#sending hate anons is stupid and not something i agree with
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As one human to another, I really don't think social media (tumblr especially) is doing you any good right now. What people are saying to you and what you're saying to others is getting ugly and nasty and toxic. Please consider stepping back, even just for a few days, for your own sake.
I hope this doesn't come across as patronizing, I'm just saddened and worried by how this fandom is treating itself and I don't want you or anyone getting hurt, regardless of where they stand. Please stay safe ♡
i can appreciate what your intention was sending this. but im good, thank you.
that’s exactly what they want when they’re sending their anons, they think it’s gnna make me go crying and hop off tumblr and basically shut up. 100% does not affect me getting anons like i do not know you and you mean absolutely nothing to me. so no, it’s not gnna affect me, your bitchy little comments in my inbox. esp because it’s coming from a certain type of person. there’s no world where i think they’re right. so it’s nothing.
and what i’ve been saying to others? please.
but yeah, this is why we should not be giving fuckboyregulus and that whole grp a platform because they literally harrass anyone that disgrees with them and are literally trying to fight the fandom into thinking that writing explicit content of minors being raped, making it into a fest and publicising it, is in any way shape or form ok and not a reflection of who they are as individuals, because there are people out there that would not react well to being sent what i have, and what is probably being sent to anyone who disagrees. so i appreciate your concern <3
#anon#dead dove discourse#marauders#jegulus#fuckboyregulus#we should not be giving people like this a space in this fandom#fuckboyregulus delete your account babe#maybe i got heated in the beginning but i think that was very valid#and if by toxic you mean the fact i said fucking once or twice#it is my favourite word what can i say#do not like to be grouped with these people because there are quite a few distinctions#sending hate anons is stupid and not something i agree with#if its not something you can say with it being tied to your name#maybe fucking think about what you’re saying#i openly stand by everything ive said
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28 "No one ever cared about me like you." for Joel or Marcus Pike, please?? Thank you for writing all this amazing stuff for us <3
no one can hurt you now
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
word count: ~1.2k
summary: You’ve been traveling through the country with Joel and Ellie. After finally arriving in the safety of Jackson, you realize how much Joel means to you.
tags/warnings: post outbreak, mentions of infected, fighting and blood, reader doesn’t value her life that much tbh, angst, anxiety, comfort, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n (please let me know if i missed something <3)
a/n: dearest anon, thank you so much for your kind words and for sending this prompt in! this started out as a drabble but got out of control, so i hope you enjoy this little fic 🫶🏻
dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3
full masterlist here / follow @janaispunknotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!
The clicker’s teeth snap at you inches away from your face, your arms straining desperately to hold the creature off. A shot rings through the air and the clicker stills as blood splatters across your face.
You push the now lifeless weight off of you and try to stand back up, your shaky legs underneath you barely cooperating.
“Thanks,” you mutter, gasping for breath.
“The fuck was that?” Joel barks, the gun still grasped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are turning white.
“It was- running at Ellie, I just-“
You’ll admit that you hadn’t really thought it through when you lunged at the clicker that had charged in the girl’s direction without any weapons in your hands. Not her, had been the only clear thought in your head. She wasn’t replaceable.
You were.
“You just what? Thought you’d get yourself killed?”
“No! I don’t know, okay? I still bought us time, and you got it, so-”
You don’t like the way he’s glaring at you, like you did something fundamentally wrong. You took a risk, yes, but his main objective is taking the girl across the country. You’re just… there.
“So?! Fuckin’ stupid, is what it was,” he snaps before he turns around abruptly and stomps further into the abandoned house that you’re hoping to spend the night in. You wait until your legs finally stop trembling before you follow him.
It’s the middle of the night when Joel finally speaks to you again. You had settled down in one of the bedrooms on the upper floor, not before searching the house extra thoroughly after the clicker incident earlier.
You can hear Ellie’s soft snores from across the room and you would have sworn that Joel was asleep too. Your mind didn’t rest, replaying the scene over and over, the way Joel snapped at you making your chest hurt each time.
“You don’t get to not make yourself a priority, you hear me? I won’t let you.”
