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plzu · 2 years ago

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Just Water, Thanks - (Adrian Chase x Reader)

part four☕️

a/n: tbh if my 13 y/o self saw me updating a multi-chapter fic [redacted] months after the last update, she'd be impressed. this is shorter than i wanted it to be bc i had to cut it off. consider this an in-between chapter as we navigate (negative) emotions and such. anyway, hope y'all don't mind as i steer this story into angst territory! Summary: Adrian takes care of you while you are drunk and miserable in his home. Warnings: 18+, no Y/N, ANGST (reader is going thru it), mentions of assault, mentions of gore and blood and nightmares, a reference to one of the Saw movies (idk which, sorry), not beta read, if i missed anything lmk pls!! Word Count: 3.3k+

Revelations are dizzying. Revelations taste like vomit in the back of your mouth, and the backs of your teeth. Revelations leave you sore all over, more sore than you think you’ve ever been. Revelations are exhausting. They leave you parched as shit.

Or maybe that’s just the alcohol.

The night wasn’t supposed to go like this.

It was supposed to be some girls from high school. Old friends. Best friends. The people that were your anchor in Evergreen, who made everything bearable. Late night talks and laughing over the dumbest things and whisperings about crushes and aspirations.

People you slowly stopped talking to once you moved across the country, to some city that could swallow you whole.

People that decided to return the favor. Two last minute ditches, and one that completely ghosted you. They’re just busy, you thought, a dirty martini and a half in. They have real jobs, and spouses, and… kids? Maybe?

Pouty and miserable at the sleek bar, drowning your insecurities in alcohol, picking at the olives at the bottom of empty glasses. They’re too- too good for me, anyway.

Having found some semblance of happiness in an unlikely friendship with Adrian Chase, you thought you’d finally venture out, expand your social circle again. Feel like you have everything together, finally.

Learn to experience snatches of happiness elsewhere, outside of time spent with Adrian. Because, face it: there is something that feels slippery about him. Evanescent. Like one day he’s going to disappear, or get bored of you.

Or reveal whatever secrets he’s been clearly harboring, something neither of you could return from, and the wedge that it would drive between you would leave you right back to where you started: a ghost that didn’t even have the good grace to properly die.

You walk -- stagger, really -- down the empty street, most of your weight supported by the masked Vigilante. Adrian is supposedly under that mask. You cannot wrap your head around this fact, even after watching Vigilante answer Adrian’s phone, and say some bullshit excuse only Adrian could come up with.

“Alright, here we are!” Vigilante (Adrian?) declares. “The Vigilante-mobile.”

You both come to a stop. You squint bleary-eyed at the 4-door sedan, glance at the masked face beside you, then back to the car.

“It’s just your regular car.”

Vigilante -- no, Adrian, definitely Adrian -- snorts. “Well, yeah. I can’t exactly afford a second car with a busboy salary.”

This almost makes you laugh, because Adrian is good at that, really. Effortless. But nausea stirs in your gut, so you decide against it. Grumble a wordless response instead.

Adrian attempts to ease you into the passenger seat, asking if you’re hurt anywhere else. If they hurt you in any worse ways other than the obvious. You can only shake your head noncommittally, fighting back the urge to vomit again. There will definitely be bruises and sore spots on your aching body from the rough way they had handled you, but you know what he’s really asking.

Head slumped back against the headrest, you close your eyes for a few minutes. You have to buckle up, Adrian urges, but you cannot find the strength or the energy to pull the seat belt around your body. A pathetic little huff is all you can really muster before Adrian, patient and gentle, pulls the seat belt around your torso and fastens you in place.

Unfortunately, the gentle action is buffeted by the coppery scent that washes over you, the roughness of his gloves and suit briefly scraping your skin; this doesn’t smell like Adrian. Not like the familiar Irish Spring soap, or coffee and caramel after visiting you at the cafe. This makes you whine. Whimper, really, dissatisfied and uncomfortable and very momentarily scared.

Misunderstanding, he tells you you’re going to be okay, in a voice that’s a touch too animated for the general mood of the night.

When the door is shut, you try not to suffocate in the brief silence that follows. Keep your eyes closed as the muffled thud of the trunk jolts the car a bit, willing the queasiness away. Desperately wishing for water, or sleep, or death.

You do not open your eyes when Adrian finally gets in the car, and starts driving, until he mentions something about taking you home. At that point, your eyes fly open.

“No,” you beg. “No, Adrian, please. I can’t go home like this. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

There’s a quiver in your voice. Nervousness builds in your chest, a rapid flutter in your ribs that makes you feel like crying. Adrian stares, eyes flicking from your face to the quickening rise and fall of your chest, and you realize it’s just Adrian sitting next to you, now. Wearing normal clothes. No blood-splattered suit or eerie red visor. Just the familiar--if slightly disheveled--curly hair and glasses, lips parted in confusion or concern. Seeing his bare face is almost a comfort, especially when he nods, and faces the road again.

The trip to Adrian’s apartment becomes a hazy memory. He walks you through the corridors of some small apartment complex until you’re trudging through the threshold of his home, where he guides you through the dark into his bedroom. You sag into the edge of his bed once he turns on the light.

“Gotta get you cleaned up, but… do you need water?” Adrian asks. You only stare back up at him before he goes, “right, yeah, no, you definitely need water. Wait right here.”

When he comes back, Adrian is juggling a couple of bottles of water and a first-aid kit to dress your wound. He sets everything down, handing you a chilled water bottle which you gratefully accept. You cannot unscrew the cap of the bottle fast enough to immediately quench the discomfort of your sandpaper tongue.

“Slow sips,” Adrian says, after some reckless guzzling causes you to choke and dribble water all over your chin.

Setting the bottle aside, you notice stands with his back to you on the other side of the room. You realize this is him giving you privacy so you can begin the struggle of taking off the stockings. They get halfway down your thighs, dress rucked up around your hips, before the effort of it unlocks a well of tears; a flash of a memory of being six years old and left to fend for yourself for the first time in a fight to tug on tights for school.

It’s not that you’re so inebriated that you can’t take off your stockings, though it certainly doesn’t help. It’s that once you get the fabric rolled down to your skinned knee, a new wave of nausea overcomes you. You can feel the mesh of the tear sticking to the gooey wet parts of the wound, and your mind reels with the dizzying thought that if you tug anymore, you’re going to make it worse. Take more skin off. Bleed all over Adrian’s bedsheets. Throw up again, probably.

It’s just for a brief second, you don’t let the feeling last too long, but-- the quick snatch and tug of the nylon on the tattered skin of your knee reminds you of one of the Saw movies, and how one of the traps involved gluing some poor fuck’s bare back to the driver’s seat of a car. And the way he had to peel off the seat, screaming and sweating, struggling to reach the -- the brakes? The gas? -- just to try to save some girl’s life. The stretch of skin, the vivid gleam of blood, your memory no doubt enhancing the gore of the scene in a new wave of despair.

When Adrian turns around, he finds you with your face hidden in the cusp of your palms, stockings only rolled down to the tops of your knees. Your dress is still bunched up around your hips, and maybe you should feel exposed, sitting on Adrian’s bed with your thighs bared. Embarrassed, even. But between the ick in your stomach and the sour taste at the back of your throat and the headache that begins to pulse behind your eyes like remnants of the bassline from the club, you don’t have any room to care.

(And, admittedly. You don’t think you’d mind Adrian seeing this much of you. Under different circumstances, at least.)

You sense him hovering closer, probably paused at the sight of you all pathetic on his bed. Or the bare flesh of your thighs, more likely. Something unintelligible is mumbled into your hands in an attempt to draw his attention. Let him know you’re aware of his presence, and that you’re lucid, at the very least.

“Sorry- what?”

You sniffle, before mustering up the strength to raise your head up. But only enough to stare at his feet. “I can’t- My tights. I can’t… take them off.”

You watch as his scuffed up shoes approach you. Absently, you think about how Adrian hasn’t worn these before, even though it’s gotten cold. And, oh, they’re probably just part of his Vigilante costume.

Ah. Vigilante. Adrian.

“Whoa… what do you mean?” Adrian crouches down, his bespectacled gaze in your sight, and you realize the quick, short breaths you hear are your own. “Are you going to cry again? I have tissues here on my nightstand- for, like, normal reasons. Nothing gross. Ignore the lotion.”

There’s a very small part of you that knows this would have -- should have -- made you laugh. It’s the part of you that feels detached from this whole experience, as if watching from outside of your body. Like a muted, sober-ish ghost that can’t do anything but observe. Helpless. Unable to keep you safe.

You can’t even take off your fucking tights by yourself.

“The- the cut on my knee,” you attempt to warble through your explanation. “It’s, um- it feels weird. I don’t think I can take off my tights…”

“Well, we have to dress the wound otherwise it might get infected.” Adrian pauses, raises his hands so they hover over your lap. “Is it okay if I..?”

When you nod -- shakily, fearfully, desperately -- his hands continue their journey to your right thigh. His middle and forefingers, surprisingly gentle, slip into the scrunched up fabric at the base of your knee, and a shiver runs down your spine at the feel of his hands there. There is a feeling that slowly blooms in your chest at the sight of Adrian on his knees for you, taking care of you. But it’s being overshadowed by the anxiety gripping your throat and making your head spin in anticipation of the potential pain to come from your tights being ripped from your bloody knee.

No longer able to keep upright, you gracelessly plop back into the soft sheets, ceiling swaying in your vision. You make no effort to get back up; not like you wanted to watch the horror of Adrian potentially ripping the skin off your knee.

His voice, with a touch of anger that’s still unusual to hear, cuts through the haze of worry. “I hate those motherfuckers for doing this to you.”

A humorless, breathy snort escapes at that, shame sapping the energy out of you. “That wasn’t their fault,” you mumble. “‘M not tryin’ to defend them or anything, but it was my stupid, drunk ass that tripped and got myself into this whole mess…”

Because the truth is, if you hadn’t drunkenly stumbled down the wrong street when trying to find your Uber, if you hadn’t worn heels that don’t feel natural on your feet anymore, if you hadn’t felt so anguished and lonely that you sought solace in a few too many cocktails-

If you had just been a better friend to the people that made your high school years bearable, you wouldn’t have been crowded and overpowered by strange men with horrifying intentions.

“Were you… by yourself?” Adrian’s voice carries over you while he’s still somewhere at your knees. “Where were those friends of yours? The ones you were meeting up with?”

The heels of your palms dig furiously into your closed eyes until you’re seeing black and red and you’re sure your eyeballs are just about to successfully squish into your skull. “They never showed up,” you admit, hoarsely, dejectedly.

Moments pass. There’s this light, almost lulling feeling, the tug and pull of your right leg. If you weren’t drowning in the barrage of negative thoughts and guilt and the kind of worthlessness that only creeps up on you in your own bedroom, you’d find Adrian’s ministrations comforting.

“Don’t get mad, but it doesn’t sound like they were very good friends if they abandoned you to drink alone at club a in a sketchy neighborhood.”

But isn’t that what I deserve?

See-

You left. Most people did after high school, but you made it a staunch point to never come back.

You didn’t mean to abandon the friends you made in Evergreen. But life went on, and time passed quicker than you could make sense of, and fuck if you didn’t find any excuse to not come back home during breaks -- internships, supposedly important trips for school, job-hunting, moving in with your first love -- all so you could prolong seeing your family again.

What’s so bad about them, anyway?

They make me feel-

A sharp sting of pain rips you out of dark muddled thoughts, hissing through clenched teeth as you shoot into an upright position, lurching forward.

“Sorry, sorry! But I did warn you.”

Oh, right. Adrian. You’re in Adrian’s bedroom, and he’s currently at your knees, hair still rumpled and eyes shining bright and concerned behind his glasses. And… he’s holding an alcohol pad. And your knee is…

“You got the tights off?” you ask in breathless disbelief.

“Yeah. I had to cut it up, though.” He grimaces. “Sorry. But it was already torn, so…”

Sure enough, the area around your knee is now fully exposed and free of any sticky mesh. The cut was beginning to scab over, but the alcohol pad made it newly shiny. It stings, but at least it doesn’t look like whatever nightmare scenario you’d been afraid of.

Adrian continues cleaning up and bandaging your wound as you look away, too light-headed to watch him work. It’s not until he’s gently pressing a bandage to your knee that you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you were even holding.

“There, all done.” Adrian stands, gathering everything up with careful, unrushed movements. “Let me get you something to sleep in.”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, confused.

He’s rummaging through a dresser drawer, back turned to you when he responds. “Trust me, you’re not going to want to fall asleep in ripped clothes.” Turning around with some folded clothes in his hands, he continues, “I don’t imagine it’d be very comfortable. Plus, what if you wake up, not remembering what happened--you know, because of the drinking-- and you’re in my bed with a ripped dress? How does that make me look? It’d be pretty hard to convince you I didn’t do anything to you.”

He hands you the clothes--a big soft tee-shirt and sweatpants--and turns to leave. There is a cacophony of feelings clamoring around in your head and in your heart, and you find yourself helplessly overwhelmed once again but also, endlessly grateful for this man that saved your life. Not just tonight, but the night he stepped into your cafe painfully close to closing and made things feel silly and good again.

“Adrian?” you softly call out as he turns to leave you to change.

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re my best friend.”

Something expands in his chest when Adrian hears those words come out of your mouth. Like a frog puffing up with a croak, or a balloon that’s filled to bursting but doesn’t want to pop. He thinks he was a kid the last time he actually heard someone tell him, to his face, that he’s their best friend.

Sure, the admittance wavered out in an alcohol-infused breath, and he’s not sure how much you had to drink tonight but it may be enough to forget this moment.

But he wasn’t drinking. He’ll hold onto this moment forever.

A smile grows crooked on his face as he hovers by the door, meeting your gaze. “Yeah?”

You nod, holding the clothes handed to you lamely in your lap. There’s something glum about the sag of your shoulders, but he can’t think about that too much in his rush to assure you that you’re his best friend, too. Top 3, definitely.

This makes you snort, which he counts as another win for the night since it’s the first sound of laughter he’s heard since finding you in the alley.

He finally leaves you to change, and to get some much needed rest, and grins from ear to ear at the knowledge that the person he’s liked since high school is in his bed tonight.

Despite the comfort of Adrian’s tee-shirt, the smell of him in his clothes and sheets, the softness of it all wrapped around you, you do not sleep well.

You dream of dark alleyways and even darker figures crowding you, overpowering you. Limbs boneless, unable to fight back. When you scream, it’s not loud enough. There’s a thumping bass reverberating off brick walls that drowns out your cries for help.

It’s frustrating. This powerlessness. The feeling of utter uselessness, frightening to your core.

