#I think regardless of who was picked for casting

[starscreambbymama]

Sooooooo

[rotagnus]

WHY YOU'RE A BAD BITCH.

pick a pile you feel drawn to. if you do not feel drawn to any, maybe this pac is not for you. trust your FIRST gut instinct. do not overthink it.

--

i didn't expect to make this pick a pile but i had a feeling that some people have been down in the dumps recently (as have i) and this would help the both of us.

-1. you're the epitome of elegance. you may not realize it, because you believe yourself to be a rather crude and perhaps blunt individual, but you do have a graceful femininity around you (whether you're male or female). think of the beauty of swans. your tongue is sharp and your wit is bright, and that fire emanates from your very looks. you're absolutely gorgeous--angular faced, maybe with almond eyes. you carry the steadfast power that horses do, galloping in fields. you're wild and free, and oftentimes people, specifically men, try to tame you. but you're a free person, and you don't take shit from NO-BO-DY. you can be read as intimidating and maybe cold, but the truth is you don't tolerate disrespect. you are strong. you get whatever you want, baby, all for good reason. <3

-2. your presence is SOOOO sooo felt. you underestimate how much people love you. the truth is there's a certain quality for you that just makes people adore you. you have a very unique personality and a very unique look to you (dyed hair, piercings, noticeable features, et cetera) and you flaunt this without feeling any shame about it. your confidence attracts people to you--you may not always feel confident but you're able to show it, and you BECOME it. you thrive with the right people, and this is seen as addicting. people want to be close to you and they can become obsessed with you (which can be a double edged sword). you shine so much, and your smile is to die for. TO DIE FOR.

-3. you have a melancholy heart and you're so sensitive to the suffering of everyone else. people want to take care of you and protect you. i think you're rather insecure about several aspects of yourself because people have recognized your glow, but not many have made it brighter. the qualities you have that would normally be fawned over are cast away. but you're a bad bitch regardless babe! your power is in your quietness. you give energy to people who deserve it. your presence is a mystery and you're like pandora's box. once somebody actually wants to get to know you, you open up and you have this beautiful way of being vulnerable, it makes people feel honored and trusted. you'll meet a lot of people later in life who want to be your knights, protect you. your softness makes you a bad bitch!! don't let anyone step over you.

-4. you have DISCIPLINE, darling pile 4. you want something? you work for it! you want to earn more cash? you work for it. you want to get healthier? you WORK for it! not only that, but you have a very beautiful figure--maybe on the thicker, curvier side. you probably have long hair, maybe curly, and GOD you're gorgeous. both of these qualities make you sooo irresistible. you're, by nature, a very caring person and people feel like they can open up to you. you don't make anybody feel ashamed about their emotions and you do care. this quality isn't normalized a lot in our society--you probably don't like being online very much, and you're a very real person. you have depth.

-5. you're very coy and you have this enticing, film-like quality to you. people feel like they're starring in some movie when they're with you. you accessorize a lot. you also have a tendency to fawn over people--you center them in a way that might be detrimental to yourself if you overdo it, but when you don't--you make people like you a lot. you probably have gorgeous, darker features. you remind me of a black cat, and you probably attract a lot of golden retriever like people into your life. you mighta went through something in your youth, but you're glowing and you don't let that drag you down. you're WORTHY. you're amazing. don't forget it babe.

-6. you've got a bit of a mischievous flair to you. you're a very funny person and you're QUICKKK to snap back with comebacks if need be. you don't dim your glow for anybody and you take pride in your roots. you may have a deep connection with your ancestors or members of your family, and there may be some generational trauma to unpack but that doesn't mean you can't find strength in your blood. you may have black hair and prominent nose--not necessarily big, but it's one of your prettiest and most noticed features. you have a warm presence that people suck up to. you're friendly and this quality makes people flutter over to you. your vibe is IMMACULATE.

[coffeefleecy]

Winner Takes All

Pairing: Caleb X MC X Zayne

Summary: You've made it a ritual to have Caleb and Zayne at your place to keep your friendship thriving with movie marathons and game nights. The struggles of growing up and becoming adults unfortunately include the possibility that you can't see each other very often and Caleb is away so much that he begins to feel the distance. Contempt breeds competition and Zayne is Caleb's number one rival.

Warnings: blowjobs, cunninlingus, afab reader, second person pov

Game nights at your place with Caleb and Zayne are some of your favorites. It’s not often that you get to see them both in the same place, especially since the three of you have gotten older. Zayne’s been busy with the hospital and Caleb with the fleet. You partially feel like they tolerate each other’s company to be around you with how they act around each other, but you appreciate them casting whatever reservations they have aside for you. The problem? They’re both insanely competitive; Caleb in an all-encompassing, braggadocious way and Zayne in a calculating, nonchalant way.

Caleb’s selected some territory conquering game that involves a bit more thought than you have in the tank and more game pieces than you have the patience for. You’re also not entirely sure you understand the rules due to Caleb’s insistence at reading through the manual before the actual gameplay that causes your eyes to glaze over. Caleb and Zayne can take information in regardless of the method, but you require a more hands-on approach that doesn’t involve reciting the intricacies of a 20 page manual.

All of that culminates in a recipe for disaster and the fact that Zayne is a bit kinder to you than Caleb does you know favors. You’re not even halfway through the game when problems begin to arise and Caleb catches Zayne whispering the next optimal move in your direction.

“You’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy,” Caleb spits at Zayne, who simply returns his vitriol with a lightless, unamused stare.

“I don’t have the faintest clue as to what you’re talking about,” Zayne says evenly, averting his gaze to the mess of cards on the table. 

Caleb’s eyes shift to you, gaze as possessive and unwavering as his evol to the point that you can feel it.

“Caleb, don’t be mean,” You complain, putting your game cards face down to cross your arms over your chest.

“I don’t remember the rules saying that,” Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose. “Besides, I’m not really sure why we’re feeling the need to make a competition out of something as trivial as this.”

Caleb scoffs.

“Don’t bullshit me, Doogie Howser, you know you go easy on her, don’t you?”

“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” You retort and turn to Zayne to mutter, “Thanks, by the way.”

“Whatever,” Caleb rolls his eyes and starts packing his pieces away, ignoring your protests. “I just think it’s a little lame that you guys do this whenever I pick the game.”

Caleb’s been getting progressively more upset by little things when the three of you gather. You suspect it has something to do with the fact that Zayne is nearly an every day fixture in your life; a constant that Caleb can’t be because his work takes him away. It’s not exactly something that anyone can point out without an awkward conversation or an argument, so you simply let it be, but the tension has been at a steady incline and currently rests at a point that you highly suspect might be the peak.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Zayne points out. “I was just helping her out when she was confused. The rules aren’t beginner friendly and I’m sure you know that.”

“Then why did I waste half an hour going through them before we even started?” Caleb counters, shoving his game pieces forward with a huff.

“Caleb, you know that I can’t catch on quickly like you two do,” You reason with an exasperated sigh. “I want to play, you know I want to play. I’m excited for this game - I just needed a little bit of help. Really, this is supposed to be fun.”

A fleeting look of hurt flashes across Caleb’s face before he immediately masks it.

“Okay, then if no one’s having fun, let’s just do something else. Or call it, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Caleb –”

“It’s fine, pipsqueak,” He offers you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and leans forward to place a hand on yours. “I’m kind of being a jerk and I get that. I want to have fun, so let’s just do something more fun.”

You regret the comment you made about the fun level and bite your lip, glancing from Caleb to Zayne, who’s examining his fingernails with a distracted interest. You turn back to Caleb and turn your palm right side up to slip your fingers through his, the gesture causing him to close his eyes and take a deep breath.

“Hey, I think we’re all tired this week. Getting this together was a headache as it is with your schedules and you both know how much I love that you make this work for me, right?”

Caleb’s eyes open and you can see a soft resignation in them when he squeezes your hand back.

“I know, pipsqueak - let’s just clean this up and watch a movie or somethin’,” He releases your hand to start gathering all of the pieces. “You gonna help me clean this up, Doctor Strange or are you just gonna stare?”

“Zayne, is that okay with you?” You offer the chance for input that Caleb snatched away. 

“If that’s what you want, then I’m content with it,” Zayne rises from his chair to help Caleb. “Why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable on the couch?”

“No, I can help -”

“Go sit down, pipsqueak. Pick out whatever you want to watch. The doctor and I will take care of this.”

Despite the gnawing, nagging feeling that they’ll tear each other apart if you’re not in their presence, something in their voices indicates that you should leave it to them. You give them a nod before heading to your spare closet to grab some extra blankets to try to make things as comfortable as possible and make your way to the couch.

You’ve landed on an old sci-fi film with horrible CGI that you know Caleb and Zayne will both get a kick out of. There isn’t much commotion happening on their end despite your worries that they won’t be able to get along without you present and soon enough, you hear them finishing up. 

“You want something to snack on, pipsqueak?” Caleb calls from the kitchen. 

“I noticed you have popcorn,” Zayne supplies. “Is that something you’re interested in?”

“Actually that sounds good,” You answer, fidgeting with the remote while you wait. “You want me to come in there and make it?”

In lieu of a response, you hear the beeps of your microwave followed by the gentle sounds of popping kernels in the distance. You have the sneaking suspicion that they planned on making popcorn regardless of your response. Caleb emerges from the kitchen a few minutes later balancing one of your larger bowls he’s dumped the popcorn into and a few sodas. Zayne follows behind, paper towels in hand. 

“Wow,” You remark wryly. “Your efficiency as a team is unbeatable.”

You don’t miss the slight sneer on Caleb’s face as he sets the bowl down on your coffee table. 

“Oh, good choice,” Zayne is completely oblivious to Caleb’s expression, his attention focused on your television. “This is a classic.”

“You’ve seen it?” You pout as you accept the soda Caleb’s handing to you.

“Yes, but I’m perfectly fine watching it again,” Zayne says easily, turning some of the lights off in the room before taking a seat next to you on your right.

“What about you, Caleb?”

Caleb’s gaze lingers on your face before he reluctantly looks to the screen to observe the title.

“Oh, Eternity Battles – you’ve seen this too, pipsqueak. We watched this a long time ago together,” Caleb remarks, throwing that last bit in Zayne’s direction, which goes unnoticed by your bespectacled friend.

“Must have forgotten,” You grab a handful of popcorn and shove it in your mouth. “Do we want to pick something else?”

“No,” Caleb and Zayne both say at the same time and meet each other’s sheepish gazes.

“This is fine,” Zayne assures you.

Caleb takes his seat next to you on your left, taking care to make sure that he’s as close to you as he can be without touching you. 

“Just hit play, pipsqueak.” ____________________________________________________________

You’re barely a quarter of the way into the movie when you realize that neither Caleb or Zayne are paying particularly close attention. Caleb’s fingers twitch at his side, dangerously close to your thigh like he wants to touch you. Zayne’s eyes are trained on Caleb’s hands, his brows knit together in a kind of concentration you’ve only seen when he’s nose-deep in his medical textbooks. 

“Caleb,” You murmur, reaching out to tap his hand with your index finger. “You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” He replies with an uneven, somewhat shaky voice. 

“If you wanted to head out, neither of us would be upset with you,” Zayne speaks up, voice uncharacteristically heavy. “We can finish the movie another time and she and I can find something else to watch.”

“No,” Caleb snaps his head to face Zayne and fixes him with a withering stare. “I just said I was fine.”

“Um - am I missing something? Are you guys okay?” Your voice cuts through the tension and they both avert their gazes.

Caleb rests his hand on your thigh; a gesture meant to convey comfort but swimming in unspoken intention. You swallow the lump in your throat, but don’t move.

“It’s fine,” Caleb tries to say casually, but the instability in his tone gives him away.

“No, it’s not fine. Come on, you’ve been on edge every single time we all hang out together. Did something happen between the two of you? Did I do something?”

You’re looking at Caleb, but Zayne rests his palm on your other thigh, commanding your attention. Zayne’s fingers dig into your skin and he squeezes, his clean-cut nails gently biting into the flesh.

“No, there’s no problem,” Zayne promises you. “Caleb just doesn’t like the idea of us being together alone very much - right, Caleb?”

The confrontation that lurks beneath the surface of Zayne’s thinly veiled jab shocks you. Despite the growing strain between the two of them that you’ve noticed in the past year or so of your gatherings, you’ve never heard either of them come right out in front of it. To your shock, Zayne doesn’t stop there.

“You mentioned that in the kitchen, didn’t you? You’re not very fond of the fact that I spend more time with her than you do, are you?”

“Zayne -”

“Shut the fuck up,” Caleb snaps, pulling your thigh closer to his lap possessively. “I didn’t say that.”

Zayne tilts his head to the side in an inquisitive way that feels calculating.

“Not in so many words,” Zayne acquiesces. “Perhaps I embellished. I could tell her what you actually said, if you’d like.”

“You really are a snake, aren’t you?” Caleb bites back. “You’re really gonna tattle on me? Fuck you.”

“Woah,” You cover Caleb’s hand on your thigh with both of your own. “What is the problem? Everything was fine an hour ago!”

“He’s upset that I get to spend more time with you than he does,” Zayne supplies dryly, unable to mask the contempt in his usually cool voice. “So he’s acting like a child.”

“Caleb,” You say softly. “Tell me what’s going on. You’ve been acting like this for a while now - if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

Caleb looks distressed, at war with himself as he debates on whether or not he actually wants to say anything. Something in him shatters and the words come tumbling out in a clumsy stampede.

“Fuck - fine! I just miss you, okay? I - I don’t get to be around much like I used to and it’s not a great feeling. You spend so much time with him that even when we do hang out, you’re paying attention to him.”

Your heart wrenches at his words coupled with the hurt expression on his face. He looks like a kicked puppy, dejected and embarrassed as the tips of his ears turn as red as his cheeks. You lift your right hand to his cheek and stroke the soft skin there delicately, desperately trying to soothe his worries.

