits.

And damn it, damn it—she should say no, should plant herself firmly in her seat and refuse to let him win.

But he’s looking at her with that insufferable patience, with that challenge laced beneath his amusement, and the part of her that hates losing, that refuses to back down, bristles at the thought of letting him have the last word.

So she exhales sharply, slaps her napkin on the table, and takes his hand.

The grin that spreads across his face is downright sinful.

He leads her to the open space, settling one hand at her waist, the other curling around her fingers. The contact is warm, steady, and before she can overthink it, he pulls her close, moving in slow, effortless steps.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” she mutters.

Klaus hums, the sound vibrating against her. “Oh, absolutely.”

She doesn’t know how it happens, how the irritation fades into something quieter, softer. But somehow, she finds herself relaxing, letting him guide her through the motions.

And then—then—he murmurs, low and teasing, “You’re not half bad, love.”

She scoffs, tilting her chin. “And you? Where did you learn?”

Klaus chuckles, twirling her—twirling her, the bastard—and when she stumbles slightly, he catches her, his grip firm, unshakable.

“You’d be surprised,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make warmth creep up her spine.

She swallows, heart pounding against her will. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he smirks, dipping her ever so slightly, his face hovering just above hers, “here you are.”

And just like that, she knows—this was never about the favors.

It was always about this.

final part of the technique mini series <3 Hope you guys enjoyed it! <3

taglist: @ohapple @myworldrightnow@deactiveblogx@witch-of-letters@xtwistedchaosx@liataylorsversion@pardonmydelayyy

im thinking about making another part if you guys want?👀 maybe a part with smut?👀

[s1e1lar]

“The Hollow Watchers” Various creepypasta’s x youtuber!reader

A/n: HAI GUYS. I told you I would be back soon.

Cw: female reader, suggestive comments, weapons, and general creepiness

Wordcount: 1,841

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

EJ walked ahead of you, his silent yet commanding presence guiding you down another long hallway. Your mind was still spinning from what had just happened, from the faceless man’s words, from the impossible choice laid before you.

Murder.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. The weight of that single word pressed down on your chest, suffocating and inescapable.

The hallway stretched endlessly before you, lined with doors that loomed like silent sentinels. The air was cold, stale, like a place that had been abandoned and yet was still somehow lived in. Dim lights flickered above, casting long shadows that seemed to slither along the walls.

You passed the front door, and for the briefest moment, your heart leaped. Freedom was just beyond that threshold, so close and yet impossibly out of reach. EJ didn’t even glance at it as he walked past, his posture unreadable.

Your feet dragged slightly as you followed, the reality of your situation becoming heavier with every step. You were about to enter what looked like a large common area when a voice—sharp, grating, and immediately infuriating—cut through the air.

“Ohh, would you look at this?”

The voice, cocky and smug, practically dripping with amusement.

Then another, more energetic but sharper than you expected.

“Jeff, don’t be a creep. You’re gonna scare her off before she even gets a proper introduction.”

You barely had time to react before you stepped into view of the two figures lounging in the dimly lit living area.

You quickly put a face to the name—Jeff. His shaggy black hair hung messily over his face, and this unsettling grin—permanently carved into his skin—stretched wide. His hoodie, which was once white, was now stained and splattered with old blood, some fresher than others. He sprawled lazily across the couch, his arms stretched along the backrest as he eyed you like a cat that had just spotted something fun to toy with.

Beside him, a striking girl perched on the arm of the couch. Her long black hair was styled in thick, sleek layers, a straight-cut fringe framing her sharp features. Multicolored strands—streaks of purple, blue, and pink—ran through her hair, blending in chaotic contrast. She wore dark eyeliner, bold makeup, and a ripped-up outfit that only made her stand out more.

And then there was her smile—or rather, the jagged scars that mirrored Jeff’s. The edges of her lips were carved into a matching grin, though unlike Jeff’s unsettling, predator-like smirk, hers was full of life, teasing and expressive.

“She’s cute,” she noted, resting her chin in her palm as she studied you. “Didn’t think you were into bringing home strays, EJ.”

Jeff chuckled, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Stray’s got a hell of a body, I’ll give her that. You should’ve seen her earlier, Nina—damn near walked into a hatchet. But hey, might’ve been a waste, considering…” His smirk widened as his gaze raked over you. “Would’ve been fun to break her in first.”

Disgust curled in your stomach.

Your hands clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body tensing at the implication.

Before you could snap back, Nina rolled her eyes, shoving Jeff’s shoulder hard enough to make him jolt upright.

“Ugh, Jeff, you’re such a sleaze.” She sighed dramatically, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “You ever stop being gross for, like, five seconds?”

Jeff only snickered, unbothered, but you caught the way he briefly adjusted his posture—almost like he was reminded that he wasn’t the only one capable of getting under people’s skin.

EJ, on the other hand, didn’t react at all.

But the moment the words had left Jeff’s mouth, a shift had settled over him—small, almost imperceptible. The kind of shift that wasn’t loud or aggressive, but something deeper, something unspoken.

Jeff, despite his cocky attitude, seemed to sense it, too.

Nina picked up on it instantly, her expression flickering with amusement as she nudged Jeff again.

“Alright, loverboy, quit being an idiot before you actually piss off Mr. Tall, Dark, and Murdery over there.” She leaned in with a smirk. “You know how he gets when you overstep.”

Jeff clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Tch. Whatever.” His grin stayed in place, but the way he leaned back again—less relaxed now, more calculating—was telling.

Nina, apparently satisfied, turned her attention back to you, and her sharp eyes softened just a fraction.

“Don’t let him get to you, sweetheart,” she said, her voice still teasing but notably less malicious. “Jeff’s an ass, but I promise, he’s mostly all bark.”

Mostly.

The way she said it didn’t exactly ease your nerves.

EJ gave no reaction to the exchange, simply resuming his walk without a glance in Jeff’s direction.

You took the opportunity to move, stepping past Jeff’s scrutinizing gaze and Nina’s amused smirk. But even as you walked away, you could still feel their eyes on you, lingering, assessing.

It was only when you turned the corner, Jeff and Nina disappearing from view, that you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

One thing was crystal clear now.

You weren’t just being recruited.

You were being thrown into a pit of monsters.

⋆˙♱˙⋆

The spoon in your hand made slow, absentminded circles in your cereal, the milk now lukewarm from neglect. Across the table, EJ sat with his usual quiet intensity, methodically laying out the house rules in a tone that left no room for argument.

“You’ll be given a room. Use it whenever. There are doors in this house that are off-limits—don’t test that rule. You’ll be required to check in here at least once a week. If you don’t, we’ll find you, and I promise you won’t like how that ends.”

You nodded, doing your best to absorb every piece of information, filing it all away alongside the names and faces you were quickly accumulating.

EJ continued, his voice even. “You’ll also need to pick a weapon.”

Before he could elaborate, a sharp, erratic whistling noise filled the room, followed by the sound of boots scuffing the tile.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!”

You recognized him instantly.

The guy from the mall. The one who had thrown the hatchet at your head.

Now that you got a better look, you noticed the deep, healing gash running across one of his cheeks—a wound that looked both fresh and old, like it had been reopened too many times. His hoodie was baggy, his movements jittery, and that constant ticking never stopped, like a broken clock wired directly into his bloodstream.