You flinch at the unexpected sound from his corner of the room, but his voice is gentle, like he’s approaching a scared animal.
“But Ellie-” you still try to protest.
“I care about Ellie just as much as you do.” He hesitates for a second. “But I also care about you.”
You feel heat flushing your cheeks and you avert your gaze, even though it’s too dark for him to see your face anyway.
“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, “she’s the one that matters.”
“So do you,” he grumbles.
“Not like her.”
He heaves a sigh and you hear him moving closer to you in the darkness.
“Listen to me.” His tone is gruff, but you can feel the intensity behind his words. “I couldn’t- shit, I couldn’t do this alone. Just take care of yourself. Don’t be stupid. Okay?”
“Okay,” you agree in a hushed voice.
You know that this is the closest that Joel Miller will ever get to admitting that he doesn’t hate you. You try to fight the feeling, but warmth is spreading through your chest at the thought that he actually wants you around, that he’s not just letting you tag along because he doesn’t know what else to do with you.
It’s your first real night in Jackson, the first time that you’ve arrived at a place and didn’t immediately make plans on where to go next. The first night that you’re spending in a real bed in god knows how long. The first night that you don’t have to sleep with one eye open, always waiting for the next danger to find you.
And the first night in a bed with Joel. Neither of you had protested when you were assigned to one house with him and Ellie. You know what Joel and you look like, from the outside. You don’t think that you care, not really.
The house has three bedrooms anyway, so it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you thought, until you had all said good night to each other and you were lying alone in the darkness, wide eyes staring up at the dark ceiling, as you were trying to stop the anxious shivers running through your body.
It was too quiet, the mattress too soft, the room too… empty. You had gotten used to the steady breathing of two other people around you, and now that they weren’t in the room with you, everything felt wrong. What if you woke up tomorrow to find them both dead, to find yourself alone in the world once more? How were you supposed to make sure they were safe when you weren’t with them?
Before you could overthink it, you got up, checked on Ellie who was sleeping soundly and padded over to the room Joel was in.
“Can’t sleep?” his low drawl had greeted you as soon as you cracked the door open.
You wordlessly shook your head and he sighed.
“Me neither. Doesn’t feel right like this, does it?”
That’s how you ended up under the covers next to him. No touching of course, both of you keeping a firm distance. This was just so you could both catch some sleep. Just for tonight.
Except that you’re still not able to let sleep drag you under. Your body is tense, acutely aware of his presence next to you, his body heat easily traveling the short distance between you. You could bridge it just as easily, just reach your hand out to - do what, exactly?
You huff out a breath and turn onto your side, shuffling the sheets with your movement.
“What’s wrong?”
His voice is barely above a whisper and before you can open your mouth to respond, his fingers find your face and graze over your cheek in a barely there contact.
He had touched you before, of course, checking you for injuries, soothing you with a hand on your arm or a brush over your hair, but never like this. Never in the darkness of the night and never when you could sense the tension in the air between you, could almost feel his breath on your face. You have never been so acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers that’s seeping into your skin right now.
“I just- I never thanked you for taking me here, for taking care of me.”
It’s not what’s on the forefront of your mind, not the thing that’s plaguing you in this moment, but it’s still true, and much easier than admitting to him that feeling his body so close right next to yours has you practically burning up, has your fingers itching to touch him, to breathe him in.
Joel hums.
“You don’t have to. Of course I did that.”
You try swallowing the lump that suddenly builds in your throat.
“No one ever cared about me like you,” you admit in a whisper.
“Hey,” Joel mumbles, alarmed at the thickness of unshed tears in your voice, “come here, sweetheart.”
Both of his arms reach towards you and his hands splay over your shoulders to pull you into his chest. His warmth engulfs you and you feel the tension in your body subsiding as you’re resting your head over his steady heartbeat.