“I miss you, too, Caleb. I care about both of you equally, okay? I know you don’t like each other’s company much, but the fact that you both make it happen for me when I want to see you both means the world to me -”

“Oh, it’s no bother to me one way or the other,” Zayne interjects, though the spritz of venom in the words say otherwise. “I couldn’t care less whether he’s here or not.”

You turn to Zayne to give him a look, but Caleb grabs your chin with his free hand, clutching it between his index finger and thumb to jerk your attention back to him.

“Look at me,” Caleb murmurs, his voice just a decibel away from a growl. “Don’t look at him.”

“Caleb, if you can’t-”

“Please,” He begs. “Please just look at me.”

You soften with his pleas, the desperation and neediness making you feel dizzy in a way that you can’t put your finger on.

“I just miss you - so, so fucking much. I’m sorry I’m not good at conveying that, but I just want you to know you can rely on me and that I’ll always be there and the fact that we can’t see each other as much hurts me, pipsqueak. It really does.”

“Caleb - ah!” You squeak as you feel Zayne’s arm curl around your waist, tugging you closer to him. 

“You can rely on me, too,” Zayne murmurs, his large hand flattening and splaying possessively across your stomach. “He doesn’t care about you any more than I do.”

“Yeah, or any fucking less either,” Caleb seethes, grip still tight on your jaw so your attention is fixed on him, then asks desperately, “Pipsqueak, you love me, right?”

“O-of course, I do - I - I love you more than anything, Caleb what are you -”

“How do you love me? How do you see me? Because I can’t stand you looking at me like some kind of older brother figure or friend anymore. Pipsqueak, I - I love you, okay? I love you so much it hurts to be apart from you and it’s getting harder to ignore it.”

“I - of course I don’t th-think of you that way, but -”

“Please, can I kiss you? Please, just - just let me kiss you.” 

Caleb doesn’t care how pathetic he sounds when he begs and sheds all of his reservations in a a hard, heavy exoskeleton to bare his soul to you. There is no shame or embarrassment in the way that he cares for you; loves you so loudly and proudly that begging is his second nature. He used to beg to cook for you when you were too tired to do it yourself and beg to make your life easier with acts of service; a love language that Caleb has taken to the extreme and then some and more so since you’ve been apart more.

“Caleb, I - I want to, but Zayne is -”

Caleb cuts you off, suctioning the words out of your mouth and brain entirely as he slots his lips against yours, desperate and probing when his tongue probes the seam of your lips. Your acceptance and spoken desire is all the permission he needs as the hunger eats away at his restraint and threatens to consume him. He releases his grip on your chin, slipping his hand into your hair to root his fingers in the tendrils, anchoring your face to his own as he kisses the breath out of you to rob you of words completely.

“Zayne is right here,” Zayne finishes your thought, tugging you away from Caleb to face him, lips swollen and slick with a mixture of yours and Caleb’s saliva. “And I’m tired of standing in the shadows because it’s easier.”

“What do you -”

“I’m here. You let him kiss you, so will you grant me the same honor or is that a line you won’t cross with me?” He asks gently, delicately trailing his hand up from your waist to your shoulder, his touch feather-light and intense all at the same time.

“Go ahead,” Caleb challenges, taunting. “Why don’t you give Specs his first kiss?”

Zayne rolls his eyes, his carefully constructed mask cracking like plaster under Caleb’s barbed insult. You turn back to Caleb who’s observing you with interest and the slightest tinge of envy. He moves back as if he’s waiting for you, nodding his head in a way that screams an unspoken, “Well, go ahead.”

“Is this okay?” Zayne asks gently, lifting his hand from your shoulder to cup your jaw. “Don’t force yourself.”

You deem a verbal response unnecessary and close the distance between you and Zayne and delicately press your lips to his. Zayne’s lips are pleasantly cold and soft against your own, soothing in an unexpected way that challenges his rigid demeanor. You know Zayne to be kindhearted with so much lurking beneath the surface that others don’t see, so the loving way in which he kisses you back is pleasant, but not something you’re unprepared for.

“So sweet,” Zayne says against your lips before parting them with his tongue, tilting his head to get better access with a motion that gives you the inkling that this isn’t his first kiss.

“How do I taste, Doctor?” Caleb goads, though the insult is less malicious and teeming with genuine curiosity.

Zayne’s patience with Caleb has been saint-like over the past few months and he’s usually able to let things roll off of him, his silence ricocheting back at Caleb that cuts deeper than any verbal response. Despite the fact that Zayne is the portrait of nonchalance and composure, getting to finally taste your lips like he’s been itching to for years awakens a voracity in him that far outweighs his penchant for peace-keeping. With a strength that surprises you, Zayne leans back to pull you into his lap, adjusting himself so he’s lying back on a couch cushion and you’re straddling his hips. 

“Tell me to stop,” Zayne manages between pants, breathy and sweet. “I think you and I both underestimate the realms that my control stretches to.”

“Don’t want to,” You whisper, the puffs of your breath hitting Zayne’s lips and making him shudder beneath you. “Kiss me like you want to, Zayne.”

Something in the way you say his name is Zayne’s undoing, eyelids fluttering shut as he inhales sharply and grip tightening on you with a craving that transcends his ability to convey. Caleb’s resolve is an eroding mountain; crumbling little by little in sediment sharp enough to inflict pain in intensifying doses over time – Zayne’s is the swift and sudden avalanche cascading down in massive chunks in a devastating destruction that wounds all at once.

Zayne’s fingers slip into your hair, cradling your skull to pull you as close as physically possible to him. Your teeth clash together clumsily, a mishap that Zayne ignores entirely to pry your lips apart. His tongue massages your own, wet and urgent like he’s afraid you’ll disappear at any moment and he’s running out of time. You vaguely register the nearly imperceptible moans that course from the back of Zayne’s throat to snuff out in your mouth, the barrier of your tongue keeping them from carrying. 

“You were never good at sharing, were you?” Caleb’s hoarse voice comes from behind you, yanking you from the trance of Zayne’s cool, comforting lips. 

There’s barely any time for you to turn to him, because Caleb’s arms wrap around you from behind, strong and all-encompassing. Caleb presses his body to yours, his front molded to your back to make you look at Zayne.

The sight of Zayne makes your breath hitch. Your intelligent and soft-spoken friend is splayed across your couch, legs haphazardly spread with one draped over the edge, too tall to fit. Zayne’s hair is mussed, sticking up in tufts that scream to be pulled at and his glasses are askew. It’s not often you get to see Zayne in his casual attire due to his job and the necessity for professionalism outweighing comfort, so you always appreciate when he dresses down to see you. He’s opted for a navy blue shirt with long sleeves that fits, but stretches over his chest snugly and accentuates his muscular but lean frame. Denim is a rarity for Zayne and somehow he’s decided to grace you with the presence of it, but the type of fabric is the furthest thing from your mind as your line of sight wanders between his legs to the bulging just beneath the zipper.

“Looks like you got Doctor worked up,” Caleb murmurs into your ear before nipping it gently. “Does that make you feel good about yourself, hm?”

“C-Caleb, I -”

“When you say stop, this stops,” Caleb assures you, reading you before you can make sense of what you’re feeling. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” You breathe. “Is - Is that bad?”

Caleb snorts like you’ve just asked the dumbest question ever and presses his lips against your neck, hands wandering over the thin fabric of your Hunter’s Association tee shirt. Zayne’s gaze is unwavering, pinpointing every movement and every kiss Caleb gives you, laser focused on the other man’s lips. Caleb’s hands explore the expanse of your stomach before moving up to your chest to hesitate, hovering over your breasts.

“Touch me,” You encourage him.

You know that Caleb can read your physical cues better than you can explain to him, but he never does anything without asking or without consulting you first. You sense that he can feel the heat radiating off of your skin even through your clothes, but he needs that push; the consent and your permission to allow him to touch you in ways that he’s been dreaming of for years. Caleb cups your breasts through your shirt, sighing between open-mouthed kisses against your throat. 

You’re refraining from making the noises you want to out of fear of the shame that’ll come with it and good, reliable Caleb seems determined to get you to break. Caleb slips one of his hands down to the hem of your shirt and underneath it, the contact of his warm skin against yours making you shudder. With his other hand, Caleb tucks his fingers underneath your jaw and tugs slightly to get you to look back at him only for him to capture your lips in a ravenous kiss that’s more tongue than lips and more feeling than precision. Caleb is sloppy the way he claims your mouth; eager and wet like he can’t wait for your fluids to coalesce. You used to hate the way he ate and drank; slurping popsicles in the Summer until he was a sticky mess and guzzling water so messily that more ended up cascading down his neck in rivulets than down his throat. Now, you can’t get enough of his enthusiasm. You’re unable to control the whimpers he draws from you with his lips and his wandering hand that’s slipping beneath the cup of your bra to tweak one of your nipples between his forefinger and thumb. You can feel his body trembling and you’re almost flattered until you realize he’s snickering against your lips.

“Wh-What’s so funny?” You demand after cutting off the kiss, lips covered in his saliva like the owner of an over-eager puppy.

“Nothin’, just think Doc’s getting a little jealous,” Caleb raises his voice and lightly jerks his head in Zayne’s direction. 

You turn your head away from Caleb to look over at Zayne and squeak at the sight that greets you. Zayne, your sweet, doting Zayne is a panting Salvador Dali painting of a man as he melts into your couch with his eyes trained on you and Caleb, palm grinding against the front of his jeans in controlled, slow rolls. 

“Look, pipsqueak,” Caleb jeers. “Look how worked up you make him. Make us.”

Caleb punctuates his words by rolling his hips into you from behind, forcing you to feel how hard you’ve made him. He pinches your nipple, wrenching a sharp gasp from the back of your throat, keeping up the steady grind of his hips against your ass. 

“You like knowing that you can do this to us, don’t you?” Caleb accuses, lifting his free hand from your face to trail it down your stomach and then to your inner thighs, parting them so Zayne has a view of your underwear through the leg hole of your shorts. “Look at how pathetic he looks –”

Zayne’s concentration wavers, throat working to swallow the thick lump present there as he watches Caleb spread your legs. 

“Tell her how pretty she looks, Doc.”

“Stunning,” Zayne remarks, surprising you that he dignified Caleb with a response.

“Tell her how stunning,” Caleb presses, palming your breast with one hand while trailing his other to the center of your shorts. “I’ve seen the way you look at her for over a fucking decade but she doesn’t seem to be that observant.”

The implications of Caleb’s words send shivers down your spine and when you look into Zayne’s eyes, you doubt he’s embellishing. 

“Beautiful,” Zayne continues, closing his eyes as he touches himself through his jeans. “So beautiful - every last part of you. Every breath, every laugh, down to every molecule and atom encoded in your makeup, you are ethereal.”

Caleb dips his fingertips beneath the waistband of your shorts, hesitating before your waistband.

“This okay, pipsqueak?”

You lean into his touch, back wedged against his front, hoping he’ll accept that as an answer.

“Gotta tell me,” He insists. “Need your words.”

“So embarrassing,” You whine. “Please, Caleb.”

Caleb slips his fingers into your panties to find them soaked through, creating a slip that makes it easy for him to glide against you.

“Maybe we aren’t the only ones that are wrecked, huh?” Caleb teases, dipping the tip of his index finger into your soaked entrance to fuck you shallowly with it. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“How wet?” Zayne demands, voice hoarse and strained. 

Caleb chuckles and the vibrations his laughter creates are pleasant against your skin. He slips his finger in deeper, the length of his finger enough to already reach a depth that you’ve never been able to explore on your own.

“Soaked, slick and tight,” Caleb groans, abandoning your breast to tug your shorts and panties down your legs without having to stop touching you. “Want a thorough exam?”

Zayne growls in frustration, rough enough to make you question whether or not you were hearing things. He tugs his jeans down his thighs to make himself more comfortable and grants you with the sight of the thick outline of his cock through his briefs before shucking the jeans off completely to lean over you, obscuring his lower half from your vision. Zayne pulls the offending fabric off of your body entirely, finishing Caleb’s job for him in Zayne’s urgency to see all of you by taking one last look with his glasses before setting those aside, too.

“Do you want him to touch you, sweetheart?” Caleb coos, noting how tense you get when Zayne flattens his hands on either of your thighs and props himself up on his elbows to settle between your legs.

“Y-yes, please, Zayne - ” You babble and nod your head aggressively, worried your verbal consent won’t make them work fast enough on its own.

You whimper at the loss of Caleb’s finger when he slips it out of you, but don’t have to miss the feeling for too long because Zayne fills that void immediately by stretching you out with two of his fingers. 

“Fuck,” Zayne loses even more of his composure and swears, the word harsh and foreign to your ears despite the organic way he hisses it. “Soaked.”

Zayne scissors his fingers inside of you and the professional, even-tempered man you’ve known your entire life dissipates entirely, fragments of him chipping off and floating away with every thrust of fingers and cry he robs of you. Zayne’s face is so close to your heat that his breath spreads in hot puffs across your skin.

“Think she needs more,” Caleb muses, eyes glued to Zayne’s fingers thrusting in and out of you. “Why don’t you lap her up and let me know what she tastes like?”

Zayne ignores Caleb but shifts his gaze from your cunt to you, eyes lidded with desire and face as red as when he has a drop of alcohol, intoxicated by your scent and the way you feel clenching around his digits.

“May I?” He asks raggedly. 

“Wh-What?”

“Taste you,” Zayne murmurs. “Will you let me?”

“You don’t h-have to,” You stammer, instinctively covering his hands with yours, the nerves getting the best of you when the reality of how close he is to you sinks in. 

Zayne pulls his fingers out of you, observing the long strand of arousal that connects his digits with your entrance with calculated interest. He lifts himself up and raises his fingers to Caleb’s face, pressing them against his lips. A beat passes and with almost no hesitation, you hear Caleb sucking Zayne’s fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste.