“You’re picking a weapon?” He grinned under his mask, eyes practically alight with excitement. “Oh, this is a big moment! D-d-don’t screw it up, newbie. I swear to god, if you pick something stupid like—like, I dunno, a taser or some dull-ass knife, I’ll actually be offended.”

You blinked, caught between processing his words and the fact that he was acting like he hadn’t nearly split your skull open with a hatchet.

He kept going, talking fast, like his brain was moving faster than his mouth.

“Listen, listen. You want something that feels right in your h-hands. Something that isn’t gonna betray you mid-fight. Something—” he gestured wildly, the ticking speeding up “—that says ‘I am a force to be f-feared and also I will absolutely rip you apart if I feel like it.’”

EJ exhaled, long-suffering, before finally cutting in with a single, deadpan word.

“Toby.”

Toby immediately snapped his mouth shut, glancing over at EJ with a sheepish sort of energy, like a dog caught digging in the trash.

“…Right. Sorry.” He barely looked sorry, though, his eyes darting back to you with barely restrained enthusiasm. “But seriously, don't screw this up.”

You made a mental note of his name, adding it to the ever-growing list of people you now had to remember.

Toby. Another unpredictable presence in a house full of them.

⋆˙♱˙⋆

The weapon room was a disaster.

There was no real system to it—racks of blades shoved haphazardly into stands, guns piled on tables like forgotten toys, axes leaning against the walls, their edges dulled from years of use. The scent of oiled metal and gunpowder filled the air, thick and suffocating, and somewhere in the mess, you swore you could hear the faint creak of unstable shelving.

Toby, of course, was eating it up.

“Man, I love this place,” he said, running his hands over a row of throwing knives. “So much untapped p-p-potential. So many ways to creatively end someone’s life.”

You barely heard him.

Your gut was screaming at you.

Something pulled at you, an invisible string leading you forward, past the daggers, the hatchets, the firearms. Your feet moved before you could think, carrying you straight to a tall, dusty bookshelf shoved against the farthest wall. It was an absolute joke of organization—random weapons tossed onto its shelves, as if someone had given up on sorting them properly.

But you didn’t look at the shelves.

You knelt down instead, eyes locking onto the small, dark gap between the wood and the floor. Something was there. Hidden. Waiting.

Your fingers slid beneath the lip of the bookshelf, brushing against cool metal. You curled your hand around it and pulled.

A necklace.

A tiny metal ankh dangled from a thin chain, delicate yet oddly warm in your grasp. The moment your fingers closed around it, something shifted—a weight pressing down on your chest, like the air itself was holding its breath.

Before you could even process what you were feeling, Toby’s voice rang out, sharp with recognition.

“Oh, m-man. She got Pestilence.”

You snapped your head toward him, confusion evident on your face. But it wasn’t Toby you locked eyes with.

It was EJ.

He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked… expectant. Like he knew. Like this was supposed to happen.

He nodded once.

A silent confirmation.

You took that as permission.

Without hesitation, you yanked the ankh off its chain.

A burst of black dust exploded from your hand, spiraling outward like ink in water. Your pulse hammered in your ears, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you felt it—something heavy, solid, forming in your grip, the weight of it grounding you in the moment.

And then, as the dust settled, you saw it.

A scythe.

Its blade was long and curved, shimmering with Egyptian runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light. The handle stretched taller than you, dark and smooth, perfectly balanced. At the very end of it, another ankh symbol hung, mirroring the one that had been on the necklace.

You barely had time to process it before Toby muttered under his breath.

“…Holy shit.”

You exhaled slowly, tightening your grip on the scythe.

Instinctively, you reached for the ankh at the end of the handle and yanked it free.

Another burst of black dust, and just like that, the scythe was gone. The weight in your hands disappeared, replaced once again by the small, unassuming necklace.

The room was silent.

Then, EJ sighed.

“Now let’s have our stupid house meeting.”

[dark-konohagakure2]

hiii I saw that u write for fire emblem that got me SO excited!!!! can u write something for dimitri? lots of misogyny and him being really mean :3

tw: noncon, FE3H spoilers, kidnapping, black eagles!reader, abuse, misogyny, size difference, enslavement, power imbalance, mirror sex, abuse of power

All characters depicted are 18+

Dimitri is no longer the kind young man he used to be, even those outside of his inner circle know this, ever since Edelgard betrayed him in an absolutely unforgivable way, he has completely forgone showing any mercy towards her or anyone who opposes him, even those who aren't explicitly on Edelgard's side in the ongoing way, which means that Dimitri won't take kindly to any Black Eagle students he might encounter by chance in the midst battle.

The old Dimitri, the sane Dimitri, wouldn't be so quick to attack a former schoolmate, someone who he might have even once considered a friendly acquaintance or even a friend, but that version of Dimitri is dead and buried, killed by the very woman this little gnat is defending. The girl's loyalty to Edelgard is infuriating to Dimitri, his savage side wants to kill this loyal mutt where she stands, but his cold and calculated side wins out and he decides to prolong the torment.

Dimitri is the future king of Faerghus and a feared leader of a powerful faction, so he can do nearly anything he wants with little to no consequence, nobody will bat an eye when Dimitri brings in a 'prisoner' from the Adrestain Empire for him to 'interrogate' alone, even Felix, who is usually quick to antagonize the Boar King, doesn't even blink at Dimitri's incredibly out of character decision.

As soon as the doors to his vast personal chambers are closed, Dimitri's intentions towards her become clear as day, torture would have been a preferable fate compared to what he's going to do to her. She's a woman, he's a man, an important, strong, powerful man with a bone to pick, its only logical that she'd be forced to become his slave until further notice, until he gets Edelgard's head on a sphere at the very earliest.

"Filthy empire wench. Did you truly believe that you could side with that woman and get away with it? Perhaps bringing your holes to ruin will teach you some humility..."

Dimitri is savage in battle, and that will also carry over into bed, or at least it would if he deigned to fuck a filthy empire whore like her in his lavish bed, he's not going to sully his fine bedding with her mere presence, instead he'll fuck her right up against the nearest surface he can find, which just so happens to be a mirror.

He'll pound into her hard and fast, his pace and might nearly cracking the mirror, Dimitri will offer no reprieve whatsoever, one gloves hand tangled in her hair and the other gripping her hip tightly enough to draw blood as he takes all his anger out on her pussy, her breasts and face forcibly pressed against the cold glass of the mirror as his much larger, muscular body crowds her's.

Dimitri has never had sex before prior to this brutal session, he's too preoccupied with his royal duties and his revenge for such base desires, but now that he has a convenient and unwilling receptacle for his desires and his frustrations, he's starting to see why silly skirt chasers like Sylvain enjoy plundering some tight cunts so much.

Dimitri won't cum inside of her, he'll be damned if he lets some vile Adrestain harlot taint his revered bloodline with her horrid commoner blood and even more abhorrent allegiances, instead he'll cum on her, blowing his load all over her now red backside. He's disgusted with her for forcing him to waste his seed on her whorish body, but he'll have plenty of time to force her to make up for her apparent misdeeds.