Then, the dream shifts. You are no longer being crowded and pinned by the shadowed figures, yet fear still grips you, clings to your skin, hot and wet- when you look down, the sticky wet feeling isn’t fear but blood, splattered all over your clothes and dripping from your arms. You want to feel triumph, search for the feeling in the recesses of your brain, you want so badly for that to replace the anxiousness gripping your lungs now that you’re free.

But when you look back up, you see viscera-laden bricks. Bodies with holes where they shouldn’t be, missing pieces. This is still a nightmare. A familiar voice, tainted by something dark and unrecognizably sinister, laughs at the mouth of the alley. It’s another shadowy figure, red visor glowing in your direction. “You’re okay now,” he says, tone unsettling, too-chipper. “They’re all dead!”

taglist: @whatevermonkey @nobodys-baby-now @hiddlebatchedloki @pokoyolfhw

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #writing #fanfic #mine #peacemaker fic #vigilante fic

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souvenir116 · 6 months ago

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Fic Writer Interview 🌸

ty for the tag @13834 ❤️❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

16 with anonymous works included

What’s your total word count?

295k

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

vanilla carnations, kiss it better, pick a lane, driving under influence, once i pull this trigger off

Do you respond to comments? Why/ why not?

i usually try to buy sometimes i get behind or wait for a day to answer all together after posting a chap then forget 💔 but i usually try to make time because comments always mean so much to me

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

i don't do angst endings normally but maybe mind break of a character starting to want someone that actually has harmed them before? yeah

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

i think it's vanilla carnations there was literally a proposal 😭😭

Do you write crossovers?

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I cant remember each one but this one tops all and we talked about it for a couple days w friends

then decided it was better this way 😁

(it was ltrlly just angry sex and Max coming inside Charles before they have to go to the team debrief bcz Charles crashes into Max, kind of deliberately)

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i can do all unfortunately 😔 omegaverse, rule 63, [redacted] etc... I was birthing fic after fic for kinkmeme once (now i can't even properly write smut 💔)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no as far as i know

Have you ever had a fic translated?

ppl asked for permission before but I'm not sure if they eventually finished it!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes... w my baby @a-amvryllis but we both didnt have time so it kinda dropped out. and tbh I think there are a few people my writing matches exactly as someone who writes so descriptive and meanless poetic words, but we could always meet in the middle!!

What's your all-time favourite ship?

im going to be rlly honest when i say lestappen is my first ship and probably last other than Justin Bieber and me in 2015 💔

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

idt ill finish that girl Charles fic for the fest... I dont think people liked it also but i decided to use that ending plot in another fic since it would be more fitting lol

What are your writing strengths?

i can write fast when I'm in mood. once i wrote 8k in a day. the words will just flow and ill be so thankful

What are your writing weaknesses?

tbh im not sure? i like my writing and we all have writers block from time to time, but sometimes i wish i had a better vocabulary but also vocab means nothing if you're going to make ppl open dictionaries every 10 word 😭 also paragraph starts. i hate starting them w "charles max max charles a but charles" if you get what i mean so i especially pay attention on it every new paragraph to make the reading easier 😭

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i always add a () for the english version if I'm going to keep the foreign dialogue just a bit, because come on no one needs to switch between tabs on translate/fic, but if its long, then adding a subtle detail about how they keep the convo in that language and writing in italicized is cool. i also will write dutch and french pet names so randomly. i dont care if it sounds bad for native people im not a native for both 💔

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

galex. i actually started it but its still a wip with also lestappen and landoscar going on!! so theres no main ship but like.. a sitcom kind of friend group consisting of couples. yup

What's your favourite fic you've written?

because its my first, and i like the scenario so much, brainstorming w many irls, i think its a very good plot- oiptto. alas i had some people telling me the writing is rlly bad which is, cool, it was my first time writing a fic let alone in english. if you ask about writing, even if i wrote vanilla carnations so fast, i think its rlly nice written also @a-amvryllis helped me sooo much about each event and plots (and i do believe it was creative all of them in general) so i would say that.

tagging every author who wants to do that but randomly @a-amvryllis @blueberry-obsessed @bumblewyn @eterniravioli @f1-giuki @fueledbyremembering @lovelylotusf1 @lestappenforever @laura1633 @paint-it-red-and-black @saviour-of-lord in alphabetic order so i won't forget anyone 😭🩷

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seoafin · 2 years ago

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i was rereading chapter 5 of dog days are over and fuck man i just love it so much ik we are all excited for the smut but these chapters before are what make the smut all the more worth it!!! if it was just straight sex without building up their relationship and their dynamic it would fall so flat for me but the way you freaking write geto and his flat smiles and his measured tone of voice anytime he’s slightly displaced or wants to manipulate ripmc to stay longer or eat more food🥺🥺🥺🥺 my heart flutters u can rlly see the cult leader coming in my pookie and my heart starts hurting so muchhhhh have u felt like that when you read a rlly good fic? like ur heart is weightier than before and u can just feel it in ur chest and you’re so nervous but fluttery and geniunly fucking shy as hell too…..or do i just have heart problems omg. when geto asked ripmc if the food wasn’t tasty in front of the waitress to get ripmc to eat while he was ordering drinks my pussy fluttered when gojo said put it all on my card too omg MY MAN RIGHT THERE how do u think of scenes like that scenes that are just so fuckinh them like scenes that until you write them i wouldn’t even think about but then i read them and i’m like fuck yeah geto would not even just geto gojo too and his indiscernible looks i can literally visualize him sitting there with his glasses looking at you and i can feel the weight of his stareeeeew gojo asking for more kisses when yours and getos lasts a second longer i love them so much omg. especially when she’s all like guys let’s keep this a secret and they’re all like ……….fine🤨 JSJWKWKKS so pls take all the time in the world you need to not get to the smut i’ll love the smut but i love these kinda scenes even more. also take some time for yourself to decompress and relax!!! i just love the way ripmc fits seamlessly between the two so bad omg she’s literally their missing piece i’m gonna fucking sob. can i ask? is she gonna tell geto and gojo about the mission that went rlly bad? do they know already🧍🏻‍♀️? omg imagine if they find out nanami knew before them?? also do you think there’s anything ripmc could do to get them genuinely mad and angry cause i was thinking of gojos “you cheatin on me” which btw i literally could imagine him saying those exact words and it was teasing so it made me think do they actually care about cheating? like have they had actual fights about it before geto n gojo? and what would they do if like ugh thsi is so angsty i’m sorry i’m on my period🧍🏻‍♀️but how would they react if like ripmc cheated on them? like a kiss or smt? would they be hurt because their trust was broken or would they be hurt because they think ripmc is theirs? BTW THIS SO MAKES IT SOUND LIKE I CHEATED AND IM JUST SELF INSERTING AS RIPMC I SWEAR I JUST THINK ITS INTERESTING TO THINK ABOUT THE SADDEST OF SCENARIOS IF UR UNCOMFY ANSWERING FEEL FREE TO IGNORE PLS!!!!!! anywaysssss i rllly fucking love ur writing so much and i hope you’re having a blast in japan you deserve it❤️‍🩹 i’m so excited and proud for not being like scared to go after what u want u too omg❤️❤️

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANK YOU!!!!! can I just say that I LOVE writing geto and his subtle cult leader tendencies in the poly au like YES gaslight gatekeep girlboss (but in moderation lmfao) It's really the small moments where you could think that yeah...this is a guy that totally went off the rails and started a cult lmfao...he keeps his manipulative tendencies but channels them into forcing ripmc to take care of herself and [redacted] he's so awful I love him truly!!!!!

niku also brought up stsg knowing spoiler alert......they know and they definitely aren't happy she talked about it with nanami instead of them. they wanted her to tell them of her own volition, so expect the mission to come back up again in a later chapter lol also for all of ripmc's many faults I genuinely think she can do no bad in their eyes. if she did something it's justified unless it's directly impacted her health as in she put herself in danger and got grievously injured. I can definitely see them getting actually upset and angry with her for that but if anything the repercussions are more like....ripmc being stuck in a room for a week and getting coddled to death until stsg deem it enough 😭

It's not that stsg care about cheating it's more the fact that they are very secure in their relationship with each other and aren't worried about it. gojo might occasionally be annoyed and even pissed when they're arguing about geto being popular but it's never that serious. on the other hand ripmc.... 😭😭 ripmc would never cheat on them and they know it but she's also the most likely to entertain flirtations without knowing someone is flirting with her. when stsg jokingly flirt with another person they're always in control of the situation. they know which lines shouldn't be crossed. they use it as a means to purposefully get the other jealous. sometimes they try to make ripmc jealous and it backfires! another thing is the fact that because the line between lover and friend is so blurred in regards to stsg she doesn't quite understand that there are certain things that only a "boyfriend" gets to do to her which further translates to her not having any sense of boundaries with other people just like she doesn't have any sense of boundaries with stsg. obviously stsg wouldn't be happy about that 💀 if ripmc kissed someone else they probably approached her and asked if they could and she just said yes bc she couldn't find a reason to say no dhjsnfjsndb anyway they'd be more peeved than anything and they'd make it a point to make sure nothing like that ever happens again [ominous]

ANYWAY yeahhhhhhhhh I just think about geto a disproportionate amount aka so much it's unhealthy I'm so obsessed with him

#gojo tells geto in another life he could've been a cult leader and geto says there's only two ppl in the world #he needs to be wanted and worshipped by #don't worry about self inserting as ripmc you're supposed to #anyway kissing u for this ask #ddao.fb

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fastcardotmp3 · 2 years ago

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tagged by my adored alex @gothbat99 to do a little self-love moment 🥹💛

rules: post five of your favorite fics that you've written and talk about why you love them. tag some mutuals so they can do the same and we can all spread some positivity about our writing ❤️

✨someone else's favorite song - 120k | rated E - I swing wildly on the pendulum between loving this fic for all that it is and wanting desperately to Fix It, but lately I've felt a lot of pride in this thing, warts and all. I went into this one thinking I was the extent of the audience for it and let the stream of consciousness muscle pull it out of me without much forethought, but ended up finding so much connection to the people reading it who felt seen or understood in some way in their own grieving processes. No matter where I am on the pendulum of feelings about this story, I am never not grateful that my own little catharsis has been able to create a sort of 'not aloneness' every time someone is kind and courageous enough to share their own stories with me in the comments 💛

✨that's just wasteland, baby! - 19k | rated E - I started writing this entirely because at the time I couldn't find any fics that really dived into what an apocalyptic Hawkins setting might look like and I wanted to READ it more than anything. It's so slice-of-life in that world and I had really so much fun building up the rules of the world and the dynamics between characters still in the fight but settled to an extent within a new normal to the point where even Steve can't even remember how long they've been doing it. 'the world ended but we're still going' is one of my favorite premises of all time and this universe is one I'm genuinely SO proud of without any equivocation about it UGH

✨how the light gets in - 29k (wip series) | rated T-E - if there are going to be one million and one versions of kas!Eddie (including my own) there HAS to be a kas!Chrissy and by god if I have to do it myself I WILL. Wheelingham is one of those things that just smacked me in the face one day when I realized the unending potential of taking a fridged girl, bringing her back to life, and making her kiss the final girl, like... COME ON. This series is a labor of love and it's truly such a joy to do a proper character study on two girls who have so much untapped potential built into their psyches. they're my babies I am holding them gently in my hands and never letting go :(((

✨METAMORPHOSES - 160k | rated E - I think of everything I've written for ST, this might be the thing that's most structurally sound writing-wise, like it's long enough that there are definitely spots it could use smoothing, but I am genuinely so proud of how it turned out and how it told the exact story I set out to tell. I love these characters, I love their little house in Indy, I love the ways they grow and regress in tandem, I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR. Never has a vision I had at the start ended up feeling So Right to this extent and I will never stop screaming about this fic just you try to stop me 💚🐍

✨The Hawk - 10k (wip series) | rated T - "The Bear" AU that no one asked for but which I am wholly and completely enamored with only 2 'episodes' in. Another chance at a Nancy-centric story with the added bonus of getting to write so many POVs of a larger ensemble? Incoming Ronance and Lumax and Steddie and Jargyle?? Wheeler sibling dynamic exploration?? it's my DREAM tbh and it's surprisingly simple to slot our ST characters into this wildly different world because you know what! At the end of the day it's all just about family isn't it!!! UGH. Once I'm done with writing (redacted) trust that I will be launching myself back into this one full-force, I've got so many plans and I can't wait to show you all more of this world

(if you've already been tagged apologies but also) tagging! @kkpwnall @fragilecapric0rnn @judasofsuburbia @gideoncharov @figthefruitfaeth @cheatghost @stargyles @capriciouslyterminal @sharpbutsoft @hellsfireclub

#it took me a week to love myself out loud but i DID do it so!!!#dot post #dot fic #thank u alex for this lil joyful thing MWAH

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turbo-virgins · 1 year ago

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Last night I received the following concerning anonymous message:

When I first read it I was immediately suspicious and thought this was a malicious attempt to start in-fighting while everyone is on edge over the sock-puppet oc-stealing individual that has been hovering around the fc5 community for some time now. However, at least one mutual I have in common with the blog named in the anon has since blocked me, which leads me to believe that the message above might be true and I am being accused of plagiarism. I have left that blog name covered up in case this is all some huge misunderstanding.

In the midst of these accusations, no one (aside from the anon) has reached out to make me aware of the situation or even what I am being accused of plagiarizing. I have reached out to the person who is supposedly accusing me to confirm whether or not they are actually accusing me, but have not yet received a response.

In the meantime I'm providing my limited perspective of the situation to (hopefully) clear the air.

When I first became active in the fc5 community on tumblr (about two years ago, I think?) I was mutuals with the redacted blog in the anonymous message. This person is a long-time prominent member in the community. Their oc and their deputy/john fanfic is well loved and very popular. Not too long after I joined the fandom I began writing my fic, Holy Roller which is a deputy/joseph fanfic centered around my oc, Delilah. It was inspired by a deputy/joseph fic on ao3 called To Build A Home (and I have an old message with a different mutual that I can dig up if requested in which I discuss the premise of that fic and how it inspired me).

In an attempt to be more active in the community, I started reading a few of my mutuals fanfic (including this person's fic). From time to time I would send asks/dms/leave tags in WIP posts leaving encouraging and positive feedback and just enjoying someone else's writing in general. I believe I only read up to chapter 3 or 4 of the fic of the person that is accusing me of plagiarism.

The only similar thing I am aware of between their fic and mine is that we both make allusions/references/allegories (whatever the correct term is) to the biblical book of judges and specifically within that book - the story of Samson and Delilah. When I realized that both of our ocs/other characters in the fic make a reference to Delilah, I remember sending them an ask about it because I thought their take on their oc being a stand-in for Delilah/Samson/some amalgamation of the two was neat. At the time I believe they referenced some biblical academic debate about several different accounts regarding Delilah - some in which she is painted as a victim rather than a seductress. If I recall correctly, they offered to send me a link to their reference material, but I don't remember if I ever got the link - all I know is that I never actually read through whatever reference they were using.