“Fuck ‘s good,” Caleb slurs, slightly muffled with the presence of Zayne’s fingers. “You’re gonna love it.”

A string of saliva stretches between Caleb’s mouth and Zayne’s hand as he pulls his fingers out and you don’t see Caleb’s tongue chasing the taste, darting out to follow.

“Listen to Caleb,” Zayne hums, lowering himself between your legs yet again, his face centimeters from your center. “Don’t tell me what I don’t have to do – I’m perfectly capable of making those decisions for myself. Won’t you be a good girl and tell me what you want?”

He enunciates, breath fanning across your cunt in a way that has you quivering. He pushes your hands away and parts your lips with the tip of his index finger to nudge you open, leaning forward so that his lips hover above your clit.

“Will you let me have a taste directly from the source?” Zayne’s framing of the question is polite, but something dangerous lurks beneath the surface of that fixed tone.

“Wanna see you break, pipsqueak,” Caleb murmurs into your ear, rubbing the tops of your thighs gently to soothe your nerves. “Let us see how pretty you look when you’re feeling good – make him put that mouth to better use.”

You close your eyes and nod with a quiet yes and you’re rewarded instantly.

Zayne opens you up completely with his fingers, spreading your lips so he can get the perfect view of every part as he studies you intensely. He flattens his tongue against your entrance and drags it up the expanse of you to your clit to suck the bud into his mouth. He swirls the tip of his tongue against you and groans when he tastes the fresh surge of arousal leaking out of you. Your eyes widen when you open them out of curiosity to see Zayne’s fluttering, rolling into the back of his head as he tastes you thoroughly.

“Good?” Caleb prompts, his own uneven breathing betraying the control he’s trying his hardest to maintain.

“Delicious,” Zayne corrects hoarsely, pressing his fingers to your entrance while his tongue toys with your clit and moving his left hand against your thigh to anchor himself for some semblance of stability.

“You like it when he touches you there, huh?” Caleb murmurs into your ear, stroking your hair back sweetly. “Tell me how good he’s making you feel.”

It’s all too much - the feeling of Zayne’s fingers slipping into you to work together with his tongue, the non-stop teasing from Caleb’s lips - you feel like you’re overheating. Zayne soothes you by gently tracing delicate, nondescript patterns into your thigh with his free hand, the sweet motion  starkly contrasted by his fingers pistoning in and out of you.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question, pipsqueak,” Caleb’s voice is shuddery, low and commanding. 

“I c-can’t,” You breathe out, unable to string together more than a couple of words. “Feels - It feels good.”

“Good? That’s not very nice, now, pipsqueak! Here Poindexter MD is putting those anatomy classes to good use and you can’t even let him know how he’s doing to thank him properly? Don’t tell me - he’s not doing a very good job?”

Zayne’s free fingertips dig into the meat of your thigh as he crushes his tongue over you, sweeping and greedy to collect every last drop of your arousal. You’re trembling so much, your poor excuse for a couch is protesting beneath you, groaning alongside the slew of other sounds that serve to overstimulate you in the form of Caleb’s filthy words and Zayne making out with your cunt.

“Wh-where did you learn to talk like that,” You demand in a thinly veiled attempt to distract Caleb from teasing you further. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Be a good girl and use those words for us, huh? Tell Zayne well he’s doing for you or he’ll stop.”

He wouldn’t, would he? Caleb is bluffing. Zayne would never listen to him over you.

“Zayne,” You whine.

You feel Zayne’s movements decelerate as he pulls his fingers out of you completely and presses a light kiss to your swollen clit. He looks up at you from between your legs, face flushed with exertion and arousal and lips dripping with your essence. 

“Well? Is it satisfactory or not?”

“Wh-What?”

Zayne lifts the fingers that were just inside of you to his lips to smear your arousal all over them before swiping his tongue out to taste the rest of you. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes uncharacteristically darkened with the intoxication of your taste and scent.

“Won’t you be a good girl like Caleb said? Tell me how I’m doing - tell me what you want.”

The sight of his fucked out expression and sound of that very un-Zayne-like vocabulary has you flinging your arms over your face, the attention on you proving to be too overwhelming. Caleb doesn’t waste one second and grips your wrists to pry them away from your face, clicking his tongue in disappointment as he restrains you to force you to look at Zayne.

“You heard him, pipsqueak,” Caleb presses. “How do his fingers feel inside of you? You gonna be good for him and give us both something to taste?”

“Please,” Your voice is hoarse as you beg. “Please - don’t stop - I don’t know wh-what I want I just know that I want you to keep going.”

“You want me to take care of you?” Zayne asks, holding your gaze when you meet his. “Or would you prefer I stop?”

“No!” You cry out, embarrassed at how panicked you sound.

You can feel Caleb shaking with laughter behind you.

“Well, if you aren’t going to tell me,” Zayne trails off.

“We’ll stop.” Caleb finishes for him, and you hate that now of all times they decide to be in sync with each other.

Zayne looks at you expectantly, no sign of continuing in his stillness or stare. 

“What about you?” You whine, flustered with all of the attention. “Wanna make you both feel good, too.”

Zayne smirks.

“Caleb, flip her over.”

Huh?

Caleb must be able to read Zayne’s mind because before you can protest, he’s maneuvering you in his arms like a rag doll, flipping you so you’re chest to chest and facing him. Caleb gently moves you down his body so your face is level with his stomach and trails one hand down your spine to the small of your back. Caleb presses, indicating for you to arch your back and you choke on a gasp as Zayne aids him by steadying you with both hands on your bare ass.

“If you really need to find something to do while he eats you out you can touch me,” Caleb maunders, taking your hands in his to press against the bulge in his sweats. “Feel how hard I am for you?”

“I -”

You’re cut off by Zayne’s mouth and his tongue probing inside of you, his hands digging into your asscheeks to keep you still. The movement has you falling forward, unable to keep yourself upright and scrambling for purchase in Caleb’s sweats.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t tell me you can’t focus on more than one thing at a time?” Caleb teases, the sweetness in his voice juxtaposing the fire in those violet eyes. “Here, I’ll help you.”

While you’re subjected to onslaught of wet, precise torture under the pleasure of Zayne’s tongue, Caleb slips his hand into his sweats. He lifts his hips to jerkily tug the waistband down and grips himself through his boxers when he’s freed himself from the cotton.

“Just like this, y-yeah?” He instructs, taking one of your hands in his free one to press it against him, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your hand finally touching him through the thin material. “Nice and slow, just like that, baby.”

You muster every bit of focus you’re capable of and allow Caleb to show you what he likes, biting your lip to stop the moans that threaten to spill out when Zayne slips a third finger inside of you from behind. The way your hips are angled gives Zayne more room and more depth, his fingers hitting a spot inside of you that you’ve never felt before. 

“C-Caleb, c-can’t,” You whimper with a warning as you feel yourself clench around Zayne’s fingers. 

“Are you gonna come for us, sweetheart?” Caleb lifts his hand from his cock to your cheek, soothing you with gentle strokes as Zayne fucks you with his fingers, the pressure and intensity forcing you further into Caleb’s lap. 

“I - I don’t -” You babble, unable to string together more than a few words as Zayne curls his fingers, figuratively and literally eating them out of you. “F-Feels so good.”

Caleb reaches up with his other hand to cup your jaw, steadying your head so he can drag his other fingertips across your cheek to your mouth and presses down on your bottom lip with his index finger. You part your lips for him, granting him access to shove his finger inside and push it against your tongue.

You curl your tongue around Caleb’s finger, thankful for the distraction and the stability in Caleb’s strong hands. It’s not surprising to you that Zayne is able to take you apart within mere minutes of getting the feel of you, but you’re unprepared for the tidal wave of your orgasm when he alternates his tongue with his fingers, pulling them out of you to rub your swollen, exposed clit. 

Caleb’s fingers slip from your mouth as you release the suction, lips falling open as a sharp, broken moan painfully claws its way out of your throat. Zayne doesn’t relent, tongue milking you for everything you’re worth, his dexterous fingers rubbing you through the waves with a cruel precision that brings you to the brink of overstimulation. It isn’t until you’re trembling so much that your legs can no longer hold you up when Zayne pulls away, a mixture of your arousal and his saliva dripping from his lips and jaws. 

“That’s it, atta girl,” Caleb tries to say coolly, though when you look up at him, his eyes are glazed over. “Damn, I gotta hand it to you, doc. She’s fucking shaking.” 

“I can feel that from here just fine,” Zayne drawls, wiping your residue from his face with his fingers before taking them into his mouth to take every last drop you’ve given him.

“Think she can give us another one?” Caleb wonders.

“Switch with me and I’m sure we can put that theory to the test,” Zayne moves from behind you to stand and surreptitiously adjusts himself through his boxers. 

Caleb presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before jumping at the opportunity, making sure you’re steady enough on your own before moving to the other side of the couch. 

“This your first time doing any of this, pipsqueak?” Caleb asks casually, but a hint of anxiety plagues the question, like he’s afraid of what you’ll have to say.

Caleb takes a hold of your hips from behind to carefully flip you over to your back, taking extra measures to not be too rough with you after the intense orgasm Zayne gave you.

“F-fingers, no -” You don’t miss the way Caleb’s expression darkens before continuing. “Th-The other thing, yes.”

“So no oral sex,” Zayne says bluntly, letting his jeans sag beneath his hips. “What about regular sex?”

“A c-couple times,” You admit shyly, tearing your gaze away from Caleb’s as a sneer curls at his lips. “Just a guy I dated for a few months my first year of college.”

“I don’t need to know who,” Zayne kneels on the floor so he’s face to face with you and lightly kisses your lips. “I just need to know what you’re comfortable with and what your boundaries are. Right, Caleb?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb grumbles, clearly fighting the demons ripping at his patience. “We’ll make you forget all about him. You gonna let us fuck you, pipsqueak? You trust us?”

You nod and despite your insecurities, you’ve never felt so safe with a man before. The two men you’ve known for the majority of your life have your best interests and safety in mind and you can feel it in the way they touch you; like they’ve been given the secret roadmap to know what makes you sing for them. Zayne cups your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly, letting you adjust to the new positions and allowing you to taste the tang of yourself on his tongue.

Caleb makes quick work of his sweats, his underwear following in rapid succession. You notice the shirt he’s wearing -  the annoying white one with the unnecessary buckles - and you realize you need to see all of him. 

“Take it off,” You blurt. “Hate that stupid shirt.”

Caleb barks out a laugh and fulfills your request, his brief agitation from before melting away.  You’ve seen Caleb shirtless more times than you can count and it’s affected you before, but with the new frame of context with him between your legs it practically sends you spiraling. 

“Hate my shirt or just want to see me fully naked, pervert?” He scoffs good-naturedly, spreading your legs.

He takes his neglected cock in his hand and strokes it from base to tip, squeezing his eyes shut and shuddering. You can’t even answer him because you’re staring, open-mouthed and eyes wide as you take in the sight of him. 

“You - what the hell, Caleb?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’ll fit,” Caleb answers your unspoken question, tapping it against your pubic mound. “Fuck, Zayne - condom?”

Though you find it kind of funny that Caleb only chooses to address Zayne by his given name when he needs something, it’s hard to laugh when you realize he’ll be inside of you. Zayne kisses your cheek before getting up to disappear into the kitchen where his bag is and returns within moments holding a strip of condoms.

“W-We don’t need that many!” You panic, counting eight of them. 

“We’ll see,” Zayne says dryly, giving no indication as to whether or not he’s joking, but Caleb laughs. 

Zayne grips the corner and tears the condom packet from the perforated edges to toss to Caleb, who nods his thanks and tears the packet to put it on, but you notice he lays the rest on the floor next to the couch instead of returning them to his bag. You don’t have enough time to worry if he really does plan on going through all of them when he takes your face in his hands and forces you to look at him.

“Eyes on me, darling, okay? I want you to keep looking at me,” Zayne orders gently with a soft dominance that lets you know he’s in control no matter how kindly he’s treating you.

Caleb spreads your pussy apart with his fingertips and guides the head of his cock to your entrance, a deep, animalistic groan coming from deep in his chest as he feels you for the first time. He nudges his cock inside of you, slow and steady, letting you acclimatize to his considerable size. 

“Fuck, feels so good,” He groans throatily. “So good to us, making it all wet and easy for me.”

He pushes in a couple more inches, again letting you acclimatize to the intrusion while Zayne commands your gaze.

“That’s it, darling, just keep looking at me,” Zayne pairs his words with a knowing, sympathetic nod. “Good girl, you’re doing so well.”

When Caleb bottoms out inside of you, the pressure is so intense that you can practically feel him in the back of your throat. He’s so deep that it almost hurts, but Zayne’s taken extra care to make sure you don’t feel the stretch as badly as you would have without the preparation. You flex your hips, wincing at the intrusion. Caleb is as perceptive during sex as he is in every other facet of his life, especially when it comes to you, so he bites down on his lip to keep himself grounded and stills.

“Look at that, he’s all the way inside of you,” Zayne marvels before slotting his lips against yours.

Zayne sucks your tongue into his mouth, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs and Caleb flattens a hand on your abdomen like he’s trying to measure how much of you he’s taking up. The pressure of his hand is delicious and you whimper into Zayne’s mouth, unable to keep up with his kisses. 

“Gonna move, yeah?” Caleb grunts.

“Yes,” You breathe against Zayne’s lips, your mind yanked in a million different directions.

The drag of Caleb’s cock against your walls as he pulls out is delicious, intense and overbearing in all of the best ways like Caleb is in general. He withdraws until just the head of his cock rests inside of you and trembles, shaking his head to bring himself back to Earth so he doesn’t get lost in the feeling of you.

“You don’t have to do anything, okay? Let us take care of you,” Zayne mutters, trailing his lips from yours to the column of your throat.

“Lift your hips for me, baby,” Caleb instructs, slipping his hands underneath your ass as you obey. “That’s it, good girl.”