"You disgust me, commoner bitch. There are plenty more worthy women out there who are far more deserving of my seed than you, and you just forced me to waste it. This won't go unpunished. On your knees."

Dimitri isn't sure whether he's going to keep her as his slave permanently, or if he's going to dispose of her once he kills Edelgard and finds a proper woman to marry. But then again, even if he does eventually marry, he might still keep her around anyway as an entertaining little house pet.

[skxllz]

Some gallavich x reader fluff?🥹

I got you anon <3 I threw some other shit in here too

++

male! reader

“ rock, paper, gun; shoot! — fuck! ”

mickey lost yet another match of his version of ‘ rock paper scissors ’ to kev, resulting in him standing up from his chair and picking it up, only to throw it someplace in complete anger. just like the sore loser he was.

“ HEY! ” veronica shouted, throwing a dishcloth at him, “ take that shit outside! don't come in here messin’ up my bar! ”

“ fuck your bar, ” mickey pointed at her, to which she reeled her head back in return; a ‘ I know he fucking didn't ’ look overtaking v's face before she looked to kevin, expecting him to say something before she leapt over that counter and strangled mickey her damn self.

“ — and fuck you. ” mickey turned to kevin, now pointing at him.

“ hey, whoa! ” kev's brows furrowed together solemnly. “ no need to get physical and talk to veronica that way, man! it's just a game. ”

“ a fucking game you're cheating at! ” mick’ smacked the table; leaning over it to get a nice, good, sarcastic smile brewin’ in the male's face. “ ‘cause you're too much of’a dumbass to actually win it over and over. ”

“ ian! ” veronica called to the red head who entered the bar, you trailing behind him. “ get your damn dog and put ‘im on a leash! he's throwing my chairs just because he's pissy that kev keeps beatin’ him at a stupid-fucking-game! ” she was now heatedly scrubbing at the counter top, new rag in hand swinging about aggressively. “ you men and your damn games. grow a pair! ”

you looked at veronica wide eyed, but said nothing. of course you weren't offended by her words, her aggression when she got infuriated just always caught you off guard.

ian sighed and walked over to mickey, who still was going on about losing the dumb game. “ mick’, come on. you can't be that mad over losing a game. ”

“ ian, ” mickey moved away from ian's hand, which had extended to grab at him, and made a gesturing motion towards kevin. “ he fucking cheated. there's no way he keeps keeping me at rock, paper, gun. absolutely no-fucking-way! ”

blinking once, you stared at mickey as if he grew another head. “ how does one cheat in rock, paper scissors- sorry, gun?. ”

“ I don't fucking know! ” the brunette threw his hands up, turning to you. “ he just did, okay?! he's a fucking cheater! ”

“ I beg to differ. ” ian rolled his eyes, now crossing his arms over his chest.

you shook your head as you saw mickey's anger increase. ian was not helping by disagreeing with you guys’ boyfriend.

so, you helped the solution the only way you knew how-

“ kev, ” kevin leaned over, looking around ian's body to make eye contact with you, letting out a ‘ huh? ’. “ ya’ should apologize to mickey. cheating isn't cool. ”

mickey and ian's argument that had started up seemed to stop at that. they both turned to look at you, faces mirroring surprise.

honestly, it was comical, but you kept a stoic face while staring at kevin. you knew he wouldn't catch on, but veronica should.

“ what? ” kevin scoffed.

“ I said, you should apologize. ” you shrugged, twisting your lips to the side; sliding your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “ mickey is upset you cheated. it's not cool to cheat. say sorry. ”

kevin gawked at you in clear offense, “ but I didn't cheat! it was just luck! you can't- ”

mickey looked smugly at ian, glad you were defending him, while the red head just looked at you as if you were insane.

“ oh for fuck sake- ” veronica's loud voice boomed throughout the bar, making kev nearly jump out of his skin. his gaze shifted to her, while her eyes turned to him in irritance. “ just say you're sorry! get this shit over with! I'm tired of this bull. ”

“ but v- ”

“ kevin ball. ” veronica's stern, motherly voice came out and kevin knew not to argue with her then. he pinched his lips together, before exhaling heavily through his nose out of annoyance, and turning to mickey.

the brunette was standing there, arms crossed, looking as smug as ever. he clearly was waiting for his apology.

“ I'm sorry. ” kevin stated, letting his fingers thrung out in exaggeration. “ there, I said it. I'm sorry I cheated. ”

mickey widely grinned, “ good- ” he then snatched the money that was displayed on the table, the loose bills they stacked beforehand for their previous bets. kevin stared wide-eyed as the shorter male pocketed them. “ thanks for the apology. now, I'm leavin’- ”

“ you cant just take my money! ” kev sat up straight, scoffing. “ I earned that fair and square! ”

“ you cheated, ” mickey shrugged, “ so it's my money. ”

that being said, the brunette waltzed towards the door of the bar with a cockiness in his step. kevin looked at you, only to stare disheartedly.

shit.

“ uh.. ” you chuckled, rubbing at the back of your neck sheepishly. “ i- um- bye! ” you took out of there faster than he could reply, leaving ian behind.

“ tell your boyfriends- ” ian turned to kevin once he began to speak, “ that there's no more free drinks in my bar. ”

“ did you really have to take his money? ” you huffed, trailing after mickey through your living room and following him to the kitchen. it was your place but he acted as if he owned it.

“ my money, ” mickey corrected, opening the top cabinet and snatching out a box of cinnamon toast crunch. “ he fucking cheated, so the cash is mine. it came out of my pocket to begin with. ”

you rolled your eyes, “ mick’, I know not all of that came from your pocket. you're not dumb enough to agree to a bet unless you're getting more money than you already had. ”

he glanced at you over his shoulder, “ so you callin’ me fuckin’ dumb or something? ”

one blink. two blinks. and then you're staring at him as if he's an actual idiot in that moment. “ that's not what I said at all- ”

“ you said I'm not dumb enough, so that's stating I'm somewhat dumb, just to clarify, right? ” as he argued, he had enough time to go to the fridge and retrieve the milk and pour it into his bowl. so now, he was smacking his cereal aggressively, while giving you a pointed stare.

“ can you not? ” ian sighed as he entered the kitchen, only to dump his phone onto the table so he could remove his hoodie. it was rather hot in your place. “ I'd really like to go a day without you running your mouth. ”

mickey looked at ian with a ‘ are you for real? ’ expression. “ so I run my mouth? ”

“ stop- ” he sighed.

“ no, no- ” mick’ sat his bowl down before gliding over to get in ian's personal space. “ I run my mouth? is it too much for you? ‘cause I could just fucking leave. ”

“ mickey- ” you tried to interfere, but neither of them let up.

the ginger pressed a hard palm to mickey's chest, forcefully backing him up. “ you're not fucking leaving. stop acting so childish! ”

you sighed, this time combing a hand through your hair as you became fed up with your two boyfriends. “ guys! ”

they still didn't bother to acknowledge you, though. mickey was now raising his voice as ian got in his face as well, and it was becoming ugly - you didn't want this leading to something more violent. so, you gritted your teeth, and inhaled.

