#Free Personal Purpose Statements

[joetastic2739]

Statement Regarding False Claims Made Against Joetastic by Dylan/ @anyamusumesonlywife

Author: Concerned members of the Mouthwashing community, friends of Joe, and Joe himself

Introduction

This post is a joint statement written in defense of Joetastic (hereafter referred to as Joe), a creator in the Mouthwashing community, who has recently been the target of misinformation, mischaracterization, and public defamation. The accusations originate from a former collaborator, anyamusumesonlywife (hereafter referred to as Dylan), and have been circulated via a written document on Google Docs, two TikTok videos, one Tumblr post, and several word-of-mouth messages in community servers on discord.

While Joe has remained silent publicly until now, the scale and intensity of the false claims, combined with the reputational damage they have caused, make it necessary to issue a detailed and factual response. This statement reflects not only Joe's perspective, but also that of peers, colleagues, and neutral parties who have reviewed the evidence and feel compelled to clarify what truly occurred.

This document is not intended to cause harm, incite harassment, or encourage retaliation against Dylan in any form. Its sole purpose is to clarify the facts, present context, and refute the false claims that have been made about Joe. While emotions are understandably high, we ask that readers approach this with maturity and respect. This is about defending someone’s character, not attacking another’s. Any form of harassment directed toward Dylan or anyone involved is strongly discouraged and not condoned by Joe or anyone contributing to this statement.

Context & Timeline

December 26, 2024: 

Joe contacts Dylan on Discord asking permission to use their OC in a fan animation. Dylan responds enthusiastically, stating: “YOU CAN 100000% USE MY OC IN ANYTHING!! ID BE SO HONORED.”

Over the following weeks, Dylan provides detailed reference material, lore, and expresses gratitude. They never object to any creative decisions made during this period.

Joe maintains professional, transparent communication throughout. Even clarifying their pronouns so as to not misgender their OC accidentally. There is no indication of discomfort or distress from Dylan.

January 11, 2025:

Joe starts becoming increasingly uncomfortable using someone else’s OC for public-facing content. This is influenced by private feedback and the growing popularity of his work. Joe begins planning an original character, Eira, as a way to tell WLW stories while keeping personal and professional lines clearer. 

January 12, 2025: 

Dylan noticeably starts to change attitude and starts pressuring Joe

"Yeah if I paid for something I'd want it to be posted D: I don't mean to argue at all /gen I was just super looking forward to finally being seen with my Oc and thought that maybe you posting about them would get selfshipping a bit of a better representation" 

Joe talks about making the OC video for free to make it up to Dylan and labeling it as a commission in order to protect both of them over harassment regarding favoritism which Dylan agreed with and voiced no complaints.

Keep in mind that at this point, despite Joe quoting Dylan $40 for a casual model of Dylan’s OC, the transaction has not been made yet and Dylan has not paid for anything.

Dylan later tells Joe that they are in a hospital before proceeding to mention Joe abandoning Dylan’s OC again

Joe pays the $40 out of his own pocket for Dylan’s Casual OC model on Dylan’s behalf first and offers Dylan to pay him any amount for it as he feels bad and wants to make it up to them.

Dylan mentions how the model has a bigger chest which was a misunderstanding by the modeler that was cleared up quickly.

January 15, 2025: 

Dylan tells Joe that people are sending cruel messages to them because he was going to use their OC

Joe suggests to Dylan to turn off anonymous inboxes in order to stop the harassment. Dylan states that they chose not to turn it off on their other RP account and continues showing Joe the harassment Dylan has received.

Joe once again sympathizes with Dylan and makes a post telling people not to harass them on his Tumblr profile.

February 27, 2025: 

Joe debuts Eira publicly. The character receives instant fan praise, with followers eager to see more interactions between her and Anya.

March 2, 2025: 

Dylan voices being upset that their OC did not get the chance to be used by Joe.

Joe points out it’s for the best incase they mischaracterize Dylan and end up hurting Dylan’s feelings.

Joe tries to reassure Dylan again.

March 4, 2025: 

March 8, 2025: 

Dylan starts blaming Joe for harassment and taking the spotlight from sapphic people like them. Joe states that those harassing Dylan do not represent him and that he does not condone them harassing anybody. Joe once again reassures Dylan it isn’t his intent to steal attention away from anybody’s OC.

At this point, Joe began to feel that Dylan was manipulating him. Blaming him for things beyond his control and growing increasingly hostile. Though he agreed to make another Tumblr post at Dylan’s request, he hesitated, wanting first to confirm whether his suspicions about Dylan’s intentions and feelings toward him were valid.

Joe once again made it clear that it was never his intention to make anyone uncomfortable. He expressed this repeatedly, hoping to de-escalate the situation and reassure Dylan of his good faith. However, the constant accusations, shifting expectations, and increasingly tense tone from Dylan left Joe feeling emotionally drained and deeply uncomfortable continuing the conversation. Despite his efforts to resolve things respectfully, it became clear that nothing he said was enough to satisfy Dylan. After enduring repeated blame and pressure, Joe ultimately decided, for his own well-being, to stop engaging with Dylan after March 9th.

March 12, 2025: 

Despite their agreement to part ways after the free video Joe made for them, Dylan begins circulating a document on a private server framing Joe as manipulative, inconsiderate, and abusive. 

The document was then intentionally sent to the developers of Mouthwashing.

March 13, 2025: 

When Joe learned that Dylan had created a document filled with false claims and had shared it with the moderators of the Mouthwashing server, knowing it would reach the developers, he felt that a clear line had been crossed. This wasn’t just a personal dispute anymore. Iit was an attempt to damage his professional relationships and potentially jeopardize his future opportunities within a community he had contributed to. It was deeply hurtful to see someone he had once collaborated with try to turn trusted colleagues against him. 

In light of this, Joe made the decision to formally request that Dylan no longer use the free work he had created for them. He asked that all related posts be removed from Dylan’s social media, as continuing to showcase the work felt exploitative and disingenuous given the circumstances.

March 15, 2025: 

Although Dylan initially respected Joe’s request and removed the content he had worked on, they soon chose to go public with their version of events. Dylan published a Tumblr post detailing their side of the situation, painting Joe in a negative light and reigniting the narrative despite previously agreeing to take a step back. When Joe became aware of the post, he was disappointed but chose to remain silent. At the time, the post wasn’t gaining much traction, and Joe hoped that by not engaging further, the situation would deescalate. His priority was to move on quietly and avoid fueling more drama, even if it meant allowing false or misleading narratives to go unchallenged, for a while.

March 21, 2025:

Joe publicly releases a new animation featuring his characters Eira and Anya. The video shared a few thematic similarities with the earlier animation he had created for Dylan, but it was completely re-animated from the ground up.

Shortly after its release, Dylan sent Joe a direct message accusing him of stealing their animation idea. This was despite the fact that Dylan had never contributed to the production of the video in question. Not in writing, animation, direction, or execution. Furthermore, the themes Dylan claimed ownership over were not unique: they were common story beats that had appeared in Joe’s videos months before he and Dylan had ever interacted.

What made the accusation more troubling was the emotional pressure that followed. Dylan told Joe that because of this video, they had been unable to sleep, were throwing up, and feeling physically ill. The blame was placed entirely on Joe for Dylan’s emotional distress, adding yet another layer of guilt and responsibility to a situation already fraught with manipulation and false claims.

While Joe acknowledges that there are surface-level similarities between the new video featuring his OC and the animation he previously made for Dylan, it’s important to clarify that both videos were conceptualized, animated, and completed entirely by Joe himself. As the sole creator, he has every right to revisit themes, scenes, or stylistic choices from his own body of work.

March 28, 2025: 

Joe begins experiencing increased hostility, especially in the Wrong Organ server. 

Rumors originating from Dylan began circulating within the Wrong Organ Discord server. Some concerned members of the community reached out to Joe directly to inform him about what was being said.

One of these individuals, growing increasingly concerned, chose to inform Joe about what was happening. It was revealed that Dylan had also been privately messaging random members of the Wrong Organ Discord server out of the blue to talk about Joe.

According to this individual, Dylan not only reached out to people to talk about Joe, but also frequently used these conversations to vent their personal problems and frustrations. When the topic shifted away from their issues, Dylan would quickly lose interest and disengage.

March 30, 2025: 

Dylan decides to be bolder and creates 2 TikTok videos claiming Joe has been stalking and harassing them. Dylan also lies to everybody about Joe’s age and sexuality in order to make him seem more creepy, and accuses him of fetishzing lesbians. Dylan also claimed Joe purposefully shared suggestive content to minors on discord when what he did was simply share the videos he made to the Wrong Organ discord server. The Developers and Moderators have stated those videos were not suggestive and are okay to post.

Wrong Organ Discord Mod statement after Dylan started saying the Video Joe posted there was suggestive, confirming that the video would remain up and would not be removed, as it did not violate any server rules:

Confirmation from Wrong Organ themselves:

Dylan’s accusations that Joe is being creepy and fetishizing lesbians are based on out-of-context screenshots. In this example, Joe was not referring to lesbians in general, but specifically to Dylan, who is not a lesbian. The comments were a direct response to Dylan’s repeated criticisms, not a dismissal of the broader sapphic community. The framing of this exchange to suggest Joe was targeting all lesbians is intentionally misleading.

These TikToks that Dylan posted were quickly gaining traction and starting to snowball out of control. When Joe woke up to these videos, he saw that it had already gotten 20k views, 3k likes, 270 comments and 500 bookmarks with these numbers quickly increasing each minute.

In the comments of both TikTok posts, Dylan continued to spread false information and actively engaged with, and at times endorsed cruel, demeaning remarks directed at Joe.

Fearing for the safety of his reputation and watching the false rumors gain increasing traction, Joe realized that remaining silent was no longer an option. After weeks of trying to avoid conflict, it became clear that Dylan had no intention of stopping. The only way to set the record straight was to speak up. Shortly after, Joe made a public Twitter post addressing the situation:

[Tumblr only allows 30 images per post. This post will continue in a follow up]

[camille-plumb]

✞︎𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ✞︎

✮Types of Cars and sex car situation feat Itoshi Rin Itoshi Sae, Michael Kaiser, Ryusei Shidou, Yoichi Isagi, Oliver Aiku.NSFW +18

Song: Starboy by The Weeknd

"We don't pray for love, we just pray for cars"

Warning: Smut.🔞

Tags: Personality types, description, types of car sex.

✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥

➪ITOSHI SAE Car type: Bugatti Chiron

☆Sae Itoshi has an enigmatic presence that captivates everyone without saying a word. His demeanor is cold and calculating, but with a touch of mystery that makes him even more irresistible. ☆At first glance, he appears to be the calm, distant type who focuses on his career without showing emotion. However, in his gaze and the way he moves, there is a subtle, almost defiant confidence, as if he were keeping a secret only he knows. ☆That apparent calm hides an extravagant personality that is unleashed at the right moments, like when he steps on the accelerator of his Bugatti Chiron, that car that is not just a luxury, but an extension of his soul: perfect, powerful, unattainable. ☆He loves to surround himself with the best that life has to offer, but always with a personal touch that distinguishes him. His clothes, his watches, the music he listens to... everything is designed to maintain that air of mystery, as if every detail has a hidden purpose. ☆He likes to be admired, but he keeps a calculated distance, like a game only he knows how to play. Sex car situation🔥🔥🔥: -"Come on, stop complaining and suck it all off. I know you can do it. Greedy little things like you never let a drop go to waste." He grips your head tightly, forcing you to take his entire length in your mouth while he drives his Bugatti Chiron with total concentration and no flinch. "If you stain my suit, your little ass will pay the consequences."

➪MICHAEL KAISER Car type: Lamborghini Aventador S Roadste

☆ Michael Kaiser is everything a person could imagine when thinking of arrogance incarnate. His presence is not only felt, it commands attention. ☆ His attitude is not only one of confidence, but of such evident superiority that anyone around him knows they are standing before someone who believes themselves unattainable. ☆ Nothing underlines his personality more than his blue Lamborghini Aventador S Roadster, a car that not only reflects his love of ostentatiousness but also becomes an extension of his soul. Driving it is not just a luxury; it's a statement of intent. The car is his emblem: flashy, fast, luxurious, and, above all, a reflection of his worldview: he is above everyone, and nothing and no one can reach him. ☆ Despite his arrogance, he has an intellectual side that makes him even more dangerous. He is passionate about philosophy, especially the ideas of power and control. Nietzsche and Machiavelli are his favorite references, and he doesn't just read them, he lives them. ☆ He likes to be admired, but he also enjoys the idea that no one really knows who he is, or what he's thinking. "The Emperor" is, in many ways, a mystery wrapped in luxury, arrogance, and power.

Sex car situation🔥🔥🔥: "Mein Liebe, stop holding back, let yourself go" the sound of your bodies thumping is silenced by the roar of his car"Free yourself for me, Mein Liebe, focus on my eyes and keep jumping…" You turn your blushing face without stopping moving your hips; the backseat is uncomfortable, but you can only do as you're told"That's it, Mein Liebe, let yourself go… and give it all to me"the blond's voice comes out as a suppressed growl as he takes your waist, helping you"mmm… Ness, stop looking at my girlfriend and focus on driving, idiot, or you'll kill us all…"

➪ITOSHI RIN Car type: Chevrolet Corvette Stingray

☆ Rin projects a cold, distant, and indifferent demeanor, almost as if he were always above everything and everyone. ☆ However, there is something in his gaze, in his bearing, that conveys an overwhelming confidence, a certainty that goes beyond words. ☆ Like his Chevrolet Corvette Stingray, his presence is fierce and commanding, yet he maintains a quiet elegance that makes him even more captivating. ☆ But when his control slips, when the situation destabilizes, or someone challenges him, Rin loses his cool. In those moments, his coldness fades, and a primal force emerges: the need to reclaim what is his at all costs. It is in these moments that his indifferent demeanor transforms into something darker: a fierce, possessive, and dangerous passion that makes it clear he cannot tolerate defeat. ☆ Rin doesn't seek admiration; what truly matters to him is knowing that he is the best and that no one is above him. Sex car situation🔥🔥🔥: "Rin... Rin... Rin... stop~" you gasp, unable to move your hands. They're tied to the backseat of his car in a knot made by his tie. "Someone... can see us... ah"~ you gasp as you feel his erection against your buttocks. "I don't give a shit if they can see us," he slaps loudly. "If they want you, all that matters is that you're mine..."

YOICHI ISAGI Car type: Audi R8 V10

☆ Isagi is a man of two faces, as calm as winter and as warm as summer. ☆ You should always expect some surprises from him; he can go from being aggressive and dominant to tender and submissive. ☆ This duality is also reflected in his relationship with his Audi R8 V10: while the car is synonymous with power and speed, he drives it with surprising calm, seeking to disconnect and enjoy peace. His ability to balance these two worlds is what makes him a fascinating figure, someone who knows when to be unstoppable and when to relax. ☆ He likes to live surrounded by the best, but without making too much noise about it. His personal style, his way of moving through the world, all reflect this mix of sophistication and simplicity. ☆ Although he likes to be admired, his modesty and shyness lead him to blush easily, revealing a vulnerable side that few ever get to see.

Sex car situation🔥🔥🔥: —Yo…cha…n….your parents are waiting for us…ah~— the cold wind of the place runs through your bare legs as does his tongue in your folds, you are on the road with the door of his car open and with your boyfriend between your legs —I can't anymore ahh~— you release your juices with red cheeks, you look up and see him licking his lips with a smile —Do you like me love? I couldn't wait until I got there, not after you had your hand on my crotch the whole trip— open your legs raising them on his shoulders— Now if you excuse me, I won't arrive at my parents' house with an erection~— you close your eyes listening to how his tender voice turns into a dangerous growl.

RYUSEI SHIDOU Car type: Maserati Quattroporte

☆ At first glance, Ryusei Shidou seems like the extroverted type, always at the center of the action, seeking the spotlight, causing sensations with his energy, and pushing others to the limit with his jokes and attitude. ☆ He loves to surround himself with luxury and sophistication, but he always does it his way: with a personal style that blends the class of a high-end car with the recklessness of a daredevil driver. ☆ This fun-and-games facade hides an unstoppable personality that is unleashed on the field, like when he fearlessly accelerates his Maserati, leaving everyone behind with a risky maneuver or a brutal tackle. ☆ From his flashy attire to his defiant attitude, everything has a purpose. It's not just an appearance; it's a declaration that he's not afraid to stand out, and to do so in the most unpredictable ways. ☆ He loves to be admired and is close to his fans. He shares many moments from his personal life, from social media jokes to in-game interactions, making his audience feel like part of his world.

Sex car situation🔥🔥🔥: "You're such a shameless babe, moaning while I'm driving, anyone would think I'm doing something to you." The pink-haired man's smile spreads across his lips as he steps on the accelerator of his Maserati. "Please…" You beg, feeling the vibrator speed up in your intimacy. "Please, nothing, wait until we get home."You let out a moan, wetting the floor mat of his luxurious car as you close your eyes. "Okay, we have a few minutes before the traffic starts and I get a ticket again." He parks the car, quickly opening your door to spank you as he takes the vibrator out of you and plays with his fingers. "Oh, do you hear that, baby? That's the sound of police sirens, haha, this will be fun."