Caleb offers you a moment to adjust, his pleasure taking a backseat to your comfort. 

“Gonna fuck you, okay? Is that okay with you, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes, please,” Your voice is strained, throat raw from the exhaustion of being fully serviced by the two people who mean the most in the world to you. “Need to feel you, Caleb.”

The way you say his name breaks any barrier of restraint and Caleb surges forward, filling you up all of the way as he chokes on your name. You love the nicknames both of the men have for you, but hearing your name gasped so reverently from Caleb’s lips while he buries himself inside of you causes something to sting in your eyes. Salty, warm tears brim at the ducts, threatening to spill as Caleb sets a ruthless pace. Zayne wipes them away with his thumbs, murmuring sweet praises of how good you’re being for them against your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your flesh.

“Caleb!” You cry out as he thrusts into you, cock hitting a spot so deep it’s like it knocks the wind out of you. 

Your head falls back, slack in Zayne’s hands until he corrects you, tightening his grip on your jaw.

“I said keep your eyes on me,” He warns. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll have Caleb stop. You don’t want that do you?”

“No!” You panic, tears flowing freely as you babble. “No, no, don’t stop, please - almost - almost there.”

“Are you going to come for us again?” Zayne asks, lifting one of his hands to smooth your hair away from your sweaty, tear-stained face. 

“I don’t - I don’t know,” You answer truthfully, head empty with the way Caleb’s fucking you senseless. 

Zayne leans forward to pry your lips open with his tongue, swallowing your cries. He pulls back to stand up, briefly releasing his grasp on your face. He tugs his jeans and underwear down to his knees and takes his cock in his hand. Zayne is long and curved, a prominent vein throbbing down the expanse of his dick. He’s kept himself neatly trimmed and groomed meticulously, not a stray hair or blemish marring the skin around it. 

“Open,” He insists. “Okay?”

You don’t have much experience with giving head – your last ending disastrously with your ex boyfriend’s cum ending up in your eyes - but it’s the last thing on your mind as your mouth waters at the sight of Zayne. You part your lips for him and he hums, guiding his cock to your lips with one hand and returning the other to your jaw to stabilize you. You take his head in your mouth and experimentally swirl your tongue around the tip, slightly ashamed that you’re loving how much they’re filling you.

“Fuck, I’m not going to last,” Caleb growls. “I can feel her fucking clenching around me.”

Your mouth falls slack when Caleb slams into you, a fresh wave of tears leaking from your eyes as the pleasure pricks gooseflesh all over your skin. Zayne takes the opportunity to feed you more of his cock, releasing his grip on it to grab your hand and place it on what you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Does his cock feel good inside of you?” Zayne inquires with a mean edge, clearly not expecting you to be able to answer. “‘Do you like being a good girl for us?”

Caleb slips one of his hands out from under your ass to lift it to his mouth and spit in his palm. He spreads the saliva between your legs, making sure to cover all of you. He pinches your clit between his thumb and index finger and presses, revelling in the way you convulse around him. Your lips part in a scream that Zayne’s cock muffles and more of him slips in, triggering your gag reflex. You choke around him, spit dripping out of the sides of your mouth as your eyes water. 

Zayne pulls out entirely and kneels to face you and covers your lips with his. He takes himself in his hand, stroking and squeezing in the rough way he’s accustomed to when he’s alone and murmurs sweet apologies into your mouth.

“So sorry, so good for me,” He gasps, your kisses devolving into sloppy licks, all tongue with no intention to do anything but feel. “You’re such a good girl for me - for us.”

“Fuck!” Caleb swears, the last thread of his dwindling restraint snapping and fraying like old rope. “Gonna come, g-gonna come,”

The combination of Caleb’s assault on your clit with Zayne’s sweet praises has you spasming until you go completely still, eyes widening in the shock of an orgasm so intense that you can’t move. Caleb doesn’t stop his fingers as he fucks you through the swells and torrents, your name the only thing on his lips when he spills into the condom. 

“Our good girl, behaving so well for us,” Zayne barely manages between rough pants as he spills into his hand. “So good for us.”

Caleb pulls out of you, his frame shaking with exertion and the shockwaves of bliss, and clumsily pulls back to collapse into the couch. Zayne rests his sweaty forehead against yours, his seemingly endless supply of composure tapped as he pants roughly. 

“Z-Zayne what about -” You worry.

“Don’t worry about me darling,” Zayne assures you shakily and winces as he discreetly wipes his hand on his jeans. “Lay back for me. Caleb?”

“What?” Caleb groans. 

“Let’s go run her a bath,” Zayne instructs. “I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself.”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m getting up - we’ll come get you in a second, sweetheart.”

Zayne stands, his movements abnormally slow and clumsy. He leans forward to kiss your sticky forehead and disappears into the bathroom. Caleb follows suit, even more clumsy and gives you a kiss on the cheek. A few moments later, you hear the sound of your bathtub faucet running and the faint sounds of Caleb admonishing Zayne for not using enough hot water. You smile to yourself, exhausted beyond belief, and let yourself relax until your best friends come to get you.

[hotheadedhero]

Daft Pretty Boys

AN: I was going to try and get something Halloween-like out but it's been busy lately. Have some fluffy angst with Raph, instead :D

Raphael x Reader

Warning: kinda angsty, soft-hearted Raph ahead :)

When you blessed the turtles with your bright presence and inevitably befriended them, Raphael didn’t realise just how much of an emotional rollercoaster it would be. As a person, you are amazing. You always make a point to engage with him and his brothers, even for the small things. Other than April, they’ve never felt more welcomed by human company before. The thing is, if he were to put one fault on you, it’s your taste in men. 

You fall fast and hard, and it’s not because of their looks. It’s the ones who have this idea that they know they look good: the confidence they exude, sharp-witted flattery on the end of a hook that you can’t help biting into. You get caught, pulled in, they have their fun, and then you’re chucked back into sea awaiting the next juicy-looking cast of bait. One would think you’d be smart enough to not fall for the same routine tricks over and over again but here we are.

Each time you say, “He’s really sweet,” followed by a “This one is different,” but he never is. You’re always taking that chance, betting on the next guy being Mr Right, only for it to end in heartbreak, and every time Raph’s at your aid when you come crying to him. That isn’t said with any malice for you. He will always be there to pick up the pieces. Maybe broken pieces of these stupid shmucks if he just had five minutes alone with them.

You grasp so desperately to hope. Raph would commend you for your optimistic persistence if it didn’t break him to see you in tears. There’s only so much one heart can take. He doesn’t want you to become some calloused husk of your sweet self, too afraid to take another chance. He doesn’t want you to end up like him. Raphael knows he’s unloveable. Regardless of his appearance, he has a temper - one that he keeps as far away from you as he possibly can. His feelings for you never seem to pass despite how much he tries but he isn’t meant for love. That isn’t how this world works. You, on the other hand, should be cherished and he’ll beat the next sorry sucker who does any less than that.

How? How can someone be so foolish to drop you like these men have? He doesn’t get it. Were it him, he’d spend every waking moment appreciating you, letting it be known just how precious you are and how lucky he is to be the one to call you his. But he isn’t. The same daydream can play as many times as it likes, it’s never going to go in that direction. He needs to keep reminding himself of that.

You just deserve so much more than the cards you keep getting dealt. You’ve probably got to be the sweetest person he’s ever had the luxury of meeting. A little bubble-brained at times but that’s in part what makes you so cute. It’s also why you end up in and out of these short-lived relationships, he reckons. Much like now, for instance. It’s almost routine, weirdly systematic in a way, how you waddle into the lair glassy-eyed and red-faced wearing that grey sweater - the one he calls your breakup sweater - that’s two sizes too big for you. So much for the macho man with the green eyes. Making it to one month is a record, so there’s that at least.

Raphael doesn’t say anything, just holds a hand out whilst the other cradles the back of his neck. By now, he’s learnt that there’s nothing he can say. It’s better to wait on you until you manage to find your words. You slowly trudge towards him and smack your forehead into his chest. All he can do is stand there and stare at the top of your head whilst he battles the urge to pick you up and take you away from all this frivolous bullshit. His arm falls to his side as he watches you, and you just about say what he would expect you to.

“I really thought this one would be different,” you whimper quietly and the hiccup in your throat makes his chest burn. “He seemed so genuine.”

Raphael’s heart clenches. He wants to scream that he’s the one who’s genuine, that he’s the one who’s been here through every heartbreak, every tear. But instead, he swallows his words, feeling the weight of his own unspoken feelings pressing down on his chest.

He pats the top of your head, almost awkwardly, and sighs, “I know.”

A pained laugh muffles against his chest. “I’m the problem, aren’t I?” you ask rhetorically, playing it off as some joke at your own expense but it only angers him further.

“It’s not you,” Raph replies, a hint of a growl edging into his tone. “They’re the ones who don’t know what they’re missin’.”

“But there’s a common denominator here. It feels like it’s me.” You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Like, maybe if I was just different-”

“Stop right there,” he interjects, his brow furrowing. “You are not the problem. They are. Trust me on that.”

You always say the wrong things about yourself: the things he thinks about himself on a daily; if he was different. You are such an honest person and yet you lie so frequently when you talk about yourself. A nasty bi-product of those worthless scumbags treating you the way they do. You want to believe him on his word but you also can’t ignore the facts. It’s always the same song and dance. You stupidly cling to hope, searching for the silver lining that never seems to come, and end up in this sad mess of a person.

Raphael watches as you pull away, the warmth of his body replaced by the chill of reality. It’s painful to see you so vulnerable, so exposed. He wishes he could shake you out of this cycle, snap his fingers and make you see what’s right in front of you. But he can’t. All he can do is stand there, the silent sentinel, while you cry into the fabric of your sweater. The moment lingers, heavy and full of unsaid words. He wants to tell you that you deserve better, that you should never settle for the likes of those clowns who don’t recognize your worth. Yet, the words stick in his throat, tangled with his own fear of inadequacy.

He clears his throat, trying to break the tension. “Tell you what, let’s grab a couple sodas and a slice. Sit up top for a bit, yeah?”

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I don’t know if I can eat right now, Raph.”

“Doesn’t matter. You need to get outta this gloom. Plus, I’m starving,” he responds with a half-hearted attempt at humor, but the grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Finally, you yield. Begrudgingly, he might add, but food and the fresh night air is what you need right now, especially seeing as you’ve been cooped up in your apartment all day crying. He takes whatever pizza he had leftover - it’s only lasted because Mikey has luckily been out - along with a couple cans and leads you through the sewers. Whilst he’s essentially forcing you outside, he goes at your pace, never pushing you beyond that. Sure, it takes longer than it should but you get to a nice rooftop eventually, and before you know it, he’s already got you venting with a slice in your hand.

“And then he pulls out the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shtick,” you say and Raph follows with a quiet “Of course, he does,” before you continue, “and I swear, I could’ve just slapped him.”

“You should have.”

You hum shortly against a bite of pizza and shrug. “Ah, the moment’s long gone, anyway.”

The two of you glance at each other with a small laugh before returning to the view ahead. This feels better. Much better. Once again, your knight in shell-y armour has helped you bounce back from your foreboding. If you had it your way earlier, you would have loved nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch some bad reality TV to cheer you up. Not where Raph is concerned. He’s soft-natured when you need that shoulder to cry on but knows when to crack out a bit of that tough love, too. You’re always thankful for that - him - and you hope he knows just how much of a difference he makes.

"Hey.” He nudges you with his elbow and you look up, noting the light smirk on his face, though the seriousness behind his eyes isn’t something to be ignored. “Next asshole that breaks your heart, you just point me in the right direction.”

"And be an active participant in murder? Not a chance," you laugh and playfully swat him, earning a low chortle. You think you know what he’s getting at and it’s sweet in weird kind of way. With a perma-smile now glued to your face, you rest your head on his arm and speak more gently, "Thanks, though."

He glances down at you and tempts the idea of stroking a hand over your head. His fingers clasp into a fist and he looks ahead again, taking a gentle breath before responding quietly, "Yeah... don't mention it."

[dearru]

knight!hinata shoyo x princess!reader

₊˚ෆ Thinking of you, an impudent young princess with a slight rebellious streak, who has scared off every guard your father has assigned to you. To combat this, the King decides to appoint Hinata Shoyo, a new knight with an indomitable spirit, to your staff. Clumsy and intent on making a name for himself, he may just be the answer to subduing your quiet revolt. | mlist

Your silken gown drapes against the cushioned sofa as you read your novel in a decidedly unladylike position. From the corner of your eye, you catch the scandalized look of your lady-in-waiting at how your legs sprawl; however, you find great pleasure in it.

Twisted as it may be to feel joy at the sight of another’s discomfort, princess etiquette is far too rigid for your liking, and your lady-in-waiting is a conservative prude.

Beams of sunlight tickle your face, and you bask in the feeling. Your mother is horrified by the idea of a princess’ skin burning, meaning wide-brimmed hats are a permanent fixture of your summer wardrobe. It’s a rare treat to feel warmth on your skin.

Moments such as this are sacred. You hold them close to your chest

So, who is this orange-haired oaf with the gall to cast a shadow over your precious sun?

“You are blocking the light.” You spit at the human obstruction. Sighing in annoyance, you slam your book shut and glare at him.

His face is unfamiliar to you. Unruly orange hair sticks up in various directions, a complement to his boyish features and short, stocky stature.

“Ah! I apologize!” The stranger exclaims. Metal from his armored suit clanks loudly as he scrambles to reposition himself away from the window. You cringe at the unwelcome noise. Eyes narrowing further, your gaze travels from his reddened face down to the family crest that rests on his breastplate.

He must be a Royal Knight. A rather jumpy one, but a Knight, regardless.

Your blushed lips turn up in subtle amusement, betraying your otherwise cold disposition.

“Do you often make it a habit to disturb Princesses?”