“ GUYS! ” that finally grabbed their attention.

ian's head swiveled around so that he could look at you. mickey peered over ian's shoulder. you looked to be fuming, smaller fists clenched down at your sides and the space between your brows pinched. “ will you two knock it off?! ”

scoffing, mickey pushed ian back -to which the red head stumbled and glared at him-, only to look at you with disbelief. “ why the fuck am I gettin’ yelled at? he started it. ”

“ you both, ” you gave ian a look that told him he better not open his mouth, “ are being stupid right now. stop- and mickey, you're not dumb, it's just the way I worded my sentence. ”

picking his bowl of cereal back up, mickry rolled his shoulders back, mumbling under his breath. “ course I'm not dumb... I'm fucking smart. ”

you cracked a smile at that.

“ now, ” you pointed a finger to them both, raising your brows. “ no more fighting, right? let's just relax for once. ”

ian glanced at mickey, and mickey glanced at him- but neither said anything. ian then sighed and nodded, “ yeah, no more fighting. ”

“ good. ” you hummed, before shuffling over to ian and pecking him on the cheek, “ thank you. I don't like it when you two argue. ”

“ hey, ” you both looked to the brunette, who had an arm extended dramatically so and a distraught look on his face. “ the fuck am I, chopped liver? ”

a giggle escaped you, “ no! ” and you made your way over to mickey, only to kiss him on the cheek as well. but he scoffed for the hundredth time.

“ that's no fucking kiss- ” he muttered, only to pull you closer by binding his arm around your waist. “ come ‘ere. ”

the male pressed his lips greedily to yours, intaking your warmth and savoring your taste. you could taste the cinnamon-y sweetness on him from the cereal, and it made you grin.

“ I think I deserve one too, ” ian whispered as he came from behind, too hooking an arm around you. you parted from mickey to turn your head and smile at your other boyfriend.

“ I love you guys. ” you chuckled, kissing ian sweetly. he kissed back, softness to his touch.

“ we love you too, doll. ”

[transfemmbeatrice]

beatrice muchadoaboutnothing is a trans woman: a brief treatise

thematically, i think in a play about the social vulnerability of women, having a character be a trans woman just makes sense as a way to provide depth to that idea. specifically, i love the concept of beatrice's view of men being informed by her own experiences as a closeted trans woman (it's amazing what people will say in front of you when they think you're one of them) and as someone later facing sexism and transmisgoyny.

usually when someone does a trans reading of this play/character, they look at beatrice's famous speech about wishing she was a man and interpret her as a trans man, which is perfectly valid! but this idea started for me with the simple thought that i wanted an out and accepted trans character to play with rather than a closeted one who cannot transition, just as a matter of personal preference at that particular time and with this particular text. but then i kept thinking.

as above, the concept of beatrice reading men for filth in the context of having lived among them is great. the "oh god that i were a man" speech is extremely disparaging of men and what they claim to be vs how they actually wield their power. what she wishes is that she had the power that men have automatically in her society--felt all the more keenly because there was a time when she was able to wield that power and she gave it up to be happy, to be herself, to be free in a different way. (here is where i sometimes imagine beatrice regretting ever transitioning, believing that her own happiness and health is less important than having the power to protect hero's happiness and health, because i love angst.) but now that the worst has happened, she is reduced to begging a man for help and it's demeaning and infuriating and tragic.

i also love turning on its head the line "i cannot be a man with wishing, therefore i will die a woman with grieving." being a trans person, dealing with internalized transphobia, knowing that transitioning will put a target on your back, wishing you could just be the gender you're born as--but no amount of wishing will make her not a woman. i think she loves herself and her gender but the play is focusing on points of conflict so that's what i'm talking about here.

in a play about misogyny, the vulnerability of women, and the hypocrisy of men, a trans woman has a unique perspective on both masculinity and femininity both as genders and places in society. (in the ideal version, i think john would be a trans man to mirror this experience, but that would require him to be rewritten to have actual depth and personality and all that is a different essay). there is also just a particular kind of strength that comes from having to carve out and defend your identity in that way which i think fits her very well.

lastly, a couple of other miscellaneous things from the text that can tie in:

beatrice recounting "a double heart for his single one" meaning both "i loved him twice as much as he loved me" and "i loved him as two people: [birthname] and beatrice"

benedick insisting he wouldn't marry her even if "she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed." Adam, not Eve. in MY illustrious opinion, this is benedick saying "i don't care HOW big her dick is i'm NOT gonna marry her."

[5xlwriter]

Feedist Kinktober: Magic Mirror

Intended to be part of a series of one-shots in response to @fatguarddog’s Feedist Kinktober 2024 prompts, but I loved the prompt and it became a much bigger story than I expected. The prompt was Magic Mirror.

I had mixed feelings about Theo moving in with me. We’d met several years ago through a friend of a friend, and he and his boyfriend Luca were invited to a lot of the same parties as me. I never really clicked with Luca… He was incredibly good looking and obsessively sculpted his body at the gym, giving him the look of an Adonis. But he knew he was gorgeous and used it as an excuse to treat people poorly.

Theo was different. He was smart, funny and exceptionally kind. For the most part, I was super excited for the memories we’d make together, and it would be great to save some money by splitting rent. But on the other hand, Theo was… kind of needy. He had criminally low self-esteem, and needed constant reassurance from his friends — especially now that Luca had dumped him. That was the reason he was now living in my spare room.

He’d moved in several weeks ago, and it was largely going well. I loved our daily movie nights and it was nice to share meals with someone. Theo was just as much of a neat freak as me, so it really didn’t feel like a burden having him around. If anything, the apartment was cleaner than ever… But his constant self-doubt was really driving me insane.

“Are you sure the food tastes OK?”, he’d ask after cooking our dinner. “We can turn this movie off if you’re not enjoying it,” he’d apologise just ten minutes into a film. Worst of all was the daily routine of having to reassure him that he looked good before he left the house. “Does my hair look weird?” he’d ask, fretting in the mirror as he adjusted his perfectly coiffed dark hair. “Is this zit noticeable?” he’d press, drawing my attention to a perfectly clear patch of skin. And most infuriating of all: “Do these pants make me look fat?”

Theo was thin as a rail. He was just one of those guys who were blessed with a superhuman metabolism as well as the self-discipline to be really careful about what he ate. Here he was, pushing 30, with not an ounce of fat on his frame. I envied him - I was fit myself, but I had to work really hard in the gym for it. My work as a personal trainer helped with that.

I was being harsh. Theo was a great roommate and an even better friend. I just wished he liked what he saw when he looked in the mirror.

And that’s exactly what I told the old lady behind the counter at Miss Mabel’s Curios & Antiques, a dusty little store downtown that I’d passed by a billion times. I wasn’t sure why I was here - I’d been ranting to a friend about my predicament with Theo, and she’d said that Miss Mabel would know what to do. At my whit’s end, I trusted her recommendation.

“Oh, that’s easy my boy,” she said in a creaky little voice as she jumped down from her stool. She was a small lady, wearing what looked like at least ten cardigans and her messy grey hair tied in a bun atop her head. She had a warm and eccentric charm about her; not quite like a grandma, but moreso like a distant elderly aunt who you saw at the occasional family function.