“We’re safe now,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll always keep you safe.”
if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging - nothing would make me happier 🤍
#janas fics#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller angst#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#Pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedrostories
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WHERE THE RIVER MEETS THE SEA
this has been a long, long time coming. hopefully it’ll live up to the obscenely high expectations i’ve set. agree or disagree, please reblog/comment/send an anon with your thoughts--but make sure you read the RULES of interaction first.
summary: your date stood you up… again. Don’t worry, though, Baji will be there to pick up the pieces, like he always is. The only question… what will you do when you find out his secret?
wc: 15k (we don't talk about it)
cw: virgin fem afab!reader x virgin!Baji, a lil itty bitty baby bit of blood, somewhat public (initially), bc why not, marking, creampie, Confessions galore, somewhat gendered pet names (princess, babe, sweetheart), actually gendered pet names (one handful of "good girl," "pretty girl," and "my girl"), subtle yandere themes but not to the extent a DC label is needed—correct me if I’m wrong though—be nice if I missed something, this is my first time :) way too many words but c’est la vie such is the way.
dedication: Storm, my friend, your support and advice has made me a better writer. Without you, this would probably still be sitting in my drafts, collecting dust and every hateful thought I’ve ever had about my writing. Thank you for being you and all of your aid in getting this to where it is. 💛
Your coffee’s cold when you give up. Well—second coffee, to be precise; the first you’d ordered after Tadashi said he was a few minutes away. That one had grown cold too, but the barista, taking pity, had given you a piping hot refill—for free.
It feels like an insult when she offers you a third.
An hour and a half has passed since Tadashi said he’d be there, and… well, you were still kinda hoping he might show up. But when the manager approaches with a tight-lipped smile, not-so-kindly pointing at their hours plastered ever so neatly on the glass door and indicating they’re just a few minutes to closing, your hope ebbs entirely.
The heat in your cheeks could’ve rewarmed your cup—but not one to cause a scene, you offer a tight-lip smile of your own and apologize. You don’t explain that you were waiting for someone; the pitying look in the barista’s eye as she mouths sorry and slides the unwanted third cup your way says they know.
You slip into the bathroom, wondering how in the world you could be so stupid— again. This was your third first date in three months… and the third time in three months that you’ve been stood up.
It hurts more when you check your phone. Two new messages from Emma, asking how it’s going and if you want to grab dinner to dish; one from Draken, asking if you can bring back a vanilla frappe and a triple dark roast espresso with two pumps of caramel; one from Baji, saying he might be late to pick you up, but he’d be there, and could you get him an order of whatever you’re having?
Nothing from Tadashi.
You don’t respond, instead letting your phone rest against the mirror while you stare at your reflection and try, desperately, to convince yourself it isn’t your fault.
Everything had been going great—you thought. You thought he really liked you, that he was excited to get to know you, and that this one, this one for sure would show up. You made jokes that he found funny, you were just the right amount of flirty, and you knew—thought—hoped—the picture you’d sent of your outfit (a simple sundress that accentuated your best features and wedges that made your legs seem endless) was enticing enough that he’d want to see it in person.
But here you are. Crying in the bathroom of a cafe you’ll never be able to return to, wondering how you’re going to explain to your friends that you got stood up.
Again.
Your phone starts to buzz. With a deep breath, you wipe off your dripping mascara. You force yourself to smile at the hollow reflection staring back at you, then answer with an overly-cheerful, “what’s up?”
“Kenny’s worried.” Baji’s familiar drawl echos, making the space seem even smaller. “I said he was being too overprotective, but—well, you know how he is. Said it’s his duty or some shit to make sure you’re okay. He tried to come down here himself, wanted to meet the guy trying to woo you—can you believe that? He actually said woo—“
“What do you want?” you interrupt. Too harsh, you realize when Baji doesn’t answer. “It’s just—I’m kinda in the middle of something, you know?”
Baji takes a moment, then forces a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, the little princess’s got a date, we know. God, they wouldn’t let it go. You should be thanking me, ya know, I’m the only reason they’re not all crashing—”
“Baji.”
The line falls quiet. Then, softly, “where are you, y/n?”
You frown and start searching for your mascara. “At the coffee shop. Why, where are you?”
Another pause. This one heavier. With the phone tucked to one ear, you slowly swipe the wand over your lashes. It’s clumpier than you usually like, but it’s better than nothing—
“I’m outside.”