“No!” He stammers in a manner unbefitting for a brave soldier of the Kingdom. His posture stiffens suddenly, and he clears his throat, as if he’s suddenly remembered how knights are meant to act. He bends his body down in a poor attempt at a bow.

“I am Shoyo Hinata. The King has appointed me to serve as your knight.”

You snort. The foals in your stable have more grace than he.

How did he manage to become knighted? You wonder. Or, better yet, what is your father playing at, assigning this inept boy, who cannot be much older than yourself, to your staff?

Intrigued, you sit up in your chair. The bottom of your dress pools at your waist as your hands prop your face up.

“So you are the one who is sworn protect me?”

Shoyo looks up at you, body still contorted into an uncomfortable bow. “Um…yes?”

Your brow raises. “Is that an inquiry or an answer?”

“Yes!” He shouts. There’s a determination in his expression that surprises you. “I will do everything in my power to serve you!”

Your interest deflates at his eagerness. Knights are nothing but a chain on your independence. They’re sworn to protect; however, the only thing they do is hold you down. Humming, you pick your novel up once again, flipping the pages to find your spot.

“Well, Shoyo Hinata,” you speak, not bothering to look up, “ You cannot blame me for doubting your fitness to serve. The sight of you in armor is reminiscent of a child playing dress-up.”

“I am aware of my smaller stature,” he agrees, and you resist the urge to peek at his face, which must be discouraged.

Your record for scaring off a Knight is one week. Are you about to set a personal best?

Your fingers turn a page, pleased. “My father will not blame you for your resignation. I am sure that—“

The snide remark dies in your throat as you feel a sudden force tugging your book down. Your eyes widen at the closeness of Shoyo’s face. He leans in, and you feel yourself submitting to the overwhelming presence he takes up.

“I may be unassuming, but I will prove that I am worthy of serving you!” He says in earnest. His hand grips your book firmly, subjecting it to his flurry of passion. He is so near that you can see the rise and fall of his chest. “Wait, and you will see.”

You remain still.

Shoyo’s face pales, withdrawing his hand from your book. Stepping away, he raises his arms in submission. “My…my sincerest apologies. I did not mean to—“

“Very well.”

He looks at you incredulously. “Huh?”

“Very well.” You echo, “Let us see how you do.”

His expression morphs from panicked to excitable. A wide grin spreads across his face and his chest puffs slightly. Kneeling abruptly, his energy is palpable as he places a hand over his heart. Looking at you through the locks of hair that cascade across his face, a beam of light from the setting sun shines down on him, almost like a spotlight.

“You will not regret your decision.”

You chuckle. “That remains to be seen.”

—a/n: this is for @shouyuus and the three other shoyo stans who will read this:3 i have been obsessed with knight!shoyo since 2020 and i am so thrilled others are seeing the light…

—p.s. read rain’s take on knight!shoyo here

[httpsserene]

it's us against the world — 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 & 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏 lando norris x oscar piastri x twitchstreamer!fem!black!reader (poly!f1) 1.5k words. requested! by the lovely @ashiekins. not beta read. fluff. poly!f1. takes place during the 2025 preseason. power outage activities. marvel rivals. gamer terms and lingo. a love letter to landoscar.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. the first post back after my shadow ban was destined to be a landoscar drabble because i can't take the lando hate rn (thank you for reading even though i disappeared for a month...call me serenexkenshin atp)🤍

⌕ join taglist | share feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

“Okay,” says Oscar. You imagine he’s blinking furiously to clear the bright spots in his vision caused by Lando blinding him with the flashlight for the third time in less than five minutes.  “You are not allowed to hold the torch anymore—give it here.”

You snort, snugly tucking the final pillows into place before turning around to look at the brief scuffle in the dark hallway. The beam of light flashes around sporadically as they wrestle, giving you small glimpses of their silhouettes in the darkness, but not enough to see who has the upper hand. Oscar’s quiet grunts of effort are overshadowed by Lando’s impish squeals, and then, there’s a loud, heavy thump. 

Lando abruptly falls silent, and the flashlight gets turned off.

“Oh?” Lando’s coquettish grin is audible around his panting breaths, “Slam me into the wall again, I think I kinda liked that.”

“Ew,” Oscar declares. You muffle a laugh behind your hand.

Lando rejoins you in the living room first, his pouty expression brightening as he takes in the completed pillow fort. The kindling fire in the small fireplace across the room casts a warm, romantic glow over his frame. You notice how the seaglass color of his eyes has deepened into a darker green in the shadows, the flecks of brown ringing his flared pupils even richer. Distracted by their beauty, you’re oblivious to how quickly he crossed the room to be by your side until he pulled you into a smooth kiss.

“Nicely done, love,” he hums against your lips, his trimmed facial hair tickling your skin.

“I can’t take all the credit,” you giggle, for no reason in particular. The quiet atmosphere of a house without power feels giddy and dizzying when you’re experiencing it with your partners. “It was your idea to build the fort, and you did most of the building. I just made it look pretty.”

He’s moved to peppering kisses along your cheekbones, murmuring against the rich brown skin, “Likely thing for you to do—my pretty girl making things look almost as pretty as she does.”

It’s not his best work, but he did call you his pretty girl, so the words make your stomach flutter and heartbeat skip regardless. 

Oscar, born to keep Lando humble, cringes as he overhears the line while walking toward the fireplace to prod at the slowly growing flames, “4/10. Your delivery wasn’t too bad, I reckon.”

Lando rolls his eyes, throwing a playful glare in the Aussie’s direction, “Alright, Oscar the Grouch. You’re just jealous ‘cause you had to do all the boring stuff while we got to do the fun stuff like building the fort and picking out the board games we’re gonna play.”

The fire comes alive as Oscar adds another log, the sound of crackling wood filling the space where humming electricity used to be. 

“The ‘boring stuff?’” Oscar sets the poker down and brushes any wood debris off his palms. “Do you mean the responsible stuff?”

You and Lando audibly protest against the implication of being irresponsible, Oscar laughing at how your expressions twist in feigned offense. He joins the two of you by the pillow fort and kneels to sit by the coffee table, continuing to laugh to himself as he starts lighting the handful of candles the two of you were able to find around the rental house. 

“I fell asleep while you were streaming that new Marvel game, and Lando was doing laps around Silverstone on the sim. The two of you woke me up whispering about horror movie plots with the torch burning directly into my eyes, a scented candle in the other hand, and no clue about where the main breaker is,” Oscar deadpans.

Even though you know Oscar well, his ability to fall asleep in any circumstance, regardless of what’s occurring around him, astounds you. You were live on Twitch, more than halfway close to being diagnosed as clinically insane, as you were loudly ranting about the egos of Duelist mains and the neanderthalic behavior of Vanguards. The sound of you crashing out over getting brutally slaughtered in the backline as your teammates—who, for some reason, refused to turn around and respond to your frantic comms for help—continued to blame losing the game on the lack of healing and support you were offering, should have been loud enough to travel downstairs to be heard by him resting on the couch. 

It wasn’t loud enough. Because, surprisingly, Oscar was out like the power, when you and Lando found him snoozing on the sofa. He was resting on his side, covered in a mound of blankets (that have now been consolidated into the fort), his cheek squished against the pillow he tucked under his head. His hand was loosely keeping hold of his phone, his face washed in the blue light emanating from the screen. Lando approached, whisper-screaming Oscar’s name while he attempted to gently rouse the younger man by petting his cheek with his large hand. Oscar squirmed, his brows screwed in discontent, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to run away from being awoken. Lando huffed before poking a bony finger into the Aussie’s chubby cheeks, the enamored look on his face snitched on how fond he is of the younger man. You and Lando quietly chuckled when Oscar dropped his phone to unconsciously bat Lando’s finger away, the phone landed face up next to him. The screen displayed the lost connection image of your livestream—he was watching you play a game he doesn’t know or care for, while being bundled up downstairs on the sofa. He could’ve taken the less than fifteen-second trip upstairs to be in the same room as you, and spectated from outside of the camera’s view. 

(You’ve been in love with both Lando and Oscar for what simultaneously feels like forever and not long enough. And, they still manage to do things that make you feel like you’re falling in love with them all over again.)

Lando called out Osc once, flashlight shining on his face, and his eyelids peeled open slightly to squint with a sleepy and ineffective glare at the two of you. You’ve witnessed the man sleep through crying babies on flights, the noise of the garage on qualifying days, and thunderstorms that sound like hurricanes. Yet, he wakes as soon as the sound of his boyfriend cooing his name is paired with the unignorable force of harsh light being oriented directly into his eyes. 

“To be fair,” you respond innocently, “From the few times where the power shorted in my stream room, you told me to stay put while you went to flip the switches. Therefore, I don’t think it’s my fault that I don’t know where the breaker is—it’s yours. You’ve spoiled me,” you declare loftily, grinning when Oscar rolls his eyes, the upturned corners of his lips giving away his true feelings about how he’s pampered you. 

Lando cackles, knowing damn well that Oscar spoils him too. He crawls into the fort and buries himself in the calculated mess of couch cushions, pillows, and thick quilts you've padded on the floor. He doesn’t have an excuse for himself, nor does he attempt to lie, “Why would I know where the main breaker is? That wasn’t listed in the rental description.”

Oscar stares at the pile of blankets that have become his boyfriend, “I have a strong feeling that you didn’t read the listing, did you?”

“Stop bullying me,” Lando’s voice is muffled behind a quilt he’s pulled over his face. “I’m dyslexic—and frickin’ cold, mate. It’s freezing in here.”

Now that Lando’s brought it to your attention, the temperature has dropped inside. The frigid British winter has been slowly seeping inside since the power went out and took the heating with it. Oscar casts a glance at the fireplace before looking back at the candles to make sure they're a safe distance from anything flammable on the coffee table. He knocks his knee to yours to get your attention and nods his head in Lando’s direction, a wordless direction for you to curl up with him in the cozy hideaway.

“It’s going to be a little bit before the fire grows big enough to warm up the room,” Oscar crawls in after you, the two of you peeling back layers of quilts to reach Lando underneath them. 

Lando whines when the chilled air finds him again, his nose scrunch complemented by a fierce glare for unsettling him after he had made himself comfortable within the fort. His sharpness relaxes as he’s cradled between your bodies, tucking his cold feet between Oscar’s legs and slipping his hands underneath your hoodie to warm his fingers. You’re sure the three of you look like a pile of cats, cuddled tightly together to fend off the cold.

Lando sighs happily, “This is mega…but do you know what would make it perfect?”

You shift closer, throwing a leg over Lando’s torso, grinning as Oscar’s hand lowers to massage the bones of your ankle over your fuzzy socks.

Oscar, gifted with foresight, calmly states, “We are not getting naked in the pillow fort.”

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[fuctacles]

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen | eighteen | nineteen | twenty

extras: | 🐈 | 🐾 | 🐈 | Ao3

Eddie was lowkey disgusted by how his uncle would talk about one of his neighbors. No, he doesn't think it's bad for old people to fall in love or have crushes. But it's weird to know these things about his own uncle. 

And it's also sad to watch, because it's been months of Stephanie this, Stephanie that, and nothing came of it, so he felt safe to assume the infatuation was one-sided. So when he tells his uncle he can't go feed her cats that week, he figures it's for the best. And not only because of Wayne's twisted ankle. To his surprise though, he doesn't seem fazed; he just waves his hand and says:

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No climbing the stairs with this thing." He pokes the cast with his crutch. "I've already volunteered you anyway."

Eddie raises his eyebrows because he surely misheard that.

"You did what now?"

"Told Stephanie I'll send you to feed her cats," Wayne says, confirming his fears.

"Why?! She has so many other neighbors!" Eddie points out, gesturing vigorously around the room, implying but meaning the flats surrounding them. 

Wayne clicks his tongue at him.

"Would you let in just any of your neighbors into your home? She already trusts me, and I'm vouching for you."

Eddie gapes at him, hating that he's making a valid point. Damned be his old man and his reasonable thinking. He crosses his arms because while it makes sense, it doesn't mean Eddie can't be angry about it. 

"When?"

"She's visiting her friend this weekend so she asked for Saturday evening and Sunday morning. And stay with them for a while if possible, so they don't go crazy. Ah, and the plant in the kitchen needs watering."

"Great," Eddie grits through his teeth. He's so delighted at the prospect of spending time with some old lady's cats. The whole place probably stinks of cat piss and he'll definitely kill the plant as soon as he touches it. (It was his only superpower, which is not what he aimed for when his five-year-old had been praying, thanks for nothing, Jesus.) He just hopes he won't have to meet her. Hearing some old hag complain about his clothes, hair, and general adolescence was the last thing he wanted on his weekend off. But, alas...

"She asked you to come over tomorrow so she can show you where everything is."

Eddie groans. 

It's a Friday afternoon, he's at his uncle's taking a break from college and work. He should be sharing a beer with the old man, complaining about the coursework, the professors, and other students, not picking him up from the hospital, and running errands while his foot is in a cast. And certainly not meeting up with old stinky spinsters. 

To add insult to injury, Miss Stephanie, (which, by the way, is such a typical old hag name) lives two floors higher and the elevator is perpetually broken. Not too high, but high enough for Eddie's anemic lungs to start collapsing. 

He stops around the corner to steady his breath, because regardless of his overall attitude, he didn't want to worsen the first impression. He already refused to 'dress like a decent man' and didn't want to wheeze into the lady's face on top of it. 

Once his lungs are functioning properly again, he walks into the hallway, looking for number 54 as Wayne instructed. He knocks on the door, hoping he didn't mess it up and is at the right place. What if it was 45?

It must have been because he was told Stephanie Harrington lives alone. 

"Uh, sorry, I must have—"

"Are you Eddie?" The woman who opened the door takes him in. At her feet, a tabby cat peers curiously at the new human.

"Uh, yeah? I'm looking for Miss Stephanie?" he offers awkwardly. Maybe that's the friend? Or a sister?

But the woman extends her hand and smiles brightly.