She tottered off down one of the store’s aisles, before looking back over her shoulder expectantly. “Well, come on then!” she beckoned, and I quickly followed her. We soon stopped in front of a large rectangular object, as tall as I was and concealed under a dust sheet which Miss Mabel promptly whipped off.

It was a mirror - and an old one at that. The glass was in reasonably good condition but the frame - decorated with intricate carvings of daffodils - was in a sorry state, with chunks of wood missing and deep scars across the surface. What on earth did Miss Mabel think I could achieve with this?

“Don’t be so dense, dearie,” she teased, tapping me on the forehead. “This is a magic mirror. Give it to your friend, it’ll sort him right out.”

I had more than a few reservations, most of them related to the small fact that I didn’t believe in magic mirrors - or any kind of magic, actually. And yet, Miss Mabel seemed very certain and there was no hint of trickery in her kind eyes. Plus, when I noticed the £10 price tag on the mirror, it dissolved any concerns I had that this could be a con. That was an absolute steal, even if the mirror had seen better days. I paid her the money and headed for the door, before Miss Mabel called after me.

“Just a wee warning, dearie,” she said hesitantly. “Magic, especially old magic like that, can be unpredictable. Keep an eye on your friend, hm?”

I nodded, and made my way home.

Theo was delighted with the mirror, which I thought was an odd response to something that looked like I’d rescued it from a dump. He might have been unsure at first, raising an eyebrow when I revealed its new location hung in our hallway, but as soon as he looked into it I watched his face change. There was a light in his eyes as they lingered longer than normal on his reflection, and I saw his mouth curl into a smile. That never happened. Maybe the mirror really was magic… In any case, it seemed to do the trick, and I went to bed that evening quietly confident that Theo was going to be a little softer on himself.

When I woke up the following morning, it was to the smell of bacon. Weird, I thought. We usually just had toast for breakfast, or maybe a smoothie. But I certainly wasn’t going to complain! God, Theo was the best roommate I’d ever had…

As I walked out into the hallway, Theo was looking at himself in the mirror and flexing his non-existent muscles. I raised an eyebrow but said nothing, heading through to the kitchen. The bacon was looking very dark in the pan, much crispier than I liked it, and none of the bread for our sandwiches had been buttered.

“Theo, this bacon is looking very done,” I called out to him. He didn’t answer. “Theo?” I called again.

“Ugh, what?” he snapped back in a tone I’d never heard him use before, though he quickly seemed to catch his rude behaviour. “Oh, um, I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling for words but not taking his eyes off his reflection. “Would you mind finishing off breakfast for me?” He asked. “I’m kinda busy.”

He was acting strange, but I tried my best not to overthink it and did as I was asked, slathering some butter on the four slices of bread and transferring the bacon into two sandwiches.

“It’s ready,” I said, and headed to the fridge. That’s weird, I thought. There was no milk left to make our coffees, even though I’d bought some yesterday. And why had Theo put the empty carton back in the fridge? I poured us two glasses of orange juice instead.

At that moment, Theo walked into the kitchen without saying a word, and then left again with the bacon sandwiches. Both of them. And when I gave chase to confront him about it, expecting to find him sat in the living room, I was stopped dead in my tracks. He was stood in the hallway, stuffing the sandwiches into his mouth with eyes fixed on the mirror, like he was watching TV.

I heard Miss Mabel’s warning in my head. Keep an eye on your friend… Something was wrong.

Later that day, I’d rushed over to Miss Mabel’s shop to get her advice - but when I arrived, the lights were off and the door was locked. That’s when I noticed the sign, handwritten in spidery penmanship: “ON VACATION! SIX WEEKS IN EGYPT! SEE YOU SOON DEARIES. MMx”. There was a little drawing of some pyramids in the bottom corner. Fuck.

I didn’t want to mess with the mirror, since I figured if it really was magic then I had no clue how it might affect Theo. Just a glance had changed his behaviour dramatically, who knew what else it could do? And so I reasoned that the best thing to do would be to wait for Miss Mabel to return, and in the meantime to follow her advice and keep an eye on him. After all, he wasn’t exactly a danger or in any pain - he was just acting… different. Little did I know, he’d soon be looking different too…

***

It had started after a few days. The novelty of the mirror seemed to have worn off for Theo, and he no longer spent all day in front of it like he did that first day. But he was still acting differently, and I’d still catch him checking himself out in it multiple times a day. This particular evening, we were sat in front of the TV while Theo ate dinner. Since buying the mirror, Theo only prepared food for himself, but I’d planned to heat up my leftovers from yesterday so that we could eat together. I was feeling distant from him and thought it would be a good chance to chat. Except, when I opened the fridge, I found they were gone, no doubt eaten by my strange new roommate. So I reluctantly ordered a pizza, and sat with Theo as I waited for it to arrive.

Theo didn’t appear to be in the mood for a chat, his eyes glued to the TV while he shovelled heaping forkfuls of creamy pasta into his mouth, chewing loudly. It was like someone else had taken over his body. Most weird of all was his choice of programming - usually, we might watch a documentary together, or catch up on one of our regular dramas. And he’d always ask what I wanted to watch. But today we were watching a home shopping network, with a musclebound (and very attractive) jock demonstrating some workout equipment.

“Oh come on Theo,” I teased, trying to make conversation. “He’s hot, sure, but surely there’s something else we can watch?”

Theo looked at me with a look of utter incomprehension, even pausing his feeding frenzy to process what I’d just said. I felt like I’d offended him. He shoved another fork in his mouth and finally spoke as he chewed.

“That man ain’t hot,” he said, spraying me with flecks of cream before swallowing. “He’s got nothing on me. And look at all the exercise he’s gotta do just to have those puny muscles. Mine are twice as big and are all natural.”

Now it was my turn to look confused. Surely Theo was joking? He had no muscle whatsoever… He was practically a skeleton. Except… Now that I looked at him, I mean really looked at him, that wasn’t quite true…

He was… Not “bigger”, per se… he certainly didn’t look like he’d gained any muscle. But he was… softer, somehow. It was almost imperceptible, a thin coating over his whole body, a slight puffiness… But now that I’d noticed it, there was no denying it. For a moment, I reasoned that it was natural for someone so thin to put on a couple of pounds, considering how much Theo had been stuffing his face these last few days. But then, as he finished his huge bowl of pasta and made his way over to the mirror for his routine post-meal quality time with his reflection, curiosity got the better of me and I peeked into the hallway to watch.

He stood tall and proud, flexing non-existent muscles as though he were a world-champion body builder. And then, most alarmingly of all, I saw him grow.

It happened so slowly I couldn’t even be sure it was really happening, but as I fixed my eyes on his form there was no denying it. His arms were thickening and filling out his sleeves a little more, while the slight softness at his waist began to press against his shirt. Within a few minutes he looked to be about 5lbs heavier - not a big deal for most people, but certainly noticeable on Theo’s lithe frame. My mouth was wide open in shock. This just wasn’t possible. It had to be my eyes playing tricks on me, my imagination getting the better of me… I was just stressed out by Theo’s personality transplant… I…

The doorbell rang, and Theo ignored it, too preoccupied with his reflection. “That’ll be my pizza,” I said, getting to my feet. No sooner had I said it, Theo eagerly answered the door and brought in the pizza, setting it down in before me on the coffee table. I felt an odd sense of relief - this was the kind of attentive behaviour I was used to from Theo. Maybe the magic was wearing off… Maybe my old roommate wasn’t gone after all.