OLIVER AIKU Car type: Mercedes Mansory

☆ Oliver Aiku has a personality as captivating and solid as his favorite car, a Mercedes Mansory, a perfect blend of elegance and power that doesn't go unnoticed. His gaze, though deep and confident, conveys a surprising warmth, making him seem approachable and friendly to everyone. ☆ He's the type of person who greets with a smile and seems genuinely interested in the people around him, which makes him seem trustworthy and approachable. But behind that friendly and charming appearance, there's an unshakeable confidence, a man who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. ☆ He can be trusted in any situation under pressure because he knows how to stand firm under any circumstances. He doesn't allow himself to waver, and his presence is always dominant, like an insurmountable wall that never gives up. ☆ Although his warm gaze and kind demeanor are deceptive, deep down he's a real danger to women. He's a born womanizer, capable of charming with his easy smile and luxurious lifestyle. He plays with emotions, but never compromises. He knows how to make people feel special, but in the end, he always maintains emotional distance. ☆ His style reflects this duality: always impeccable, with a rugged aesthetic that combines elegance and strength. He wears clothes with defined cuts, dark colors, and details that denote luxury, but without ostentation. Sex car situation🔥🔥🔥: —mmm…you said we were going to see your sick mother...aaah~ —the sound of bodies thumping on the hood of the Mercedes Mansory is silenced by the bustle of the city nearby— I'm sorry, baby, I lied to you, but you can't deny that you've wanted it since you got in my car— you dig your nails into his back without being able to stop yourself— I promise to make it up to you, is a Louis Vuitton bag enough for you?

✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥✞︎❥

[fallow-hollow]

five stages of grief

…ft! kabru x gn! oblivious! reader

…tags! pining, confession, kabru is a bit of a freak about this, oblivious reader, reader is an adventurer

…word count! 2671

…notes! spreading my kabruganda to the masses!!! kabru is my me so I very much enjoy writing him

denial

At first, Kabru was so convinced that there was something behind your happy-go-lucky exterior.

You were so skilled in the dungeon, able to make it down to floors that even he hadn’t traversed yet. So you must have a good grasp on tactics, not only in battle, but also when socializing! Yes, maybe you read people expertly when they’d respond in kind to your friendly behavior…..

During the stage where you’re acquainted but don’t know much about each other personally, he spends so long crafting theories about what’s going on inside your head.

His party members get sick of hearing about it halfway through the second week.

Once you meet again in person, he’s ecstatic to have an opportunity to take a closer look at your inner workings. His words and mannerisms are calm and purposeful, but there is a certain spark in his eyes, almost trying to illuminate your thoughts and feelings with its shine.

Over the course of the conversation, Kabru starts getting a bit confused at his lack of new findings about you. It takes you saying something particularly damning for him to finally reach the dreaded conclusion.

“I don’t usually run into you in places like this.”

Kabru had encountered you one evening after exiting his room and seeing you and a few party members at the bar. It was nothing short of a strike of luck, and most certainly not him deliberately staying home that evening because he’d overheard your plans to go out.

“Hm?” You perked up, looking at him with a blank expression that was quickly replaced with a kind smile. Even trying to look closely, he couldn’t find anything present in your face except for a simple joy.

He would approach you with long strides, placing one hand on the back of your chair as to be friendly and intimate, but not so intimate as to make you recoil from a touch. The wink he gave you was with the eye facing away from the others on the opposite side of the table, ensuring most of them wouldn’t notice his flirtatious gesture.

“Want me to buy you a drink?”

Immediately, you raised one hand in polite refusal, your smile turning into more of a sheepish one. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d be able to pay you back. I wasn’t going to splurge much tonight anyway….”

As you talked, Kabru pulled up a free chair and sat down, a gesture that cemented himself in the conversation and setting. He noticed when he sat down in the middle of conversation, it made people less likely to turn him away than if he were still standing.

“No, no.” when he shook his head, his dark curls did a swishing movement. Once he looked back at you, he gave a half-lidded smile, only a tinge sultry in hopes you’d pick up his hints. “Your company is more than enough payment for me.”

Your party could only stare on with absolute pity as you waved your previously raised hand dismissively, giving what Kabru could only assume was a reassuring nod. Why did you think he needed reassured….? What did you think he meant?

“It’s completely fine, no need to be polite! We’re beyond such niceties at this point, I’d say. After all, I consider us to be at least a little bit friends, right? You don’t need to buy me a drink just to hang out!”

For a brief period, Kabru felt as if his whole world was spinning around him, before then shattering at the unknowing sledgehammer of your words. These statements and mannerisms suggested something far more than just a passive rejection…… no, it was something much darker.

You truly were as dense as a brick wall.

anger

Kabru doesn’t always react….. too calmly when people defy his expectations.

He’s able to keep a smile on his face just fine, but on the inside he’s screaming.

What do you mean there isn’t more? Where’s the scheme? The ulterior motive? The familiar secrets he can unravel and use to his advantage? Is it so bad that he wants there to be more?????

I’ll be honest, the man experiences his fair number of homicidal thoughts about you. In a strangely romantic way!

You’ll be chatting away with him, each remark and flirtation absolutely flying over your head, and inside his mind he’s just going I should gut them right here and sort their bones and vitals by size if they won’t let me dissect them the mental way.

And then seconds later he’ll go haha what was that! Anyway yes tell me more about the cute bird you saw last week.

I think Kabru does a lot of journaling, so he has a fair number of notes about you. Sometimes they’re drawings of you with notes about your appearance and physical mannerisms, other times he writes more free form about his thoughts regarding you. When he gets particularly frustrated, the writing can became scratchy or heavy handed to the point that it’s unreadable or nearly tears the paper.

The silence and solitude of the night was briefly interrupted by Rin rolling over in her sleeping bag. She was just beyond the range of the firelight where Kabru was still writing, and he could only barely see the way she squinted at him through her own tiredness.

“What are you scribbling about so late at night?” The mage would try to start another sentence, but be cut off by a yawn. If she was trying to be intimidating, it certainly wasn’t working. “Go to bed, Kabru, or else you’ll wake up to being sprayed by an undine if I have anything to say about it.”

That was a rather unpleasant thought….. even if the threat wasn’t legitimate, Kabru recognized that he’d probably spent far more time writing than intended. It was embarrassingly easy to get distracted when it came to you….just another thing that irked him about you. Yes…..’irked’. That’s most certainly the word.

“I’ll wrap it up soon, sorry to disturb your sleep, Rin.” With a grumble, the girl rolled back over, leaving Kabru to glance at his notebook for just a brief moment more before closing it. The writing was near illegible, but he still knew the words by heart:

‘I wouldn’t mind if they were scared of me. Maybe, if they sat on the other end of my sword, trembling and wide-eyed like human prey, I’d get to see a truly untouched side of them.’

bargaining

After the shock and rage subsides, Kabru tries to make you realize his feelings through pretty much every method imaginable except for confessing.

It feels like the man always appears at your side, always claiming he ‘happened to be in the area’ or something similar. And you never even question it, infuriatingly for him.

Your party members often tell you that something is up with the guy, that he’s hanging around you a suspicious amount but never being fully transparent, but you’d feel so bad about being suspicious of him when he’s done nothing but inquire about you and even offer gifts on rare occasions!

Kabru isn’t exactly the richest of adventurers, so gifts or treating you isn’t a regular occasion, but it’s certainly something he resorts to as a last ditch effort to try and get you to realize that he’s interested in you romantically.

Once he even tried to offer you a flower, but you still didn’t take the hint.

When you saw the flower in Kabru’s hand that day, your first thought was being so flattered that he remembered your conversation about which ones you both liked.

“Oh, Kabru!” You exclaimed with pure joy, causing the man to become embarrassingly excited that perhaps you had finally noticed the meaning behind all his gestures. Were you finally moved and wowed by his considerate, perfectly planned gift.

Clapping your hands together, you would beam and say, “You liked my favorite flower so much that you wanted to get one for yourself?”

A fly could’ve soared down Kabru’s throat in the time of that pause, but you paid it no mind, instead eagerly awaiting his reply.

The look on Kabru’s face was a completely blank smile, his bright blue eyes seeming to have almost burned out like a pair of oil lamps. Then, as he regained his composure, those lights flickered back on again, albeit wavering slightly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it yourself? If you like it so much, I’d be happy to let you take it home.” Poor Kabru, he should have learned by now that hints have no effect against the impenetrable fortress that is your cluelessness.

Your grin was the nail in the coffin, letting him know you had something in your head that was absolutely not anything he could anticipate from anyone else. “But why not use it as some decoration? Your party members always talk about how sparse your room is, and it could even remind you of me when I’m away! Here—“

You ushered him closer, a hand now on the small of his back giving him sparks that teetered between pleasurable and painful. The free hand gestured to the plant he held so delicately, pointing out different features like the petals, stem, and so on. “I can even tell you some facts about it; that’ll help you enjoy it that much more deeply whenever you see it! And you’ll remember our conversation!”

The way you could be so resistant to his advances yet so sweet to him could be nothing short of torturous sometimes.

depression

For a while, something fairly rare happens to Kabru: he falls into a slump.

He spends a long time in the dungeon, slashing away at monsters as if it might help him clear his head. His teammates notice that he can get more aggressive in combat than usual, but never really ask him about it.

He also becomes more spacey during mealtimes, and while some peaceful silence is nice, having Kabru of all people be so uncharacteristically quiet for so long.

It comes to the point that something similar to an intervention happens one day after dinner.

“What’s up with you, Kabru?” Mickbell wasn’t one to beat around the bush, immediately starting his line of questioning while looking at his teammate, void of mischief or amusement. “You’ve been all broody and silent all week. Can’t just expect us to not ask about it.”

“What Mickbell said,” Kuro concurred almost immediately after.

The tallman did his best to blink away his tiredness and offer a more confident look that he usually used when trying to rally his team under an idea or calm them down. “I didn’t mean to make you guys worry that much about me. It’s just something I’ve been personally interested in, so it’s not something you guys need to worry about.”

“A personal problem?” Rin cocked a brow. “If I know anything about what interests you, it’s probably a person.”

“Haha, caught me red-handed like always.” He raised his hands in faux surrender, though Rin didn’t seem to be put at ease by the gesture, so he tacked on another statement. “I was surprisingly stumped on what tactics to use when talking to a certain person, it’s really got me thinking.” Averting his gaze to the side, he could almost conjure an image of your grinning face in the corner of his vision. “It’s pretty exciting, though, so I don’t mind.”

“Ugh, I knew it!” The half foot threw his head back in exasperation, causing Kuro to extend one arm behind him in case he fell. “It’s that brick-headed adventurer you’re getting all cozy with, isn’t it?! What, you thinking of starting a new party?”

While Mickbell was busy stomping his foot to punctuate his accusation, Holm merely hummed. The gnome usually stayed pretty impartial to matters like this, but that didn’t mean he could always resist throwing in a comment or two.

“I’d be stumped too if I thought about human interaction like a battlefield.” His tone of voice remained soft, but his words were still quite pointed. “You really have to be upfront about your feelings sometimes, you know that? At least, if Mick’s description can actually be trusted.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

After those two broke down into petty squabbling, Kabru could merely try his best to mask his realization behind a tight-mouthed grin.

Holm was right, and he hated it more than anything.

acceptance

Okay, this is the part where Kabru actually bites the bullet and talks about his feelings. Truly a miracle of life.

Kabru can have a lot of trouble being fully vulnerable due to feeling like he’s losing control, so he does his best to maintain control over the rest of the outing. He arranges the time, location, even makes sure to get there first. It’s the most he can do to not feel completely helpless at the whims of his own fickle heart.

When you arrive, a new wave of nervousness hits him that’s almost like nothing before. Kabru has slain men without a second thought, and here he is resisting the urge to tremble because he has to tell his crush he likes them.

He starts off with small talk, sort of building up to his confession while also beating around the bush just a little. Asking you how you’ve been, if you’ve done anything noteworthy, if you’ve meet any new people…..

Eventually, Kabru decides that if he waits any longer, he may instinctually try to hide his intentions in the long strings of small talk he’s making, so he finally takes that leap.

He said your name, and your eyes flickered up to his face. Even if you were spacey at times, you never stared past him or through him whenever he was addressing you. It made him feel….strange. It was odd to feel truly perceived at times.

“Can I be….. terribly honest with you?” He cards his fingers through his curls and closes his eyes, and you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly beautiful he looked.

“Of course,” you responded without thinking. Not like you ever needed to think twice about your appreciation for the man. More than that, really.

There was stillness, and all you could hear was Kabru’s deep inhale through his nose. He intended to phrase it more eloquently, he really did, but when he opened his eyes again and saw you waiting on his words with baited breath, there was this instinctive fear that maybe this would be his only chance. That you would walk away or disappear, leaving him with only the memory.

He didn’t want just a memory.

“I want you to know that I love you above all else.”

Your mouth hung agape like his had many times in response to your own remarks. Were it not for how shocked he was at his own words, he would have chuckled at how cute you look.

Before he could even scramble to elaborate on his uncharacteristically blunt comment, you blurted out in a similar fashion, voice slightly raised and head perked up,

“You really feel that way?!”

Faced with your blushing face, Kabru could only affirm the feelings that you promoted from somewhere deep within him. “Yes, I’d been trying to win you over for a long time, really.”

If you were flushed before, then now you were nothing short of flooded with embarrassment from ear to ear. Despite this, you were smiling, wobbly and sheepish. “I mean, it’s not like I’m shocked in a bad way or anything — I always thought you were really wonderful, too wonderful for me anyway. I really never thought you were pursuing me of all people!”

For the longest time, your denseness had given Kabru untold grief. Upon seeing you state it so plainly, however, he just couldn’t find it in his heart to be upset. Not when it was one of the things that made you so fascinating.

“I’d sort of figured as such, yeah.”

[victusinveritas]

Statement from Yosemite NPS workers:

“The purpose of this exercise of free speech is to disrupt without violence and draw attention to the fact that public lands in the United States are under attack," it reads. "The Department of the Interior issued a series of secretarial orders that position drilling and mining interests as the favored uses of America's public lands and threaten to scrap existing land protections and conservation measures. Firing 1,000s of staff regardless of position or performance across the nation is the first step in destabilizing the protections in place for these great places."

"These losses, while deeply personal and impactful, may also be invisible to visitors and members of the public — we are shining a spotlight on them by putting a distress flag on El Capitan in view of Firefall. Think of it as your public lands on strike."

Link: https://www.sfchronicle.com/outdoors/article/yosemite-protest-job-cuts-20180229.php

[freedomfireflies]

The Playboy*

Summary: The one where you're a Playboy Bunny and Harry is Hugh's assistant. The one person you aren't allowed to love.

Word Count: 8.9k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, exhibitionsim, multiple orgasms, brief choking, overstimulation

Harry's cum is dripping down your thigh.

You can see it, glistening beneath the sunlight, making it almost impossible to look away. You’re completely and utterly mesmerized by the sight of it, but Harry pretends as though he has no clue.

After all, he has to pretend. You know he’s done this on purpose. Know that he wanted to mark you right before your photoshoot with Hugh and the other Bunnies. He's sending a message, making a statement.

And really, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Harry fucked you right and you both know it. And he can pretend all he wants that it means nothing, but you’re the best lover he’s ever had. He told you himself. And perhaps that’s why he’s done this. Why he insisted that you weren’t allowed to wipe it off or hide it. Because he wants them to see. To know who you really belong to.

No matter how hard you squeeze your thighs together or attempt to brush the sticky stain away, it remains. And Harry’s proud smirk is rather obvious even from over on the grass where he observes. 

You try not to look at him. To acknowledge that sadistic glee as you keep your gaze on the camera. Because if you look at him…it’s over. You won’t be able to hide your infatuation and the last thing either of you want is for Hugh to find out.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. Then again, he has too many people around him at once to pay attention to you and your wet thighs. But you know he’d be furious if he knew what his precious Bunny was doing, one of the many reasons you and Harry are forced to keep your meetings a secret.

But you know Harry likes being your secret. Perhaps just as much as you like being his. Besides, it’s only sex. No strings attached. He’s Hugh’s assistant and you’re one of the beloved Bunnies. It’s against every rule in the book for the two of you to be together, much less sleep together.

Yet here you are.

You sometimes wonder if Harry would even give you the time of day outside of your secret rendezvous. Or if he’d avoid you altogether. You want to believe it goes deeper than just sex, but truth be told, you’re too afraid to ask.

"Your lemonade, Sir."

You watch as Harry nods his thanks and takes the cold glass from the waiter. He’s far too smug for your liking, and you’d chastise him if it were any other moment.

Still, you watch him take a rather long sip as his eyes follow you from behind those dark sunglasses.

He knows you like to be watched. That you thrive off his attention. So, he gives it to you anytime he can. Even when you’re sitting on the lap of the man that employs him.

But you like to watch him, too. And the way he looks right now, with those dark curls pushed back, now slightly disheveled from when you had your hands running through them, is rather delicious.

He leans back in his seat, strong thighs spreading as he takes another sip. It’s almost criminal, and you can practically hear the sighs of the other girls as they notice, too.

He pops the first couple buttons of his shirt free, allowing for a glimpse of his tan, sweaty skin, and you feel your stomach clench. He’s taunting you now. Reminding you who’s really in charge, and you’re nearly tempted to march right over and prove him wrong.

But you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. Remembering just a few moments ago when he had you bent over a chair as he fucked you from behind.

"Tell me how good I feel."

"Fuck you."

"Tell me how deep—"

"Not deep enough. Fuck me like you mean it, Playboy."

The second he saw you in your signature bowtie, he snatched your hand and dragged you away. And you let him, because how could you not? Even if it meant you were late for the shoot and that you’d earn a very firm frown from Hugh. It was worth it, and the evidence has been painted all over your leg.