"That would be me, but please call me Steph. I wish I could drill that into Wayne's thick skull." She rolls her eyes fondly.

Her big, gorgeous eyes, framed by thick lashes. She's not an old hag, she could be in her forties at best. She's tall and curvy and her hair looks straight out of a shampoo commercial. She's gorgeous. Eddie shakes her hand in a daze.

"Hi," he croaks as he's ushered inside. 

"Come in, come in! I've heard so much about you, it's great to finally see you in person. I must say," she turns around and gives him a quick once-over. "Wayne's stories didn't do you justice."

Did she just check him out?

Eddie clears his throat, suddenly dry like his elbows during winter.

"Uh, same to you."

"Yeah?" She puts her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "What does he say about me?"

"Good things only," Eddie assures her. 

"So you're saying I'm a bitch." She squints at him.

"No!" His eyes widen. "What?!" 

"Well, if he's saying only good things about me, and you say they don't describe me right..." 

Eddie gets the point she's making and quickly shakes his head.

"No, he just made you sound like a crazy old cat lady, and you're..." He waves his hand uselessly. "Not that."

She sighs softly, shoulders sagging a little. It would be easy to miss but Eddie's senses are heightened after his fuck up.

"I kinda am, though," she says with a shrug. 

Eddie feels the need to reassure her somehow.

"Well, you're not eighty and your place doesn't smell like cat litter, I think you're fine."

She barks a laugh, it's low and surprised and Eddie's cheeks are red because he's just digging further into the hole he's in, isn't he?

"Good to know the bar is so low."

Eddie groans, tired of doing damage control that's not controlling anything.

"I'm gonna shut up now."

"Please don't." Steph smiles wide and teasingly. "You're a funny one. Just like your uncle told me."

Eddie scoffs. He's going to have a word or two with the old man once he's back.

"Great, this is exactly the impression I was hoping to make."

At his words, the woman eyes him up and down again, and he can feel his cheeks heating up.

"Yeah? Not as the local punk satanist?" she teases, making Eddie bristle.

"Metalhead," he corrects instinctively and immediately winces.

"Ah, my bad. I'm not good at the subcultures thing." She smiles apologetically but it doesn't read well with how clearly amused she is. "Anyway, here's the plant I want you to water tomorrow evening. Just like, half a glass."

Right. Plants. Cats. He came here on a mission.

"Come on, I'll show you my cats."

There's only three of them and they come rushing from all corners of the flat at the rustle of a catnip bag. Eddie never saw high cats so he's glad to have this opportunity now. Stephanie points to the tabby he saw earlier.

"This is Dart, she's not actually mine, but my friend couldn't keep her at the dorms. This is Garfield," she points to the orange cat, making Eddie huff a laugh. She grins. "Yeah, don't tell anyone, but he's my favorite," she whispers, to which Eddie mimics zipping his mouth shut. 

Lastly, she points to the black cat rolling on the carpet. 

"And this is Arwen."

Eddie frowns.

"Like, The Lord of the Rings Arwen?"

"Yeah," Steph sighs. "Dustin named her. He's the friend I've mentioned. Dart is short for D'Artagnan and I've fought teeth and nail for Garfield not to be called Pippin."

"Pippin is a great name, though," Eddie points out.

"Maybe," she huffs, crossing her arms. "But I wanted one for myself, okay? Not everything has to be about Dustin."

"Is Dustin like, your brother or something?" 

"Kinda?" She frowns. "We're not actually related but I babysat him, and then we became friends. He just stuck around, somehow." The words sound angry but her face betrays the fondness she has for her friends. 

"That's nice," he offers. "I'm an only child, never met any cousins, and only ever had friends my age."

"Well, good for you. Maybe if I had friends my age I wouldn't be living alone with a bunch of cats."

Eddie frowns. 

"Hey, now..."

She cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

"I'll show you where the food is." 

Eddie's in a daze when he comes back downstairs, only realizing his visit ended when he's standing in his uncle's living room. He's been gone for only half an hour but it feels longer. 

"How did it go?" his uncle asks, pulling him out of his reverie. 

Edie turns to him and blinks, fighting the cotton around his brain.

"Fine?" he offers. "She's not as old as I expected," he admits bluntly. His uncle snorts.

"What, just because she lives alone with her cats you assumed she's on her deathbed?"

Eddie winces. It's exactly what he did.

"Well, the people in her life weren't kind to her, so now she relies on her pets. Nothing wrong with that." Wayne shrugs. 

"What do you mean?" Eddie frowns, curious. Concerned. He goes to the kitchen, not wanting to seem too eager to get an answer, and grabs a beer for himself and his uncle. He opens the junk drawer to find an opener and hears his uncle answer from the adjacent living room space. 

"She doesn't say much about it and I never asked, but she's always alone on the holidays. Her friends visit a few days before or after."

Eddie walks back in and hands his uncle the opened bottle. 

"Thanks, son."

He nods and settles heavily in an armchair. Focusing his gaze on the label peeling off of his beer, he hums thoughtfully.

"No family?"

"Seems so." Wayne nods solemnly. "I think it was a conflict of lifestyle choices, but I'll be honest, I'm basing it off of rumors and my own assumptions." He scratches his cheek, frowning at the wall. "It's not my place to pry, though I offered to hear her out if she ever felt like needing an ear." He sighs. "I'm just trying to be a good neighbor. Invited her for dinner over Thanksgiving, when you couldn't come. I was surprised she's into basketball," he muses. 

Eddie was seeking answers and now was even more confused.

"You invited Miss Stephanie. For a dinner?" He raised his eyebrows. 

"Yes. She was alone, I was alone, figured I could at least ask. I'm still surprised she agreed. She declined all my other offers."

"Wow." A teasing smile creeps on his lips against his will. "You've been inviting a lot of women since I moved out?"

"Listen," Wayne takes on his stern voice and it takes all of Eddie's willpower not to cackle. He can see his uncle's mustache twitch. "Stephanie is a lovely lady, but she's way too young for an old man like me. And this old man is too old for romance anyway. Besides—" he cuts himself off like he realized he was saying too much. Which, of course, piques Eddie's curiosity. 

"Besides?"

Wayne shrugs.

"I don't think I'd ever be ready for someone like her."

Eddie makes a confused face. 

"The fuck does that mean?" he asks, irritated. 

"Rumors and speculations, son."

[lemonlover1110]

Hello! I hope you are doing well 😌 you are my fav writer and I just wanted to to throw out this crazy brainrot request to u bc I am SICK over it

So Florence nightingale syndrome right? Toji is like a professional boxer or whatever something athletic bc he's a fucking beast and he gets hurt, like his leg or something, and you become his at home occupational therapist. So you're like taking care of him and he's getting feelings for you while also being a stubborn ass bc u push him constantly so he can get better. and he's super hesitant to accept his feelings bc he's a Playboy of course.

I'm just picturing this one scene where you're helping him up and he's leaning on you and he says something like "are you sure you can handle me princess?" Idk I'm insane I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭

Pairing: boxer!Toji Fushiguro x f!caregiver!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, frustrated Toji, Florence nightingale syndrome, Toji has an injured leg and is a little bitch for a bit

*This was so fun to work on and now I'm having thinking a little too hard about boxer toji (I'm ovulating) sofjsof enjoy!

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji never really thought he’d be dependent on someone, yet now he can’t even take a shower standing up. After an unlucky boxing match, Toji ended up in a cast and crutches. That’s what he gets for not listening to his son who told him it was around time to retire.

“I’m not a fucking skeleton, I’m good in my field. I can do this for a couple more years.” How he wishes he could swallow his fucking words. He thought that after getting the cast off he’d go back to normal, and he’d have no issue with mobility. He shouldn’t have an issue moving his fucking leg again, he’s been moving it for more than thirty years, why should three months of not moving it change much?

Apparently he can’t do anything, which is why he has someone with him all day every day, helping him so he can get better. Toji’s main issue? He gets frustrated when someone tries to help him. 

“Be careful, it’s hot.” You smile at him as you put his dinner in front of him. He has a scowl on his face as you set it down in front of him. He tried to help make dinner but he couldn’t stand for too long. He’s mad, but not at you. He could never be mad at you. 

Toji wasn’t necessarily fond of you when you started working with him; he hates being dependent on someone else, and he knew that he would have to depend on you for pretty much everything. You try to help him though, and he should be more appreciative of you because of it, but in reality he feels like a fucking baby. He’s grown to like you though… A little too much for his liking. 

You leave him to eat, going to wash the dishes since he can’t do the task yet. Perhaps his own bowl and spoon, but not everything that needs to be cleaned. You watch him from the counter, watching his refusal to pick up the spoon and eat the soup you made him. Earlier he was so prideful, telling you that he would help you every step of the way during dinner, and he couldn’t even finish one third of it. You were proud of him regardless.

“It’s really good, Toji! The potatoes you helped peel really added a touch to it.” You’ve gotten close enough to be on a first name basis. You see each other every day, you stay in the same house, of course you’re close enough to talk to each other so casually. It doesn’t mean you should though. You’ve always managed to keep a very professional relationship with patients, but there’s just something about him that makes it hard for you to be normal around him.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking kid.” He says, pushing the bowl of soup away. He’s not hungry anymore. Toji stands up, his hands holding on to the table to support himself before grabbing his crutches. 

“Toji, if you’re not eating it, can you try to bring it over to me, please?” You ask. You know the soup has cooled down, if he spills it, he’ll be fine.

“If you want it, pick it up yourself.” Toji is clearly mad. You don’t take it to heart though, because you know it’s with himself and not you. 

“How about we go to the park tomorrow? It’s supposed to be a nice day out.” You talk to Toji who tries to watch a documentary. He’s not all that interested in what he put on, caring more about what you have to say. He might not show it, and he tries to deny it, but he has the biggest soft spot for you. “We can also get some ice cream, if you’re in the mood!”

“Hey… I’m sorry about earlier. I was just—” It’s hard to get an apology out of him, but sometimes he knows he’s in the wrong and he feels the need to apologize. He doesn’t want you to be mad at him, even though you’re clearly not upset with him. You’re so understanding and patient with him, he feels like he doesn’t deserve that.

“You’re fine, Toji.” You reassure him with a smile, your hand going over his balled up fist. You feel your heart skip a beat as you touch him. You’ve crossed the line past a professional relationship, and you should set some boundaries within yourself– But his other hand goes on top of your own before he brings it up, softly kissing your knuckles. It’s hard to set boundaries when he feels the same way.

“I’m tired.” He tells you, and you stand up to help him get up. Toji usually denies your help, but this time, he has no problem accepting it. You just want the best for him, and there’s some things that he can’t do completely alone. He has to take baby steps. He’s using you for support, and he’s scared that he’s too heavy for you. He asks you, “Are you sure, princess? Can you handle me? I know I’m pretty big.”

“You’re fine. I can handle you.” You reassure him, and you begin to walk to his bedroom. His room was previously on the second floor, but ever since his injury, he’s moved his bedroom to the first floor. You get him to his bedroom, helping him on the bed. You smile at him before saying, “Let me grab your crutches. You left them in the living room, right?”

Before you can walk away, he grabs your sleeve. Toji’s slowly realizing that he can’t fight off the feelings that consume him when you help him, and he’s usually not a fan of them. Toji’s been tied down once before, he certainly doesn’t want that again. But with you, it’s different. He doesn’t mind the idea.

“Will you lay down with me?” He asks, and you suck in your bottom lip between your teeth. You shouldn’t. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand before he prompts himself up to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Toji, you know this isn’t something I can do.” You tell him as he looks lovingly into your eyes. “I’m here to help you get better.”

“You can help me get better by laying down next to me.” Toji responds. You grab the hand that so lovingly touches your cheek and kiss it, before bringing your lips down to meet his momentarily. He swears he hears fireworks when your lips meet, even after you pull away.

He’s most definitely in love with you.

“I’ll go get your crutches. Good night, Toji.”

[biancasaidstfu]

FAVE ANON HERE 🤍

First things first -

“OMG VIP MEET AND GREET TSWIFT TICKETS FOR HER NEXT TOUR 😱😱😱” - I consider this a binding contract. You might understand that more BIANCA if you did your LSAT studying. 😉

Now to matters at hand -

I hear people have been checking in with Bianca to see where I stand these days. You can all rest assured that I am firmly planted in the same place you last heard from me. The same place I’ve been firmly planted since last summer. While I’ve had some slight shifts over time in my “whys” or “hows” of the current situation, I never doubt my “what” and for that matter I actually have a fairly solid “why and how” theory that I’ve been continuously throwing around since last summer and every month it seems to grow more solid in its foundation.

Did my vague-ness of that last paragraph confuse you? Simple terms: N & L are together. And why is it so secret? Well that’s a theory for me to know and you to maybe find out one day. That’s it. Those close to me know what the theory is.

It all comes down to knowing how to keep things in the group chat. 😏

With that being said, I have an observation of the fandom that I need to make express. People talk crap about the Jackholes and Tif & Co for being “stalkers” or “invasive” and “not respecting privacy” but why are we not casting as much ire on the Lukolas who are exhibiting the exact same behavior. The ones who are so desperate to “break the news” that they run to Twitter or TikTok or Tumblr to post something without thinking it through. The ones who are seeing research in discord servers and posting to their platforms. The ones who are delivering news of a personal nature about Nicola or Luke on their blogs without blinking an eye - and most importantly - reporting it as fact without any of us ever knowing that it is actually fact.

I understand that you online platform is your own personal forum and no one here is trying to police you but I implore everyone to take a step back and look in the mirror. This behavior is no different from the Jackholes and if you support it than I never wanna hear you talk down on Tif and her friends again.