I went to the kitchen to get some drinks (water for me, a glass of milk for Theo) and returned to the living room, where I found Theo already halfway through devouring my pizza.

***

It had been a week since I brought home the mirror, and I was pretty adjusted now to Theo’s newfound greed and selfishness. I found it difficult to get angry with him when I discovered the fridge cleared out or a stack of dirty dishes in the sink - I was the one who had brought the mirror into our home; I was the one who’d meddled because I couldn’t deal with Theo needing a little extra encouragement.

When I got home from work each day, I would typically find Theo in one of two places: sat on the couch stuffing his face, or flexing and pouting in the dreaded mirror. This time, it was the latter.

God, he’d really blown up now. It was all happening so quickly and every time I saw him he looked to be bigger than the time before. I had accepted the impossible fact that the mirror was piling the pounds onto my friend; even now, as I watched him admiring himself, I watched in real time as Theo’s new soft underbelly slowly inched out the bottom of his shirt. He’d always dressed in oversized clothing, but now everything he owned was starting to get very snug on his oversized body.

“My god, I’m gorgeous,” he said aloud. “Luca doesn’t know what he’s missing.” he said, kissing his own soft bicep. “I haven’t been to the gym all week and my guns are looking better than ever!”

I smiled politely, but I was worried. Miss Mabel was still out of town for another five weeks, and I guessed that Theo must have already stacked on about 50lbs. You didn’t need to be a maths genius to figure out that he risked ending up over 400lbs by the time she was able to help us break the spell. If she was able to help us. Theo still stood a chance of working this off now, but if things got that far… he’d be changed forever.

“Theo, can we talk?” I asked. He huffed a little, clearly annoyed to be pulled away from the mirror, but reluctantly followed me into the living room.

***

It had been two weeks since my conversation with Theo, and things were still intensely frosty between us. I’d asked him if he was OK, and he’d insisted he was never better. I’d asked him if he’d noticed any changes in his behaviour, and he’d said he’d just realised that he needed to put himself first. I’d asked him if he’d noticed any changes in his body, and he agreed that yes, he’d been growing lately - that his muscles were inexplicably growing. He couldn’t explain it, he said, but he was happy with the results.

I gently tried to explain that it didn’t look that way to me, that I thought he might have been bulking with how much he’d been eating, but with the right cut he’d be looking awesome in no time… That sent him into a rage. We had a huge argument. He’d screamed at me - was I fucking blind? Did I not see how perfect his body was? I was just jealous - and then he stormed out, softer ass bouncing behind him in too-tight shorts. Since then, we hadn’t really spoken, and things were getting so much worse…

He was really big now. Like, he was a certified fat guy, a fully fledged 300 pounder - or maybe more? It was difficult to tell. Every time I saw him, I had to do a double take: firstly, because my brain wasn’t quite catching up with his skyrocketing weight and was failing to register this figure as my roommate. And secondly, because he’d outgrown all his clothes and taken to wandering the apartment in just a pair of boxer briefs. They were so tight on him that the elastic waistbands had all developed wide holes.

His choice of dress meant that all his fresh fat was on full display, a constant reminder of what I’d brought upon him by bringing home the mirror. His face was round and bloated, making his eyes look beady and piggish above two puffed-out cheeks. Beneath it was a thick ring of fat, a double chin that was exaggerated when he looked down at his phone. His shoulders had become strikingly broad, though not with the muscle he was still convinced he possessed; they rounded out and sloped like big hills, bunching up behind his neck in another wedge of fat that gave him the look of a hunchbacked office worker. Further down, two plump tits hung from his chest, pooling under his armpits and gathering in thick rolls on his back. They were so distracting; jiggling wildly with every slight movement he made, it was impossible to look away. And beneath them sat the main event: a big, soft belly that had started to hang down over his crotch like a flabby apron. Whilst not as jiggly as his tits (perhaps because it was always full of food), it still looked soft and plush, wobbling as he waddled around the apartment. He’d even started to walk like a fat guy, I noticed, swinging his fat arms side to side to offset his sudden weight gain.

I felt terrible. And as I watched him posing yet again in the mirror, having just demolished a family-sized tray of pasta as a snack between meals, I felt even more terrible. The mirror would be working its sinister magic on him and turning all that food into fat. Sure enough, as if to prove a point, I heard a ripping sound and noticed one of the holes in his underwear growing beneath his widening hips. I had to do something.

***

I resolved to get rid of the mirror. I’d known all along it was the right thing to do, but I was scared of Theo’s reaction. He was so volatile. Part of me was also scared of how it might affect him - had he and the mirror formed some kind of magic bond? What would happen if that was severed? But as my friend’s weight inched closer to 400lbs with each day, I knew I had to do something. But the issue was now pressing, as I was due to leave on a trip I’d booked myself months ago. I was going to be gone for two weeks, and while I certainly wasn’t in the mood to go now, I’d already paid a lot of money and it wasn’t exactly like I could wave a wand and stop all this. What good could I possibly do here? In fact, Theo seemed to resent me the more I tried to help. But I could still hear Miss Mabel’s warning that I ought to keep an eye on him, ringing around my head. I reasoned that if I could get the mirror out of the way and then disappear myself for a couple of weeks, maybe that would at least slow whatever was happening to my friend.

And so, when Theo was out getting food, I made my move, carefully taking the mirror off the wall and making my way to the door. Before I could reach it, it opened of its own accord… and there in the doorway was Theo. Fuck. He was so big now that it was impossible not to be intimidated by him, even if he did look ridiculous squeezed into clothes that he was 150lbs too big for. He was visibly uncomfortable, all the fabric digging into his fat, which burst unflatteringly out of every opening. His belly was barely covered by the material, making it look like he was wearing a crop top, and several inches of his ass crack were visible, not able to be contained by the sweatpants that were painted onto his thick, gelatinous thighs. I couldn’t believe he’d left the house like this, but I suppose it was better that than parading around in his underwear. Anyone who saw him must have thought he was totally unaware of his weight, or that he had suddenly ballooned overnight. They would have had no idea how close to the truth they were…

“What the fuck are you doing with that?” he snarled, snatching the mirror off me with one meaty, fat-fingered hand while the other shoved the remaining half of a burger into his mouth. He seemed to swallow it in one gulp. A thick blob of ketchup dripped onto his stretched and strained t-shirt.

I was still frozen, unable to say or do anything. He barged past me, making his way to his bedroom. He re-emerged a few seconds later, no longer carrying the mirror. It would seem he would be keeping it in there from now on. “Don’t touch my shit,” he warned in a terrifyingly severe tone and then tipped a container of fries into his mouth, dropping the empty packet on the floor. I nodded emphatically.

Without hesitation, he tried to peel off his t-shirt but found himself met with great difficulty. He squirmed and writhed his fat body, trying to manoeuvre himself out of the fabric, but it was simply too tight. I had no idea how he’d even got it on… perhaps he’d grown in the time since? Without warning, he let out a yell of frustration and then tore the entire thing off him in one furious motion. “And another thing,” he spat, turning his broad back to me and making his way back into his room. “Stop washing my clothes, I’m sick of you fucking shrinking everything.”