Suddenly struck with inspiration, you give a big beam to the camera before you subtly drop your hand to your thigh and swipe your finger through the mess.

You notice Harry’s eyes widen as he straightens up, wildly intrigued. But you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking, instead keeping your eyes on the lens as suck your middle finger into your mouth.

Harry knows what coats that finger and you let your lashes flutter as though to tell him how much you enjoy the taste.

Hugh laughs, thinking it's just a clever pose for the photos, but Harry knows this show is just for him and him alone.

He slides his sunglasses a bit further down his nose, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store.

Yet your eyes never leave the camera, your smile wide, and your glee unmeasurable. You enjoy teasing him when you know he can’t do anything about it. 

And it works, if the way he begins to shift in his seat is any indication. You can practically see his erection from here, and you have to swallow a laugh as he clenches his jaw.

Finally, you decide to put him out of his misery, and steal one glance for yourself.

The moment your eyes meet, your chest nearly caves in. The tension is thick, and it feels as though the whole world has gone quiet. It’s just you and Harry, and when he bites his lip and leans back in his seat, you about lose it.

Thankfully, almost as though heaven heard your silent plea, Hugh suddenly claps his hands together and declares the shoot through. He thanks you all for your patience and time before everyone begins to part and the camera crew packs up.

You’re off his lap in seconds, moving for the refreshments so you can grab a glass of lemonade for yourself. And hopefully encourage Harry’s attention to follow you.

You feel him behind you before you even have a chance to turn around. You recognize his cologne and the soft hum in his throat and you bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning.

“Bunny,” he murmurs, and even though it’s only been a few minutes, you’ve missed the sound of his voice. Low and raspy with just a hint of an accent.

“Harold,” you return, tossing a quick look over your shoulder before moving across the yard.

However, he’s hot on your tail, giving you absolutely no room or personal space. “That was quite a show,” he says, jogging around you to catch your eye.

You only bat your lashes as you take a sip of your drink, watching as his attention zeroes in on the way your lips wrap around the straw. 

He smirks.

“Enjoyed yourself, did you?” you retort innocently, attempting to brush past him again when he suddenly grabs onto your upper arm and drags you back to him.

He dips down, mouth ghosting the side of your ear as he murmurs, “I believe you owe me a taste.”

Your eyebrow quirks. “Is that so?”

“It is.” His grip tightens. “And you know it.”

You take a quick glance around the backyard just to make sure Hugh isn’t watching before you pull yourself free and turn to Harry. “Who said you deserve to taste me?”

 “I believe you did. When you were coming around my cock and begging me to do it again.”

You scoff, feigning annoyance as you attempt to walk away. However, Harry is much quicker, and he snatches hold of your wrist in order to drag you across the grass and toward the pool shed in the corner of the yard.

Thankfully nobody seems to notice, and you feel your cunt throb as he gently slams you against the wall, away from any prying eyes. And he cages you there, arms on either side of your head as you bite your lip and peer up at him. 

“You’ve been quite the brat, haven’t you, little one?” he nearly purrs, wedging his knee between your clenched thighs. “Trying to tease me…embarrass me. Get me in trouble.”

You blink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” He squeezes your chin. “Show me your tongue.”

Slowly, you concede. Parting your lips and extending your tongue as he tilts your head back and stares down your throat. 

“Good girl. Swallowed every drop, didn’t you?”

You nod.

“S’it feel good in your tummy, baby? Hm? Did it taste as good as you imagined?”

Another nod. Quicker and more excited.

He smiles. “Then I think it’s only fair you return the favor, hm?”

You aren’t afforded the chance to answer before he’s dropping to his knees and prying your legs apart.

“Harry—”

“Shh. I’m busy,” he murmurs, flicking the button on your costume undone until he can reach your stockings and tear them down. “S’been too long.”

“It’s been twenty minutes.”

“Exactly.”

He runs his hands along your body, enjoying the way you shiver, that wicked grin is enough to ruin you. He places your foot on his shoulder while you steady yourself against the shed, your fingers already returning to his hair.

And he watches you. So desperate and eager to please. You know he’d bury himself in your cunt with no hesitation if he could, but for now…this is all you get.

It’s one of the things you adore most about him. His need to please you, even despite his ego. In fact, from the moment you met him, he’s put your pleasure first. Demanding that you sit on his face nearly every hour of the day just so he can get a small taste. Savor you on his tongue, go home with you still smeared across his chin.

Some people do drugs. Harry does pussy.

His hands slowly smooth up your leg, taking his time to appreciate your skin while admiring the way it glistens underneath the summer sun. He begins to kiss his way along your ankle and up toward your knee. 

And you work to bite back a heavy sigh. You don’t tend to trip up too often, but when it comes to Harry, you find that you can never stay quiet. And you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because he knows how to draw out every possible noise and sensation. Somehow, even his kisses leave you whining. 

Either way, you know you can’t make a noise today. Because no matter how loud the group out by the pool are, it’s not nearly loud enough to drown out your pleasured whines.

And he knows it, too.

He pauses his kisses once he reaches your inner thigh and glances up through those thick lashes of his. "You think you can stay quiet, little one?" he asks, lips brushing against your skin with every word.

You force a smile. “Do it right and we’ll see.”

It’s a challenge he’s more than eager to accept. He’s been waiting far too long to get a taste of what he left behind and wastes no more time in dragging his flattened tongue along your leg to collect the salty remnants from before.

The feeling itself isn't much but watching him...you can feel your knees growing weak. Harry knows what you like to see. Knows you adore his pink lips and the rings on his fingers. Knows you like to run your hands through his gelled hair and leave your lipstick on his shirt. 

He hums, rather satisfied with himself. But before he can truly have you, you both catch the sound of commotion happening near the mansion.

You have a rather hard time tearing yourself away, but you know that if you don’t check, Hugh will coming looking for you.

So, regretfully, you drop your leg from Harry’s shoulder and peer around the shed.

Hugh is standing on one of the staircases, pipe in his mouth as he claps his hands to get everyone's attention. "All right, my dears, gather 'round. You've all been doing such good work this week, and I felt it was only right to honor you. So, for the first Saturday of the summer, I've decided we must celebrate.”

The other girls cheer as you toss Harry a curious look. 

He only shrugs.

"You know the rules," Hefner continues. "But I want you to have fun and just relax tonight. The real work starts next week.”

With that, he gives his adoring audience a wink before heading back inside, leaving you to sigh to yourself.

Hugh is a stickler for rules and regulations. Curfews, no outside relationships, and absolutely no visitors. He wants to keep his girls to himself, and you know that applies to you more than anyone else.

Harry is watching you closely as you finally turn back around. “He wants me there tonight,” he tells you.

You nod. You expected nothing less. “I imagine so.”

“We won’t have as much time.”

“I know.” You readjust your outfit and attempt to wipe the lustful look from your face. “I should go.”

You get ready to slip back out into the open before Harry grabs your arm for a third time.

"I'll find you," he murmurs, more so a promise than a threat. "And I will get my taste."

You can’t help but smirk as you pat his cheek lightly.  “Mm. Good luck, Playboy."

There are very few times in life when you find yourself completely and utterly breathless. Transfixed beyond doubt, mesmerized by one singular moment in time when you can't move or speak.

For you, that happened when you saw Harry enter the room for the very first time.

And then it happened again…when he slid inside you later that same night.

Two moments, one man.

One incredibly ethereal, divine, godlike man. 

You hadn't expected Hugh's party to be all that exciting, but it was one of Harry’s first parties as Hugh’s assistant. Turns out…that meant something.

You had specific instructions to stay close to Hugh throughout the evening, as his favorite Bunny, and Harry had instructions to stay close as the assistant. But unlike you, Harry was instructed to follow from behind. Not to interact with any of the guests. And definitely not to be seen or heard.

But from the moment he entered the room, you knew it would be nearly impossible for anyone to keep their eyes off him.

He walked in as though surrounded by light, drawing everyone’s attention to those dark curls and that charming smile.

You couldn’t look away, so spellbound by his presence that you didn’t even realize Hugh was right beside him.

Instantly, you knew that would complicate things.

Still, you liked the challenge. And as it turned out, Harry did, too. Because while you were busy seeing him, he was busy seeing you.

Your eyes met through the crowd, even despite the many bodies and loud music. You felt yourself being drawn closer as you pushed your way toward the center of the room in a desperate attempt just to be close.

Harry did the same.

You wondered if Hugh knew what a threat Harry posed to his brand. After all, Hugh loved being the center of attention and Harry was so effortlessly stealing the attention for himself.

But it didn’t matter in that moment because Harry’s attention was yours, and once you both found your way to the center of the living room…everything changed. 

You did your best to study him. Those gorgeous, textured curls. The unusual shade of green in his eye. That strong jaw that seemed to accentuate his sharp but handsome features.

He was wearing a white t-shirt that hugged each of his muscles in a way that left little to the imagination. He looked clean. Put together. So refined that all you wanted to do was trail your hands down his chiseled chest before you tore is shirt off.

And that’s when it happened.

The Moment.

Ever since that night, the two of you have been inseparable. Fucking any chance you get. In the kitchen, in the car, in the closet. His hand over your mouth, forcing you to stay silent in case Hugh might be somewhere in the mansion—which he always is.

In fact, there’s never a moment when you aren't the focus of each other's attention. Day or night, all you can think about is when you’ll see him next. Creating moments to run into each other. Planning meetings. Making excuses to find time alone.

And as it turns out, tonight is no different.

You know Hugh will be around. And even worse, he’ll be making his favorite Bunny the center of attention.

Which just means you’ll have to try a little harder to get Harry alone. 

Most of the crowd will be desperate to talk to you. They always are, after all. They’ll follow you around, ask you questions, want to be in your presence. 

And Harry will be somewhere hidden, keeping to himself so he’s neither seen nor heard. Although the rest of the Bunnies make that quite difficult.

For some reason, Hugh doesn’t mind if the others pay Harry a bit of attention. He only seems to mind if you do. And even though Harry will never admit it, Hugh’s possession over you makes him quite jealous.

He doesn’t enjoy the idea of having to share you, much less with a whole crowd of people and greedy men. They’ll take up all of your time. Time that should be reserved for him. 

Truth be told, you find it rather cute.

So, you try to make it worth it. You sway your hips to a song just because he’s watching. 

You run your hands down your body, smoothing them over each and every one of his favorite curves. 

You dangle a cherry over your tongue before taking it between your lips, your cheeks hollowing as you suck the sweet fruit into your mouth.

It drives him absolutely mad, and you can already see him fighting the temptation to stride over to you right now.

You’re sitting by the pool, legs dangling over the side as you chat with Paul Newman. He’s leaning his body closer and closer toward yours, inviting himself into your space as you laugh and throw your head back with glee just to give Harry a proper show.

You do your best to flirt with the handsome man—which isn’t all that difficult, really—before you notice Harry march himself over to the drink stand. 

Instantly, he begins chatting up Sophia Loren. One of the most stunning women you think you’ve ever seen and immediately, your eyes narrow.

So that’s how he wants to play it.

He’s not subtle about the way he stares at her, raking his eyes up and down her figure rather shamelessly. And she smiles, eating up his attention until you nearly chip a tooth from how hard you’re gritting your teeth.

It’s rather cute, all things considered. He’s really trying to make you jealous. But why should you be? Paul Newman is every bit as handsome, if not more, and happens to be someone you can actually sit and have a conversation with.

In fact, Hugh was the one who set it up. He introduced the two of you and insisted you get to know each other.

You knew what he really wanted from the interaction, but neither you nor Paul will be entertaining such an idea. After all, he is happily married. And you just enjoy getting to know him.

Paul is still chatting away as you both swing you legs through the warm water, and even though you can’t help feeling rather starstruck by those gorgeous blue eyes…you’re remind of a pair of green ones that are currently still checking out someone else.

So, you gently put your hand on Paul’s chest in a subtle signal for him to wind his story down. You tell him that you’re going to go grab a drink and he nods before helping you stand from the pool.

You make your way for the bar—rather aware of the number of eyes on you as you walk—yet Harry still seems to be rather immersed in his conversation with the starlet. And now you aren’t sure if this really is just for show or if she truly has caught his eye.

Either way, you decide a little eavesdropping can’t hurt. So, you subtly make your way around the pool and toward the back of the drink station, just out of sight. Close enough to hear, but not so close as to be seen.

“Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” Harry is asking, and you catch just a glimpse of those dimples.

Sophia hums, looking around the large backyard that seems to sparkle underneath such a dark sky. "Oh, yes. Hugh always throws the best parties."

"He does. Are you here with someone?"

You suck in a quiet breath while Sophia laughs, shaking out her perfectly styled curls. “No, not at all. I like to…come alone. Window shop.”

“Window shop?” Harry repeats with a smirk.

“Yes. I like to see what’s to be seen. To decide if I’ll be leaving alone as well.”

Harry chuckles, and the sound of it makes your stomach flutter. “I see. Well, I have to admit, that does sound like an excellent plan.”

Sophia studies him. “And…you? Will you be leaving alone?”

Harry runs his tongue over his lip before glancing toward the spot near the pool where you once were. But once he notices you’re missing, his eyebrow raises. “I hope not.”

She smiles. “Come,” she says, taking his hand. “We dance.”

With that, she leads him toward the middle of the yard where a few people are already swaying to the music.

You watch them dance with a rather wounded expression, doing your best to remind yourself what this really is.

You don’t imagine Sophia will be taking him home tonight—he’s handsome, but she’s far out of his league—yet you can’t help that spark of jealousy that finally burns in your chest.

What Harry lacks in brains he makes up for in charisma. And he looks rather breathtaking out there, moving his hips to the melody and grabbing at her waist while she laughs and swings her arms around his neck.

For a moment, you almost wish that you could dance with him like that. So open and uninhibited. But you know that this arrangement only lasts for the summer. Once fall comes, the two of you will part ways, and the fun will be through.

Eventually, the two of them return to the bar for more drinks, and you’re forced to scurry back out of sight just in time to ear the rest of their conversation.

"She is...stunning,” Sophia says as they approach.

Harry’s head tilts. “Who?”

“The woman you keep looking for.”

Harry grins as he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hm.” She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him. “One cannot win a game if the other player doesn’t know they are playing.”

"Maybe. But I’m not playing any games.”

She scoffs. “Aren’t you? Talking to me but wanting her?”

Harry seems rather surprised by this, and you feel yourself grin as you finally breeze your way around the corner in full view of them both.

“A scotch, please, darling,” you call to the bartender before glancing to your left. “Oh! Hi, Sophia. Harold.”

Sophia laughs. “Hello, dear. Fantastic party. You look beautiful.”

“As do you,” you return. “So happy you made it, despite your current choice in companion.”

Harry’s eyes roll.

“Oh, he’s not so bad,” she says, reaching up to wipe her thumb across his bottom lip. “Rather…sweet.”

Harry feigns a smug smirk even though you can tell he’s rather surprised by the action. 

Still, you refuse to play along. “I suppose he can be when Hugh isn’t around.”

She chuckles to herself before offering you a quick kiss to the cheek before bidding the two of you goodbye so she can make the rounds. 

 Rather satisfied, you give Harry a proud look of your own before grabbing your drink and turning on your heel.

But, true to form, he’s chasing after you and taking a handful of your hip in order to bring you to a stop.

“Bunny,” he warns beneath a raspy breath. “I thought I made myself clear—”

“I don’t know what you mean, I was only chatting,” you retort, pulling yourself from his hand with a huff. 

“No, you were not. You were being a brat and I’d like you to stop.”

“Stop what? Being delightful?”

“No. Stop toying with me.” He regards you carefully. “I know what you’re doing.”

"I'm talking. After all, that is my job—"

"No, your job is to be a good little Bunny, and do as you're told," he argues, straightening up so he has the advantage of height. "And I’m telling you that I will not play these games with you any longer.”

“What games?”

“The game where you try to rub my nose in that,” he says, gesturing angrily toward Paul.

“It’s not a game. He’s quite delightful. And I don’t believe I’m quite through with him yet—”

“Enough,” he seethes, suddenly yanking you back to him. “You know you don't want to talk to him. Or entertain his sad attempts at flirting. So, give it up, and come with me—"

"Beg me."

He leans back. “Excuse me?”

“Beg me,” you repeat calmly, even though your pussy is just about throbbing from the possessive tone of voice. 

His head cocks. “I said end this—"

"Beg me, and maybe I will.”

He looks at you for another moment more before his eyes flick toward the mansion in search of Hugh. Having this conversation in such an open space is rather reckless, especially with so many witnesses. But you just can’t help it. He never seems to listen.

Harry knows his time is running out, as well as his patience, so he runs a hand through his hair and releases a strained exhale. 

“Fine,” he concedes darkly. “Fine. Please…end this. And come with me.”

You bite back a smile. "Hm... I don't know, Paul and I were just having such a good time—"

"Please," he repeats, almost viciously. "Fucking end this. Now.”

By now, you know exactly what Harry's last straw looks like. What it sounds like. His voice, twisted with need and lust, becomes hoarser the closer he creeps to desperation. His grip becomes tighter, and his pupils nearly blow-out with desperation.

It happens when he's fucking into you so hard that you see stars. When his tongue is so far inside you that neither of you can breathe. And when you’re taking him so well down your throat that you think you’ll sink right through the floor.

It's the same voice. The same urgency. And you can’t help but feel a little intrigued.

You nod. “Fine.”