Shortly after this exchange (maybe a few days, maybe a week or two, I don't remember) this mutual blocked me (and I think I was blocked maybe a year and a half ago? I don’t remember; I don’t think I’ve interacted with this person in over a year though). At the time it did not occur to me that the Samson and Delilah references might be why they blocked me. I reached out to a mutual we had in common to see if I had done anything or reblogged anything that hurt or offended this person because whatever the issue was I wanted to apologize make it right. It is my understanding that this mutual we had in common asked this person directly and the reason I was given via a dm back from this mutual in common was "[they] are feeling Some Kind Of Way." I didn't know how to interpret that, so I assumed that by blocking me, this person was setting a boundary of some kind and didn't want me interacting with them. Since I thought they didn't want me interacting with their stuff, I didn't push the issue further and blocked them in return so that I wouldn't see their stuff cross my dash anymore. I also never read any further in their fic.

If I am correct about my assumptions and the accusations in question are regarding the Samson and Delilah references in both of our fics, I am not sure what to say other than it is a complete coincidence. I don't know how this person has been interpreting my own work, all I can offer is my own perspective and decisions I made about my oc, Delilah.

Below I have done my best to outline aspects of Delilah's character and my personal reasoning behind why she is the way she is:

When selecting Delilah's name I knew I wanted a biblical name since the fictional cult in fc5 is a christian-based cult. I briefly researched female biblical figures and I decided on Delilah because the name didn't strike me as super common and I wanted my oc to be a character who may be misunderstood and villainized by some but is still sympathetic - much like the biblical Delilah based on how you interpret/read into the biblical narrative. I believe the name Delilah also means "fragile" or "delicate." I liked the meaning behind her name because my oc is physically resilient which may at first glance seem at odds with her name, but she is emotionally and mentally very vulnerable which is NOT at odds with her name.

As far as physical appearance the closest thing Delilah has to a face-claim is Maya Hawk specifically from Stranger Things. I liked her hair style and some of the 80s-esque fashion she wears in some of her photoshoots. Delilah has kind of dark red hair and my line of thinking there was that Wrath = anger = red. In my fic, Delilah is at times an embodiment of Wrath much like the in-game fc5 deputy. In my writing she is frequently associated with the color red (to tie back into Wrath symbolism) while Joseph is associated with the color gold (based on a long character analysis post I wrote about his glasses a long time ago).

As previously stated, Delilah was intended to have some minor association made between her and the biblical figure. There is a scene early on in my fic where Delilah calls Joseph over the phone only for him to accuse her of being a spy attempting to get close to him and betray him which would (he says) ultimately lead to his downfall. I personally see Joseph as someone who projects himself and his experiences onto the biblical narrative and then uses that biblical narrative as evidence to justify his actions (sort of like an endless self re-enforcing confirmation bias feedback loop... thing). This is a pattern of behavior of his that is referenced in other places in my fic - specifically his in-game references to the book of revelation and then later in my fic to the book of job. It is my reasoning that, when Joseph encountered Delilah by chance at a bar, learned her name, and learned of her connection to the Hope County sheriff, that he was ready and willing to connect her to the biblical Delilah based both on their shared name and their specific circumstances. I believe that Joseph himself even hints at that in their dialogue.

The only other instance I can think of where my work sort of alludes to Samson and Delilah is a few hints and conversations where Delilah explains that she had a traumatic experience as a child where her hair was cut off against her will. Honestly the Samson and Delilah symbolism potential there is secondary to the fact that it was intended to reference my own childhood fears and insecurities. For reasons I won't get into, my hair has been a major part of my identity and how I present myself my whole life. There was a time where I did not have autonomy over my appearance and that manifested itself in this fear of having something so crucial to how I present myself taken away against my will.

This feeds into my next explanation: I have stated before that Delilah is not intended to be a self insert, however there are major aspects of her character and the way she is written that are pulled from my personal experiences. Her religious trauma, her toxic relationships with the maternal figures in her life, her self-doubt, her self-loathing, her deeply ingrained religious guilt, and the symptoms of her anxiety/panic attacks are all pulled from my own deeply personal life experiences. Delilah is a character who keeps everyone at arms length because she believes there is fundamentally something wrong with her - that her flaws are something to be covered up rather than accepted. And the point of her dynamic with Joseph in my fic was for her to find a source of unconditional love that she'd been craving, but to have that love come from someone incredibly fucked-up, dangerous, and manipulative.

As for how well I have executed these concepts - that is a matter of every reader's personal opinion and they have a right to that opinion. This fic I have been working on for approximately two years is the longest work I have ever written. I am inexperienced and still developing my style and skills as a writer. There are approximately four more chapters I have outlined before it will be complete.

I would like to reiterate that I have not yet received confirmation from the person supposedly accusing me on the specific details of what they think I plagiarized. The purpose of this post was to explain my thought process behind my oc and the plot of my fic - I wanted to demonstrate that there is real creative reasoning and intent behind my writing, that my interpretations of Joseph and my characterization of my oc Delilah are based on my own thoughts about fc5 canon material, and that any similarities between my work and someone else's is a coincidence and there is no malicious intent behind any fandom related content I've ever put out on my blog or on ao3.

If this is all a big misunderstanding, then I apologize and I would like to keep in place the boundaries that were set before I was ever made aware of any potential accusations.

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jamiesfootball · 2 years ago

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apologies if this has been asked/answered/referenced somewhere i haven't seen but where did the title for 'oh god, you're gonna get it (you have not been given love)' come from??? every time i see/read it i feel like i've read something inherently profound. if you came up with it you're even more of a poet and a genius than reading the fic had led me to believe - which was a lot lol (seriously it's so good, literally how???????????????????? i feel like this title is haunting me and the fic has definitely caused some level of brain rot)

THANK YOU FOR SAYING IT GAVE YOU BRAIN ROT. I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO FLATTERED.

The closest I have come to talking bout the title is here but at that point the title was still redacted on my posts so I'd say that barely counts!

So this is going to be long. Do try to bear with me, I've done my best.

The title is pieced together from two different song lyrics, but I think I did an excellent job in both picking a title that echoes the themes AND in smushing it together to make something new.

Oh god you're gonna get it is from Florence + The Machine's 'Girls Against God', which is one of those songs that came on when I was deep in the blorbo feels and they imprinted on the song so now that song just is a Roy Kent song to me, with many parts of it speaking to the vibe I wanted to bring into this fic. The quiet helplessness, the barely restrained incandescent rage -- all set against tragic, mundane life.

What I love most about this part of the title is that it's so loaded with meaning. Because 'oh god you're gonna get it' can read as 'oh god, you will understand'. Is it reassurance? Is it telling someone that it's okay if you're confused and lost now, because in the future they will understand?

Is it foreshadowing? Is it a warning? 'Oh enjoy you're obliviousness and confusion now, because one day it will make sense and you will understand. Oh god, will you ever understand.'

Then we have the part of the song that contains the title:

Oh God, you're gonna get it You'll be sorry that you messed with us

And here it becomes a threat of violence, and echo of rage acting against outside forces.

So that's part 1 of the title.

The nested part of the title, the part in parenthesis, is 'you have not been given love' by A Balladeer. Now, this song is more vibes than lyrics, though it does have some echoing ideas towards Jamie regarding generational trauma. That mixed with the lamenting tonality with which it's sung made this one really stick out.

Well, that and the fact that the title is repeated no less than sixteen fucking times. You can see why it was stuck in my head, yes?

Again, though, the lyric when taken at face-value feels loaded with meaning. On the one hand, it's someone recognizing, 'oh, I understand now. there have been circumstances in your life that have brought you to were you are now, and how you are able to perceive love has been directly affected by how you have not received it before.' But then it's also saying 'hey, those things you lived through, those things that other people gave you. those weren't love. you know that right?' And finally it's an understanding about someone, 'oh, you are an unfed thing. you do not know what love is, because you have never been given it'

Even if you take each part of the song piecemeal, with each section representing a different character, you end up with a fascinating tension. But if we combine the two we get this reverberation between the getting and the given. 'You will get', and nested with it 'you have not been given'. You will get your understanding (that you have not been given love). Oh god you will understand (that you are an unloved thing). You will make them pay (for they did not give you love). And most importantly

Oh god you're gonna to get (the love you were not given)

#I hope this makes sense #thank you so much for your wonderful message - I quite literally thought about it all day #and I'm glad you've enjoyed my one very very long chapter so far!#fic: oh god you're gonna get it (you have not been given love)#ask box is always open #fic testimonials

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skloomdumpster · 2 years ago

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Thank you for tagging me @crazycatfaery <3 I'm sorry I took so long 😅😅

Rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded

0 -> don’t care either way

10 -> very enticed

nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged.

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional

Age Gap: 7/10

I love it, but I'll only read it if the Dead Dove Do Not Eat tag is there. I want to read it from an author who's aware they're writing an age gap, especially if we're talking toxic/problematic ships. If we're all in agreement in this room, then HELL YEAH.

Codependency: 100/10

Love it. I love it between love interests, I love it between family members, I love it between enemies even. Characters who only exist and see themselves as a paired up thing with another character. If I see that tag in any work the chances of me clicking on it double.

Enemies to lovers: -5/10

Eh... Sure if it's okay enemies to lovers, as in they're actual enemies and they want each other dead and then we turn it back around. Alright, sure. But honestly? 9/10 times people are writing mild-annoying acquaintance to lovers. I hate that. And even when they ARE writing real enemies to lovers, sometimes the "lovers" part doesn't live up to the "enemies" part.

Enemies With Benefits: 10/10

It's rare and I love it, but it's a tricky trope to get right. You can't remove the "enemies" aspect from it. I've seen this done right (cough - John Ross/Pamela), but I've also seen it butchered many times.

Fake Dating/Relationship: 3/10

Cute and all, but I won't click on a fic because of it.

Found Family: -1000/10

Nope. Most of the time people mean "found nuclear family" and then I'm forced to watch as these characters act completely wacky and ooc. I adore a good found family, but seeing this tagged in a work is a surefire way to have me not click it. (also let's just please stop with the weird subtrope of putting the favorite-white-guy of the group as the "tradwife/mom"??? what the FUCK is this? I've seen it in Teen Wolf, I've seen it Fate, I've seen it in Fast and Furious... just nope.)

Friends To Lovers: 100/10

Perfection. You want pining? You got a forest of pines. You want yearning? You want italicized oh moment? You want harmless jealousy? You want hilarious cutesy moments? You want deep conversations? You want confessions that fix something broken inside of you? You want a love so deep and profound that it has grown and changed and it'll change again if you won't take me as a lover because a friend is good too, is great even?? You want STAKES because I-love-you-but-I-don't-want-to-ruin-this-because-you're-the-best-thing-in-my-life??? Perfect trope. No notes.

Friends With Benefits: 10/10

The same as above + sex. Can't go wrong.

Hurt/Comfort: 100/10

Bathe my blorbo in their own blood!! Whump the shit out of them!! Put them through hell!! Make the caretaker fear for their life!! Get the begging and bargaining out and the wheezing confessions through bloody coughs. Love this.

Love Triangle: 0/10

It sure exists.

Mistaken/Hidden Identity: 0/10

I don't think I ever read this, don't think I ever will either.

Monster Fu… Relationship: 5/10

Sure, but only if it's a werewolf. Team Jacob forever.

Obsession, Possessiveness, etc: 10/10

Fuck yeah. Yes in good, deliciously toxic ships, but also YES in good, healthy ships. The golden ships, made up of two righteous characters and you wouldn't expect this and then BAM. The other day I read fic that was like "[redacted] had often fantasized about reaching in and counting the teeth in [redacted's] mouth" <- most perfect line ever written.

Opposites (like grumpy×sunshine, etc): 5/10

Eh...? It can be cute, but sometimes it feels like too much. I'm actually more of a "they're both grumpy, but not with each other" or even "they're both golden, but can be at their worse with each other".

Poly: 5/10

Sometimes it's shoehorned in and I'm like... :/ you could've written something more interesting if you allowed the conflict to exist. BUT sometimes there's genuine sexual/romantic attraction between all parts and that's when this hits. I'll read an OT3 as long as it's not "author couldn't decide and decided to go the fluffy no conflict route even though it makes no sense for the characters"

Pregnancy: 8/10

I'll read it in fics, in all sorts of manners: cute family fic, kinky breeding fic, plotty dramatic fic, etc. But I don't like it in canon, movie or book. In fic I have the ability of getting bored and clicking out and reading one of the other 200 fics where there's no pregnancy or baby. In canon that's impossible.

Second Chance: 0/10

Sure, I'll read that.

Sex To Feelings: 5/10

IDK, when are we talking feelings? Is this a scenario where they're friends/enemies to benefits and then the feelings emerge? Because then yes. Or is this just a PWP and then I get some feelings at the bottom? Because then no. Or is this a character study while they're fucking? Because then YES.

Slowburn: 10/10

It's the perfect trope but watch out. I'm a firm believer of stories needing beginning, middle, end. I've read fics that are 80 chapters long and every time the characters are about to get together/realize another curveball is thrown their way. Once or twice I'm good with, but 50 different obstacles? Fuck no, I'm clicking out.

Soulmates: -1/10

This won't make me wanna read your fic. If you mean this as a "they are soulmates so X happens" ....nope. Not my thing. If you mean this as "they're always the endgame. In every universe, in every reality, these two are IT" (cough, Skloom) then YES!!! But also don't spell it out for me. I don't need you to tell me soulmates, I can guess that.

Tagging: @infp-obsessing-over-everything , @faithfire and @daisiehoney @astrid-v

#hello i'm a highly opinionated person who can't shut up #i'm sorry this is so fucking long #astrid i think you've done this already but im not sure so forgive me

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awesomesaucem · 1 year ago

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About-Face

Chapter three of The Wanting Comes in Waves (19,651 words)

Marianne stumbles onto more questions than answers as she unwittingly falls into a new routine. Stranger and stranger still, she pries at pieces of this puzzle she didn't want to be a part of in the first place.

Word Count for Chapter: 6,878

Woof what a break! I have returned once again with this fuckery. Also remember that post I made about having at least 10k words this chapter? Yeaaahhhh sorry. Just go ahead and redact all that.