While I’m on the subject of talking down - can we cut the crap on the Nicola hate? I’m sorry but Jake is gay. I’m also sorry but Jake is her friend and he’s not a character that will be written off the show. If he face “triggers” you or causes a “jumpscare” please unfollow him and his friends. And no, Nicola is not a bad person when you see her hanging out with them. There is nothing wrong with a “single” 38 year old woman having friends in their mid 20s. Let’s be honest, at this point most of yall are spewing hate at her because you believe something about her that certain online creators are stating as fact and so it’s hurting your brain to see her out and about so often. THIS IS WHY WE DONT BLINDLY BELIEVE THEORIES. And regardless, it’s her life. If it bothers you that much then please move on from the fandom.

The amount of judgment in this fandom from people regarding who Nic and Luke hang around. I would like each of you to submit the following: a detailed history of your romantic relationships, a detailed history or your friendships, and a picture of yourself (not a pfp of Nic or Luke). Once I’ve reviewed all that, I will decide if you have the credentials to judge at the level in which you do.

That’s enough rambling for now and I’m sure after this some of you will never wanna hear from me ever again. But what can I say - I call it like i see it and i tell it like it is.

For now, I’m just gonna sit back and let the chips fall as they may. All will be revealed in due time and tbh none of this is worth getting upset over. I’ve faced way harder in the past 6 months. 😉🥴 I just need some of you to remember that this isn’t a reality show required to keep you entertained on a regular schedule so it may be wise to pick up some other hobbies in the meantime.

As for me, you can catch me with my nose in the Polin fanfic when I’m not working my real person job and dealing with a slew of current personal issues. If it’s fantasy you’re looking to involve yourself in, than maybe head over to AO3. What’s even crazier is that there are even tons of fics about Pen and Colin being pregnant, you know if that’s the kind of story you’re looking to live in everyday. 😏

Ok well that’s it. 😘

xoxo

Fave anon has returned 🎉🎉🎉

[lurkingshan]

What are some JBLs you recommend that have good kisses AND a good romance plot

LOL I can hear the pain behind this question, anon. It’s true that a lot of JBLs with a good romance story fail to deliver on the physical intimacy side of things, though that is becoming less and less the norm. I do have some that I think do both reasonably well. I don’t know exactly what “good romance” means to you, but I’m going to assume we’re talking about well-executed romance plots, regardless of the show’s overall genre and focus, where the characters and relationship arc make sense and don’t randomly derail somewhere along the way. Here’s what I got:

I Cannot Reach You

This is a high school friends to lovers (the cream of the crop for that trope, IMO). This is a story about realizing feelings and building the courage to change your most important relationship, so you’ll have to wait a bit to get those kisses but once you do, I think you’ll be pleased.

His

The second chance romance for me. This is a bl film about two men who come back together after a bad breakup and figure out how to make it work. I love them and this story so much.

Old Fashion Cupcake

There’s only one kiss in this short and sweet show, but it’s a real doozy. A super tight workplace age gap romance that knows exactly what it’s doing.

At 25:00 in Akasaka

Two actors who went to college together meet again when they are cast opposite each other in a bl drama, and get tangled up in the blurred lines between their professional and personal relationships. Angst, baby!

The Pornographer

This series features some of the best kissing and sex scenes you will see anywhere in the bl genre, but warning that it’s a twisted and wild ride. There are five installments and you gotta watch them all to see the full picture of the character and romance arcs. It’s so rewarding if you do.

The End of the World With You

From the same mind of the previous entry and similarly hot and wild and weird. This show has more going on than the second chance romance at its core, but it themes come together beautifully.

Tokyo In April Is…

Another second chance romance, this one features a lot of sex but also deals with heavy subject matter, so mind the CWs. It’s one of my favorites of last year and the love story in this one has really stuck with me; it’s beautiful and so hard won.

Love is Better the Second Time Around

This one comes with a disclaimer that it goes off the rails in the final two episodes, but you asked for good kissing so it would feel wrong not to include it. Yet another second chance romance (are you picking up on a theme here?), this one gets two former high school lovers back together as adults to sort out their misunderstandings, lingering feelings, and buckets of sexual tension. It was so good—until it wasn’t.

[nova2kss]

Influencer island

“GOOD MORNINGGG AMERICAAAAA”

“I’m your host Yanna Bailey to Influncer Island. It’s new, it’s hot, it’s dramatic, and it’s your new obsession!”

“We’re bringing all of your fav influencers and Internet personalities across the country for a steamy hot adventure”

“You all know them”

“And you all love them”

“I have hand picked these hotties myself…some ofc more known than others none the less they are all wild and ready to come in swinging!”

“Before I introduce you to the men that will participate in influencer island I think it’s fair that I give you a run down of what this show will look like!”

“These 16 hotties will come in ready to pick some partners and participate in challenges”

“Each pair will receive points based off of where they place on the board and based off votes from the viewers aka you guys”

“At the end of each episode there will be a poll placed for voting”

“You guys will be able too vote who should stay, go, and receive a punishment, or a hot date”

“With that being said let’s introduce the men of INFLUENCER ISLAND.

“Coming in first we have the famous polo boy himself”

“Armin Arlert”!

“He’s best known on instagram for being the cute polo soft boy model as stated in his bio, the internet has named him the number 1 golden retriever baby and I couldn’t agree more!”

“Armin is such a sweet heart and I know he can’t wait to be here….but with him being a sweetie pie…will he be able to hang and get wild with the rest of the contestants?”

“Especially this chipped tooth, beer drinking, horse riding, dirty country boy gone viral”

“Reiner Braun”!!

“This big beefy boy best known on that clock app has gone viral for bringing his southern ways onto the app, Reiner caught the attention of many wild men and sexy ladies and was requested by the merrier”

“Currently living in Mississippi but we all know he’s a real south Floridian gator wrestling boy. He’s the perfect match for this cast”

“Next up we got this black cat clothing owner bertoldt hoover!!”

“Best known for his brand flontae clothing and getting hella wild on them boats, don’t let the pretty eyes fool you this city boy knows how to party”

“Kristen made that cast Okay!”

“Y’all know him cause he definitely produced your favorite songs”

“He’s worked with Nicki Minaj, lil Wayne, drake, lil durk, Kanye west, and so many more”

“However when he’s not in that Stu making beats he’s out hosting the biggest parties and filming it all letting us know he was a perfect candidate for this cast!”

“This hot head was requested by the executive producer herself, we’ve seen him whoop ass in that underground ring, we’ve seen him getting wild in the streets, we’ve seen him catchin ass on twt and we wanna see MOREEE!!”

“Everyone love porco”

“But I don’t think as much as y’all love this sexy stoner”

“Constance springer the man that you are”

“He’s 6’0 tatted like a chipotle bag and he is the life of the party! This skater boy most known on TikTok and YouTube is definitely  influential and definitely deserves his spot here

“As stated himself he is a fine chocolate sexy black man”

“Get this! He’s also a brand ambassador for flontae clothing who would’ve known”

“Onyankapon, such a pretty name for a pretty boy.”

“We don’t know how wild ony gets and that’s why he was picked cause the whole world wants to see, he’s seen as someone who doesn’t do much. But I’m willing to bet as soon as he steps foot on this sand that will change.”

“And last but certainly not least”.

“Eren Yeager.”

“Or jaeger”

“Regardless this man dose not need an intro at all, you’ve seen him right with Beyoncé on her ivy park campaign”

“You’ve seen him on the front page of Louis Vuitton”

“You all love him and rightfully so he is something else sporting that black motorcycle when he’s not doing them photo shoots”

“You see these men? These are who are gonna be across your screens in the next few weeks!! Now just imagine the women.”

“On the next preview we will be introducing your favorite wild ladies! It’s your host Yanna Bailey signing out!”

How do you guys feel?😁

(Not proofread)

[utilitycaster]

Hi, would just like to say thank you for writing up so much meta on campaign 3, it is keeping me sane seeing similar thoughts to what I’ve had written down coherently.

The last couple asks you’ve answered have got me thinking about how campaign 3 ended up like this (indecisive characters, weird nonsensical themes, only setpieces and maybe a ship or two being memorable) and I remember hearing that c3 was described by Matt as ”Pulpy” and I keep coming back to that and thinking that there was never even meant to be a big decision. From what I’ve read of old pulp fiction dnd novels it's pretty much “here’s the big bad go defeat/seal/slap them on the wrist, have fun on the way there with several cool setpieces and romance!” and I wonder if there was even meant to be a god debate at all or if it was just picked up in the middle of the story by the cast. It could explain why the characters wouldn't fit the story if this wasn’t meant to be the story.

Cause a character who goes with the flow is fine in those books and a character who only looks into what is thrust upon them works, but it feels like somewhere it tried to be more and just fell apart.

Because even now the story does feel pulpy but just held down by a narrative it isn’t handling well. 119 was a great episode and having the Raven Queen show up in the middle to give boons is an incredibly cool beat that would be memorable as hell but for it to end up as another god debate just sucks. But the rest of the campaign sort of does that with cool beats that end up dragged down in one way or another so its not unique I guess

I know you talked about the “pulpy”ness of c3 a while ago and was wondering if you had more thoughts now that we’re in the endgame for the campaign

I do - this is all rather speculative but in some discussions with other people one possible explanation that's come up is that Matt genuinely didn't expect the characters to be so hesitant to save the gods or stop Ludinus or sympathize with the the Vanguard, and has kind of pivoted to make a campaign that accomodates those doubts...but in doing so sort of fucked his end premise of "we must deal with Predathos". Which, you know, makes a lot of sense! What if Hearthdell was intended as a glimpse into why people might join something like the Vanguard to introduce an element of complexity to a party that (quite reasonably I might add) had said "these people are a fucking scourge on Exandria" but instead served to fan the flames of "well the gods didn't give me things when I asked so yeah we should let them be eaten"? What if the fetch quests to the Shattered Teeth or the scouting mission were like the quest for vestiges - something that the party desperately wished to do to achieve a deeply felt goal - and not something they had to be nudged along to do every step of the way? What if the party went into the final confrontation with any consensus or intention? Because then yeah a pulpier "you're taking on the Big Bad Ultimate Threat...but your MOTHER is on THEIR side" a la vintage superhero comics plays out much more coherently. I cannot stress enough that the cultural touchstone Matt brings up about the campaign is the 2012 Avengers film. Regardless of some posts I've seen (which tend to assume anything the cast has ever read/watched/played is an influence, which is. incorrect) that is your starting point.

The thing about all the "take a third option" and "status quo" talk surrounding this campaign is...this post is actually a good description of how it plays out in real life. Like yeah there's a lot of political constructs within the world that are stupid and unjust! However it is unproductive, naive, and idiotic to act as though just because you don't like them they aren't part of a complex system that needs thoughtful dismantling (at least, if you place any value on human life) or worse, that they simply don't exist because they shouldn't. Sometimes you genuinely do have two choices and neither is ideal and if you do not choose between them because you're holding out for a better option the choice is made for you, and often, it's the worse one. Sometimes there is in fact a problem caused by something stupid that you cannot undo in time to solve said problem, and it is selfish and childish to say "well I think this shouldn't be a problem" and leave it at that. You will fail in your endeavors if you do this. People will see that's your approach and stop listening to anything you say.

Bells Hells feel like that to me and it's not even entirely their fault. I think because Matt had such a clear endgame in mind in the sense of "face off against Predathos" and the party was so ill-suited, and the early pacing was genuinely already bad, he's sort of tried to pivot away by following every dumb idea Bells Hells have to perhaps funnel them towards that endgame. And this is a problem too, because it means the plot doesn't push back on them and they do not grow as people, which means that a lot of us are getting tired with their shit. It's telling that most of Bells Hells' loudest defenders are the "well, if you're traumatized, you're excused from all responsibility for your actions ever :)" types within the fandom because like, part of why people are sick of Laudna's shit (for example) is that it's like ok I agree you shouldn't have an evil wizard in your head but you do, so like, what are you doing about it. And because she hadn't done anything about it and because they had to get to Predathos we had our Deus Essek Machina situation, which to be clear, not mad about, but it also means Laudna never really learned or grew from this. And to be clear she's not alone; part of the frustration around Ashton is it seemed like they DID have a revelation around shardgate and then immediately discarded it.

There's many more factors I'm sure but just to sum up:

Matt has a very clear overarching plot in mind [and, also, probably was creating a campaign for characters who see point 3 had more realized worldviews and goals and investment in their communities]

Matt does not give the cast much guidance in creating characters for that plot; "pulpy" is really tonal and not even genre

Cast, having played characters specifically designed for the "complex and morally gray and must be from the continent the campaign is set on" campaign last, turn to wacky and go-with-the-flow types

Overarching plot kicks in; characters do not behave as expected

Matt tries to embrace/encourage this by getting the party to follow what they want to do

Go-with-flow/take no responsibility party doesn't know what they want to do

endless loop of a DM trying to adjust the direction of flow to a directionless party instead of imposing a direction/Cast trying to take direction cues from a DM who keeps throwing more options at them in the hopes one will appeal to them which turns into a "what do you want to do" "I don't know what do you want to do" situation.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

okay and another thing (maybe the last. let's hope. I don't want to be the old person yells at clouds meme forever!)

can we (and, God willing, Tony Gilroy) stop excusing every strange narrative choice, every lack of payoff and every characterisation inconsistency with "well, they were going to do five seasons but then they only got two"?

Because it's not like they had everything laid out and the scripts all finished and the cast all under contract and then someone called Gilroy the night before shooting started and said "lol btw you have to do it all in one season good luck". This was also Gilroy's decision, and they knew this for some time.

I'm sure Gilroy and company wrote a script for that five-season version of the show they were proud of, and I'm sure it was disappointing to have to cut it down. I write too, I get that feeling. But here's the thing: Your job as a professional writer is to tell the best possible story within the parameters you are given. If you're a novelist and your publishing house will only let your book have 500 pages, and you turn in a book with no ending and say "well, I ran out of space", then you didn't write a good book. If you're a journalist and half of your article is missing because you ignored the space limit and now everyone only has half the information, that is a bad article. If you're a student and you have an idea for a term paper that spans 50+ pages and the page limit is 20, and instead of picking a different topic you cut your first draft down to fit even though you lose half your argument and most of the relevant analysis in the process, you've written a bad paper. And regardless of how great that writer, journalist or student think their text could have turned out to be, the bottom line in the real world is that the public has a book that is bad, and an article that isn't telling the whole story, and that student is getting a bad grade for handing in an incoherent, surface-level paper.