"Good. Meet me in the coat closet," he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "Five minutes."

"Harry—"

“Go,” he repeats, before releasing you so he can slip inside the mansion. 

You don’t need to be told twice. You immediately make your way for the door, weaving your way through the crowd in search of that familiar closet.

The inside of the house is packed with people. It’s loud and chaotic and there are more celebrities here than you can name.

But right now, you couldn’t care less. There’s only one person on your mind. One beautiful body that you can’t wait to run your hands down and it’s only five minutes away.

Once you’ve hidden yourself away in the small, dark space, you imagine all the things he might do. One of his favorites is watching the way he disappears inside you. The way your pussy stretches open to take his cock until you’re both a rather wet mess. You don’t doubt that he’ll find a way to do so tonight, and the thought makes you giddy.

Or perhaps he’ll blindfold you. Cut off all your senses until he’s all you know. Maybe you’ll blindfold him, another favorite. 

Truthfully, it doesn’t really matter what he does as long as he does it. Because even the thought leaves you breathless.

The door swings open exactly two minutes later. Harry is quick to lock you both in and turn on the light, twisting the bulb between his fingers until you can see everything you couldn’t before. Mostly coats and hats, but then…him. Somehow just as stunning as he was a few minutes ago, and smiling in a way that makes you want to drag him to his knees.

“You obeyed,” he whispers, stepping up to you until he can softly run his palm along your cheek. “You are a good little bunny after all, aren’t you?”

You pull your lip between your teeth. “Only when I think you deserve it.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

He leans closer, nose brushing against yours. “And do I still deserve that taste?”

Your lashes flutter before you forcefully push him away and point to his belt. “Take off your pants.”

You don’t want to have to rush, but you know Hugh will be looking for you soon so you can be by his side for his grand speech. Which means you’ll have to save the sensual looks and teasing touches for another day.

He starts with his shirt instead of his pants (just to spite you), grabbing at his collar before slipping the fabric over his head. Then he reaches for his zipper and drags it down, as slowly as he can all while keeping his eyes on yours.

With a rather unamused huff, you finally swat his hands out of the way in order to do it yourself. 

You yank the dark material down his legs, taking note of the boxers around his hips that practically call to you. You allow your fingers to slowly trail along his thighs. Higher and higher, groping at the strong flesh as he sighs and watches you with flushed cheeks.

Finally, you move for the band at his waist, pulling on it until it snaps back against his stomach, making him grunt.

He drops his head back with a curse, but once you start to drag your tongue along his abs…it’s game over. 

His hand is instantly in your hair, tugging at the scalp as though to remind you who’s really in charge. But you can feel his muscles quivering beneath your tongue and you hum when you hear him exhale your name.

You reach his pecs, taking a moment to brush your lips over his hardened nipple. He doesn’t seem to understand why this feels so good, but he enjoys it, and he certainly enjoys watching you do it, too.

You never leave him unsatisfied. You don’t think you could even if you tried. Sometimes, all you have to do is kiss him, and he’s nearly coming in his shorts as he grinds you against his lap. 

He knows his pleasure isn’t nearly as important as yours, but he enjoys the time you dedicate to him, nonetheless. 

You graze the nipple with your teeth, pulling it ever so slightly until he hisses, head dipping as your foreheads meet.

He wraps his fingers around the back of your neck with a firm squeeze before he’s pulling you up and kissing you hard. He starts with his tongue, exploring your mouth like it’s the first time, and honestly…it almost feels like it is.

Teeth clash, noses brush, breaths are stolen. You devour each other, greedy hands roaming freely, tangling in each other's hair.

"Can’t fucking stand you," he nearly groans against your mouth, his hips knocking into yours as he keeps you trapped against his chest. "Teasing me all night. Playing with me."

"You love it," you pant. "Love it when I play with you."

He grins. “Maybe I do.”

His hand moves to your one-piece until he finds the apex of your thighs. He smooths his palm along your cunt, cupping you harshly as you reel. He wants to feel how warm you are—how wet and desperate.

And you want him to feel it, too.

You swallow a needy sigh, almost as though you can’t let him hear. He can’t know how good this really feels. How depraved you really are of his touch. How starved.

But he knows. You know he knows, even through one little kiss.

It’s maddening.

He grabs onto the corset, ready to rip it down and reveal your chest to his hungry eyes, but you quickly snatch his wrist.

“No,” you exhale, shaking your head slightly. “Can’t rip it. Gentle.”

He scoffs, almost as though the thought of being gentle with you is absurd. Still, he knows Hugh would notice if your outfit has been torn, so he obeys, and unzips you instead.

The suit falls away, finally allowing him a good look at what you’ve been hiding from him all night.

Instantly, he’s got your tits in his hands, pulling at the tender flesh with a lewd grunt.

“Pretty,” he murmurs before sucking one into his mouth. “Fucking killing me, Bunny.”

Like a starved wolf, he starts to leave a trail of kisses wherever he can. Sloppy kisses that make you shiver as you fist his curls and laugh at the feel of your nipple between his teeth.

He swirls his tongue just the way you did, then flicks it gently while you sigh in his ear. Eventually, his fingers make their way to their previous spot, brushing at your inner thighs as though to warn you. And you’re given only a few seconds to prepare before he’s slipping the middle one inside and making you gasp.

The noise is covered by the loud music outside of the door, but Harry still hears it, and he beams as he starts to pump you slowly.

Your body invites him in the way it always does, squeezing him gently and clenching as though to keep him close. 

“Shit,” he curses, once again pressing his mouth to yours. “Missed this pretty pussy, baby.”

His large digit suddenly curls upward, motioning a moan from your lips and there it is. That’s what you needed.

You hold onto him for dear life, already lost in the feel. He's always been rather exceptional at touching you. At knowing your body better than anyone else does.

You’ve tried to replicate his actions on yourself, tried to make yourself cum as hard as he makes you when he’s the one doing it. But it's never the same. It feels like a waste of time to even try. It'll be weak and short. Pitiful. And trying again never works because it's just as disappointing as the first time.

But Harry…with his long fingers, his firm hand, his ravenous lips. Nothing will ever compare.

"Feel so good, sweetheart," he praises, lips staining your skin as he kisses the hollow of your neck. "Good girl. Lift for me, yeah?"

You obey, offering him your leg which he's quick to hook around his waist, spreading your open a bit further so he can slide himself deeper inside.

Another finger, another curl, another pinch. His thumb presses into your clit, circling it rapidly, making you whine into his shoulder. You can feel the coil already ready to snap, hardly surprised by how quickly you got here, but you know he’ll make sure to drag it on for as long as possible.

And as if to prove this, he slips his fingers out, and raises them to his lips. You nearly wilt right then and there, but you manage to hold your impatient façade as you cock your eyebrow upward before yanking his hand out and kissing him.

You can taste yourself on his lips, something you always seem to enjoy. The mix of you both together. 

And this is when he decides to ruin you, plunging his fingers back in with vigor until he hits that perfect spot. The one that has you gasping for air and moaning his name.

Your chest heaves with deep breaths. You’re close and you know it won’t be long until your cunt is fluttering around his hand and you’re dripping down his wrist. But you need more than that. Especially because this is the last time you’ll be with him for a while.

So, you grab onto his jaw and forcefully bring his eyes to yours.

“No,” you hiss. “Not like this. Fuck me like you mean it, Playboy.”

He hums, all without slowing his rhythm. “Impatient, little one?”

“Obviously.”

He makes an amused noise, but he doesn’t stop his thrusts. He plans to make you cum just like this before he fucks you and you don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.

You move your hand to his throat, squeezing the sides gently as you feel him swallow. His pulse is pounding beneath your fingertips, blown-out pupils glued to yours as you add just the slightest bit of pressure.

His soft inhale makes your stomach flutter. You happen to adore him like this, on the verge of complete submission. Merciless at your feet.

But you know it won’t last long. And once his eyelids begin to flutter, you yank him down for another kiss. Stealing the only breath he has left.

You can practically feel his cock twitching against your thigh as you tug his curls and suck on his tongue. But he’s not one to be outdone, and he continues rubbing your clit as quickly as he can, sweeping his fingers in a circle while you roll your hips against his hand.

"Gentle, sweetheart," he warns, throwing your own instruction back at you. 

You want to retort with a quippy remark of your own but choose instead to lick a stripe along his jaw. That suffices as your reply.

You don't have a lot of time, at least not for games. You’re playing against the clock, and you know Hugh will be calling for you any second.

Any other night, Harry would most likely edge you all the way to the brink. But tonight, he knows better, and he does everything he can to make you cum.

And when you do, you nearly lose your balance. It’s one of the most blinding and toe-curling orgasms you’ve ever had in your life. So much better than when you do it alone and you’re so grateful for his cocky attitude for the first time all summer.

Your body melts into his as you start to come down from your high. You almost wish it would never end. The way his lips feel on your cheek. The sound of his soft, proud praises in your ear. It’s everything.

But you know that’s not what he’s good for. So, instead, you push him away and step back. “Down.”

He looks at you. “Down?”

You nod toward the floor. “You wanted a taste. So take a taste, sweetheart.”

He crosses his arms. “Mm. Ask me nicely.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ask me nicely to eat you out and maybe I will.”

Your expression falls flat. “Take the goddamn taste, Harold, or I will go out there and find somebody who will.”

He’s amused, but you know he’s also nervous. He doesn’t like the idea that you’d take yourself from him, so, he clears his throat and slowly lowers to his knees.

Exactly where he belongs.

His head bows, something he doesn’t do quite that often, and your heart soars. He looks beautiful like this. Submissive and good. Everything you know he’s not. 

You brush your fingers through the curls draping across his forehead and he seems to settle into your touch before you’re hooking your finger under his chin and lifting his head.

Your eyes meet, a look of utter reverence written across his face as he gazes at you with awe and respect. And your stomach nearly twists as you whisper, “You know what to do.”

And he does. His mouth turns up in a gentle smile as he slowly reaches for your ankle. He resumes his earlier position, the bottom of your heel on top of his shoulder for access, and his other hand reaching to grab your hip and pull you towards his face.

You immediately bite your lip, anticipating the noises that are about to follow. 

Similar to this afternoon, he starts gentle, pressing kisses into your thighs ever so slowly. You know you’re soaking him. Can hear it and see it, even in the dim closet light.

He drags his tongue up your leg, collecting every drop that’s at his disposal, while you continue pushing back his hair so you can see him clearly. 

Finally, he reaches your swollen clit, still sensitive from his last assault, before he’s eagerly tracing it with the tip of his tongue.

You writhe in his hands, head turning to the side as you open your mouth to exhale a curse. And this seems to feed his ego because he repeats the action again, nose pressing into your hip as he inhales you like you’re fresh air on a spring day. Like you’re the only thing he wants in his lungs—the only breath he wants to take.

You pull his head closer as though to encourage him, and your name falls from his lips like rain.

“My sweet Bunny,” he nearly groans. “Can never get enough of you.”

“Good,” is all you can say. “We don’t have a lot of time, though. You need to be quick.”

“Who says I’m through? You owe me, sweetheart.”

You give his curls a sharp yank. “No. Get up and fuck me.”

He pouts, feigning a tantrum, but you know his cock is throbbing rather pitifully for you. So, he obliges, standing to his feet while you gather yourself in wait.

He tugs down his boxers, the only fabric left between you, and you try not to stare as you grab onto his shoulders and prepare to sink down.

“Five minutes,” you instruct softly. “Make it count.”

However, before you can feel that glorious tip pushing its way through, he’s suddenly grabbing onto your hips and spinning you around. Shoving you against the coat closet wall as you gasp.

Instantly, his hand comes up to slap against your lips. “Hush now," he hisses against your ear. "Unless you want Hugh to know what I'm really doing to his pretty girl?"

You’d roll your eyes if you didn’t feel his hips knocking into yours, giving you just a taste of what’s to come. Instead, you glance over your shoulder in an attempt to see him, and nod once.

But this isn’t good enough. So, he reaches for the bowtie around your neck, pulling on it until it snaps off into his hand. He holds it as though it were a prize he won in battle before he’s slipping it over your head and into your mouth.

You take it between your teeth and bite down obediently.

“Good,” he hums, giving your ass a quick spank. The sound echoes between the small walls. “That’s much better, hm?”

You feel him drag his cock through your dripping folds while his other hand ghosts down the curve of your spine. He’s gentle with you, despite his cruel taunting, and you’re almost impressed. Infatuated, even.

His warm body feels so good against yours. Luring you into a sense of security you can’t seem to find anywhere else. And you rather enjoy it as you feel the thickness of him starting to stretch you open.

You moan around the tie while Harry grunts in your ear. Just like the first time the two of you found yourselves in this position. 

And exactly like every other time before, he doesn’t rush you. He lets you feel—lets you enjoy—every inch and every second. Any other time, he’d make you beg. Beg him to go harder, go deeper. But tonight, you can’t, and it’s almost a shame he won’t get to hear it.

Instead, you offer a muffled whimper that seems to do the trick, and he chuckles to himself. “Need more, don’t you?”

You nod quickly, and he wraps his arms around your stomach in order to tug you back and guide you along his cock the way he wants.

He goes faster. His five minutes is now down to four, and he knows he’ll have to make this quicker than usual. Sharp, hard thrusts that make your legs shake and your heart race. But somehow, it’s still not enough.

“You like to play with me, don’t you, hm?” he begins to taunt. An angrier tone than before. “Make me watch you? With him?”

Your eyes nearly roll back, and you whine against the fabric on your tongue.

"Think I don't know?" he scoffs. "Think I don't know who this pussy belongs to?"

He starts to slow. A rather achingly languid pace that’s meant to make you scream, and you nearly do.

“I do,” he promises in a dark whisper. “I know exactly who you belong to.”

You arch your back and reach for his hair. Pulling his face into your neck as he leaves a trail of wet kisses all the way down to your shoulder.

“So stay,” he murmurs. “Stay with me. Don’t go back to him. Don’t make me jealous, Bunny. Don’t make me watch him touch you. Please.”

Please.

A word he rarely uses, even when you instruct him to. But it sounds so beautiful between his lips, and you nearly tell him you’ll never leave him again.

But you know he doesn’t mean it. It’s just what you say in a moment like this. So, you whimper, and tug on him harder. Pretending to agree until he smiles.

The small coat room has become a sauna, your naked bodies now writhing together as the rest of the world continues on around you.

You can hear the music, the people, the party. A constant reminder that while you’ve disappeared into your own little world within this closet...the two of you will never truly be alone.

But you don’t get a chance to focus on that when his hand suddenly reaches around to take hold of your chest. Plucking your nipple between his large, rough fingertips. You brace your forehead against the wall as you push yourself into his palm. Anxious for more, which he happily gives you.

The two of you move like the tide, one fluid motion of your bodies in rhythmic harmony. He leaves your tit to focus on your clit. Forcing you closer to a second orgasm that already feels much stronger than the first.

"Here," he breathes. “Give me your hand. Want you to touch yourself for me, okay? So I can watch you.”

Your arm trembles as you move it toward your thighs, where he easily takes your fingers and places them against your pussy exactly the way his had been.

“Just like that. Good. Rub it for me, sweetheart. Yeah…there you go. Attagirl. Keep going, don’t stop.”

You feel his eyes over your shoulder as you pinch and rub the swollen nerves as your legs shake. After a moment, he grabs your thigh and lifts your knee to the wall. Giving himself a different and deeper angle as you nearly cry out around the bowtie in your mouth.

Everything feels wet. And warm. And perfect. And you know you’re moments away from coming around his cock for the second time today.

“How you doing, baby?” he chuckles when he notices the fucked-out expression on your face. “You all right?”

You nod as best you can and clench down on his cock for confirmation. And he makes a rather animalistic noise before he’s grabbing onto your tit again and groping it in his palm. 

“Good. You gonna cum for me, little one? Milk me like I know you can?”

Another nod. You can hear the party growing louder, which means it’s almost midnight. And that means Hugh’s speech will be any second now.

You’re squirming harder, unable to fight such intense pleasure as it comes from his cock and your fingertips. But he catches you, grip tightening around your thigh as he squeezes so hard, you know you’ll see bruises in the shape of his name tomorrow.

But you don’t mind. You know you’ll be able to touch them in the shower and remember this—remember him.

“Cum,” he instructs, almost viciously. “Right now, Bunny. Fucking cum. Let me feel you. Gotta feel you, honey, please.”

You roll yourself back onto his cock just to feel full while he kisses your jaw and begs you to let go. 

You’re so close you can nearly taste it. And he’s even closer than you, doing his best to hold out but you know it’s rather hard with the watch you’re squeezing him.

And when you feel him start to buck and twitch, you can’t help but smile.

He spills inside you as he bottoms out. He hates coming first, and always tries incredibly hard not to. But tonight, you can’t exactly fault him, and as it turns out, the feel of him inside you—so warm it makes your head spin—is what you need to follow.

The orgasm nearly explodes behind your eyelids as you scream into the tie, forcing Harry to slap his hand back over your mouth to silence you.

“Quiet,” he hisses, nose pressed against your cheek. “Shut up.”

Yet you don’t even try. You don’t care that you might get caught or that someone could hear. Perhaps you will once the consequences catch up to you, but right now? Right now, you moan into his hand and allow every moment of this pleasure to take control of you. 

Your sweaty bodies melt together, damp hair clinging to your skin as Harry finally lets go and steps back.

But instead of pulling his clothes back on, the sadistic man drops back down to his knees, and spins you around.