***

The two weeks away had been a complete waste. I was barely able to relax or take in any of the culture, constantly worried about my friend back home. In truth, I wanted to disconnect from Theo. I’d tried to help him change course and he was treating me so terribly… It was hard to care about him. But I couldn’t shake the guilt - it was me that had caused this, and I owed it to Theo to make it right. Besides, this wasn’t really Theo who was acting this way. It had to be something or someone else… Perhaps he was possessed, or hypnotised, or… It couldn’t have changed him, could it? And certainly not so dramatically? But then I remembered the giant, flabby ass that he was no doubt sat on back home, stuffing his fat face, and I knew that it could… I just hoped there was some kind of counter-magic that Miss Mabel could use to undo all this, to make it like it never happened. It was magic after all, right? I’d learned that anything was possible…

After pausing a while outside the apartment door, unsure of the reception I’d receive from my roommate upon my return, I finally pushed it open. One thing I was sure of was the condition I’d find Theo in. I had no doubt in my mind that he would be weighing in another 100lbs heavier than when I’d left, and I’d braced myself for the sight of him. I assumed he’d be sat in the living room, shovelling food into his growing gut - and this suspicion was supported by the volume of fast food wrappers strewn through the hallway. It was disgusting, looking and smelling like a back alley in the city. I couldn’t believe this was my home. But when I peered into the living room, I found nothing there other than more mess. The TV was off and Theo was nowhere to be seen. Hmm… strange… I glanced to where the mirror used to hang, and then to his bedroom. Perhaps he was holed up in there, checking himself out?

Morbid curiosity got the better of me, and I cautiously approached the door, knocking gingerly and calling out his name. “Theo?”

He didn’t respond, but I could hear strange noises coming from within. It sounded like laboured, heavy breathing. Was Theo fucking someone? Or getting himself off? I listened closer - no, it wasn’t that, the breathing was so erratic, gasping for air… He sounded like he was in trouble. I became alarmed. “Theo, are you OK?”

I flung the door open and my world ground to a halt. Theo was not OK.

Theo’s room was a complete pig sty, piled high with empty pizza boxes and food containers. It stank of sweat and grease and god knows what else, the stench so thick in the air I had to cover my nose. He’d propped up the mirror at the end of his bed, presumably so he could lay in it and admire himself… And the consequences of that decision were enormous.

Literally enormous. Theo was totally unrecognisable, his pale pink flesh filling the entire double bed. He was the fattest man I’d ever seen - perhaps the fattest man that had ever been? His facial features were buried under fat; just two beady eyes and a pair of puckered, sauce-stained lips. If I wasn’t aware of all that had passed in the last few weeks, I would never be able to identify this person as Theo. He was completely transformed. His whole body was splattered with various sauces that he had clearly dribbled on mid-feast… which made sense. He was clearly too big to move and showering would have been impossible.

The blob of a man that lay gasping for air in Theo’s bed was almost as wide as he was tall. It’s difficult to describe any part of him in detail, as all his body parts sort of squished together and melded into one another, fat jostling for space. His tits were each bigger than my head, and there were bits of food wedged in his deep cleavage. His arms were so pumped full of fat that I think they were bigger than my waist. I couldn’t see much of his legs as they were covered by his gargantuan belly, rolling and rocking like jelly with each pained breath, but even his feet were swollen with fat, threatening to be swallowed up into his legs. Fuck, I thought to myself. How could someone have fat toes?

I wanted to say something but my brain was completely fried. What the fuck do you say to a whale who was thin as a beanpole little more than a month ago? Theo looked like a fucking sideshow attraction. Fortunately, he spoke first.

“Dude, thank god — you’re here—“ he wheezed. What? Was he actually happy to see me? Maybe the magic had worn off! My hopes were short lived... “Nobody— wants— to deliver— my food,” he confessed. “Bunch of— fucking— assholes…”

I could see why minimum wage delivery drivers would want to avoid this cesspit. Something told me the new Theo was not a generous tipper. But this was my fault after all, and I couldn’t let him starve. Reluctantly I agreed to go pick him something up - if nothing else it would give me time to think over what to do next. I watched him with pity as he placed the pickup order on his phone, his fat sausage fingers mashing things he didn’t mean to press. He didn’t seem to be removing any of those items from his basket, though…

Soon enough I was back at the apartment with ten paper bags full to the brim with junk. They were as fit to burst as he was, and after handing them over I sat on the edge of the bed (squeezing myself onto the only unoccupied corner I could find) and buried my head in my hands. What was I going to do?

He made short work of the meal and half an hour later he was burping, rubbing his giant gut, and admiring himself in the mirror. “Fuck— I’m so— sexy,” he moaned. “Why— did I ever— settle— for Luca? I’m so— out— of his— league… Gotta find— me someone— as hot— I am…”

I snapped. “Theo, how the fuck are you gonna do that?! You’re as big as a fucking house! You can’t even get out of bed!” I wanted to smack him out of his delusional daydream. But it wasn’t fair to take my frustration out on him, and I tried to calm myself. This wasn’t his fault.

“Yes I— fucking— can,” he gasped. “I’m just— resting— so my— muscles— can grow…”

There was silence between us for a moment. I had no idea what to say, and Theo was too distracted by caressing his own lard in the mirror for a conversation. But as he groped himself, his moaning got louder and more… sensual… I was no longer certain that it was just a symptom of discomfort from his overindulgence. He seemed to be enjoying himself…

“Please— man—“ he begged, looking at me with pleading eyes. “Help— me— out— here… I— know— you— can’t— resist— me…”

Fortunately, I didn’t have time to take him up on his perverted offer. There was an almighty crash, and the room seemed to lift up into the air as I felt myself fall downwards. It took me a few seconds to realise what had happened: the cursed mirror had fattened Theo up so big that the bed could no longer support him, and now he and I sat on the floor, surrounded by its broken pieces. His whole body was wobbling from the impact and he looked like a giant, melted marshmallow. I was surprised he didn’t fall straight through the floor and into the apartment below.

I spotted something shiny by my hand, and on closer examination I saw it was a shard of glass. The mirror. I noticed it had fallen over face-down, and when I nervously lifted its side to inspect the damage I saw that the whole thing was shattered. Oh god, I worried to myself. How was Theo going to react?

“What— just— happened—,” Theo grunted to himself as I got to my feet and stood the mirror up. He seemed lost and confused, a softness in his voice that I recognised from before all this mess began. His eyes seemed to adjust to the room, taking in his surroundings as though he’d just woken up from a dream. “What’s— going— on—,” he gasped, shaking his head in confusion (though the fat in his neck limited his movement). Still, his cheeks jiggled as he did so. “Am— I— sick..? I— can’t— breathe…” I barely registered what he was saying, too worried about his response to finding out the mirror was broken.

“Theo,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I’m really sorry… I’ll buy you a new one right away, but… Ugh. I don’t know how to say this, but…” I gulped. “Your mirror is broken.”