Anyway, I did kinda rush this at the end so sorry if there's some awkward moments here or there. I currently do not have a beta reader (nudge nudge, wink wink) and chatgpt is down so I got zero feedback on this update. Hope its ok oof.

a/n for chapter: me months and months ago: hmm i think i can update on a weekly basis... me now: LMAO BITCH YOU THOUGHT Many apologies and thanks for patience with me here yall. I am alive and well for the most part. Work is painful. School is painful. You know how that goes. To make up for it, you see that handy little chapter number update? yeahhhh shits plotted OUT. So much is planned for this fic it's not even funny anyway BUCKLE UP. THE ANGST WILL BEGIN MOMENTARILLY enjoy, babies. And as always-thank you for reading :)

The clang of workers’ routine stole Marianne from a sleep she wasn’t aware of falling into in the first place. Rattling of pots and pans; scrubbing, scraping. Singing. Nothing like the morning before where there were only leering eyes and sinking feelings. Slicing open the padding beneath her, she slid her knife between the hay and silently prayed over it once again. It’s gone through quite enough with her already, but their knowledge of her treasure could very well mean death. Her breath clouded for a moment, deciding the blanket should join her for the day; not only as extra warmth but she would take all the layers of protection she could get. Still unbound and unwatched, she tried the door only to be met with the raised fist of Steph seemingly about to knock. They both stared in an abashed beat of silence.

“The Captain sent me,” she offered as explanation. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“All day?” She looked around outside at the hard working crew. “I guess I slept a little late, huh?”

Steph's gaze hardened in both confusion and concern. “You mean you’re just now waking up? We all had lunch a few hours ago. Someone brought you some, but they said you weren’t hungry,” she recalled. Her tone shifted immediately into something more urgent. “Did no one come to check on you? Who did you speak to?” Nearly each word was punctuated with a heavy step forward pushing them both into the room.

“Uh, I-” Marianne was more confused than intimidated by the rapid interrogation. “I’m not sure.” She thought briefly to her dreamless sleep, not noting any visitors of significance. If someone had spoken in her room, she wasn’t aware of it. “I don’t remember, I'm sorry.” Steph snatched her wrist in hand and led her to the bed. In the other was a bundle of jars and rags with some metal instruments thrown into the mix as well.

“Girl’s sorry,” she grumbled under her breath. “Beaten and slept for days, not eating, and she’s sorry.” Her calloused hands lightly tugged the hem of Marianne’s tunic. “Up. I need to look at you.”

Stunned, she shot a glance to the open door and back to Steph in a silent plea. Without even looking behind her, her boot clanged against the wood and shut it with a click. Her brows shot up. Better? they ask.

Her own shaking hands gripped the edge of her tunic in response and pulled upward to reveal mottled purples and yellows from the days prior. Any scrapes from Roland's boots or the dirty floor were mostly cleaned during last night's bath. Marianne knew time and rest were needed to heal the hurt beneath the surface, but Steph had to make sure. She was expecting far worse if her supplies gave indication, but Marianne meant nothing to her; this was most likely an order from the Captain. But then again, she was a prize to be hand delivered. If she was broken on arrival, someone would surely pay for it. Without a legitimate reason to argue, she allowed her wounds to be dressed.

Steph worked in trained concentration. Softly yet methodically she prodded at the watercolor of blood beneath skin searching for anything more dire. Mostly she worked in silence except for the occasional hiss from Marianne at a particularly harsh poke which was met by an apologetic hum from her surveyor. Wraps of cloth soaked in liquid smelling strongly of rum and menthol were drug across her ribs and chest, wretching a muffled cry from Marianne as it seeped into any weeping lesions it found. The harsh burn subsided into a warm sting as Steph finally deemed her attentions enough and bound her sternum in fresh cloth.

“That should be enough for now. Nothing I haven’t seen, nothing I can’t mend,” she chatted, packing up her supplies. “You’re tougher than you look, you know,” she added.

“I know,” she retorted, keeping her eyes downcast at their hands.

Steph scoffed at her cockiness, nudging her knuckles lightly against her chin to tilt her gaze skyward.

“Oh, I know. Quite the tiger you are,” she laughed. “Got the Captain worked up for sure.”

That caught her attention.

“The Captain,” she began precariously. “Who is he? I mean who is he really?” The silence that followed was uneasy for the both of them. Cocking her head, she searched for any answer she could find in the stoic woman’s eyes. “You know something. Tell me.” It wasn’t a question. But if there was a time for answers, it would be now. She was tired of being left in the dark. Steph’s cordial demeanor soured immediately into forced professionalism.

“He is our Captain. What more is there?” A single heavy palm braced the mattress to steady herself as she excused herself from the bed to take her leave. For as strong as she was in a fight, she seemed to turn away from conversation. “Try not to sleep on your right side, girl. Nothing’s broken but you’ll be feelin’ it for a while.”

Marianne nodded, ignoring the defensive change of topic and busied her hands with whatever scraps that ended up left behind. The quick muttering and shuffling at the door caught her attention once more as the very same Captain was at the threshold exchanging knowing looks with Steph as she stepped around him. The tension, unfortunately, stayed behind with Marianne.

“So, er,” he scrambled for words at Steph’s leave. “I take it you’re faring much better, then?”

She rubbed at the phantom twinge of chains that have long since sunk into deep, murky waters and hummed low in her throat.

“I am.”

As watched as she felt, she made sure to observe in equal measure the ferine creature whose kindness shown in the decimation of men and possession of their wives.

“You gave us all quite the scare. I know this is less than ideal, but my will toward you is not unkind if you’ll believe it.”

Loitering uncomfortably, he continued.

“Roland joined us today as well. Asking for you.”

Fear and anger alike bubbled in her throat.

“What words in any of the realms would I have to exchange with that wretch -”

“None,” he yielded a hand to interrupt. “The last thing I need is two extra bodies on board who can’t control themselves. Now get dressed. You’re due to pull some weight around here unless you’d rather join him in the bilge.”

___

Before she could even think, a week went by. Then another. Day after day of choring, hearty food, and good conversation passed by in a comfortable blur. As it turns out, they were remarkably self-sustainable. Nothing was wasted aboard the ship and everything had a use. They also were thoroughly prepared from the chickens living below deck to the seemingly endless potable water that never refrained from surprising her. Scuppers were even plugged up to collect any rain water and sheep's pelts hung alongside the sails to catch morning dew each day. This plus the two months of fresh water they started with granted them surplus amounts for bathing, washing, or cooking. Much to Marianne’s satisfaction, someone let slip that the Captain was indeed from the mountains and used heavy blocks of ice to immensely extend the lives of their perishables until they melted and joined the stock as well. There are only so many uses you can get from the same water, however. If she wasn’t as exhausted and filthy as she was her first night on board, she would have realized the thin layer of cooking oil that went unnoticed among the soaps before she sunk into it. But she was clean despite any impurities of the water. And more importantly, she was grateful.

Since it was made very clear she would have a purpose on board after she was able, they wasted no time at all putting her to work. The little experience she had doing work of any kind limited her options of positions, yet they made do with her. Peeling potatoes isn’t exactly skilled labor. Mending and sewing were also available tasks and those too required the skill she was thankful to have. Those less fortunate with the knowledge muttered swears and hisses during their feeble attempts at stitching and took her back to a time when her fingers were also as bandaged up as her newfound friends’. While Brutus wouldn’t mind a needle, his hands weren’t exactly dainty nor dextrous.

As the days turned into nights, her unease gradually dissipated and without her permission she became as tamed as a mangy stray with a full belly. As her aches and pains left, so did her ferocity. One of the shiphands even taught her to play some obscure, backstreet card game where they played for extra pieces of meat and scraps of fabric. She still didn’t quite understand the rules in its entirety, but she seemed to be winning. The other players traded knowing glances which is when she realized they were letting her win, the bastards! They want to play shady? Marianne could play shady. Hamming it up, she trashed a few bluffs and discarded some wilds completely by accident, oh my! and snuck a few more winnings into her pile. This only seemed to egg them on more. If she actually paid attention to the rules, more winnings was actually not how to win, if you would believe it, and she walked away with nothing after all. Her own fault for not expecting pirates to play dirty, really. Grumbling, she pushed away from the crate-turned-table and excused herself to her quarters. One of the more skilled players snuck her a snack or two as she left as thanks for keeping them entertained for a moment or two. Nothing too indulgent. They were known for sneaking a piece of crusty bread or salted meat into their pockets now and again, but she appreciated the gesture all the same.

She supposed it was time to give these brutes their deserved grace as she’d harshly misjudged them from the start. The very same group that tore a military vessel entirely to pieces was the very same group that looked on her scars and snuck her little things to sink her teeth in. Each passing day became that much more comfortable. That much less spent anticipating the next disaster. Falling into routine proved easier than she could have predicted when she wasn’t constantly fearing for her life.

More and more was she fully content to stay in this dream and never wake. No more tutors or disapproving glances from her father. No more wondering who she’ll bribe next to let her sneak out night after night. Whether she meant to or not, she had found a funny kind of freedom here at sea. But then again there was still a warm bed at home waiting for her. It was fun to dream, but what happens when the other shoe drops? You’re still a prisoner here. Nothing has changed. Just as a stray never forgets its fight no matter the hand that feeds it, Marianne never forgot her blade still hidden and discrete.

Her trek back to her chambers was interrupted by clattering somewhere down around the bilge. She wasn’t allowed down in that part of the ship as that was where supplies and Roland of all things were kept, but she didn’t care to explore around the filth anyway. There were only so many potatoes you could look at. The clanging grew louder, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew. Suddenly everything halted as Roland himself clamored up to the main deck. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Someone who was so vain about his appearance had never looked more haggard. His clothes were shredded and filthy and plastered to his frame with far too much sweat which showed the awkward angle of his shoulders jutting out from beneath them. Arms bound behind his back, he could do not much else but stare and panic. A long dried trail of blood lined his temple and was flaked away in some places, but held clumps of hair to his face against their will. Bare feet stumbled as he turned, frantically, looking for any last minute hiding places or methods of escape. Resembling more a deranged animal than a Navy Captain, a bitter satisfaction simmered from deep within Marianne. She was a captive, but he was the real prisoner. No one even had the chance to grab him before Boggart slunk out of his quarters to see just what the excitement was all about. Roland went from deranged beast to cornered snake at the sight of the man and instantly regressed to a floundering mess.

“N-n-now Crowley, please, let’s discuss this like gentlemen. I’m sure there’s been some mistake, here. I truly do admire you greatly and sir, ‘n I just don’t understand how I’ve offended you to this point-I really don’t!”

Everyone's attention turned to behind the sniveling rat as Thad, the meek quartermaster, finally caught up with hands on his knees and heaving breaths in between words of “sorry, sir” and “too fast!” Boggart surveyed the broken man and offered him a glance holding everything from anger to disappointment as he stepped forward.

“Mmh,” he grunted. “Not so lucky I found you though, Roland.” Keeping his chin tucked, he tried constraining his words to a minimum clumsily slipping into his false accent without proper warning. Marianne said nothing to indicate the switch but smiled to herself as Roland sagged to his knees in submission.

“Whatever I’ve done, I’ll right it!” He begged. “You’re reasonable, sir. Intelligent and reasonable and, and-”

A click of a pistol silenced his whining as the cold barrel was pressed to his temple.

“That’s quite enough, Captain. My business is my business and you’ll endure. Do you know why that is?”

Roland swiftly shook his head, flinging his sweat-matted hair free from his cheek.

“Because animals endure. And what do we do with a sick animal, men? ” His eyes and pistol remained on the poor bastard at his feet as he addressed his crew.

“We put ‘em down!” Many voices shouted from their various positions on deck.

“We put ‘em down.” His teeth were on full display in all their voraciousness. Roland’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“No! Sir, please!” He pleaded, openly weeping. But Marianne saw through his crocodile tears. She knew this man would only beg for his life just because it was something he could take. There was no value to it, only consequence. Boggart finally turned his cool gaze her way, nearly freezing her along with it.

“What say you, Marianne? Does he live to see another day?”

Rolland turned his wallowing to her as well along with each other pair on the ship.

“I,” she considered. On the one hand, he’ll never exist in her life again. His demanding hands will never touch another living soul; no longer grasping in the dark desperate for tithings. She, and all others, will be free of him as long as they too exist. Yet his teary, snake-like eyes bore into her anxiously awaiting the decision of the woman he owned-at least for a time. Her vows made in lace and satin and glittering things under her father’s scrutinous eye urged for her hesitation. For eternity, she promised. Forsaking all others.

“Come on, Marianne,” he whispered in one last solicitation. The air stilled.

“Girl?” Boggart whispered, urging for a decision.

She too shook her head, almost in a panic, as dread pooled any and everywhere it could worm its way into her from head to toe. The short snapping of the hammer disengaging awarded Roland his undeserved reprise as his own dreadful feelings left him in a breathy and relieved sigh.

“Oh, Marianne! How I adore you, believe me. You know I’d do anything to make this right,” he bowed his head to the dirty floor and blubbered into the planks while Boggart rolled his eyes at the display. Turning to look behind him at the girl who spared such a lowly creature his eyes were uncertain, but firm. Disapproving, yet understanding.

With his back turned, Roland seized his opportunity to lurch up and dart for anywhere other than at the feet of his subjugator. The crew shouted their alarm and scrambled to subdue the man again, but Boggart raised a halting hand in favor of words as well as his weapon.

“Roland, I give you this last chance,” he warns over the noise at the rat zig-zagging through the deck searching for sanctuary. His words go unheard, however, as he darts and weaves behind barrels and crates, trying to find somewhere, anywhere that will grant him a few extra precious seconds of life.

“Please, lad,” he whispers in one last warning, forgetting his false inflection for a breath.

Finally heeding, Roland suddenly whips his head around eyes wide in recognition and stretches his mouth wide to utter accusatory words otherwise interrupted by the unanticipated firing of a gun sending its bullet right between the poor man’s eyes.

Marianne bit her tongue at the viscera as she witnessed the death of her husband for a second time.

Pocketing his handgun, Boggart sneered at the mess while the burn of spent gunpowder dissipates.

“S-sir, he…” Thad gasped meekly from where he stood to the rails.

“I know,” he avowed.

More knowing exchanges eluded Marianne as so much secrecy was had in such an intimate crew. One moment she was jesting along with her shipmates and the next it was like a haze shrouded them, separating her entirely. It was frustrating. It was nerve wracking.

It’s annoying is what it is.

“Thad!” He barks at the still-heaving man. “Clean up this eyesore, will you?”

“Of course, sir,” he pants. “But first you need to see the bilge.”

Boggart sighs, smoothing over his beard very much irked.

“What’s wrong with the bilge, Thadius?”

He squirms under his unhappy Captain’s glare.

“Well, it’s uh,” he struggles for words until Steph wrecks an elbow into his ribs forcing them out.

“Underwater! It’s underwater, Captain,” he sputters. “Roland kicked through some loose boards as a distraction. We need to dock for repairs.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched in disdain, fighting the urge to tear into the small man.

“We had just resupplied some two weeks ago, mate. I didn’t plan for an emergency stop in our schedule.”