He brushes your hand away from your clit in order to do the work himself. Resuming his previous pace on your rather abused nerves until you nearly crumble to the floor.

It’s almost too much. Your eyes roll back and your head drops against the wall. You can’t stand it, yet you can’t get enough.

“One more,” is all he says before diving forward for a lick. “Just one more, baby.”

You’re too sensitive. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you watch him through the blissful haze as he closes his eyes to savor the taste.

It’s a mix of you and him, and watching him lap at you like a thirsty man desperate for a drink is sinful. He’s so good. So beautiful like this. Devoted just to you the way no other man ever has been before.

Outside, you can hear the sound of Hugh calling for everyone’s attention. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’ll be furious if you’re not there. If he has to find you. And if he finds you with Harry?

You don’t have any more time. You have to go. Right now. But you’re so close, and Harry isn’t stopping, and you just need to finish, you just need…need—

You cum for the third and final time with a rather lewd and anguished moan.

Instantly, you start to slump forward as Harry leaps to his feet in order to keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” he coos. “There you go. I’ve got you. S’okay.”

Your vision is fuzzy as you grip onto his shoulders for balance, the taste of the orgasm still bleeding along your tongue. 

But you can’t bid him goodbye just yet. So, you rip the tie from your mouth and kiss him. Drowning in the taste of him and you together. And nothing else really matters except his hands and the way they hold you close. 

“Good boy,” you exhale after you’ve pulled apart.“Knew you could do it.”

He only grins.

The two of you quickly work to redress, pulling on your clothes and shoes while Harry’s cum continues to streak down your thighs. It seems he didn’t get it all, and the realization that you’ll have to go out there with him still snug inside your cunt makes your stomach flutter.

When Harry notices your surprised expression, he winks. “Wanna make sure you’re thinking of me when you’re standing next to him.”

You scoff. But deep down, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Harry helps you secure the tie back around your neck, effectively covering the hickeys he so generously left for you to find later. And you make sure to brush back his curls so they look a little more tame before swiping your thumb across his chin to collect what’s left of you.

And once you’ve finally gathered yourself, you move for the door, only stopping to give him one last glance.

“This was nice,” you tell him honestly. “Just make me a deal, okay?”

His eyebrow raises.

“Next time? Don’t wait so long.”

With that, you’re out the door. Leaving the breathless man behind. But you know it certainly isn’t the last time you’ll see him. After all, the summer is far from over.

And you’re just getting started.

HI!!! I just wanted to say that even though we have a Hugh Hefner in this story, I don't consider it to be the same one as the real one! I used his name because he's so famously associated with Playboy but I do not agree with or condone anything that he's done or how he treated people!

I am only using his name, but please imagine anyone you'd like! 💞

~ Main Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin

@justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda

@vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach

@lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana

@dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@laelamarley @idkkkkkkk123lgb 

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Check one, two”

Tom Hardy x f!Reader

Masterlist here

⋆｡°✩🎥✧📸⛓️⊹𖤐✦ 💋𓆩♡𓆪☾ 🎞️༄★ ⌇🌙 ⧫ 🎤

Summary: A mic accident turns into a viral scandal when you’re caught moaning your boyfriend’s name backstage.

WC: 3.8k

Tags/Wanings: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, semi-public sex, filming a sex tape, unprotected piv, oral (m&f receiving), established relationship, reader is famous actress. This is a work of fiction. It is written for entertainment purposes only, the version of tom portrayed here is a fictional character. If RPF isn’t for you, feel free to skip this one

⋆｡°✩🎥✧📸⛓️⊹𖤐✦ 💋𓆩♡𓆪☾ 🎞️༄★ ⌇🌙 ⧫ 🎤

He was proud of the weight his name carried. Of the legacy he’d built with quiet consistency. The last few years had been about pulling away from the cameras, the spotlight. Choosing privacy over attention. Silence over scandal. His personal life had become something sacred — locked down, sealed tight.

You were the exact opposite.

Famous and filthy rich since your early teens, the word “no” had rarely, if ever, applied to you. The flashes of paparazzi, the roar of the crowd, the center of the stage — that was your natural habitat. You thrived under scrutiny. Craved the chaos.

By 26, you’d racked up more Oscars than Meryl Streep and more controversies than Kim K. You’d lost count of how many times you’d been cancelled — but it never stuck. The outrage always fizzled out, smothered beneath your undeniable talent. Your fans were loyal to a fault. Rabid. Defensive. A legion armed with memes, think pieces, and fan cams, ready to die on every hill you stood on.

The rumors started two years ago, back when you were both cast in that movie. The erotic thriller. The one that had half the internet foaming at the mouth before it even premiered. You and him on the same set was all it took for the tabloids to spiral.

He’d tried to stay under the radar. Tried to keep things quiet. Told you a million times he wanted to keep a low profile. That’s why you never commented publicly, never confirmed the relationship. But after dozens of events, red carpets, and paparazzi photos that screamed louder than any PR statement, there was no need for a declaration. Everyone knew.

Sometimes, he hated himself for getting involved with someone like you. Someone bold. Reckless. Addictive.

He was no stranger to your little games. Like during the press junket for the film — when your hand slid high up his thigh, fingers grazing his cock with the kind of casual confidence that made his pulse spike. You kept talking, kept smiling, answering questions like nothing was happening. Like you weren’t stroking him through his trousers while four journalists sat barely a few feet away.

⋆｡°✩🎥✧📸⛓️⊹𖤐✦ 💋𓆩♡𓆪☾ 🎞️༄★ ⌇🌙 ⧫ 🎤

This night, you looked like sin. It was the premiere of the new film you starred in, and you showed up dressed like a provocation.

That dress — red, liquid-slick, poured over your curves like melted wax. Backless. Braless. Dangerous. Every inch of skin you revealed looked deliberate, from the deep plunge of the neckline to the scandalous curve of your spine. Diamonds dripped from your neck like ice. Your heels could’ve slit a throat.

Tom was fucked the second he saw you.

“You’re gonna behave tonight, yeah?” he murmured under his breath, his palm settling low on your back as he escorted you into the venue. His voice was all gravel and restraint, a fragile attempt at composure as cameras flashed and fans screamed.

You leaned in, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Only if you make me.”

That hand slid lower. Gripped tighter. Right above your ass.

“Don’t start,” he warned, jaw already tense.

Too late. You’d started the second you stepped out of the car.

And backstage? Things got worse.

You were scheduled to give a short speech before the film began — five minutes, spotlight, polite applause. Your mic was clipped discreetly to the inside of your neckline.

Tom? Mic’d too — strictly for the behind-the-scenes documentary crew. Supposed to be muted. Supposed to be.

But when you pulled him into the green room before your cue?

That mic was live.

“Ten minutes,” you whispered, voice low and sweet as the door clicked shut behind you. The makeup team had cleared. The room was quiet. Just you and him.

His eyes dropped to your chest. Up close, the dress was almost obscene, the fabric hugged every contour, clinging to your nipples with no shame. There was nothing underneath. Nothing to hide behind.

“You’re trouble,” he growled, stepping in close. The tension in his voice cracked at the edges, already unraveling.

You smiled, slow and wicked, and reached down — palming his cock right through his tailored pants. Bold. Effortless. Deliberate.

“You like it.”

He caught your wrist. Firm. Commanding. A warning.

“Not here.”

You pouted, body pressing closer. Your lips brushed his jaw. “You’re already hard. That mean you want me?”

He stared at you like a man starved.

Then? He locked the door.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he muttered, voice rough with need, hands already gripping your hips, spinning you around, pushing you back against the dressing table. His fingers rucked up your dress — fast, practiced, hungry.

You didn’t wait. You hiked it higher. No panties. No hesitation.

And Tom? Dropped to his knees.

Right there. Suit still on. On the fucking carpet. Eyes locked on your cunt like it was his only salvation.

Face buried between your thighs before you could even breathe.

“Oh—fuck—Tom—”

You gasped, back arching, fingers flying into his hair as his tongue dragged through your folds. Slow. Greedy. Possessive. His beard scratched in the most sinful way, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking hard until your knees buckled and you had to grip the table to keep from collapsing.

“Louder,” he growled into you, “wanna hear how wrecked you get for me.”

“Tom—please—oh my god—”

And that’s when the sound tech’s worst nightmare came true.

Because while Tom had you whimpering and soaked on his tongue, his mic was still hot. Still connected. Still transmitting.

The audience heard it.

First, just a soft, breathy moan — like a secret not meant to be shared, crackling through the venue speakers as the crowd shuffled and murmured, waiting for the film to start.

Then:

“Tom—fuck, right there—”

A gasp.

A slick, wet sound.

A man’s groan, deep and distorted.

And then chaos. Scrambling audio techs. Static. The sound cut.

But the damage was done.

Back in the green room?

You were cumming on his face.

Your teeth sank into your hand to keep from screaming, body shuddering, thighs clamped around his head as his tongue drove you to pieces. He held you in place like you were his meal — which you were. Sloppy. Ruthless. Devoted.

When he finally stood, his chin was glistening. His eyes feral. His chest heaving like he’d been through war.

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he muttered, dragging your dress back down, kissing your jaw as you panted in his arms. “Catch your breath. You’re on in sixty seconds.”

And then?

The door burst open. A frantic stage manager. Red-faced. Out of breath.

“Tom, your mic—”

That was when it hit you.

People heard you.

The scandal was immediate. The internet? On fire before the lights even dimmed.

Was that a MOAN during the pre-show?? Is she okay??

“Tom—fuck, right there” 😭 NOT TOM HARDY HAVING HIS MIC ON

Hard-launching his oral game mid-Emmy campaign is a flex I respect.

i want a relationship like theirs. chaotic, talented, public, and completely unapologetic. plus the oral game is clearly elite

we all heard it. you’re not slick.

On stage, you were flawless. Smiling. Glowing. Commanding the spotlight like you hadn’t just been tongue-fucked backstage with a live mic on.

Tom looked like he wanted to strangle the entire sound team.

In the car afterward, you were curled in his lap, laughing breathlessly as your phone buzzed nonstop.

“You’re trending,” you whispered against his throat. “Tom Hardy Oral Audio Leak.”

He groaned. Head falling back. Hands gripping your thigh like a man punished.

“You’re evil. You know that?”

You shrugged. “You ate me out like you were starving. You should’ve expected consequences.”

He kissed your collarbone. Then your shoulder. Then lower.

“You wanna talk consequences?” he murmured. “You’re not walking tomorrow.”

You smirked. Tugged him closer by the tie.

“I didn’t plan to.”

⋆｡°✩🎥✧📸⛓️⊹𖤐✦ 💋𓆩♡𓆪☾ 🎞️༄★ ⌇🌙 ⧫ 🎤

You woke up with a sore throat, aching thighs from the night before, and six dozen missed calls.

The sunlight was brutal. Your body ached. Your core still pulsed with the ghost of his tongue, and the rasp in your throat sounded like you’d been screaming through a house fire.

Tom was still asleep behind you, arm heavy around your waist, warm breath at your neck, the weight of him thick and grounding. There were dried scratches trailing down his back like a confession scrawled in flesh. You’d clawed at him, ridden his mouth like a threat. Now you were paying for it.

Your phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t just a message.

It was a goddamn news alert.

NY Times: “Was That Tom Hardy’s Mic?” Internet Loses Its Mind Over Mysterious Moan at Last Night’s Premiere.”

You blinked. Stared at the screen. Then snorted so hard it hurt.

“Tom,” you wheezed, elbowing him. “Babe. Wake up. You’re on the front page of the Times for eating me out.”

He groaned behind you, muffled, like he was still halfway through a dream. “What…?”

“Wake. Up. We’re viral.”

He turned over, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, one cheek still creased from the pillow. And when he saw the headline?

That woke him the fuck up.

He sat up fast. Grabbed your phone. Scrolled through the notifications with the dawning horror of a man realizing he’d just publicly deepthroated his chances at subtlety.

Vulture: “When You Hear the Moan That Launched a Thousand Tweets.”

Buzzfeed: “10 Times Tom Hardy Accidentally Gave the Internet a Thirst Crisis.”

GQ: “Mic’d Up and Down Bad: The Moan Heard ’Round the World.”

“…Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, this is a mess.”

Thirty minutes later? PR hellfire.

Your manager was pacing the hotel suite like she was preparing to fling herself out the window. Your agent had called twice, then texted in all caps:

“DO NOT SAY ANYTHING TO THE PRESS.”

“DO NOT TWEET ABOUT IT.”

“DONT DO ANYTHING.”

Tom’s publicist? Sent a single email. Subject line blank. Just the message:

“Tom. Please. Not again.”

You were on your third mimosa. Barefoot, robe half open, legs still aching, a smug ache in your hips where he’d made a full meal out of you.

“Y’know,” you said, sipping from the flute, “we could deny it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You moaned my name into a hot mic.”

You grinned into your glass.

Your manager called again.

“Alright,” you said, exhaling, “so what’s the move? Denial? Apology? Public celibacy pact?”

Your manager’s voice crackled like she’d aged a decade overnight. “Just… let them talk. With luck, they’ll forget soon enough.”

They wouldn’t.

Not today.

Today, Twitter was war.

“the way she said ‘fuck’ like she was his last meal…”

“imagine having tom hardy’s face between your legs and you know the mic is on and you STILL don’t care.”

“i need that man to choke me backstage like he choked his chances at an unproblematic press tour.”

You showed him the tweets.

He laughed so hard he fell back against the couch. “You’re a menace.”

You crawled into his lap like gravity had pulled you there. Straddling him in his towel. Hair dripping. Smiling like a problem.

“You like it.”

His hand slid to your thigh — fingers slipping just beneath the edge of your robe.

“I fuckin’ love it.”

⋆｡°✩🎥✧📸⛓️⊹𖤐✦ 💋𓆩♡𓆪☾ 🎞️༄★ ⌇🌙 ⧫ 🎤

Later that day, the interview requests rolled in.

You picked your favorite: a soft, upscale, Vanity Fair-style profile. One-on-one. Fireplace. Matching all black. Glamor and damage control in one shot.

Tom wore a tight black turtleneck. You wore a smug smile, glossy lips, and the memory of his mouth between your thighs.

Midway through, the interviewer coughed delicately.

“So,” she said, flipping her cue card with the stiff grace of someone afraid of HR, “we have to address the elephant in the room. Last night was… eventful.”

You smiled with practiced innocence. “Was it?”

“There’s a lot of buzz. About… a mic. And a moment.”

Tom leaned in. “Sound design’s a funny thing, innit? Could’ve been a technical issue.”

You deadpanned, eyes cool: “Sometimes… you really feel the performance.”

The interviewer blinked.

Tom added, voice a purr: “I like to support her work.”

She stammered something about Twitter and going viral.

You sipped your water. “Tom’s talented.”

He smiled like sin. “She’s vocal.”

You nodded solemnly. “Always support local artists.”

The interviewer gave up.

The internet exploded. Again.

“‘support her work’ IS CODE FOR EATING HER OUT BEFORE SHOWTIME.”

“their media training is nonexistent and i’m obsessed.”

“they are deranged and in love and i would die for either of them.”

“he said ‘support her work’ and she said ‘he’s talented.’ baby that’s not flirting, that’s foreplay.”

TikTok edits hit like a tsunami.

Caption: “TOM HARDY LOOKS AT HER LIKE SHE’S GOD.”

Song: Rihanna’s “S&M.”

Clips: Tom licking his lips mid-interview, you whispering something in his ear, one distorted cut of your moan at 0.75x speed.

A girl sobbing into her ring light: “THEY FLIRT LIKE FOREPLAY AND I’M NOT STRONG ENOUGH.”

Caption: “Tom Hardy’s hands are the real problem.”

30 seconds of slow-motion clips: Tom’s hands gripping your waist, adjusting his mic, resting casually on your thigh during interviews like they weren’t registered weapons.

2.3 million views in 3 hours.

Instagram Reels? Just loops of Tom saying “She’s vocal,” comments:

“he said it with his whole dick in love.”

“i need to go lie down.”

“he’s not acting. he’s possessed.”

Merch dropped the next day.

Minimalist font. Black hoodies. Just said: “She’s Vocal.”

⋆｡°✩🎥✧📸⛓️⊹𖤐✦ 💋𓆩♡𓆪☾ 🎞️༄★ ⌇🌙 ⧫ 🎤

You’re sprawled across the bed, silk robe barely hanging on, one shoulder exposed, thighs parted like a half-written invitation. The glow of your screen lights your face as you scroll — red carpet stills, backstage selfies, a grainy, almost pornographic shot of Tom with his teeth in your neck, your lipstick smeared across his jaw in a hotel elevator.

He walks in from the bathroom, towel slung low, still damp, skin flushed from the shower. He sees your expression first, then your screen.

“What’s on your mind?”

You tilt your head, smiling slow and wicked. “I was thinking… we already have the audio of you eating me out. What about the video?”

He pauses, water beading on his chest, eyes narrowing with suspicion and heat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You drag your gaze down his chest, down to the barely-clinging towel. “I want to record us.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he mutters.

You grin wider. “Little bit.”

“You think I want this shit leaked? ‘Tom Hardy Sex Tape’ trending while I’m buying cereal?”

You drag a finger up your thigh, slow, deliberate, tracing the inside with teasing flicks. “No one’s leaking anything. This is just for us.”

You tilt your chin, letting your voice go soft, coaxing: “You don’t trust me?”

His jaw flexes. “I trust you. I don’t trust your iCloud password to be strong enough to not get hacked.”