Fuck.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he echoes. You mouth another fuck, heart plummeting, then start reapplying your mascara. More carefully, now that you’re out of time. “I, uh—I’ve been here. A while.”
“Oh… yeah?” you question, teeth starting to grind. “How long’s a while?”
Baji clears his throat. “Long enough. You gonna come out, or are ya gonna make me come in?”
Mascara gets tossed in your purse, gloss comes out. “You’re not exactly welcome in the ladies room, Baji.”
You can picture the dangerous curl in his smile when he replies, “not without an invitation, babe—why, you asking?”
Your laugh isn’t completely real, but not unnatural, either. You hover the gloss over your lips, and for a moment, you imagine what it’d be like. To sneak someone into the bathroom, kissing until your lips start to bruise, his hands playing with the hem of your dress, his lips marking your skin, his voice whispering your name…
You shake the thought away. There’s no point in getting your heart broken twice in one day.
“Three’s a bit of a crowd for a single stall,” you deflect. “Be out in a minute.”
Baji hums. Your gloss feels too thick, but you don’t take it off. You fluff your hair again, placing it the way you like, turning your necklace so the clasp faces the right way, lips smacking together once, twice, three times—
By the time you run out of things to do, you think you’re ready. You pick up your purse and give yourself a final once-over. Pretty, you think. Doesn’t look like you spent the last seven minutes sobbing in a public restroom.
When you exit, Baji’s still on the line, but he doesn’t hang up. You know, because the teasing, “well shit, babe, if I had known you’d worn that, I would’ve come two hours ago,” echoes; once from your phone, and the other from the man himself, standing right in front of you.
You laugh, and this one isn’t forced at all.
Baji’s smile gleams in the evening sun. A low wolf-whistle causes your face to warm pleasantly—the way it should have, when you met Tadashi. You take Baji’s extended hand, not flinching when his callouses rub against your soft palms.
You’re used to their roughness. Much like the others, Baji’s always been a hands-on friend (and fighter), so over the years, you’ve gotten used to the various bumps, cuts, and jagged edges, to the extent that the only hands that’ve ever felt comfortable have been those rough ones, soft only for you.
Baji spins you, over-exaggerating the way he checks you out. “Sweetheart, you’re going to stop traffic looking like that.”
“Oh, please,” you deny, but your smile hasn’t been this genuine all day. “Laying it on a little thick, Baj.”
“Only the realest truth for the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” is his sly reply, accompanied by a slyer wink. It’s his usual charm, but you’re oblivious to his sincerity, the way you always are. Baji pulls you into a tight hug and closes his eyes, and for a moment, he allows himself to pretend this was your intention all along; to wind up in his arms, with his compliments, by his side—the way it always seems to go after every failed date.
But you never say as much, and you always seem so genuinely excited for the next one that he’s never going to ask. Instead, he’ll take these moments. The ones where you turn to him for comfort, where he gets to hold you, your knight-in-shining-armor, and do all that he can to make everything better.
He’s so close that you almost miss his muffled whisper of, “fucking—stupid bastard. Doesn’t know what he’s missed.”
Your smile slips. Your thumb rubs against the back of his knuckles, familiarly cracked with scabs that never seem to heal. These are fresh, though; you can tell by how his hand darts to the back of his neck, preventing you from looking too closely.
“Been up to no good?” you question with a raised brow.
“‘Course I have,” he responds easily, “you’ve been busy.”
Baji won’t meet your gaze. ‘If only you knew,’ he thinks—but he’ll never say it. Not that. Not to you. He shrugs off his black leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, fingertips lingering as he straightens the collar. His dark eyes flick to yours, a coy smirk almost hiding his guilt as he hopes beyond all hope you don’t see through him.
You almost do.
Not enough to call him out on it, though, so instead, you roll your eyes—but you can’t deny how this—him—is making everything better. He picks up the helmet he only brings when he’s driving you and puts it on for you, visor up so he can brush the hair out of your eyes. Baji offers a comforting smile, then juts his chin to his bike. “Wanna ride?”
The answer, of course, is yes; for him, it will always be yes.