“Well, we’re going to have to. At least a quarter of the new chicks have drowned already and that’s not even counting the water we’ve taken on.”

Thinking of any second options, Boggart resolves to stamp past the crew.

“Hoist the mains, gentlemen!” He bellows, forgoing reason. “Ready to ground!”

While Thad did his best not to heave at the blood underfoot, the rest of the crew scrambled to ready the masts and gather everything they needed to ready the ship for land leaving Marianne to process. Luckily the winds were favorable and they found a quaint little alcove far away from any form of civilization in no time at all. Immediately after reaching land, the ramp was tossed.

The ramp leading to the shore was caked in sand from the years of use. Crates and barrels of dry goods and sleep mats were carried arm to arm by meandering shiphands as Marianne watched them all. The chill of early Spring was holding everyone tightly still sending a wave of ice through to her bones and shivering, she looked to the emerging stars in the twilight. Long, winding shadows were cast from the conifer border to the inland. In fact, the treeline wasn’t too far from the shore and looked thick enough to get lost in. She leaned closer over the creaking railing to judge the distance. If she managed to get past the already busy crew, she’d just need to sprint through the brush. Far enough inward and they’d have less and less of a chance to capture her twice. A hand at her shoulder startled her from her dangerous train of thought - it seems her musings caused her to roam perfectly in the way of the workings that reminded her so much of ants. Murmuring an apology, she resumed her positioning off to the side and firmly out of the way.

Each member of the crew had something different in their arms. All crates and containers of sorts but each was meticulously labeled in stark, bold lettering burned into the sides. Dried meats, flour, tools, what have you were passed down one by one. Everyone had a job to do but her. Next, a metal cage with several of the surviving chickens was pushed to the ramp inspiring her. Everyone was busy after all. All she’d need was a distraction and her knife.

___

Sand squished between her toes as her legs carried her as far and fast as they physically could while she ignored the howling behind her mixed with panicked cackling of the startled fowl. Harsh winds whipped and whirled around her, almost guiding her forward as she couldn’t get it into her lungs fast enough. Bobbing and winding through the dense wood, she didn’t dare look behind her, couldn’t afford it. If she had, she’d see the sliver of a thin hand silently halting the rest of his crew as a single man stepped into the trees.

Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she finally slowed to catch her breath in heady gulps. The pounding in her chest matched that in her head, but she was too far gone to stop now. Now was not the time for giving up. Resting against a nearby tree she thought about the stories she would tell Dawn when she finally returned home; the crying they would do. The fear they would both put into their father. She could weep at the almost taste of her mother’s recipes just out of reach. Her bed, her blades, her sister, all seemingly paces away. Did she have any sense of where to go in the heavy foliage? Absolutely not. But all she really needed was to put enough distance between her and the creatures at her back. All she needed was an unfamiliar face and the promise of reward and she’d be home.

A nearby snapping of twigs broke her from the fantasy. Catching her breath somewhere between her heart and her lungs she waited; hands clasped at her lips to not even let the fog of breath escape. Scratching bark to her back shielded her from any searching eyes as she counted the urgent beating of her heart. Rather than haunted by the ever persistent threat of Roland’s men, she was instead hunted, rather, by a fresh threat of her own creation. The wheezing of trapped breath behind her palms threatened to reveal her; remaining calm must take priority. One, two, three, four, five, six. She counted with each stampeding beat. One, two, three, four, five, six. Leaves crunch from behind the nearby brush. Onetwo, threefour, fivesix. A scurrying of something much smaller than her from ahead, frightened. Onetwothreefourfivesix. The shadow of strong shoulders and hooked nose hovered behind her sanctuary and for an instant there was nothing for her to count. Just as he rounded the edge of the trunk, she bolted once more revealing her position but willing her legs to test their limits and ignored the fire in her lungs.

The Captain hollered triumphantly and soared after her, his own legs that were much longer and stronger granted him just enough extra speed to gain on her and close the distance. With a roar that mingled alongside her yelp, his deft fingers gripped the back of her tunic and pulled sending her flying backward and landing harshly on the cold ground. Luckily she kept her breath which she used to scream every obscenity she could recall while he pinned her beneath him.

His breath was hot in her face as she bucked and struggled against his unwavering grasp. She was all nails and teeth and elbows, and she wondered exactly what the rest of the crew was thinking back at the beach. Fallen needles of pine and spruce dug into her back, threatening to pierce the flesh there and she remembered her scabbard that has survived all this time hidden at her hip. She snuck a hand downward to reach for her undetected defenses to at least even out the fight. A flash of astonishment, panic, and something else entirely washed over his face as he narrowly dodged a swipe of the blade and with gritted teeth, placed all of his weight on a knee at her stomach. She cried out once again. His long dexterous fingers held her wrist in a bruising grip only to slam the offending hand in the dirt once, twice until the hilt slipped from her grasp.

“No!” She cried. “Please!” But she was already flipped to her front, face shoved into the dirt beneath them.

“Stupid girl,” Boggart snarled, pinning her arm to her back forcing her shoulder into an arduous position. “Had that with you the whole time, did you? Incompetent Roland couldn’t be bothered to search you over?”

“Fuck you!” Marianne spit behind her only to be met with grit at her lips once more.

“Such a filthy mouth on a pretty thing like you,” he leaned down to whisper, whisker gruff prickling her neck and shoulder. “Now I see why he liked you so much.”

He palms the blade, and with one hand binding both wrists forcefully tugs her to her feet. On clumsy footing, she stumbled to escape his grasp but he whistled low in warning.

“Be good,” he grunted. “Wouldn’t want to spill your own blood on that knife, would you?”

Exhausted from the chase, she hung her head low and trudged onward. She would either be killed here or back at the ship-at least this way she could see one last sunset.

She hadn’t recalled how far from the shore she had taken them as the walk back was much longer than anticipated. His hold on her never faltered nor were words exchanged. Just the Captain’s thickly accented mutterings in an unfamiliar language filled the silence their sand dampened steps wished for. Once they reached the shore, the crew’s work became more leisure than anything to sneak a nosy glimpse or two at the both of them as Marianne was shoved up the ramp. There she resumed her struggles of hurling swears hoping at least to hurt him with words rather than blades. Long, spindly fingers gripped her wrist much too tightly while her legs frantically rushed to catch up to his long strides as he drug her through the cavity of the ship. Once they reached her chambers, she was roughly hurled across the threshold, scraping her knees against the wooden floor. Clutching her wrist to her chest didn’t soothe the ache nor the fingertip shaped bruises forming there. In their first meeting, Marianne was spiteful. She wasn’t afraid of death then; she wasn’t afraid of pain. Now with tear-stained cheeks she watched the dreaded creature staring predatory in the doorway and understood they were one and the same.

“Now you’ll be a good little butterfly and think before you try flying away from me again," he scoffed, boxing her in.

“You can’t just keep me here!” She shouted from when she lay crumpled on the floor. “You aren’t taking me to Jones and you’re not keeping me for yourself!”

Boggart turned to meet her scowl, puzzled.

“I’m not your crew. I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m not going to be your prisoner anymore,” she sobbed. Watching her tremble from the watery words and Boggart softened his gaze in something that could’ve resembled guilt. “And don’t you dare touch me again or I’ll-”

He barks out a laugh.

“You’ll do what, girl? Kill me? With this?” He admires her prized dagger in the moonlight, catching the beautiful glint reflecting off the metal and curbing the reignited, unfettered rage in his eyes.

“Not anymore.”

He hums in thought.

“It's a pretty thing, really,” he growls watching the light refract through a quartz embedded in the hilt. Marianne helped Dagda pick out the stone when her cheeks were rose-tinted and her father was her world. “I’d like to think I should keep this; add it to my collection. Much too pretty to be wasted on silly noble girls.” The thought of losing the best treasure sent Marianne spiraling. She scrambled on her hands and knees to try and reclaim it, to try anything, but the blade was instead spun around to press its tip firmly at her throat. The Captain’s hand was steady. No sign of hesitancy shown in his eyes while she wept.

“None of that again. Escaping to the trees with stolen weaponry is so unbecoming of a lady,” he spat. “I hope you enjoyed your little adventure because it was the last free breath you’ll ever draw again.” He withdrew the blade and puffed out an amused laugh to himself. “You know,” he whispered to her crumpled body on the ground and lifted her gaze by the hair, just as Roland had done once before. “You’re a pretty thing too. Maybe I'll keep you as well.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her anguished expression as he closed and locked the door behind him, plunging her into darkness once again.

___

It must’ve been hours. They were still docked, but the laughter and crackling of campfire separated her from the crew she’d grown to care for from where they ate together on the beach. The crew that saw her as an equal. Stupid, she thought. He’d made no move to hurt her until now. None of them did. And now, thanks to her impulse, she was right back where she started. Trapped. Alone. And now she’s lost her only piece of home to her captor. Her skinned knees had long since crusted over, but she was still so incredibly sore from running as she never had to do in life. While impulsive, it was her only chance at freedom after she had already been given so much. Who knows if she’ll ever be allowed to see the sun again? The setting of heavy boots and the unbolting of a lock held the answer for her. Uncharacteristically timid, Boggart crowded the doorway and she couldn’t help but flinch.

“I..erm,” he began awkwardly.

Marianne just stared.

“Brutus found some wild greens and uh, made a stew. Everyone seems to like it.” His words apparently have found him.

Blinking up at him, she held enough quiet for the both of them.

“It’s getting late and you still need to eat, so,” he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’m asking you to eat. With everyone.”

His hollow laugh that bounced off the trees echoes through her mind as she narrows her gaze.

“You want me to eat with you?”

“With everyone, yes.”

“I thought I was never to draw a free breath again,” she challenged, articulating each and every sound.

Pursing his lips, frustrated, he leaves her a sliver of space at his side to follow him out into the ship.

“And I thought you were able to be trusted to stay manageable in these past few weeks. Especially since you’ve been armed all this time, I half expected you to be as senseless and shortsighted much sooner.” Dramatically, he flourishes his hand to beckon her. “Now would you like to eat or not?”

Against every voice in her mind screaming in opposition, she stands to her feet.

The walk to the beach wasn’t as awkward as she expected. The silence was appreciated by both of them as he guided her to the fire using his own sheer size to lead her without any argument. A few questioning eyes looked up from their drinks, but lingered reticently. Those who chose not to acknowledge them, kept to their comradery and focused on whatever tall tale was being shared around this time. Soup was slurped and ale was spilled just like all other nights back on the ship, omitting the sand beneath their feet. A bowl was nudged into her lap along with her share of ale.

It was a rich looking broth smelling earthy and fulfilling. Having spent all her energy scurrying and weeping, her stomach gurgled urging her to drink. She of course indulged, all but groaning in satisfaction the second the spiced broth hit her tongue. The fats of chicken and walnut melded beautifully with the hearty greens and wild spices that accompanied the charred smoke of the roaring fire they all huddled around. The thick glue of a porridge that Roland fed her was lifetimes away from her now as she guzzled down the stew. Brutus smirked in that pompous way only an artist could while she damn near licked the bowl clean.

The crew continued on with their storytelling's and singings, with the occasional shanty Marianne hummed along to having spent her nights evading palace guards and slumming with her most favorite peasant friends in backwater pubs. Vaguely impressed, Boggart snuck glances at her pretending not to know the words. Eventually, a voice piped up insisting on the Captain’s turn with a song. Boos and cheers rang around the blaze.

“You know he don’t sing,” gruffed one of the men.

“He’s too stubborn,” Steph griped, elbowing Thad sitting to her right. Light jeering erupts, settling at the Captain clearing his throat.

Marianne almost mourned the boisterousness from moments before as a tension settled heavy as a fog over the camp while he sang. Eyes lidded and shoulders stiff, their Captain recited what must have been some ancient lullaby from a time before life made him so cruel as he sang as if each word were a prayer. The melody flowed from his lips like rich wine and enthralled, she managed to only capture the last few lines:

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips.

Solome here, here ’s were called and in the silence that followed his melody, the last of the stragglers retired for the evening bidding goodnight’s and farewell’s leaving just the Captain and his ward.

“Who was she?” She whispered, aching to fill the quiet. “The woman who made you feel this way.”

“Hmm? Oh,” he blushed. “No one.” Dowcast, he tossed a twig into the flames and watched it burn.

“You cannot be serious.” She tried not to smile. “You’re just always this morose?”

“Easy,” he teases. “Yes, I’m serious.” He retrieves a pipe from his breast pocket and lights it with a smoldering piece of kindling, taking a long drag as if the bitter herb could conjure the words for him. “It’s the only memory I have left of my mother before she passed. Sang it to me every night, nearly.”

“Oh,” she somberly replied, not used to being on the other side of this conversation. “It was beautiful, your singing.”

He huffs out smoke.

“Thank you. The crew always wants me to join in on their amusement, but I never oblige. This was my way of telling them all to fuck off.”

Marianne snorts into her tankard.

“Besides, that was a love that was never meant for me,” he continued. “She would dance with my Father in the candlelight after tucking me in. I used to sneak out and watch them every night. Always thought that was the closest thing we had to magic.”

Forcing the change in subject, he reached a hand into his coat to retrieve a wrapped bundle to pass into her lap unceremoniously. Wordless, she unwraps the fabric to reveal her blade back in her possession. Her eyes question him where her voice can’t find the strength to.

“You could’ve had me earlier, you know. Back in the forest?” He coughs, continuing. “If I was just a tad slower you’d have had it buried in my neck quicker ‘n you should’ve,” he laughed. “Quite embarrassing. Glad I had the rest wait for us back at the beach; no doubt you’d be long gone by now.” Not able to bring his own eyes to meet hers, he settles for mouthing at the wooden lip.

“I don’t…” Marianne shook her head at both his admission and gesture as neither made any remote sense to her.

“You’re quite confident with it; from what I’ve seen anyway.” He takes the blade from where it lay untouched in her lap to manipulate the hilt in his hands. “It’s tarnished, but sharp. It’s taken care of, clearly.”

She nods an affirmative. Her swordsmith back home got fed up with her asking to have it sharpened so often that he finally just taught her how to do it herself. She couldn’t ask anyone else for help anyway. Sharpening her dagger became a meditation, but it was also a matter of pride.

“Listen, girl,” his voice came once again much more stern. “There was no sign of you being on that ship with him. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.”

“How were they supposed to happen then?”

“That’s complicated.”

Marianne scoffs. “That’s a word that keeps getting tossed around and I’m sick of hearing it. Everyone around here seems to know something I don’t.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Well I’m tired of it,” her voice wavers, frustration evident. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to for hell, however long I’ve been here. I’ve washed your damned laundry, scrubbed your damned deck. I think I finally deserve an answer.”