You blink, mock-offended. “Oh, come on.”

He snorts — then stops short when you say it:

“I want to watch you ruin me.”

His chest rises sharply. Breath caught.

“I want to see your hands around my throat. I want to hear the way I scream when you fuck me. I want to remember what your face looks like when you’re inside me. When I’m coming all over you.”

Tom swears under his breath. “Fucking hell…”

And then —

“Pass me the fuckin’ phone.”

It starts slow.

His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs circling, mapping every inch like it’s his first time all over again, except this time, there’s a lens watching. Recording.

And that’s what makes your breath stutter when he pushes your knees apart, spreading you open under the warm, amber lamplight.

“Camera’s rolling,” he murmurs, dark eyes flicking up. “Say something for me.”

You smirk. Voice syrup-sweet.

“What should I say, daddy?”

His eyes go black. Pupils blown. You’ve got him.

“Come here and tell the camera how much you love sucking this cock.”

You do.

On your knees, plush and obedient, robe falling open over your shoulders and pooling around your waist. Completely bare underneath. Nipples tight, stomach fluttering, dripping down your thighs before you’ve even touched him.

Your hand wraps around his thick length — slow, reverent, greedy. Fingers barely meeting around the girth. He twitches in your palm, precum slicking your thumb.

You whimper, breath warm against the head as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses down his shaft — tongue teasing the slit, dragging along that thick, throbbing vein that runs beneath.

“I love it so much,” you whisper, stroking slow, tongue dragging along the vein. “Best cock I’ve ever had. Ever tasted.”

Tom groans low in his throat, a feral sound, deep and cracked open. His arm flexes as he tilts the camera downward, angling it to catch every filthy inch of what you’re doing to him.

“Look at her,” he pants. “Perfect fuckin’ mouth. Takes me so good. She’s fuckin’ starving for it. Fuckin’ love you, baby—”

Your lips part wider. You lick a thick stripe up the underside, then suck the tip in hard, cheeks hollowing around him. Eyes fluttering. Throat relaxing.

He groans, fingers twitching at the base, watching the way his cock disappears down your throat, inch by inch, until your nose presses against his pelvis.

You choke — just a little. Just enough. The sound makes his hand tighten in your hair.

You moan around him, the vibration pulling another deep curse from his chest. You hollow your cheeks more. Drool slips down your chin, glistening in the lens.

“She loves it,” he growls into the lens, voice tight with restraint, jaw clenched like it’s killing him not to cum already. “Look at this little slut. Fuckin’ addicted.”

Then he hands the phone to you — slow, deliberate.

You blink up, pupils blown, spit-slick lips swollen. Fingers trembling as you take the phone in one hand… and his cock in the other.

Still stroking. Still needy. Still aching.

“You wanna watch yourself fuck my face, daddy?” you whisper, lips brushing his tip again, eyes gleaming.

And then you angle the phone down, give it the perfect view as you take him back into your mouth — sloppier this time. Louder. Messier.

You gag when he thrusts, and the sound sends him over the edge.

“Fuck… stop,” His breath shudders. “Your turn now.”

You’re flat on your back now, legs spread, camera shaking in your grip as you film him tongue-deep in your cunt, eyes locked on your, groaning against your pussy like he’s fucking starving. His hands grip your thighs hard, pulling you closer with every lick, jaw working, nose buried, and those wild eyes locked on yours.

He groans as he tastes you, lapping slow, then faster, then harder — holding your hips down when you buck up. You can hear the sounds on the recording — wet, obscene, slick, every lap, every slick drag of tongue against your soaked folds.

You’re panting, breathless. “He doesn’t stop until you beg,” you say, voice shaking. “I’ve tried. He doesn’t stop.”

Tom lifts his head, chin soaked. He grins. Cocky. Filthy. Proud.

“Fucking right I don’t.”

You try to keep the phone steady, filming the way his tongue flicks your clit, the way your thighs are trembling, the way your toes curl against the sheets, heels digging in like you’re trying to run from it—except you’re not. You want more.

“Make me cum on camera, Tom,” you gasp.

His tongue answers faster than words. You moan so loud the sound spikes the recording.

You scream. The camera tips. Shakes. Then tumbles to the sheets.

You’re now filming yourself as you ride him — your body rocking, hips rolling, that soaked little pussy taking him all the way in, again and again and again. The camera catches everything: the bounce of your tits, the sheen of sweat on your chest, the obscene way his cock disappears into your soaked heat.

You dip your fingers down, stroke your clit, gliding through your own slick, whispering to the camera, “Look how wet I am. All for him. Only for my man.”

“Fuck, baby,” Tom grunts, one hand gripping your ass, the other adjusting the angle. “Look at this cunt. Mine. So fuckin’ tight and wet.”

You whimper again, roll your hips deeper, and his cock drags against every sensitive spot inside you — slow, hot friction that makes your whole body tremble. The sound of you soaking him fills the room.

“Give me the phone,” he growls. “Wanna film your pretty face. Wanna see that pretty little face when you cum on me.”

He takes the phone with one hand, the other grabbing your jaw, tilting your face up for the camera, and for him. Your mouth is open, eyes glassy, tits bouncing with every thrust.

He’s holding your jaw now, whispering, “Show the camera. Show ’em what this cunt was made for—mine. All fuckin’ mine.”

You sob his name.

Over and over. Louder each time.

“Say it louder,” he pants. “Let the camera hear how I fuck the words outta you.”

“Tom—fuck, deeper—please—don’t stop—don’t stop—” You’re gasping, voice shrill and wild. Your clit grinding against his pelvis, your thighs clenching around his waist, your whole body twitching with every thrust.

“That’s right, babe. Let ‘em hear what my cock does to you.”

The final scene? Pure filth.

He’s got you bent over, cheek to the sheets, hair in his fist, cock pounding into you so deep it makes your legs give out.

One hand tangled in your hair. The other holds the camera. Zoomed in on your cunt. The way it grips him. The way it drools around him every time he slams in.

“This is my favorite view,” he groans, breath ragged. “Watch this when I’m gone. Fuck yourself to it. Promise me.”

Your voice breaks, sobbing. “I’ll cum to it. I’ll cum so fuckin’ hard.”

He grits out a curse, pounding harder, the slap of skin-on-skin loud and merciless.

“Mmm—f-fuck, Tom—ohmygod—right there—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

“Look at you,” he rasps. “Fucked open. Cryin’. So fuckin’ desperate for it…That’s it, babe. Cum on my cock. Make a fuckin’ mess of me again.”

“Tom—fuck—I’m—I’m—” Your voice shatters. “I’m cumming—fuck—I’m cumming—”

He growls your name. His thrusts go erratic. “Fuck—fuck, babe—I’m—shit—I’m cumming too—”

Your body jerks. You cum loud, wet, soaking him, legs shaking, ass slapping back into his hips as he fills you, deep and hot, with a strangled groan.

“Keep the camera on me,” you gasp, eyes glazed. “Don’t stop filming.”

So he does.

He films himself kissing your shoulder, stroking your hair, then slipping two fingers into your still-dripping cunt, pushing his cum back inside you, slow and possessive.

“That’s where it belongs,” he murmurs.

You both collapse into the sheets, breathless, sore, laughing through the haze.

Tom rolls to his side, grabs the phone, and films you one last time:

Flushed. Glowing. Fucked out and grinning.

“You’re gonna watch this every time I’m gone,” he says, voice low.

You smile, voice hoarse. “Gonna send you timestamps.”

And then—

Fade to black.

⋆｡°✩🎥✧📸⛓️⊹𖤐✦ 💋𓆩♡𓆪☾ 🎞️༄★ ⌇🌙 ⧫ 🎤

A/N: Okay, so this was just a silly little idea I threw together in about an hour — hope you enjoy it anyway! The final part of the Alfie series is dropping this Saturday, and I’m also working on the third and final chapter of the Already Ruined fic with Harry.

To everyone who’s requested Harry and Alfie fics: I see you, I love you, and I promise I’m working on them, thank you for your patience🩷🩷

Thanks for all the love and support.

[cece693]

TOP PRIORITY IS SO GOOD!!!! I LOVE THE HANNIGRAM X READER TENSION ITS GIVING ME THE WILL (pun intended) TO LIVE LIKE OH MY!

the tension between sworn guard and a love interest, especially if that id someone they’re guarding?!?! plus hannibal’s possessive manipulative nature my babies

This is perhaps one of my best works (if I say so myself.) Just something about a love triangle where everyone can obviously make it work but they're too stubborn to do so warms my heart. So, of course, I had to do pt. 2. Hope you enjoy it!

Top Priority Pt. 2

tags: blood, takes place during the end of season 2 with obvious changes, Hannibal being emotional but hiding it well, reader is at a crossroads, hurt will, Abigail doesn't exist in my story

The seasons shift in a blur of grey mornings and subdued evenings at Dr. Lecter’s table. You are there, quietly situated at his side, every movement reflecting the careful polish of Hannibal’s instruction. Whether it’s clearing plates, setting the finest cutlery, or simply standing watch, you serve your purpose without complaint. And all the while, Will Graham remains an unspoken question mark between you and Hannibal—a slow burn that neither you nor Will fully understands.

Will has long suspected that something binds you to Hannibal. In the beginning, it was a mere flicker of curiosity: your nearly imperceptible deference, the way you would catch Hannibal’s eye before answering a simple question—as though waiting for silent permission. Initially, Will thought you were just a personal assistant or perhaps a housemate paying low rent. But your intense loyalty was unmistakable, far beyond an ordinary tenant or friend.

He mentioned it in passing to Jack Crawford, who dismissed it as inconsequential—Hannibal Lecter was known for his eccentricities. Later, Will confided in Alana Bloom: “There’s something about the way he obeys Hannibal. It’s not normal.” Alana had only frowned, unsure what to make of Will’s worry.

What gnawed at Will most was your reluctance to engage him whenever Hannibal wasn’t around. You seemed guarded, offering half-smiles and polite dismissals, as if every conversation with Will could threaten the structure of your indebted existence. Will recognized the signs of someone living in quiet distress, despite your outward veneer of calm. The more he tried to get close to you, the more you sidestepped him with disarming courtesy.

Yet Will was not one to let go once his curiosity had sunk its hooks. He returned to Hannibal’s office again and again, partly for his own 'non-therapy conversations', but also to unravel the mystery that was you. Each time he visited, he gleaned tidbits—how you’d appeared in Hannibal’s life from some dire circumstance, though the exact details were never shared. You spoke rarely of your personal history, and Hannibal, skilled at deflection, would guide Will back to safer topics—his own nightmares, his empathy disorder, his struggles at the FBI.

Over time, Will found himself spending more evenings at Hannibal’s house. One quiet night, as the fireplace cast dancing shadows on the walls, Hannibal spoke softly about trust and betrayal. You were in the next room, tidying away the remains of dinner. Will, gazing into the flickering flames, found himself confiding, “I’m worried about him. (Y/N), he’s not free, is he?”

Hannibal’s dark eyes met Will’s, the reflection of the fire dancing across his irises. “He is where he needs to be,” was the only answer given. The statement rang both protective and possessive, warning Will against further prying. Still, it only fueled Will’s desire to help you.

In an unexpected twist, Will’s growing suspicions tethered him more tightly to Hannibal. He couldn’t deny the magnetic allure that emanated from the doctor—nor the deep sense of validation he found when Hannibal listened to his every fear and doubt with rapt attention. Nights that began as investigative queries ended with Will perched in an armchair, discussing everything from theology to classical music, while Hannibal watched him with that singular intensity.

You would sometimes catch these moments from a distance: Hannibal and Will leaning in toward each other, breath catching in hushed conversation. A flicker of jealousy, of heartbreak, would course through you. Yet you could also see that Will was searching for answers. For you. That realization gave you a bittersweet sense of comfort. But above all, your loyalty to Hannibal held you in place.

The deeper Will waded into Hannibal’s world, the more entangled he became. His original motive, to protect you and uncover the truth, mingled with the enthrallment of Hannibal’s attention. And through all of it, you remained the silent axis around which they spun.

That final night arrives in a swirl of tension. Jack Crawford has set a plan in motion to confront Hannibal—a plan that Will, feeling the crushing weight of his moral duty, has reluctantly agreed to. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Will prays that none of this leads to violence. He wants Hannibal behind bars, not bleeding on the floor. And most of all, he wants you freed from the quiet tyranny of Hannibal’s influence.

You sense from the moment dinner starts that everything is about to change. Alana Bloom arrives first, tension coiling in her posture. Will follows soon after, accompanied by a grim determination in his eyes. The meal passes in stiff conversation. You hover in the background, clearing plates, pouring wine, noticing how Will’s gaze trails after you with unspoken concern. Your every movement is a performance of composure, but inside, your heart gallops in fear.

The confrontation begins quietly. Alana, her voice trembling, tries to reason with Hannibal. The next moments are chaos—raised voices, the thunder of footsteps, shattered glass. You catch sight of Jack Crawford in the hallway, blood on his side from a savage altercation with Hannibal. Alana is forced out, panic in her eyes, as she crumbles to the outside. Then, in the hush that follows, Hannibal and Will face each other in the kitchen.

Rain lashes the windows, a howling wind rattling them in their frames. You stand near the threshold, heart pounding as you watch Hannibal circle Will like a predator. There’s blood marring Hannibal’s shirt—a crimson bloom that, in a more rational moment, you’d find jarring on his otherwise impeccable attire.

Will’s chest heaves with exertion, his gun trembling in his hand. But he lowers it, resignation mingling with heartbreak. “You knew,” Will says shakily. “You knew I was working with Jack.”

Hannibal’s eyes slide from Will to you, then back again. You see heartbreak there—genuine heartbreak—but it’s masked by a cold fury. “I was curious to see what you would do,” Hannibal murmurs, stepping closer to Will. “Would you choose me? Would you choose him?” He flicks an almost sorrowful glance at you, but it’s gone in an instant. “You wanted the truth, Will, and here it is.”

Will stares, chest heaving. “I didn’t want—” His voice falters; words fail him.

In a gesture that feels achingly intimate, Hannibal cradles Will’s face in one hand. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. You see Will’s expression soften with anguished confusion at this contact. “It’s painful, isn’t it?” Hannibal whispers. “Knowing that I loved you in my way, and yet you would see me caged. You would have taken everything away from me—you and (Y/N) included."

Hannibal presses his forehead to Will’s in a mockery of tenderness. Will stands transfixed, breath hitching. Then, with a swift, expert movement, Hannibal drives a knife into Will’s abdomen. A strangled gasp erupts from Will’s throat. The gun clatters to the floor. His knees buckle under him, and blood seeps across his shirt.

You can hardly breathe. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch the knife enter Will’s body. Time seems to slow—the bright red of Will’s blood blooming on the tiles, the reflection of heartbreak and fury in Hannibal’s face. Your mind screams for you to intervene, to catch Will before he collapses. Yet your feet remain rooted to the floor, bound by the debt you owe Hannibal. The vow you cannot break. Your hands shake so violently that you clench them into fists at your sides, fingernails biting into your palms.

Hannibal gently lowers Will to the ground, his free hand brushing through Will’s hair with a broken tenderness. A single tear slips down Hannibal’s cheek—so rare, so alien—and you know that behind his cold exterior, he does mourn this loss. Not simply Will’s life, but Will’s loyalty and the profound connection they shared.

“He would have torn us apart,” Hannibal says, voice barely above a whisper. “He would have destroyed everything.” The words feel like a justification, flung into the silence. You don’t know if he’s speaking to you or to himself.

Will tries to speak, blood bubbling at his lips. His hand twitches toward you—an agonizing, final plea. You feel your heart split inside your chest, your tears finally spilling free. Yet you stand beside Hannibal like a soldier, swallowing the urge to cry out, to beg for Will’s forgiveness.

At last, Hannibal rises, leaving Will trembling on the blood-streaked floor. The doctor’s tear is lost in the dim light, blurred by the relentless downpour outside. He casts one last, lingering look upon Will—a silent goodbye to what might have been—and then turns to you. “Come,” he orders softly, as thunder shakes the sky. His voice bears the weight of finality, commanding your obedience as he always has.

Rain hammers the roof. Glass crunches underfoot from a shattered vase that must have fallen in the commotion. Each step away from Will Graham feels like a condemnation. By the time you reach the door, your tears burn hot trails down your cheeks. Your breath catches in gasps you struggle to contain.

Outside, the storm tears through the night. Hannibal’s hand settles on your shoulder in a gesture that is equal parts reassurance and possession. You have never felt its weight so keenly before. You choke on regret, the memory of Will’s outstretched hand etched into your mind.

The car engine revs to life as you and Hannibal slip into the dark interior. Wiper blades thrash across the windshield, scattering sheets of rain. As the car pulls away, you gaze through the rear window, seeing only the faint glow of lights in the distant house, aware of the man you left behind—his blood on the tiles, his final plea lost beneath the storm. Within the vehicle’s hush, Hannibal’s calm reigns once more. He stares straight ahead, expression solemn, the remnants of heartbreak tucked behind his eyes. You, however, cannot hide your grief.

[taylormarieee]

Co-Stars turned Lovers A Callum Turner love story

Chapter 1: "Welcome to the Beginning"

Pairing: Callum Turner x Fem!Bestfriend!Actress!Reader

Word Count: 2.k

Warnings: Kissing for like 2 secs, none really

You and Callum were the best of friends. Every Interview didn't feel the same without the other. You and him first starred together on Fantastic Beasts: Crimes Of Grindelwald and you bonded ever since.