I turned the mirror around to face him, so he could see the damage for himself. For a moment he didn’t really react at all, furrowing his brow in confusion. He didn’t seem at all sure why he should care about a broken mirror, despite the fact he’d done little else for the past five weeks than stare in it and feed himself. But as he looked harder, as he really focussed his eyes on the mountain of flesh looking back at him, something seemed to click in his mind… A moment of world-shattering realisation...

He recognised himself, and his eyes went wide in horror. He screamed.

[extremely-judgemental]

Getting this out of my system and I don’t even intend it to make sense to you. I saw a post where the OP said Feyre is always ready to forgive Rhysand because they are mirrors of each other. His choices are questionable to the world but Feyre understands him because she’d do the same in his position. It was a pro- post. Okay, so the OP is actually right.

But there is a slight catch to it. This applies to all the characters then.

Characters are literally the essence of any story. And what makes a writer good is the characters they build. I will suffer through any dumb plot as long as the characters are compelling.

I’ve said it before, I never liked any of SJM’s books. I didn’t like A Court of Thorns and Roses or Crescent City though they are easily the best work in the respective series. Because Feyre isn’t compelling to me, nor is Bryce. All I see is a woman who mistreats everyone because she’s hurt, but she has a big heart and no place for all her love to go until she meets a guy and then she sees light in her life. Yeah, read it too many times. But that’s how storytelling works—there are no new stories. So what makes these women any better than the other leads?

My biggest irk is that ALL her characters are the same, and there are a lot to keep count. They are cut out from the same fabric and washed in a fresh dye. And people believe they are unique.

It’s honestly grating to muscle through these books when there is no variety. I know this sounds absurd when you have at least a dozen characters in each of them, but it’s not quite. What differs in them is the superficial traits but the core remains the same with slight variance and they are all go through similar transformation.

Having a traumatic past is a must. There is not one that has just regular people problem. Their past may involve torture or abuse of one kind or the other. Rhysand, Feyre, Tamlin, Nesta, Lucien, Eris, Gwyneth, Emerie, the priestess, LoA, Azriel, Morrigan, Hunt, Ruhn, Lydia. This woman is a fucking sadist.

Almost all of them have a dead loved one. Death is part of the natural cycle but it’s glorified in these series so much. Think about it—Rhysand’s mother and sister, Tamlin’s family, Jesminda, Feyre’s father, Gwyneth’s sister, Danika, Shahar (or whoever Hunt’s ex was), Connor, Tharion’s sister, June’s brother. It’s the rite of passage that transforms these characters.

Okay, this is the worst of all. Their love language is acts of service. They are the self-sacrificial lambs that will do anything for their loved ones. NOT EVERYONE HAS THE SAME LOVE LANGUAGE. Feyre dies for Tamlin. Tamlin lets Feyre stab him in his heart so she can complete the task. Rhysand sacrifices himself to piece the cauldron together. Nesta gives her powers away for Feyre and Nyx. Don’t even get me started on Bryce. Hunt throws himself in an active explosion to save Bryce. Lydia is ready to die for Ruhn.

What’s more infuriating is that these characters are so torn about their own goals. It’s hard to tell what the character truly values from their choices because it depends on whether they are the good guy or the bad guy in that moment.

Feyre is one to put her loved ones first. Everything else doesn’t matter. In WAR, she does a completely 180 and drags her sisters into the battles. In SF, she flips again and is hellbent on fixing Nesta and becoming a family again.

Rhysand says he wants a better, peaceful world but he is tearing the courts apart. He’s been doing that five centuries. Then there is his internal goal which is protecting his friends and family with the whole ward around Velaris and overprotectiveness, but he is also the one putting them in positions of dangers.

We know all about Tamlin’s stance on tyranny and oppression. He never wanted this life but he’s stuck with it and it doesn’t seem to get better. And he possibly regrets it more than ever. There are hints that his duty comes first but we also saw him sacrifice everything for Feyre.

Nesta is struggling to find herself and accept her past. Her healing ends with Nesta finding her worth by submitting to others.

We got a whole book for Cassian. What is he working for? His dream is to have kids and be a better father. And then we see him abuse his mate. Well, he did turn her into an obedient wife material, so hey, maybe that counts. And that bastard thing went nowhere.

Lucien has a lot of screen time. But we don’t know what he wants in his life. What does he value the most? Does he want to reunite with his family? Go back to his friend and live peacefully in Spring? Does he want to travel and leave all the politics and drama? How does any of what he does now align with who he is? Is having a mate that important to him that he is serving his enemies? If he doesn’t want to replace Jesminda, shouldn’t he be running the other way? Or is it his integrity that drives him? At this point, he is all over the place and everything we know of him is just a conjecture.

What is Morrigan even doing? If your answer is to wait for “their story“ for this to be cleared up, you’re completely missing the point. Most of these characters are in every single one of the books and not just side characters and you don’t have a vague idea of who they are at the core.

The biggest sign of this flaw is Amarantha. She didn’t reign Prythian or imprison the High Lords for Tamlin. She did it to take over the mortal lands as a revenge for what happened to her sister. But what do readers remember about her? Her obsession with Tamlin and the way she preyed on him. And of course, Rhysand’s sexual abuse.

Honestly, it takes skills to half-ass your way with such characters and SJM has got plenty of it. When I say I don’t like Tamlin or Lucien or Nesta, it’s because of this. They don’t go anywhere. They have potential but their journey is stagnant. Their inner purpose suggests one thing but they are constantly working towards something else. Okay, there is a war on the horizon and they are the only ones who can end it, but that is an external goal. What within them encourages to work for it?

Mostly, it’s the same old ‘right thing to do’. But why? Is it because they are taught that? Is it to save their face? Are they afraid of being left out? Are they trying to prove something? Is it their deep sense of justice? There are so many ways to go about it, yet, surprise surprise, their reason is to save their loved ones. Funny, isn’t it the same as Rhysand or Feyre and everyone else at this point?

Take away their romance, their kinks, their snarks, their appearances—take away everything superficial about them and you’ll get bland identical cutouts which are indistinguishable.

That’s why characters like Gwyneth, Emerie, Eris, and even Amarantha stand out. Gwyneth and Emerie are an after-thought. They are only meant to uplift and accessorise Nesta but unwittingly, SJM gave them quite a personality. Eris, on the other hand, is supposed to be the ‘bad guy’ and so he is free to do whatever unimaginable crime he wants to commit and SJM’s goal is not to make him likeable, just a nuisance to her heroes, a glaring contradiction. And it worked in his favour. The moment they get their books, everything that set them apart will vanish.

I honestly can’t for the life of me figure out why there are undertones of love in all their journey and then they find purpose in life by falling in love. I know this is romance and love sells but you can’t make that the driving force for everyone when they had no priority for it in the first place—exhibit A, Cassian.

I know this sounds like nitpicking but their experiences play way too little role in how the characters are shaped and how they view the world. They are supposed to help us understand where their values lie and when none of it amounts to anything, why is it even there? When the fandom idolises some characters over the others, it’s obvious they fall for these trivialities and refuse to think beyond the printed words. You can’t hate Nesta while loving Feyre because they are one and the same. You can’t hate Tamlin while loving Rhysand because they are foils. Except one is much, much worse and it’s not the one the narrative hates.