When you realise the parameters of your task have changed, it is your job to adapt to that new framework. And if you look at the story you have and think, well, this thing needs way more seasons to tell than I am given by the studio... then it is your job to put that draft into a cupboard and get to work on a story that can be told in a single season. Even if that story is completely different from the one you were going to tell! Kill your darlings, gentlemen! I'm sure they loved what they had written, but as professionals, it is their job to recognise this story no longer works, and let it go. They didn't do that. They chopped bits off until the foot somehow fit into the glass slipper, because they were too concerned with their own attachment to the work they had already created, and not concerned enough with the question of whether they were giving their audience the best story they could tell in the framework they were actually given.

And that is called doing a bad job.

So I'm sorry, but every time someone counters a critique of the narrative flow or the character consistency or the treatment of every female and/or poc character with "well, they didn't have enough time to tell their story!", all I am hearing is "well, consider that this show was written by people who were being bad at their job!"

[pers1st]

i'm there regardless of the pain

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

notes: this is more r focused and very short, mentions of death, idk i don’t like it but whatever

Dropping down onto your bed, you let out a breath you've been holding for the past three weeks. It's been three long weeks since that phone call with your father, three weeks of being home and trying to pick up the pieces of your family's life, shattered by the sudden death of your mother. It's been three incredibly difficult weeks, and despite the fact that you've been longing for Alexia ever since you've left Barcelona, you make no move to reach for her as she slides into bed beside you.

"Do you want to talk about it?", she asks, hesitation in her voice. The two of you haven't been dating for that long, haven't been dating long enough for her to finally be introduced to your family, not even long enough for you to tell your parents.

Do you want to talk about it? Not necessarily. All you've been doing for three weeks is to talk about it. To welcome all the neighbors into your home who dropped off food as an excuse to sneak in on your life, gather information to spread it through the neighborhood, all with a fake smile and goggling eyes.

"No."

You don't think you can talk about it anymore. All of the words have left you already, have left you after accepting every wish of condolences at the funeral, have left you at the reception afterwards, have left you since you've read the eulogy you'd prepared on your own. Even if you open your mouth, you're not sure a single word about your mother would escape.

Alexia deserves to hear about her. To hear about the incredibly kind woman who raised you, who gifted you with so much love and support all throughout your life, who was the absolute anchor of you and your brother's life, who was the love of your father's life and left him behind shattered. You wish you could tell your girlfriend all about her, make up for the fact that you are the reason she never met the woman, but you can't.

"Do you want to take your mind off it?"

It surprises you. You don't think you've ever heard your girlfriend string more than one sentence of English together without the odd Spanish slipping in between. It makes you smile, but even the knowledge that she is really trying to help you can't mend the pain in your chest.

Truthfully, there is no taking your mind off it. Your mother's ghost floats in front of you every time you close your eyes, her voice whispers into your ears constantly, if you try hard enough, you can feel the traces of her arms around your frame. She is everywhere, yet she is buried in the ground somewhere in your hometown, left alone under the cold mud and an arrangement of flowers, rain casting over her.

"No."

Alexia doesn't reply for a second, and the room is so silent you want the bed to swallow you, you want to drop under the mattress and let the darkness engulf you. There is no taking your mind off it, perhaps for the rest of your life. How are you supposed to carry on when everything pulls you back?

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

At that, your glance across the ceiling lowers. Alexia looks up at you with her wide, stormy eyes and for a second, you feel your breath falter.

"No."

You never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone. Despite the fact that you went to your own apartment with an Uber, not even caring to let your girlfriend pick you up from the airport, only letting her know you arrived back in Barcelona and leaving her to guess your whereabouts, despite the fact that you sent her a total of five messages and declined every phone call for three long, impossibly difficult weeks, you never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone.

She seems to believe you, despite the fact that you make no effort to look at her again, and settles her head on your shoulder, using her hand to provide a little cushion.

You missed her return. You missed her comeback to the pitch, one that the two of you had been anticipating for a few months. You missed Barcelona's first Champions League quarterfinal, and if Alexia has any say in it, you will miss the next one as well. Because despite the fact that your breathing is calm, that she feels your heart beating regularly in your chest, she knows just how heavy the burden is that you are forced to carry. She feels the gravity of it all, sees it in your eyes, despite the fact that you won't look at her. She is not just your girlfriend, she is also your captain, and both of her positions worry about you immensely.

"You never got to know her."

Admittedly, you told Alexia you didn't want to speak about it, so the breath she draws in doesn't shock you. You don't want to talk about it, but if it's occupying your whole mind, what else are you supposed to speak about?

"I know."

There it is again. The Spanish accent that rolls off her tongue so easily, slipping in between the words.

"I told my dad. About us", you say next, and once again, Alexia draws in a sharp breath.

You met Alexia's family regularly, having been accepted as one of their own by both Eli, Alba and the rest of her relatives, but Alexia wasn't even a known name to either of your parents, at least prior to last week. It's not that you are ashamed of her - quite the opposite of it, actually. It's rather that sometimes, you feel ashamed of your family. They accepted it when you came out, but they never mentioned it again. You are bi, not gay, and so at every opportunity, they would throw men your way, you figure in hopes to keep the image of a normal family. Alexia doesn't deserve to know the critical gazes of both your parents, although you figure your mother would've accepted her happily. Your father-

"What did he say?"

You shrug.

"I don't even know if he heard me. He was crying, no- screaming, for someone to make the pain stop. I don't know if he heard me, but if he did, he didn't mention it again."

It gives Alexia just an idea of how horrible the past three weeks of your life must have been. She saw it as well- when her own father passed, yet her mother kept herself together enough to be strong for her children. His death was inevitable, and although it pained Alexia to this very day, she knows it's nothing like your situation. Your mother just fell asleep one day, and the next morning, she was dead. She still is.

"Amor, I am so sorry."

"It's fine. I don't want to talk about it", you huff as Alexia tentatively stretches an arm across your chest, placing it in the centre to feel your heartbeat. It is still regular.

That's how you spend the next few hours, your stare fixed on the ceiling, Alexia's alternating between your features, the ceiling and her hand on your chest. You are in an unbearable amount of pain, your girlfriend knows, she feels it weighing down on you, feels it sitting on your shoulder and snarling into your ear. Regardless, she is there. She will always be there. Even if you don't want to talk about it. Even if you don't want to take your mind off it. And even if you had wanted her to leave you alone- she would be there, regardless of the pain.

[txttletale]

after being interested from seeing you post about mtg but too intimidated by how complicated it seemed, a friend recently taught me how to play and ive been having so so so much fun!!! ive mostly just been playing standard/jump in on arena so far, but i wanna start building a commander deck soon. my wuestion here is twofold, i guess - a) do you know any commanders you consider easy or fun for beginners (colour doesnt really matter to me; ive been finding enjoyment in all of them so far, altho im sure ill develop a preference once i have a better grasp of the game lol) and b) whats your own personal favourite commanders?? ones you play or ones you just think are neat :) anyways thank you for being at least partially responsible for getting me into mtg, ive been having an absloute blast, i hope you have a very niceys day :)

yippee! i'm glad you're having fun, magic is a really deep and exciting game.

to point 1: i'm increasingly of the mind that apart from like, extreme edge cases where you're playing, like a mairsil combo deck and have to learn a bunch of specific sequencing and rules minutiae, i think that looking for an 'easy' commander is a very overrated. resonance and stickiness are a huge part of how easy it is to learn a card or deck's mechanics, so if you have a special little guy you love i would play him no matter how comparatively complex he is compared to, like, monogreen ramp

if there's one piece of general advice i'd give to a beginner, it's to steer away from 'feast or famine' type commanders: a lot of commanders, especiually since wotc started intentionally pritning 'commanders' rather than just legendary creatures, are enormous resource snowballs, such that letting them be on the board for a turn cycle or two will put their player unstoppably far ahead. unfortunately the correct counterplay to these kinds of commanders is for everyone to kill them instantly the moment they're cast and genreally not let their playtrs play the game -- so they often lead to having games where you are either being ganged up on and beaten to death or stomping everyone. some popular examples of commanders that i think create these play patterns are miirym, krenko mob boss, jodah the unifier, kinnan bonder prodigy, and korvol fae-cursed king.

so generally i tyhink especialyl as a newer player you will have fun with slightly lower power commanders who aren't wearing a big PLEASE KILL ME sign on their heads. but other than that i truly think you should pick a blorbo or gameplay style that appeals to you on a visceral, emoitional level, and find out if if it's actually fun to play or not. actually that reminds me, try to also pick a commander that, like, rewards you for executing your deck's gameplan, or helps you execute it, but isn't the sole engine behind your deck -- commander is full of good removal and board wipes, and you will have a lot more fun if you're playing a deck that can still function evne if your special guy is in time out.

to point 2: i have quite a few. my first commander and overall one of my favourite still is the celestial toymaker (nei lpatrick harris jumpscare). i love him because -- while he is an example of the kind of commander i think ultimately can lead to bad gameplay patterns where big parts of your deck are dead without him -- he turns this extremely stupid fucking mechanic into a real theme. i fucking loe playing my toymakre deck, and doing a silly voice and saying PLAY MY GAME... WHO WANTS TO PLAY MY GAME? every time i have some silly choice to force someone to make. play piles with meee (also esper control is a shell that's just really fun for me regardless of commander or theme so that helps a lot too)

other commanders i have that i really enjoy... i think gor muldrak is really cool, hios abiltiy is so odd and niche and finding ways to make use of it is so much fun. only good simic commander. tip: [peer pressure] is an awesome win condition for him.

i really enjoy zedruu also, for similar reasons to the toymaker: giving people stuff is such a funny mechanic, and while the commander gets osme flak because a lot of people build around lieke, dogshit cards that are unplayable if you don't have zedruu to donate them, i think you can build a much more fun and resilient zedruu deck by relying on symmetrical soft stax pieces and oubliette-style effects where it doesn't mater to you who owns it. getting to play perplexing chimera in that deck delights me.

gallia is great. straight up i made a deck for her because i think she's cute. her joy is just so infections, i don't even like gruul aggro as an archetype generally, but something about playing gallia and being like NO THOUGHTS HEAD EMPTY TURN SIDEWAYS ILL DISCARD WHAT I DISCARD is very refreshing considering i usually like playing very controlly-pillowforty high-interaction decks wth 50 quajillion counterstpells.

oh and finally... the red death. i fucking love goad, im the goad liker, i enjoy goad, and i set out to make a Good Goad Deck and immediately got sidetracked form any of the stronger commanders for the format by this stupid little bebo with the meme eyes. i donit know what happens in fallout 76 and i dont care this little guy is my friend and he is SO funny with cards like psychic possession. Our card draw :)

for an honorable mention, two decks i really love but not really because of their commander: i have a huge amount of fun playing the new zimone (who has displaced vorel of the hull clade) at the helm of my millennium calendar deck. it's fun to have a deck where i can slot in all the werird counter-dependent artifacts like lux artillery and darksteel reactor, and it's a very fun supervillanious feeling watching the table scramble to stop me as my Sinister Calendar ticks up

and i also have a zoraline eggs deck nbecause i loved bloomburrow bats, built a zoraline bats dekc, then thought, hmm, i could be doing al ot more with her than just bringing back mediocre bats for a small lifegain pawyoff. Liek bringing back mediocre artifacts that ic an crack for 2 life and a card draw. it's a very intricate little device of a deck once it gets going and although it's not very strong it's very very fun. looping an executiuoner's capsule or a tainted sigil is what its all about babey!

[rebeccamix]

actually l o s i n g my marbles over how much I love the cover for I KILLED THE KING. I just know this is going to look unreal in print like??? LOOK AT HER??

(design is by corina lupp, illustration by matt griffin)

I just...outside of my writer brain being pleased by the fact that we got all six characters on the cover and it's chalk full of hints, I also just love it?! I FINALLY GOT MY NEON BOOK!! now pray for me as I do my best to weasel my way into getting my dream color combo for book two.

I think, of all my books, this one is the easiest to get into for non-fantasy readers, but it'll still hopefully be deeply rewarding for avid fantasy heads regardless. it's also the pace-iest and biggest ensemble cast / found family sitch I've ever done, and includes some of my favorite jokes I can't believe I got away with lmao.

official description below, but basically all you need to know is it's like knives out swallowed one of us is lying and started hallucinating. writing a six POV magical murder mystery genuinely almost killed me but the end result was so worth it.

ok here's the Actual Professional Pitch:

One of Us Is Lying meets Knives Out—with beasts, murder, and magic—in this first book in a thrilling locked-room whodunnit YA fantasy duology by Andrea Hannah and New York Times bestseller Rebecca Mix.

After a decade of war, the kingdoms of Avendell and Istellia have finally agreed to peace. As nobles and magic wielders from both countries arrive at remote Castle Avendell for a historic all-night masquerade to celebrate, King Costis summons an unlikely group to his chambers: the crown prince, his Istellian bride-to-be, his personal guard, a wild beast teamer, and the palace’s questionable new healer. But before Costis can reveal why he has gathered them, the castle goes dark.

When the lights come back, the king is dead—murdered with the princess’s knife, in a weak spot only his guard knew of, and with venom from one of the beast tamer’s monsters lacing the blade.

With no clear killer—and everyone a suspect—they make a risky pact: Tell no one until the treaty is signed. But when a winter storm seals everyone inside and someone aware of the king's untimely death begins to pick off guests one by one, the six suspects must work together to discover who killed the king . . . before one of them is next.

MAN I AM SO EXCITED FOR PEOPLE TO READ THIS WEIRD MURDER BOOK!!