You loved him so much and he loves you just the same. You were always spotted around LA together, always around in photos in Paris or New York to the point rumors went around that you guys were dating.

That wasn't the case at all. You were filming a new show and it took place in Paris and sometimes New York, so you constantly had to fly back and forth and you felt alone at times.

So you always invited Callum to which he happily obliged when he was free. You booked a hotel for however long you stayed in that place and always ordered a room with two beds.

One for you, and one for Callum. He was your favourite person in the whole world as you were his. He enjoyed your company and you felt as though you couldn't live without his company.

You had separation anxiety so you always felt sad when he wasn't around and would drive or fly as many hours as it took just to be with him. He was your Earth and you were his Moon. Without you he felt as though his world wouldn't spin anymore.

Without him you felt as though you had no purpose in life. Your sole purpose was to orbit around him, be around him as much as possible. You couldn't breathe without Callum.

But there were times where you had to just thug it out and do things on your own without him. He had a life too and you didn't want to seem like that annoying friend that seemed as though she didn't have a life and was just constantly around him.

There were times you will distance yourself from him if it meant you didn't seem or look annoying. But Callum of course, the sweet soul that he is never minded you clung to him 24/7. He enjoyed it actually, it made him feel appreciated and loved.

You gave him attention like crazy and he was a mama's boy. He loved feeling your validation and feeling as if he was wanted. He was drawn to you and you were drawn to him and this was the beginning of a love story you both never anticipated. The beginning of a story you both would soon realize was fate and destiny, the universe bringing you two together.

~ Welcome to the Beginning~

"Welcome to the late late show, I'm your host James Corden and I would like to welcome out our lovely guests."

Everyone in the crowd cheers and your giggling with Callum and Austin. You were so excited to be on the Late Late Show with THE James Corden. You loved James Corden.

"Gosh why am I so nervous!" You nervously giggle and look at Callum and Austin. "Maybe it's because you love James?" Austin says with a smirk on his face. It was more of a statement then a question.

"Y/n Y/l/n, Callum Turner, and Austin Butler!" He screams out and that's your cue for all three of you to walk out. You smile and wave at all the lovely people that have come out to see you guys.

Because your the first one out because the boys decided ladies first, Your the first to give James a hug. You laughed as he gave you a big loving hug. You sat down and waited for the boys to sit.

Austin sat closest to James and Callum sat on the opposite side next to you. So in shorter words, you sat in between the two.

"Welcome Welcome!" James says happily. "It's lovely to have you guys on the show." He says.

"Well were happy to be here!" You say with a dashing smile on your face.

"Alrighty let's get started shall we? Y/N! You are a beautiful amazing woman and an even more amazing actress! What was it like to first get into acting? Who were your role models and people you would have liked to tell that they inspired you to act?" He asks.

"oo that is a wonderful question. I found it quite easy and hard at the same time. I was a very dramatic kid, as my mother would say" You say with a chuckle, the audience chuckles as well.

"And it just made things easier. But at times I was very forgetful so it was hard to remember some of my lines, but being a kid actor who's just starting you realize that the adults working with you aren't going to be harsh because your a kid, you know? So that really helped because Adults have a big impact on kids cause your taller, seem more intimidating. But no yea, it was very easy. And my role model growing up I would have to say was either Leonardo Di Caprio or Will Smith. I really liked The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air."

Everyone claps at your answer and the queit down the moment James talks, "That's a wonderful answer. I love that! Now Callum and Austin, I heard you guys went to boot camp training for Masters of the Air. What was that like? Training to just be really hot and outlook people like me?" When James maks that comment you burst out laughing and the whole crowd laughs too.

James really had a way of making jokes and making people laugh. Austin and Callum laugh as well.

"That's what I've been saying James! There both incredibly attractive and I feel like that boot camp didn't give them any training except how to make other men feel bad!" You say through laughs.

James grabs your hand and laughs with you. "Right! At least I have someone to back me up and not call me insecure, Thank you!" He says.

You nod and smile at him before letting Austin and Callum answer. "Ugh well no it was a very fun time of training to outlook other men! No I'm kidding. It was very fun and felt so real, and when you really see the work we did on the big screen it's like, woah I didn't think it would come out that good. Cuz you know behind the scenes were goofing around and having little to know clue what's gonna happen next so yea it was a huge roller coaster." Austin explains.

You nod and give out a hum of approval and look at Callum, "Do you have anything to add on to that?" James asks.

"Nope, I mean I would have said it just like that. It was very fun and having y/n on set? Oh it was never a dull moment when it came to her. We all had a lot of fun." He says. You smile and look back at James.

"Alrighty, let's get to the juicy stuff!" James says smiling. You face fall and you mutter out an "Oh no." And the crowd starts laughing because you forgot that the mic's pick up everything.

"Why oh no y/n." Your face lights up with surprise and you cover your face in embarrassment.

"Because I know exactly what the juicy stuff is! So, to answer your question, no me and Callum are not dating Mr. Corden!" You say with a laugh at the end.

"Wow! Do a lot of Interviewers ask you that question?" He asks.

"yes, everyday!" You and Callum say at the same time. "I promise you were just really good friends who hang out alot because one of us has separation anxiety from their comfort person." Callum says motioning towards you.

You laugh and then hit his arm playfully. "I'm filming between Paris and New York so you'll spot me with Callum alot because sometimes I get lonely so of course I'm gonna bring my best friend!"

"Yea there was a few times she brought me but I guess paparazzi don't see us or they do and just don't ship me and her together." Austin defends.

"Ok ok, so well then that question is moved over, completely erased."

After that the interview, you, Callum and Austin decide to go out to eat. You chose the restaurant, you always did. You never wanted to because you were always indecisive but you eventually chose a place and you guys went to dine.

Sadly, Austin couldn't stay with you guys as his girlfriend called and needed him home for something urgent. Something about her cutting her hand. You both said your goodbyes and wished she was ok before sitting and ordering.

This was the night you realized your true feelings for Callum Turner...

This was the night you would never forget... The night it all happened and was brushed off as a mistake.

"Callum... today was so exhausting. I hate when people ship us, I mean I don't hate James, I'm just tired of getting asked that same question over and over again! Aren't you?" You ramble on about today's earlier events.

"I mean, if i'm being honest... I don't care. Me and you both know were best friends so why bother entertaining it." he says as he leans closer to you from across the table.

"Unless of course...You wanna deny the fact that you would ever date me? Do you not love me or something?" He teases with a smirk on his face.

That. That right there is what started it... What started your feelings and the electricity that shot down your spine.

"N-No that's... that's not what I'm saying or i-implying Callum!" You say nervously. You were never nervous around Callum.

"Mhmm yeah...sure." He says still leaning forward even closer to you know. 'Maybe he's intoxicated' you thought. He was never this straightforward with you or even this flirtatious with you.

You guys were drinking in the car but not heavily. His hand reaches your cheek and you giggle nervously. "C-Callum what are you doing?" You ask nervously.

"I'm feeling your face duh! What else would I possibly be doing..." He says. You notice he's not making eye contact with you but more so your lips. You lick them nervously and you see his eyebrow raise for a second.

He leans in just a little closer whispering a "God your so beautiful" before he kisses you. Your eyes are wide and you melt into it. He quickly breaks away and apologizes before you could even kiss him back.

"Oh my lord, I'm sorry... i don't know what came over me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable that-that was a mistake." He says before rubbing his face with his hands.

"I-It's ok Callum. I'm not uncomfortable. Let's just eat ok?" You say with a sweet smile to hide the sadness in your face from him. He sweetly smiles back at you and you both indulge.

That night was a night you've never forgotten but what you were completely oblivious too was that that night was unforgettable to Callum too.

He thought about that night everyday he looked at you... everytime he touched you... everytime he sees lip gloss coat your full lips.

It plagued his mind like a virus corrupting a humans mind. He wanted you badly but he knew he couldn't have you. He couldn't ruin this relationship he had with you, this beautiful friendship, but goddamn were you addicting.

you and Callum were polar opposites yet destined to be together...If only you two could open your eyes and see what is right in front of you.

You and him were made for each other, you just needed to find each other. Like two lost souls searching for a purpose. Like the Earth and the Moon, they look platonic but one can't live without the other. Destined to fall in love either way.

Love, fate, and desire... Something you two need to give into in order to find yourselves.

Taglist: @dustbunniess @willyoubemycherryy and anyone else that wants to join!

[krystal-kade]

Charlie's a bad person

I know it's a bit of a bold statement, but I think Charlie's a pretty bad person

Not in the way Alastor, Angel, or Val are bad people. They are hateful and purposely harm others. She's a bad person because she enables bad people

Imagine finding out your friend is a literal sex slave who's soul is owned by his abusive boss. He knows his life's a mess, but he blames himself for everything that's happening to him. He uses sex and drugs to cope and forget everything that's going on in his life. He desperately wants to be free, but feels like he doesn't have the power to leave.

Imagine knowing your dad is your #1 enemy. He allowed the exterminations and continues to allow them because he thinks your people deserve death. He is encouraging the same things you're fighting against

Imagine your father figure (who is "supporting" your goal of redemption and good deeds) is a sadistic serial killer cannibal who owns the souls of thousands

Imagine being able to stop the suffering of millions around you, and you just ... don't.

That's Charlie. She is the daughter of a fallen angel. She's the daughter of an overlord. She's the princess of Hell. She's one of the most powerful beings in Heaven and Hell (less powerful than God, Jesus, Lucifer, and maybe the other sins?). She could free Angel Dust with the snap of her fingers. She could end their contract, kill Valentino, SOMETHING. Yet she does nothing. FOR 6 MONTHS her friend has been a tortured sex slave, and she does absolutely jack shit about it.

Her dad advocates for the slaughtering of her people, and is the entire reason she has to have her hotel, yet she's more worried about their father-daughter bonding. If he went to Sera and told her to stop the exterminations, I'm sure she'd oblige. If she didn't, just say "I'll tell all of Heaven about the exterminations if you don't stop" and she would. Exterminations could end so quick if Charlie or Lucifer used any ounce of their power.

She could fight Alastor and get him to stop killing people. Get him to stop being so evil and murderous, but she doesn't.

She has the power to fight essentially every demon in Hell and win, yet she doesn't. She's a pacifist who REFUSES to use violence or authority unless it's for her benefit (fighting Katie Killjoy, screaming at Susan, fighting Adam, etc). While using non-violent tactics are great when they work, they don't always work. You're in Hell, and saying "don't do that, it's mean :(" isn't going to work. You're not a good person for avoiding violence and not using your authority, you're a spineless jackass for never using violence or authority to help your friends or your people

[yukibunnii]

books & café dates . ˚ ₊ ⊹

— your academic rival !

(class president!alhaitham & vice president!reader)

୨୧ president!alhaitham who immediately got nominated as class president, followed by you as vice president.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who also occasionally visits the library, like you, to study or read.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who is also your academic rival, being at each other's throats all the time. (your classmates and his friends question if you're either flirting or fighting . .)

୨୧ president!alhaitham who you compete with on who gets the higher score on the exam. god, you hate that slight smirk you see on his face when he wins. your classmates watch you two argue like it's some free show.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who shows more of his emotions when he's with you, unlike that stoic expression always on his face. even his friends are surprised.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who secretly smiles (very slightly) and stares at you when your back is turned. he definitely admires you from afar even if his face doesn't show it.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who, one time, purposely answered some questions wrong on a test so that you could have the joy of winning the little competition you two have. he was trying not to let out that tiny smile when you were rambling on about having won to him.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who prefers novels, while you prefer manga. one time you forced him to read one of your favorites. though, you still have a lot of novels that you personally love.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who accompanies you to the bookstore after school because apparently he was 'just about to go there too'. you both ended up in the café after that.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who has made a silent agreement with you that the café is now your usual meetup place whenever you two are partnered for a project or something similar to that.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who memorizes your favorite drink and food.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who noticed you always drinking those korean milk drinks . . and now you always find a milk box sitting on your desk before class. from a 'secret person'. I wonder who?

୨୧ president!alhaitham who you always get stuck with while doing your responsibilities as president and vice president. sometimes you two are alone and stuck together in the classroom after class, stapling papers.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who noticed you slowly progressing into calling him 'haitham' instead of his full name.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who has this secret spot with you near the vending machines and benches to eat with you during lunch. he finds it cute how you're always surrounded by the campus cats as he sits next to you on the bench, with the bento box on your lap and a book right next to you.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who loves your soft spot towards animals, and how you two always sit next to each other in the library, reading in comfortable silence.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who denies EVERY SINGLE sign and statement from his friends that he likes you. he says you're 'just his rival'. yet he so obviously treats you differently from the others.

୨୧ president!alhaitham whose academic rival will always be you. he wouldn't want any other.<3

[k4vehrtz]

NYMPHOLOGY. satoru gojo / sub! m. reader

synopsis. satoru will miss ‘that person’ forever.

word count. 1k . ✦ . warnings. prince! gojo / nymph! reader / discussions of grief / unprotected sex as a means of trade sort of

notes. inspired by that one artwork “he ate my heart” — sorry for starving you guys :(

SUGURU WOULD’VE BEEN the first to admit that they were lost. at least, that’s what satoru thinks, anyway. it’s been four years — his memories of what he now considered a lighter time in his life felt more distant than anything else.

his companion was, beyond a reasonable doubt, ‘gone’. this was the reality of his circumstances. a reality he couldn’t bring himself to accept; a reality where half of his heart had become another name on the list of people who’d disappeared without a trace.

“why have you come here?”

he’d wondered the same thing — what did he intend to achieve by doing this?

“…for answers?” it’s the most obvious response but he doesn’t care. he’s gradually become this; found himself caring less and less. ‘there’s not much left to lose when you’ve already lost it all,’ he thinks.

and you’re no stranger to this plague of human emotion. it came to be a familiar display after ‘that place’ resumed activity.

“that…” you pause, pressing your lips together, “i acknowledge your status as the heir to the human throne but my answer remains the same — i don’t know,” before crossing your hands in front of your chest.

he’d expected this much; you’re not exactly known for being lenient. but it was worth a shot.

“that person,” satoru couldn’t bring himself to say his name, “studied your kind in his free time,” especially not within this context.

it’s not necessarily a surprise to you either. of course, you’re not acquainted with ‘that person’ but human beings are inherently curious. curious about ‘that place’ and the ‘people’ that live there.

“your point being?” you counter, nose crinkling.

satoru swallows thickly. ‘be careful,’ suguru had warned as their knees knocked together, child–like fingers curling in the dirt, ‘nymphs are alluring but they’re dangerous’. and for a moment, he’d wished he had listened.

there’s no turning back now though. you’re standing in front of him, the sun’s rays reflecting on your skin and the wind carrying the scent of flowers as you await an answer.

“i want to be surrounded by what he enjoyed most — ‘this place’ was his all–consuming love.”

the colour drains from your face in an instant. you don���t know whether you should laugh or cry. ‘this place’ and ‘all–consuming love’ used in the same sentence is…well, it shouldn’t be paired.

“you got lost on purpose?” it’s more of a statement than a question but satoru responds anyway: “i want to be ‘consumed’ too.”

‘this place’ had ‘consumed’ his companion four years ago. and maybe, if that person could see him now, he’d be disappointed. but he wouldn’t have been surprised. this was the type of person satoru was, is, and will continue to be.

a man with half a heart because he’d given the other half to suguru. and for a moment, he’d wished he hadn’t. yet another thing he’d found himself doing more and more — wishing.

“you’re…not like the others,” you murmur and he smiles knowingly.

THE POMEGRANATE was a sacred symbol of life itself.

“there are other —” he moves his thumb over your lower lip, as tears blur your vision “— ways.”

or, rather, the ‘sequence’ of life. one’s fertility and the pause in fertility; one’s mortality, and inevitably the fruit of the dead.

“you’re right,” he agrees easily and you let out a breathy laugh, “but this is the most enjoyable, is it not?”

you don’t deny it, and a corner of his mouth lifts.

and his lips are warm against yours. it’s strange at first, the residual warmth it leaves in your body in its wake. a warmth that promotes blood flow in the direction of your cock. you’re hard, pre–cum leaking from the slit atop your pulsating cockhead.

satoru continues to kiss you though. he sinks his teeth into the fat of your lower lip, prompting them to part, an open–mouthed whimper bouncing off the inner walls of your cheeks instantaneously. and your brows ratchet up, a crease forming between them, as you lower your gaze to satoru whose tongue slithers into your mouth.

‘you taste like pomegranate,’ he thinks to himself as he pokes at your tear–stained cheek, ‘definitely pomegranate’.

when he breaks the kiss, you’re breathless, your chest rising and falling in sync with your shoulders. but he wastes not a moment — understanding better than anyone else the unpredictability of the flow of time.

his hands pressed into your sides, holding you in place, and only letting go momentarily to free his cock from its constraints. he’s hard too, you notice, standing at full mast and curving inwards slightly.

“please,” your voice is no more than a quiet plea that a gentle breeze carries to satoru’s ear, your spine stiff and muscles tense, “be gentle.”

and his gaze softens at that, bringing a hand up to your face to caress your cheek like it’s a promise. it’s not his intention to hurt you.

but it does hurt to some degree after he aligns his cock with your entrance, pushing past that tight ring of muscle. the only difference is that he’s comforting you through the process. alternating between his forehead pressed against yours and locking his lips with yours.

key word there being ‘process’.