Boggart sighs in indignation. “Aye. ‘Suppose you do.”

He takes a long drag of his pipe, stalling.

“There’s something much bigger than your little honeymoon going on here. It’s been in the works for some time now and,” he sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in it all.”

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

“I can’t. Wish I could.”

“Why not?”

“‘Fraid I can’t say.” His smile never reaches his eyes.

Marianne thinks for a beat.

“Then why did you kill Roland but not me? If I’ve already stumbled into too much, then why keep another mouth to feed on board?”

Boggart chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“Because he’s wronged me and you haven’t.”

“Wronged you how?”

Another drag.

“Let’s just say I’ve been trespassed and invaded. And I��m not amused.”

Marianne grins, taking her blade back from him.

“I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior then.”

“I don’t know if the chickens’ll believe you, but,” Boggart sucks his teeth. “About that. Don’t run again.”

She peers up, puzzled.

“You know too much already whether you believe it or not. And whether you like it or not, you must stay until everything is finished. There’s far too much I’ve gambled to let you ruin it.”

“And why should I trust you? After everything you’ve put me through?”

“Stubborn just like her father,” he spits under his breath.

“You don’t know my father, you filthy-”

“Watch yourself,” he warns. “And do not mistake this kindness for weakness, I knew your father very well,” He sighs. “A little too well.”

“My father is a worm, but he’d never stoop to associate with pirates.”

“Give me some credit please, I wasn’t as cruel then.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“‘M afraid that’s a tale for another time.”

He glances at her finally, grateful for her milding temper.

“Look,” he sighs. “I have no reason to bring any harm to you. But if you run like that again, you’ll be forcing my hand, do you understand?”

Fully heeding this warning, she nods.

“Yes,” she breathes. “I won’t run again.”

He nods in kind, accepting her answer and tosses another log on the fire.

“Good.”

The flames crackle in her brief flash of consideration.

“Will I ever see my family again?” She questions, hoping.

Miraculously, he nods.

“You have my word. I’ll take you to them myself.”

“Good,” she echoes.

Together they finish the night in silence watching the flames lick at sandy logs and flitting smoke dance up, up, up into the sky until it cannot be witnessed by any living thing any longer.

Much later into the night, so much so that it could be considered morning, Lord Dagda is awoken to urgent pounding on his chamber door and only then did he notice the frantic shouting in the harbor below. They all seemed to be swarming, pointing at something in the water. Squinting in the dim light, Dagda could make out the form of long extinguished remains of a ship washing aground in these dark hours. Remains that should not have lasted this long without sinking into the depths. This was something that had seen utter horror and left only tattered flags and charred masts as a cautionary tale. He stumbled out of bed to hurriedly shrug on his robe and join the clamoring as they all gawked and rushed toward what was left of a familiar Naval ship teetering into the harbor.

a/n lol how'd you like that little shit tossed in at the end >:) also the poem featured in this chapter (because I was too lazy to write one myself) is Ode on Melancholy by John Keats stay tuned for me to put these semi-beloved children's movie characters through the absolute RINGER maybe they'll kiss who knows??

as always: thank you for reading, cuties.

#sauces' pirate au #the wanting comes in waves #butterfly bog #marianne x bog #strange magic (2015)#bog x marianne

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rivusatrap · 3 years ago

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About That Night

by @theperfectrose (iDreamOfRoses on AO3)

One night of accidental voyerism has Musa questioning everything and leading her to one night of sin with the two last people she thought she’d share a bed with and makes you (the reader) begging for more. Musa/Riven + Beatrix/Riven + Beatrix/Musa | Explicit | 8428 words (So far)

Favorite Quote: "What do you need baby?" Bea's sultry voice went through her ears, while Riven [redacted because its very NSFW ;)]

If you like smut, threesomes, canon-complient fics and settings, you’ll like this fic!

READ IT HERE

Why don’t we end the Rivusa vs Riventrix battle with just having the three of them together? That’s what Iva did to me with this fic of hers.

It comes as no surprise I am a Rivusa shipper, and this blog is dedicated to this ship, so I thought maybe it would be a good idea to share some of my favorite Rivusa fics with yall- especially since a few people have asked me to in asks, I’m one of those people with very short memory and I may love a fic to death and then forget about it some time later only to come across it again and love it again. So while I was scratching my head trying to come up with a list of fics I’ve read I thought why not post them one by one, where I can fully talk about them in detail without having to scram it all up in one sentence.

Which better to start than the most recent one I read?

I was minding my business at work when I saw my dear friend Iva had posted “About that night” the day before, and reading the description intrigued me. I love Rivusa to death and I’m not a huge fan of Riventrix but the three of them togethere sounded... Interesting. So, being a fan of danger, I decided to open this (very) NSFW fic at work.

And oh boy.

This fic is HOT.

I’ve written with Iva before, when she helped me finish my fic “Thin Walls”, so her writing ability isn’t a surprise to me- she’s an amazing writer!. But in this, altough very unlikely a threesome between them would happen, she sets the scene so well it does seem possible this situation could have happened in canon.

The characters lines are very in character, I could picture them as I read. And the smut scenes- oof! So well described!

So if you’re looking for a wild night ;) go read her fic!

Even if you’re more of a Rivusa fan than a Riventrix fan. Or if you’re more of a Riventrixer than a Rivuser (should we call us/them that?) I think you’re gonna like it.

(Also, I’m bullying Iva into turning this into a multichap so stay tuned!!)

#rivusatrapficrec #ficrec #rivusaficrec #rivusa #ftws #winxsource #fate the winx saga #fate: the winx saga #riventrix #rivusatrix #rivusa ficrec

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littlepadika · 4 years ago

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Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

#frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #frankie morales x y/n #catfish morales #calling home series #i would die for frankie #frankie morales has a sexy voice #daddy!frankie

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regenderate-fic · 2 years ago

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Lights in the Window

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Sally Salter, Patrice Okereke, Mook Jayasundera Rating: General Series: Eight Nights of DoctorRose (link goes to ao3 page) Word Count: 1,432 Other Tags: Hanukkah, Holidays

Read on AO3

Summary: The Doctor doesn't do domestics. Rose gets him to come to her friend's Hanukkah celebration anyway.

NOTES: happy third night of doctorrose!! all rose's friends (sally, mook, patrice) are members of mickey's band in the rose novelization and feature in audio material (sally is mentioned in dw redacted and parallel universe mook and patrice are speaking characters in the dimension cannon audio titled "the last party on earth") so that's where i'm drawing from for that. i love the idea that rose and mickey have this friend group full of lgbt people 😌

full disclosure no one committed to writing tomorrow's fic (it's supposed to be tenrose and donna) so if we skip a day. shhhhh. i'm going to try to write something small though

“C’mon! It’ll be fun.” Rose was tugging at the Doctor’s arm, pulling him away from the TARDIS console. “Everyone’s dying to meet you.”

“Let ‘em,” the Doctor said, trying his absolute hardest to turn back to the console.

“Oh, don't be stupid,” Rose said. “You'll love them. Promise.”

The Doctor turned back to her. “Told you. Don't do domestics.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I told you. This isn't domestics. It's just a holiday with my friends. Or don't you do friends?”

“I've got you,” the Doctor replied. “How many more do I need?”

Rose counted on her fingers. “At least five,” she said. “Not counting Mickey.”

“Oh, Mickey’s going to be there?”

“Oi, be nice.” Rose shoved at the Doctor. “It's just for an evening, and then you can go back to being all sulky in your box, all right?”

The Doctor lifted his hand to tangle his fingers with Rose’s, and Rose grinned. She’d gotten him.

“Fine,” he said. “Just the one night, though. I know how these holidays go.”

“Don’t worry,” Rose replied. “We’ve never done every night with Sally. Just the one. ‘Cause she was tired of celebrating Christmas.” She raised her eyebrows. “Which is something you and her will have in common!”

The Doctor glowered.

They showed up at Mickey’s flat half an hour late. As they approached, Rose rolled her eyes and said, “Some time machine you’ve got.”

“Oi, at least it’s the right year,” the Doctor protested.

“Yeah, but you would've landed us in the middle of the Thames if I hadn't been paying attention.” Rose banged on the door. “Oi, it's me! Open up!”

It was Patrice who opened the door. He grinned to see Rose.

“Well, if it isn't our own Rose Tyler!”

Before Rose could respond, she heard Sally’s voice from inside the flat, calling, “Is that Rose? Tell her to get in here so we can light the candles.”

“Coming,” Rose called. She stepped across the threshold, pulling the Doctor with her. They followed Patrice into the living room, where everyone was gathered around the menorah on the coffee table: Patrice dropped into a too-small armchair with Mook, and Sally was kneeling on the ground between the armchair and the sofa. Mickey was on the sofa. He moved over to make room for Rose and the Doctor to sit.

“About time you showed up,” he said to Rose.

Rose glanced at the Doctor. “That's what I said.”

“I do my best, all right?” The Doctor crossed his arms. “Anyway, we got here in the end.”

“And we're glad you did,” Sally said. “It's not a real No Hot Ashes Hanukkah without Rose Tyler.”

Rose laughed. “So let's get on with it, then.”

“Right. Rose, has your friend done this before?”

“Not the way we do it,” Rose said with a grin.

Everyone laughed.

Rose nudged the Doctor. “Actually, have you done this?”

He stared at her. “Rose, I'm nine hundred years old. I was at the original.”

Sally was looking at them curiously, but Rose just rolled her eyes. “No need to brag.” She nodded at Sally. “Go ahead. He’ll be fine.”

“Right, everybody,” Sally said, straightening up. “We're looking at three candles tonight. Sing along if you know the words.” She began to sing the first blessing. Rose remembered about half the words from previous years, and she filled them in where she could: mostly she liked hearing Sally’s voice mingling with the others’, all coming together in the prayer.

Everyone was quiet when the blessings ended, watching as Sally lit the candle in the center of the menorah and touched the flame to the first candle, the second, the third, each flickering to life in turn. With the candles lit, Sally sat back again and broke into song. Rose didn't remember any of this one, but to her surprise the Doctor did. He was singing along quietly, his low voice mixing with the others’. Rose tried not to stare. He had a nice voice, Rose realized— she wasn’t sure she’d really heard him sing before, but he sang like he did everything else, with a consistency bordering on gentle. (Of course, if she called him gentle to his face, she was sure he’d protest, but it was true. He was always gentle, when it counted.) Rose closed her eyes, listening to her friends’ voices, feeling the warmth that came with a room full of people singing in the candles’ glow.

“All right!” Patrice hooted, the second there was silence. “Now we can get the party started!” He leapt off the chair and went into the kitchen. Mook followed half a step behind, and the both of them came back a minute later, Mook with a plate full of latkes in one hand and a tub of sour cream in the other, Patrice with a bottle of cheap vodka and a handful of shot glasses. Rose groaned.

“Don’t start with that again,” she said. “Thought we learned from last year.”

“What happened last year?” the Doctor asked.

“Patrice made dreidel into a drinking game. Lots of fun, until Sally started dancing on the table and knocked over the menorah,” Mickey explained.

“And the rest of us were too drunk to do anything about it,” Rose added. “Would’ve burned down the flat, if Mook hadn’t smothered the fire with a blanket.”

“Was one of my favorite blankets, too,” Mickey said.

“Oh, come on,” Patrice said. “We’ll just make a rule.” He gestured towards the menorah. “Everyone stay off the table.”

“Or we could put the menorah somewhere else,” Sally added. “When I was a kid we always put it in the window. ‘Cause we’re supposed to broadcast the whole ‘miracle’ thing.”

“Pretty sure you’ve done your part just by having us over,” Mook pointed out.

“Does it count if we already knew about the miracle?” Patrice asked.

“I think it does,” Sally decided. “But the window’s better anyway.” She picked up the menorah, carefully balancing the candles, and moved it over to the windowsill. “All right,” she said, moving back towards the coffee table. “Now we can start the party.”

For all Rose had protested the alcohol, she had to admit the party was fun. Patrice did manage to convince everyone to play his drinking game, and Rose found herself losing badly, becoming tipsier and tipsier as the night went on. The Doctor seemed to be loosening up a bit, sitting on the floor next to Rose, laughing when she got particularly slap-happy and started tossing the dreidel in the air instead of spinning it.

“Try this,” he said, picking up the dreidel by its stem and twisting his fingers as he dropped it. It landed perfectly, still upright, and spun for at least another ten seconds before it dropped.

“Show-off,” Rose scoffed.

“No, really, try,” the Doctor said, passing the dreidel back to her.

“Thought it was my turn,” Mickey protested.

“You’ll have it in a minute,” Rose said. She held up the dreidel like the Doctor had, trying to mimic his motion as she dropped it. It fell over. Rose shrugged. “Oh, well. Worth a try.” She tossed the dreidel over to Mickey. “All yours.”

The Doctor, meanwhile, had taken off his leather jacket. Rose eyed his arms, still covered by the burgundy jumper— there was something so soft about him, with his defenses down like this. She couldn’t quite put words to how it made her feel. Instead of trying, she picked up the jacket and pulled it over her own shoulders, sticking her arms through the sleeves. She looked down at herself and giggled.

“Look, I’m the Doctor,” she laughed, sticking her hands in the pockets.

“You’re drunk, is what you are,” the Doctor said, brushing a hand across her hair.

Rose grinned, leaning into him. “I’m the Doctor,” she repeated, lowering her voice. “And I’ve got a time machine, and a sonic screwdriver, and I think I’m so impressive.”

“If you’re quite finished—”

Rose laughed. She watched as Patrice spun the dreidel, and then laughed again when it landed on shin and he had to push his last piece of gelt into the circle. He tipped a shot into his mouth, and then spread his arms and said, “Okay, who’s gonna invest in me?”

Mook rolled his eyes and tossed two pieces in front of him. “But that’s the last time,” he said.

“That’s all I need,” Patrice promised.

It was a few more rounds before Rose, too, was out of gelt— but instead of asking for “investments,” she just leaned against the Doctor, watching the others play. It was only another half hour before the game devolved into a lighthearted argument between Sally and Patrice, anyway, and then only fifteen minutes before Mook tugged at Patrice’s arm and said, “Getting a bit late, isn’t it?” Everyone said their goodbyes, and then Rose and the Doctor were walking back to the TARDIS, Rose still wearing the Doctor’s jacket.

“You had fun,” she teased, stumbling against him.

“You’re drunk,” he told her again.

“Yeah, and?” Rose giggled. “You still had fun. I saw you.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her up. “Nope,” he said. “It was domestic. I don’t do domestics.”

Rose just laughed harder, and the Doctor seemed to soften even more as he helped her into the TARDIS.

“All right,” he said, guiding her to the jumpseat. “Fine. I didn’t hate it.”

“Told you!” Rose crowed.