“i’m sorry.”

his voice mirrors your quietness, eliciting the rise of goosebumps on your skin even as you writhe beneath him whilst he bucks his hips into you. you’re not sure who the apology is directed to but you choose not to linger on it anyway.

there’s no going back now — ‘this place’ won’t allow it.

“b...by doing this — ” your voice raises in pitch, your gasps audible, “you’ve sealed your faith princeling.” and satoru hums as his movements become somewhat erratic. “you’re only,” his hips stutter mid–sentence, “doing what i asked of you,” and he lowers his lips to your ear, “you’ll both forgive me,” before his cock spurts ropes of cum into you in sync with your orgasm.

[104cadetlauren]

Did Levi lost his will to live after Erwin died?

Fandom is a space for creative freedom—where we can explore, celebrate, and even romanticize our favorite characters in ways that resonate with us. That’s part of the beauty of being in a fandom. We’re free to ship whoever with whoever. But what’s disheartening is the toxicity that comes from fans who insist their ship is the only canon one, especially in the Attack on Titan (AoT) universe. The truth is, unless Hajime Isayama explicitly confirms it, every ship is speculative—and that's okay. What isn't okay is deducing a character's whole convictions and personality just to justify their ships.

I’ve supported Levi Ackerman ever since his debut in Season 1—long before I became a Levihan shipper (yes, I’m a newer recruit in that camp, this happened after watching the Anime thrice and reading the manga). And if you’re curious why Levi is my favorite character, I have a long-ass explanation for that elsewhere. But here, I want to focus on how some Eruri shippers portray him—and why that portrayal often oversimplifies his character to the point of doing him a disservice (something I can't accept. I'm a Levi fangirl waaaay before I became a Levihan devotee).

There’s this persistent claim that Levi "lost his will to live" after Erwin died, or that his only remaining purpose was to fulfill his "vow" to kill Zeke. These statements flatten Levi’s entire identity into that of a robotic, grief-stricken killer whose life began and ended with Erwin. That’s not only reductive, it’s wrong. Levi is one of the most layered characters in AoT, and to reduce him to being “Erwin’s weapon” ignores everything else he represents and fights for.

Let’s unpack that.

During the Return to Shiganshina (RtS) arc, Levi delivers one of his most iconic lines: “Give up on your dream and die.” This wasn’t blind loyalty to Erwin. It was Levi seeing that Erwin had become consumed—not by his duty to humanity, but by his personal obsession to prove his father’s theory. That obsession, left unchecked, was risking everything the Scouts had fought for. Erwin, once the hope of the Survey Corps, had become a slave to a goal that would have no meaning beyond its fulfillment. What would he have done after reaching the basement? Levi recognized this. He saw that hope for the future no longer rested with Erwin—it lived in Armin, Hange, Eren, and the next generation.

That’s why, during the infamous ‘serum bowl’, Levi hesitated. Twice. If he truly couldn’t live without Erwin, if his whole existence hinged on him, he would have injected him immediately. But he didn’t. He made a choice based on what was best for humanity, not just for himself or for Erwin’s sake. That’s not betrayal. That’s growth, maturity, leadership, and most of all—vision.

The so-called "vow" to kill the Beast Titan wasn't some obsessive oath made out of grief or romantic fixation. It was Levi's way of honoring the massive cost of the suicide charge—the death of the commander of the Scouts and a battalion of new recruits. Not being able to take down Zeke would have rendered their sacrifice meaningless. The "cart scene vow" was about justice, not obsession. Levi saw himself as the only one capable of ensuring that their deaths wouldn’t be in vain and that is a very important promise for Levi. A solemn promise that’s why he uses the word vow when remembering his promise to Erwin because he knows that he will do it, he will give justice to his fallen comrades, but it must be done when the time is right.

Even later, when given the opportunity to kill Zeke, Levi didn’t. Why? Because he respected the chain of command—Hange’s leadership, Eren’s plans, and the greater mission of Paradis. If Levi were driven solely by revenge or Erwin’s ghost, he would’ve taken Zeke out the first chance he got. But he didn't. He chose duty over vengeance, showing once again that Levi is not a mindless weapon of grief—he's a soldier of conviction.

I am a Levihan worshipper but I COULD NEVER FATHOM TO CLAIM that he lost his will to live when Hange died (inspite of the three panels showing the decline of his mental state?) No. That would be a disservice to everything Levi has fought for. Even after all he endured, he kept going—giving his all, staying mission-focused, continuing to believe in the dream of freedom for humanity. His strength doesn’t come from one person; it comes from his values, his belief in hope, and his loyalty to those who carry that light in their eyes.

Levi’s only true flaw, if you ask me, is that he trusted too much—putting his faith in people who either died or betrayed him. How many scenes did people say they will take care of something and when Levi let them, they died? But that’s also what made him admirable. He followed Erwin not just out of loyalty, but because Erwin gave him a vision, a purpose. Levi, who once lived in the Underground, used his strength for petty survival. Erwin gave him the means to use that strength for something bigger than himself. But that doesn't mean Levi lived for Erwin. It means he lived for the ideals Erwin once represented—and later, that others like Armin, Hange, and Eren carried forward.

So yes, ship Levi with whoever you want—I sure do. But don’t reduce him to a mere extension of someone else's character arc. Don’t use your ship to undermine the complexity of his decisions or the integrity of his journey. Levi Ackerman is not just “Erwin’s,” “Hange’s,” or “Eren’s.” His loyalty was never blind. It was earned, and always rooted in one thing: humanity’s survival and freedom.

PS: I watched the AoT anime thrice and read the Manga so I know what I am talking about (I hope. Hihi)

[glowettee]

✰₀.₃ glowettee hotline: how to decorate your room (aesthetically & productively)

hi, angel. welcome back to another glowettee hotline entry. today’s dilemma is one of my absolute favorites because your space? it’s everything. it’s where you wake up, where you dream, where you work/study, where you rest. a beautiful room is not just about aesthetics~ it’s about creating an environment that makes you feel like the best version of yourself. i'm a natural introvert, so if you guessed it... my favorite location is my bedroom, a big reason why every inch is just filled with my personality. posters, collages of images from my pinterest boards, coquette-esque furniture. so i know exactly what it feels like to NEED a perfectly decorated room. so i hope this post can help you <3

✰how to decorate your room (aesthetically & productively)✰

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜

first, decide on a vibe. your room should feel like an extension of your highest self. it should feellike you, but still with a set aesthetic to keep it oranized and less disorganized. here are some ideas:

❥ soft coquette: lace curtains, ruffle bedding, dainty florals, balletcore elements.

❥ elegant academia: dark wood, gold accents, stacks of books, vintage details.

❥ clean girl minimalism: neutral tones, sleek organization, a clutter-free desk

. ❥ k-pop chic: pink LED lights, cute posters, plushies, a vanity full of glowy products.

❥ euro girl elegance: chandeliers, ornate mirrors, perfumes displayed like art.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: create a pinterest board with your name + room vibes (e.g., mindy’s elegant academia space). fill it with inspo until you see a pattern. that’s your aesthetic.

remember, you can CREATE your own aesthetic, it doesn't have to be the ones i listed, or ones you find online.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞

before we add anything, we need to take things away. the fastest way to change the energy of your room? remove what doesn’t align with your dream self.

❥ toss out random junk, old clothes, or things that give you “meh” energy.

❥ organize your desk like an it-girl study space~ clean, inspiring, focused.

❥ replace clutter with intentional decor. things like: a candle, a vision board, a chic jewelry stand.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: apply the golden rule~ if it doesn’t make you feel ✨inspired✨ or ✨at peace✨, it doesn’t belong in your room.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫 (𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 + 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥)

this is where your space truly becomes you. everything you add should have a purpose: to make your room either (1) more beautiful or (2) more productive.

aesthetic + functional decor ideas

❥ a statement mirror ~ for outfit checks, natural light reflection, & ✨ main character energy ✨

❥ a vision board ~ print out your 2024 goals, dream life inspo, and affirmations. frame it or pin it.

❥ soft lighting ~ warm fairy lights, a sunset lamp, or a delicate bedside lamp to set the mood.

❥ a chic book stack ~ self-improvement books, poetry, or classics that make you feel intellectual.

❥ a perfume tray ~ display your signature scents on a mirrored or gold-rimmed tray.

❥ wall art ~ framed quotes, magazine cutouts, a minimalist gallery wall.

❥ cozy bedding ~ a plush duvet, silk pillowcases, and an aesthetic throw blanket.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: if you’re on a budget, go thrifting for unique decor pieces or DIY things like a gallery wall with printed images from pinterest.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠)

we don’t want a space that’s just cute~ we want a space that elevates you. structure your room so it guides you into your best habits.

❥ study/work zone ~ a clutter-free desk, a comfy chair, a planner, and all your school or work essentials neatly arranged.

❥ self-care zone ~ a vanity or dresser with skincare, perfumes, candles, and hair accessories.

❥ wellness zone ~ a small area for stretching, yoga, or journaling.

❥ relaxation zone ~ cozy blankets, soft pillows, a diffuser, and warm lighting for reading or unwinding.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: mentally associate each zone with its purpose. when you sit at your desk, it’s grind time. when you step into your relaxation zone, it’s time to romanticize rest. this trains your brain to be more disciplined AND productive without forcing it.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞

✨ because a perfect room isn’t a one-time glow-up~ it’s a lifestyle. ✨

❥ keep surfaces clean & organized daily (messy room = messy mind).

❥ refresh your space weekly~ swap books, change out fresh flowers, rearrange decor.

❥ open your windows often~ fresh air + natural light change everything.

❥ light a candle, play soft music, and romanticize your space every day.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: every night before bed, take 5 minutes to do a mini-reset. put things back in place, fluff your pillows, and set up your space for the next day’s success.

and just like that, your room isn’t just a room anymore~ it’s a sanctuary. an extension of your most elegant, ambitious, soft-yet-powerful self. a space where you wake up every morning feeling inspired and go to sleep feeling at peace.

i wanted to give you ways to make your space aesthetic but also functional for your self-improvement journey as well. i hope this helps you.

♡ ~ mindy

whisper your worries to glowettee hotline. i’m listening. <3: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[bookshelfdreams]

That is certainly - a statement.

What about Jim, who both metaphorically and literally discovers a path for themself beyond what they were raised to be? What about Pete, who learns to overcome his toxic masculinity, his posturing and self-importance? What about Ed, whose entire story is about deconstructing the performance that is expected of him?

What about, oh, idk, our main fucking character Stede Bonnet, whose arc starts with him literally breaking out from the hetero marriage he was forced into despite never fitting in? Who tries (and initially fails) to build a community where he can be himself? Whose entire story is about discovering his own queerness! He starts out not even able to put a finger on WHY his marriage made him feel so suffocated, and then journeys through s1 until he reaches the emotional climax - "His name is Ed"!

Contrast that with Izzy, who has to be dragged into a supportive community kicking and screaming. Who rejects care and compassion, even at his worst, who has to be forced to accept help. He receives the leg and calls the crew a homophobic slur for it, ffs. Only after that, only when people refuse to let him push them away, is he able to poke his nose into something approaching positive human connections. And that's a powerful narrative, sure, in it's own way; but it's hardly the Ultimate Queer Experience, and it's definitely not the "only queer arc".

And Izzy never lets go of the old ways. He never abandons the Blackbeard-era pirate lifestyle for something more positive, not fully. And that's okay, because ultimately, his arc isn't even about himself.

It's about Ed.

Ed keeps repeating toxic relationship patterns, and Izzy is a part of that. He's linked (on purpose, and I wish it had been done more explicitly) to Ed's father; because Izzy represents the poison that was instilled in Ed from a young age, and that has become so entrenched in his system that he can't imagine a life without it. He keeps Izzy around despite being hurt by him because Izzy is predictable, and in that, is safe, even though he hurts Ed; at least it's a hurt Ed is familiar with and can rely on.

When Izzy slowly changes it's to show that Ed is growing beyond the little voice in his head telling him to reject softness, that he can never be loved, that We're just not these kinds of people. If Izzy can evolve from someone spitting boyfriend at Ed like it's a slur to someone congratulating him on getting laid by that same person, Ed can overcome his inner demons telling him the same thing.

That's the point of Izzy's arc. And this is why he has to die, because Ed can never be truly free as long as Izzy is around. So Izzy goes, quietly, peacefully, and releases Ed of the poison; apologizes to him, tells him I was so wrong, and I am so sorry, because that's what Ed needs to hear to move forward.

And that's such a kind, positive way to end the story of Izzy Hands.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Weare, N.H., is a small town with about 9,000 residents. Among them is Howard Kaloogian, the owner of a five-acre rural property. On that property sits a red barn, and over the years, Kaloogian has hosted various events there, like weddings, dances, game tournaments, and small rallies for political candidates. He even once hosted Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. Many of these events are advertised throughout town. They are not held in secret.  In 2023, Kaloogian, who is a pastor, decided to  make further use of his barn and began holding church services there. He added a few pews, a pulpit, and some heaters, and each Sunday, no more than 30 people gathered to worship and share their faith. He called it Grace New England.  Suddenly, the town of Weare — the town that had never had a problem with Kaloogian hosting secular activities that often attracted more than 30 people — decided to shut him down.  Court documents show that the local planning board gave Kaloogian permission to use the barn for any "lawful purpose," as long as he didn't charge people to attend. He never has, and he certainly didn't start charging his tiny congregation.  But when Weare's zoning officer, Tony Sawyer, found out that Kaloogian was hosting church services, he personally "showed up at Kaloogian’s front door and told him he could no longer use any part of his home, including the barn, for religious assemblies. The barn was zoned residential—assemblies constitute a 'change in use,' and Kaloogian would be required to complete a site plan application and seek a conditional use permit (which Sawyer said would most likely be denied)."  

...

About two months after that visit from Sawyer, Kaloogian decided to install a more powerful heater in his barn, and he did most of the work himself, but the heater would require a new gas line. He hired a local plumber to handle this. When the plumber attempted to get the necessary permit from the town, it was almost approved until officials realized the address was Kaloogian's.  Officials also sent him a cease-and-desist letter that day, but Kaloogian's lawyer pointed out that they were violating his First Amendment rights. They paused the cease-and-desist, but the pastor basically had many hoops through which he had to jump, and the county made it as difficult as possible for him. He was subjected to repeated inspections, fines, and threats of legal action. (If you're interested, I urge you to read the full court documents — it's a prime example of government overreach and shows that he was undoubtedly targeted.)  In early 2024, the First Liberty Institute filed a lawsuit on Kaloogian's behalf. "Demanding that a small group of Christians stop meeting in a home for worship and prayer is flagrant denial on the free exercise of their religious beliefs," Jeremy Dys, a lawyer with First Liberty, said, adding, "Hundreds of thousands of Americans meet every day in homes for prayer meetings, Bible studies, book clubs, card games, and other gatherings. Why would Weare city officials stop this small, Christian congregation from legally doing likewise?" But the town responded with a motion "arguing in part that the plaintiffs’ claims are not ready to be heard by the court." Pam Bondi's DOJ disagrees.  Last week, the DOJ issued a statement that said, "The Justice Department filed a statement of interest yesterday in the U.S. District Court for the District of New Hampshire explaining that the claims brought by a Christian church and its pastor under the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (RLUIPA) are ready to be heard and determined in federal court." 

Anyone who thinks the War on Christianity ended with the War on Christmas is very mistaken.

[effieotto]

wasn't Cinna's sadness real, as well? I absolutely believe he saw Katniss as human.

Cinna was a revolutionary above anything else.

Before being a stylist, a friend, even a person…he was a rebel. Everything he did from the very beginning was aimed to a purpose -to nourish a rebellion, execute Snow and free Panem

When i said Effie was the most human person in the Capitol, i wasn’t saying all the other characters’s feelings were less valid, but that her actions weren’t motivated by a greater purpose, but by a genuine sense of belonging and concern for her team’s safety

Now, when Katniss first met Cinna, he already saw her as the mockingjay. He started working for twelve because he saw her potencial, and as much as i trust that he cared and truly respected her as a real individual, he was aware that she was going to be the face of the Revolution before he even spoke to her. All the work he did from that point on was aimed at achieving that goal: to turn her into the girl on fire

so yeah, I believe his sadness were real -Although his feelings were never properly expressed in the trilogy, we know he might have been truly devastated by having to prepare Katniss for another Hunger Games- but we can’t ever forget that Cinna was the rebellion. He sacrificed his life for the cause. He lied to Katniss since they first met, because he was holy invested with their plan. He manipulated scenarios, created situations, built the entire girl on fire concept, and then died because of it. He was a hero. A Martyr, and a player. When he died, he knew exactly for what he was being charged for, because he planed it all from the beginning. Unlike Effie, he waited his whole life to be in that position -to finally become the Martyr of a revolution. The blood dropped so the world could be finally free

The point is, Effie is the most human person in the Capitol because she vowed for Katniss and Peeta without knowing she would be the Mockingjay. Because she bought golden tokens for her team without knowing that by doing it she was making a statement (or she knew and just didn’t give a shit). Because she was imprisoned, tortured and almost killed for informations she didn’t have, and after her rescue she was still in their side. Because after the Capitol and Thirteen had taken everything she ever had, she still supported Katniss -not the girl on fire, not the Mockingjay, not her tribute, but the girl she spent two years trying to save by teaching her how to properly dance and laugh. She was not a rebel, she wasn’t doing it because she wanted the things to change or because she believed or even understood Thirteen’s political statements. She just loved too much to be against any of them…and this is huge

Cinna was a hero. Effie was just a women