The Doctor gave her a look as he moved to the console. A flick of a lever and a press of a button later, he went back over to Rose, pulling her to her feet.

“All right, Rose Tyler,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

Rose sighed against his jumper. “Okay,” she said. She let him lead her through the corridors to her room. When they got there, she turned, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thanks for coming with me,” she breathed. “Means a lot.”

“Anything for you,” the Doctor said, and it sounded like a joke, but for one exhilarating second, Rose let herself believe it.

#fanfiction #my fic #doctor who #ninerose #doctorrose #ninth doctor x rose tyler #doctor x rose #mickey smith #sally salter #patrice okereke #mook jayasundera #eight nights of doctorrose #did not INTEND to put the word 'light' in each of my hanukkah fic titles but in my defense. it is kind of about light. as a holiday #maybe i just like the symbolism.#short

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 3 years ago

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My Thoughts About High Guardian Spice And Other Stuff...(Toxic-Feminism Sucks)

[No One Has To Read This If They Don’t Want To, Just Need To Get Some Thoughts and Feelings Out....]

I like the show so far, and I am a bit new to it.

but it seems that one of the writers is a Toxic-Feminist. yes I can agree that some men are jerks, and well so are some women....

they can be just as much as jerks as some of men can be.

my being Semi-Misanthrope, included the Toxic-Women too, Not Just Toxic-Men.

even if there may be some good in the show's Season 1 so far,

but if there are some things that need to be improved, then we can hope it is.

Positive-Feminine is important, plus the whole Feminine, Masculine energies is part of who all of us are, even the Androgynous energy too.

Positive-Masculine energy is important too, it isn't just some Men that can be bad, some Women can be too, and it even showed on The Simpsons, where Bart tried to befriend those Toxic-Feminist Brats.

if the show does have some bad stuff in it, it is possible it can be worked out and given a balance of Feminine, Masculine and Androgynous energies to them.

plus the whole three of those energies, don't always have to do with the binary or biological.

also Anime can come from anywhere in the world, not just from one place.... it's possible that the positive side of the show, is being over-shadowed by the negative side. one of the positive sides to the show, is the marriage between Anise & Aloe, a Human and Elf.

I don't know if there is Nonbinary in the show, but I hope there is or if there isn't at the moment, I hope there will be.

also they need to make sure to do a Fair Use Reference, and make sure it's okay with those who had worked on the series that they are referencing.

it's like, if you write a fan fic, with Ice King in the refrigerator, then some time later in one of the episodes of show has a scene where Ice King is in the refrigerator. that could be a reference to a fan's fan fic or a fan may accidentally predicted what Ice King would end up doing in the future in Adventure Time.....did that happen in Adventure Time, in the canon...?

I will need to watch all the episodes of High Guardian Spice, to look out for any of the negative bad stuff in it, and if the show does have a Toxic-Feminist problem, then it needs to be fixed to make it have Positive-Feminine, it could have some toxic-men and toxic-women be told off and given a glare by others, maybe to show that their toxic views on others for being different, isn't okay.

plus some stuff that put up in videos about the show, could be just made up while the other half being true....

one of the positive sides to the show, is that Snap and Caraway are being true to themselves.

not everyone can be openly true to themself, because of their family....

I can’t tell them I’m Gray-Asexual.

also my view of Toxic-Feminist is like this....

"I don't care about your Stupid Toxic-Feminist Kingdom."

"And T.F. I'm So Over It."

I love the song "Woke Up", and it seems to fit the feelings...just replacing the words "Candy" with Toxic-Feminist and "P.B." with "T.F."

it might be for the best that Raye Rodriguez, does something about [Redacted]....and their Toxic-Feminism.....and if it’s more than one Toxic-Feminist, I hope they do something about it.

being told to "Smile" when my family wants to take a picture of me, sounds a little bit more nice compared to what I had just learned about whats going on.

I should only smile, if it is what I want, and not be told to by my family....plus I can't help but think I may have developed Bipolar Depression, but I'm not 100% sure...my pendulum did give a Yes when I asked if I have Bipolar Depression, I mean, yeah I didn't feel all that great yesterday, but I might of just been having one of those days...

but I'm feeling okay now, and at times it feels like no one at home gives me enough space at time when I need it, or understand the reason why I don't clean my room right away,might have to do with how I'm feeling, and they shouldn't pull something to get me to clean it, and I freaking regret cleaning my room and leaving my guard down....

if I knew some of the stuff that happen was going to happen, I would of made sure to keep it from happening in the first place.

I just need to try not to think about it, even if it is just a another thing that ended up hurting me, and making me wish I could go to another dimension for a little vacation every once in a while, just to escape.

I still need to watch more of the seasons of Steven Universe, I know the problems that Steven was having in Steven Universe Future, wasn't first in that show, but was from the Original series....the boiling point just happen in Steven Universe Future....

we all get to the point where we end up not being able to pretend that everything is okay, and Steven might of did that a lot in the Original series... so I like the Steven Universe Future, so do a lot of other fans who like both the Original series, The Movie and Steven Universe Future.

and those who watched Steven Universe Future, and saw the episode where Steven had finally saw a Doctor (that Doctor Being Connie's Mom.)

the flashbacks seen in that episode that came from the Original series, shows that the problems that Steven was having, didn't start in Future, but started in the Original series.

not everyone has to like Steven Universe Future, but they need to understand

that Steven was going fully break at some point after the stuff he went through in the original series.

I don’t know how many fans figured it out, that the problems that Steven was going through in Future, was really not started there, but in the original series...

what happens in Future, is just Steven reaching the breaking point where he is no longer to hide how bad it has gotten for him.

some of the dislike for High Guardian Spice, like the Art Style, might be not as bad as the whole Toxic-Feminism thing....Toxic-Women & Toxic-Men are the worse, they give a bad name to the good ones around the world.

I see no problem with the art style, not all art styles will be the same.

just like how some Anime will be from different places in the world, and not just from one place that everyone is use to thinking it being the only known place that creates anime.

I want to try to give High Guardian Spice a Chance, and maybe see if any of the trash-talk about it, proves to be right or not.

I know not everyone will agree about what I just talked about in this....

but I know Toxic-Feminism isn’t okay, and they can take things too far...

at least when one of the characters from Moxie Movie, was almost fully corrupted by the dark side of that Toxic-Feminism....she was brought out of it by one of the girls who asked for help because of a Toxic-Boy....

even if there are some who can be brought out from the Toxic-Feminism, there is some you can’t fully make understand that they are being just as bad as some of the Toxic-Men who have not only had a hand in dethroning the Goddess around 2000 to 3000 BCE...

we know it has taken time for Femininity to be given the full proper respect.

there are some men who aren’t jerks, and are in touch with their femininity, which is a good thing just like how some women are in touch with their masculinity.

I know this is weird thought, but I can’t help but think BCE

could stand for Before Colonization of Earth....I guess that is a weird thing to think about....but then there is the theory about the whole one half of the human race being born from Clay and the other half being Primates,

plus if the Humans (Not Our Clay-Human Ancestors) back many generations ago, were genetically altered by some Anunnaki, then they could of did the same for the other species, and it wouldn’t just be the Homo-sapiens in the Primate Family that would be the only Humans.

not everyone has to agree about it.

some theories about how humans came to be, like the scientific and spiritual way, can be like a puzzle that just needs to be put together.

not all theories have to be right, and that’s okay.

anyway like I said, I’m gonna try to give High Guardian Spice a chance.

don’t know if they have done anything about the Toxic-Feminism already or not, but I guess I can try to look it up and see if there is any changes.

just gonna hope things are worked out....anyway that is all about this...

#toxic feminism #high guardian spice #talking about feelings

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hopskipaway · 4 years ago

Note

for the ask think you just reblogged - i have to ask murven

01. when i started shipping it if i did.

i can’t remember when i went from thinking “oh… this is a cute ship” to really shipping them. i have always liked them but in between seasons six and seven i started to love them (which is funny since they didn’t exactly have a lot going on in canon in season six). i think it was just a combination of all the amazing fan content for them, and disinterest in other ships on the show that i had enjoyed too. i honestly pretty much singularly ship them at this point (but, i do enjoy fan content for other ships).

02. my thoughts.

my “otp” or whatever lmao. i just think they made so much sense and would be sooo good together. it’s enemies to friends to lovers done RIGHT. they are such similar people, at their core but are also different enough to challenge each other when it comes down to it. i feel like they push each other to be better and different people, they had such a respect for one another and it was clear there was love there. i think they are the best for each other.

03. what makes me happy about them.

literally just them existing (or not existing as is the case with fictional characters). watching clips of them interacting in canon, reading fanfiction or seeing fanart just makes me happy — and is that not all you want out of a ship? i just am happy to live in my own bubble and pretend they’re canon. i don’t even know what else to say… it’s just them.

04. what makes me sad about them.

in canon? uh just that they were often shoved into different storylines and they didn’t get to interact a ton. also that we didn’t get to see any of the ring flashbacks and see them develop further (even if i am happy with their development). then, i am also sad about them in fandom. i’m not sure why, but for some reason the remaining fandom (or at least on twitter) has decided that it’s a bad relationship and will often be rude about it just because they seem more “platonic”. don’t even get me started on the people who try to say how “toxic” it is, as if all the other ships on this show are sooo healthy.

05. things done in fanfic that annoys me.

i can’t say that anything in murven specific fanfic annoys me enough to point it out, however there is a more general tagging issue that irritates me. this is something that doesn’t just affect murven, but since i read them the most it’s become a little pet peeve for me regarding them. two ways it can go wrong: 1) you tag them as a main pairing when it should be indicated they are a background ship. 2) you don’t tag them at all— so i would either not even read the fic and miss out (OR) i could read a fic that seems interesting and boom… my notp(s).

06. things i look for in fanfic.

anythinggg… for it to exist. for people to continue writing for them (this is a self call out also). really just fanfic. there is not enough fanfic of them to afford me to be picky about it; espcially not main pairing murven fanfic. ALL murven fic is good fic.

07. who i would be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other.

this is a hard one because, like i said, i don’t really multi-ship as much anymore… although i always thought that luna would have been so good with raven. shaw was also decent, even if i didn’t really find them to be very interesting in canon… (it was too fast for me) he was still a decent match. when it comes to murphy it’s even tougher. i often feel like he was the writer’s punching bag so it’s hard to think of who he could end up with who i think treated him well (consistently). maybe bellamy, if we reworked things a bit? i guess we’d have to for raven anyways… since… they’re dead… poor raven she needed a s.o. who wouldn’t ever die… cough… a cockroach person maybe…

08. my happily ever after for them.

i am already pretty happy that the show ended in a way that i can think of a happily ever after— but basically just them getting together post canon. [redacted] breaks up, probably in a similar way to when they were on the ring because that wasn’t resolved at all. raven and murphy would become a couple naturally and comfortably— like they just fit together. they’d spend their days making each other happy, cuddling with picasso, and exploring the universe with the anomaly stones. luckily, as i said, it’s so open ended that this is just canon in my brain. you cannot tell me otherwise, sorry. <3

09. who is the big spoon/little spoon.

i think they’d alternate— but murphy would most often be the big spoon and raven the little spoon. raven i feel likes to act strong all the time, so her being the little spoon is her time to just be taken care of and vulnerable, and murphy always makes sure that it’s comfortable with her leg. if murphy is having a bad day then raven will let him be the little spoon and whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

10. what is their favorite non-sexual activity.

is it cheesy to say playing soccer? that is one that can be canon or modern au. otherwise, in canon i can see them liking to swim in the lakes and rivers and wherever else they can find. in a modern au, i think they’d really be into playing games. board or video… i can see them being into cooking as well.

#ask game #thank you!#as always sorry this is long!#i have no filter for them!#lmao #murven

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satendou · 5 years ago

Text

⟶ sympathy vs empathy

⍣ 365 days of sun series | next

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: iwaizumi/reader/oikawa

⇢ au: 365!au, poly!au, college!au, pro!oikawa

⇢ summary: after a close game and a closer loss, you learn the difference between empathy and sympathy the hard way

⇥ masterlist

⇥ requests are open! | rules

⇢ warnings: smut, established relationship, threesome, polyamory, swearing, mild daddy kink, semi-public sex, spitroasting, deep throating, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

⇢ word count: 3.7k

⇢ an: so this is my first fic for the hq fandom. essentially i am leading with my [redacted]. i hope you enjoy! my fic was beta read by the absolutely amazing @keijiskitten whom I love dearly. she writes for hq as well, so go check her out!

There was a moment of silence in the split second after the ball hit the floor, the whole stadium seeming to freeze in time. The scoreboard read 37-35, but the players on the court stood staring at the ball rolling towards the wall. Oikawa lay splayed out on the floor, Iwaizumi and the libero whose name you couldn’t remember around him in similar positions. Shock was evident on their faces; even from the stands, you could read the myriad of emotions that flashed across their faces. Disbelief, followed by acceptance as their defeat registered, the anger, the resignation, and the regret all mixing in with it as their shoulders slumped in.

They accepted their defeat as gracefully as they could, thanking everyone for coming and smiling, but the blank stares and subtle wiping of their eyes as they took their walk of shame made your heart thump painfully in your throat. Your gaze flicked back and forth from Tooru to Hajime, unable to decide who you wanted to linger on.

Without really paying attention to what you were doing-- and probably stepping on a few toes-- you excused yourself, making your way out into the aisle. The throngs of people slowed your rush towards the locker rooms, most going in the opposite direction so that by the time you made it to their locker room, the team was just starting to stream out. Upon recognizing you, slightly out of breath and worried, they pointed towards the door, telling you that Oikawa and Iwaizumi were going to be out shortly. As they walked away, they let you know they were going to go and watch the last match of the day before you were finally alone.

You all knew what that meant. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were taking the loss the hardest, as they always did. They were the leaders of the team and losing meant that they had failed.

With a sigh, you pushed the door open and poked your head in, bracing yourself for the worst. Most of the lights were off, and the two men were sitting at opposite ends of the bench in the far corner of the room.

Iwaizumi was staring blankly at the wall, his hands curled into fists on his knees, his nails surely biting into his palm. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his teeth digging lol into his bottom lip as he fought not to let them fall and he shut them before they could.

Oikawa was hunched over, towel still over his head and his hands to his face. Though you couldn’t see, you were sure his state was no better.

Neither flinched until the door clicked shut behind you, both whipping around and ready to bite whoever’s head off until they saw it was you. All the air seemed to leave them when they realized, and it was like they deflated. Iwaizumi scrubbed his face with his hands, heaving a sigh as Oikawa returned to his previous prone position. Your heart hurt to see them like that and it never got easier.

Skimming your hand over Iwaizumi’s broad shoulders as you passed him, you knelt in front of Oikawa and took his hands in yours. The skin was rough and worn but warm-- and damp. You looked up, expecting to see fresh tear tracks on his cheeks, but they were dry. Scrubbed red, but dry.

And he was staring at you with a deadened expression.

What sounded like shuffling distracted you and a glance at Iwaizumi confirmed he had moved closer, reaching out to you. Your gaze did nothing to stop him and he brushed a strand of hair off of your forehead.

Your throat was sore with your own unshed tears, feeling their pain like it was your own. Every win was important to them, but the semi-finals were...well they were special. The championship had seemed so far off until they lost and they realized it was in their grasp.

With a hoarse voice, you whispered, “I-- I’m sorry, you guys. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You felt Iwaizumi’s gentle touch on your cheek, but your eyes were locked on Oikawa.

As the words left your lips, his eyes had narrowed, a fire lighting in them and forcing a shiver down your spine. You were suspicious of it, like it was familiar yet not. It was like a harder version of the bedroom eyes he’d give you just before tackling you to the bed.

Fingers threaded in your hair, and you belatedly realized they were Oikawa’s. They tugged you closer and you shuffled forward, until you were knelt between his thighs. The sharpness in his eyes had subsided, leaving only that new, suspicious look in them.

“Tooru--” Iwaizumi warned, glancing at the door. He had vaguely recognized the look Oikawa was wearing too and took it at face value. Anyone could walk in, and Iwaizumi didn’t like the idea of getting caught by a referee-- or worse, the coach. The warning tone of his voice and the click of the lock fell on deaf ears as Oikawa continued to stare you down.

“Do you mean it, _____? You’ll do anything to make us feel better?” he asked, dangerously low and just above a whisper. The fingers curled in your hair tightened a fraction and you gulped as you realized the fire was exactly what you thought it was.

Iwaizumi cut in before you could answer, the last voice of reason, even though he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stop. “You can say no, _____. This can wait until we get home.”

Both men paused, staring down at you, perched on your knees with your pretty mouth parted in surprise. They followed the way your tongue poked out and wetted your lips and your teeth dug into the bottom one. And both men thought about the way they would feel wrapped around their aching cocks, doing anything to help them feel better.

That thought alone, the mere mental image it conjured up, made them hard in an instant, straining against the fabric of their uniform shorts. They were already borderline too tight, and weren’t meant to hold a raging erection.

Iwaizumi fidgeted on the bench, feeling a little awkward, but Oikawa openly adjusted his shorts, drawing your gaze down for just a moment. Your mouth watered at the obvious outline pressing through, aching to skim your fingers along it as you had so many times before.

“I mean it, Tooru. Anything,” you whispered, just a bare breath of words. There was something sexy about the way you watched him, drinking in every small movement with an enraptured expression. You couldn’t have been more obvious if you had been trying, and he found it adorable Oikawa’s fingers tightened, silently telling you to stay as he tugged his shorts and boxers down with one hand. They slid down his muscular legs, pooling at his ankles and he led you forward with the pressure.

He tugged at the zipper of your jacket, the only sound besides your heavy breathing in the otherwise silent locker room. The sound of metal hitting the tiled floor made a small tink before it was forgotten, your t-shirt doing little to protect you from the moderate chill in the room.

Goosebumps rippled up your arms, and then Iwaizumi’s arms were around you, his hands rubbing up and down to warm you up again. It worked, you realizing that you were now sandwiched between your partners and that it was really going to happen. Your heart fell from your chest into your stomach, thumping away with nervous anticipation, butterflies spreading outward.

Oikawa groaned low in his throat as your soft, small hand wrapped around him and pumped, watching precum bead at the tip. Iwaizumi’s breath fanned across your neck, followed by his lips nipping and trailing their way up and over your pleasure spots. Your back curved, a shiver passing down your spine and your lips parting.

Your hand tightened around Oikawa and his hips jumped, a hissed curse leaving his lips at the electric pleasure it brought. He wanted more of that, precum now drooling down his shaft and easing the way for your hand to move faster. Iwaizumi tilted your head around to cover your lips with his, his tongue sliding past your lips to taste you.

“Hajime,” Oikawa bit out, glaring at the other man, “wait your turn.”

Iwaizumi chuckled as he pulled away, gazing fondly at your now swollen and parted lips. It was only just the beginning, and he ached to see it. Your eyes were glazed over, half-lidded and you went willingly when Oikawa pulled you back, Iwaizumi’s rough hands sliding up your back under your shirt.

He brought your lips right to his cock, tilting your head back just enough so that he could look you in the eye. There was playful glint underneath the needy lust, and it made him smirk, knowing you got off on this just as much as him. Taking his shaft in his free hand, he smeared precum all over your lips, making them nice and shiny. “You made a promise, _____. You’re going to keep it, right? Let me cum down that tight throat and I’ll feel much better.”

Iwaizumi scoffed behind you, his calloused fingers sneaking further up under your shirt while you focused on Oikawa. Already he could feel your breathing deepen, and he was sure you were wet beneath the jeans that you were wearing. He fiddled with the clasp of your bra for a moment before it came loose, letting your breasts free. He was quick to reach around, palming and kneading, nipples already hard and you mewled as you lapped at Oikawa’s cock.

Oikawa watched Iwaizumi groped you underneath your shirt for a moment before deciding he needed to see. His fingers finally came free of your hair only to tug roughly at your top, pulling it over your head. Looking at the door for the first time, he asked Iwaizumi, “You did lock it, right?”

Iwa blinked, shaking his head in exasperation at his captain, though he never stopped rolling your nipples between his fingers, enjoying the way you pushed into his hands for more. In typical Oikawa fashion, he only worried about the details after he’d made his decision, but one look down at you chased that annoyance away. It was usually Oikawa that got you into messes like this, not that you really discouraged him, and Iwaizumi usually got dragged along for the ride. He was almost always met with a reward, though, he thought with a smirk.

As soon as your head was free of your shirt, you returned to Oikawa, wetting your lips as you skimmed your lips in light kisses down the underside of his shaft.

Oh, if that doesn’t feel good, he thought, letting his head fall back. He found purchase on the bench and leaned back, closing his eyes as your mouth worked every sensitive pleasure point it could find. You knew him so well, knew exactly where to kiss, to squeeze, and to lick, making him feel lightheaded with pleasure. The feel of your lips parting around his tip caused him to sigh, pushing his cock further into your warm, inviting mouth.

Looking down once more, he admired the light reflecting off your hand, slick with your own spit as you twisted it, working it up and down where your mouth couldn’t quite reach yet. Tangling his fingers in your hair once more, he pushed, wanting to hear more of the wet sounds your mouth made as you swallowed him down. You tensed up as he reached the back of your throat, trying not to gag and he pulled back, allowing you a short breath before gently forcing you down again. He knew how far he could push you, unwilling to hurt you but determined to have your lips wrapped around the base of his throbbing cock when he came, and the intensity of the situation assured him it wouldn’t take long.

While Oikawa worked your throat open for himself, Iwaizumi contented himself by pinching your nipples one last time before moving on. Oikawa might like cumming down your throat, but Iwaizumi had better plans.

Fingering the button of your jeans, they came undone along with your fly. The angle was awkward, and Oikawa muttered in aggravation as he took your attention from him, but Iwaizumi was determined to get your jeans down to your knees, at least.

While he worked on that, Oikawa contented himself with just sitting with his cock halfway down your throat, feeling your muscles constrict around him while your tongue lapped at the prominent vein on the underside.

“That feels so good, babygirl. Don’t stop,” he moaned, sliding just a little further into your throat. He knew you could take it, needed you to take it. Your nails dug into his thighs, bracing yourself while you let him take what he wanted, and he was so grateful to you for it.

Forcing yourself to relax, you took him further, truly into your throat now as your nose buried in the brown curls at the base of his shaft. As he felt your hot breath fan, tickling the coarse curls, he groaned, the sound echoing in the tiled room. Twitching, he pulled back and thrust again, repeating the motion until the slick sound of him fucking your mouth filled the room.

Tears filled your eyes and you closed them, focusing on breathing and the feel of Iwaizumi’s fingers on your slick clit behind you. You trembled as one dipped into you before retreating.

“Shit, Tooru, she’s so fuckin’ wet,” he said, almost in awe. Oikawa smirked at his words, staring down at you from between his bangs, his perfectly coiffed hair falling apart as the heat in the room built.

“Is that right? Does sucking my cock turn you on, princess? I wanna taste you,” he said, and your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought of his tongue on you.

Iwaizumi was quick to deliver, allowing Oikawa to wrap his lips around his fingers, lapping at the rough pads and nipping the tip of his middle finger as he pulled back. He made a show of savoring your taste, licking his lips in an exaggerated manner and moaning.

You fought back a moan as Iwaizumi’s thick fingers slid back into your tight heat, your slick folds offering no resistance, his thumb circling your clit. Even just those two gave you a pleasurable stretch, and you would never get tired of the feel of his rough hands running all over your body as he pleasured you. It felt like everything he did-- even when he punished you-- was done with some level of reverence. You fluttered around him when he plucked a nipple, as if to prove your point.

Oikawa must have felt it anyway, or perhaps it was the way your throat spasmed around him as you tried to hold back, because he jerked once and forced you all the way down, your nose in his curls once again.

He pulsed once, twice, three times, shooting hot cum right down your throat and you couldn’t fight the moan this time as he milked himself off in your mouth. When he finally let you pull away, his face was right there, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before wiping at the drool there. You were beyond caring though, moaning against his lips as Iwaizumi fit a third finger inside you, your fingers curling tighter and nails digging harder into Oikawa’s thighs. There was no room for thoughts beyond Iwa and Oikawa, not even for worry about your current location.

He wasn’t even doing it to you, but you were giving him such a pleading, needy look that he wished he was. Cupping your face in his hands, he kissed you desperately, his tongue delving into your mouth, swallowing your moans as heat coursed through you. He almost groaned as he tasted his release on your tongue, a sense of satisfaction sweeping through him because of it.

Deeming you ready, Iwaizumi withdrew his fingers, and locked eyes with Oikawa over your back. They seemed to egg him on and he grinned, just a little uptick of his lips that Oikawa immediately locked onto. There was some rush of amusement as he drew one finger, then the next, then the last into his mouth, tasting your on his fingers in a show that outshined Oikawa’s. And Iwaizumi knew he enjoyed it, watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, his tongue sweep across his lips before looking at him again.

Iwaizumi positioned himself at your entrance, spreading your slick all over the head of his cock and mixing it with his own precum. You trembled under his hands, listening to the slick sounds his fist made as he used it as lube and arched your back further, begging him without words.

Oikawa dragged your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly as he pulled away. Now that he was satisfied, he was feeling much more relaxed, watching you squirm in Iwa’s hands as he teased you. “What do we say, princess?”

“I want your cock, daddy, please!” you instantly moaned against Oikawa’s lips, your eyes fluttering as you felt his cock slide into your tight hole. Too needy, too desperate, you didn’t want to play, not with the clock ticking on your hiding spot. “God yes, that--”

You choked on a whine as he bottomed out, grinding his hips against your ass to go as deep as possible. You might have stopped breathing, you weren’t sure. White flickered in your brain at the incredible stretch, friction against your clit sending shocks of pleasure to your toes.

“You’re so tight,” Iwaizumi growled, pulling out and slamming back into you, desperate to feel your soaking cunt cum around him, “so wet for us. You get off on sucking his cock, princess?”

But your mouth was occupied, Oikawa’s tongue halfway down your throat again. He could still taste the remnants of his cum on your tongue, underneath the normal sweet taste of your mouth.

Iwaizumi got his answer loud and clear though, when you clenched down tight around his cock as he thrust into you, hips slamming into yours. The utterly filthy sounds your pussy made as he pounded your tight hole filled the room, spurring him on faster. You squeezed tight around him, like you were trying to suck him back in and he didn’t deny you, chasing his own pleasure as your walls fluttered.

His rhythm stuttered when something brushed against his shaft, looking up to see Oikawa staring at him with a devious grin.

“Don’t let me stop you, handsome. Just gonna give our princess a little push is all,” he said, letting his fingers ghost along Iwaizumi’s balls for a moment before circling around your slick clit.

You jumped at the sudden spike of pleasure, spiraling as Iwaizumi filled you with his cock. It caused you to squeeze tight around him, your face pressed into Oikawa’s toned stomach as you let out a stuttery moan. Mindlessly laying open mouthed kisses on every inch of skin you could reach, you were more focused on the surge of white hot heat that came up on you suddenly.

Unable to stop it, you hid your face in Oikawa’s stomach as it overwhelmed you, your back bowing and a borderline scream ripping from your lips because Iwaizumi didn’t stop, riding through your orgasm until you were a twitching, overstimulated mess and the only thing keeping you up was Oikawa’s hold.

“Haji, Haji--” you cried, looking up into Oikawa’s face as your toes curled in pleasure that bordered on painful, your cunt clenching down in a chokehold on Iwaizumi’s cock-- whether to keep him out or suck him back in you weren’t sure.

But you were given relief when he buried himself to the hilt inside of you, his fingers wrapped in a bruising grip around your hips as he came, a broken grunt escaping his lips at the tight squeeze around him. “Fuck, princess, you feel so good.”

You let your head come to rest on Oikawa’s thigh, closing your eyes as his fingers pushed your sweat soaked bangs off your forehead before combing gently through your locks, asking “Did you enjoy yourself, _____?”

You laughed lightly, still lightheaded from your orgasm and Iwaizumi’s, and nodded. It took all your strength to lift yourself out of their holds, sitting up on your knees. Taking Oikawa’s face into your hands, you planted a kiss on his lips and asked, “Did you, you pervert? Do you feel better?”

You were pulled back into a solid chest before he could answer, hands coming up to cup your tits while Iwaizumi trailed kisses up your neck to your ear. He laughed against it, nipping at the shell as he stared Oikawa down. “Of course he did. And he better, because the rest of the team will be looking for us soon if we don’t hurry.”

Oikawa didn’t look remotely abashed as he threw Iwaizumi’s shirt at him and picked up yours, handing it to you much more gently. Iwa threw his on before helping you stand, keeping you balanced while you righted your jeans. No one commented on it, but everyone was thinking about the thick creampie now pooling in your panties, and you felt yourself get wet all over again.

You finished dressing in a rush, haphazardly fixing your hair. Oikawa tried to do the same, but there was nothing for it so you could only hope the rest of the team didn’t pay enough attention when you showed back up.

Poking his head out, Iwaizumi gave you the all clear and you snuck out, giggling like teenagers sneaking around. But the two of them seemed to be in better spirits, and you certainly weren’t going to complain if you got something out of cheering them up either.

⇥ navigation

⇥ masterlist

#oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #oikawa tooru x reader x iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru x iwaizumi hajime #.sympathyvsempathy

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