Silently, you climb on and wrap your hands around him, chin tucking into his shoulder as if you were made to be there. He revs and pulls off, seamlessly weaving in and out of traffic. Your eyes close. The wind whips in your hair, and the familiar scent of nicotine, mint, and Baji’s crisp aftershave envelopes you. For a moment, you feel like everything’ll be okay. Your heart might hurt now, but after an evening with him, it’ll all be okay.
That’s the power of Keisuke Baji, though; the sense of embarking on your greatest adventure but feeling like being home, all at once.
It’s nearly sunset when he stops. Pulls up to the river, kicks the bike stand, then grabs your waist to lift you off the seat.
“I can do that,” you say, even as you let him lift you.
“More fun when I do,” he replies with an easy grin. Your feet hit the ground, but Baji keeps one hand around your waist. He takes off the helmet with the other and laughs when your hair flops out. Hurriedly you go to smooth it, but Baji catches your wrist after setting the helmet down. “You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”
He cages you between the bike and his hips with just a few inches of space—and suddenly, your heart starts to race. When did he get this close? How hadn’t you noticed the way his leg slid between yours? Why isn’t he taking his hand away? Why can’t you breathe?
Baji’s dark eyes dart between yours, then down to your lips, and for a second, for a split second, you think he’s about to kiss you—
“Not like anything can make it better now,” he smirks, and if it weren’t for how his fingers were locked in yours, you would’ve slapped him.
“Asshole.”
Baji laughs, and you swear the moon shines a little brighter. You’re grateful that he turns to check out the area before he can see just how much of an impact his laugh has on you—though you don’t doubt that he knows. He’s Baji, after all, and you’re not blind (or deaf). He’s handsome, witty, flirty with anything that moves—and that laugh of his could bring even the tides to a standstill.
“Coast’s clear,” he says, looking back at you, a lazy smirk curling his features. It shouldn’t be a surprise, hardly any ever comes this far south of the city—but a few weeks ago, you’d accidentally stumbled upon a couple who were… not expecting company, to put it delicately, and ever since, Baji had been extra cautious to make sure it was just the two of you before getting settled.
He takes a few steps backwards, leading you to your spot; a grassy knoll that overlooks the river as it feeds into the darkened sea. The moon slowly rises over rolling waves while the sun, more a memory, sets over the river’s bend. It’s a secret, sacred place for the two of you, where heartache and daydreams don’t exist; only the moon, the tides, and each other.
Your stomach flips but you can’t tell why; this is exactly what happens every time you come here, from the way he helps you off the bike to how he stops you from picking at your appearance. The only difference is the way his hand is still wrapped in yours.
You wonder if Tadashi’s would have been this warm.
But Tadashi isn’t here—Baji is, and it’s Baji’s warm hands that always make things better. So you let him keep his hand in yours, even though you’re not sure you should, and you let him gently tug you along when you don’t move fast enough. Let him take his time in taking his jacket back, in spreading it on the grass before waiting for you to sit. You even let him settle next to you, instinctively leaning into the familiar comfort of his body and for a minute, you wonder how you ever could’ve wanted your day to end different.
Then Baji meets your gaze, smiles that sweet, genuinely kind half smile that he only shares with you, and you remember: Baji is your friend—and no matter how many heartaches he heals, that’s all he’ll ever be.
You can’t remember when things got so complicated.
When it was just you and Kenny, you’d sneak up to the roof of the brothel and watch the sun dip behind the buildings and talk about how one day, you’d get a house that was that color pink, and it’d be on the far side of Japan where you could watch the sunset from your porch and life would be good. The sunset was the only dream you’d ever need, and it would be good.
Then Mikey started coming. More often than not he’d fall asleep before the sun did, and on the days he didn’t—the roof felt too… small. The dreams, too… little. They evolved, from a porch where you could watch the sunset to a skyline that never sleeps.
Dreams change, and that’s okay… but a part of you aches for the time when the sunset felt like enough—when the family you had, the brothers you’d found and the friends you’d made—was enough. You still had the sunset, but rarely. More often than not, you were by yourself up there, or stuck to Kenny’s side somewhere out there, or brushing against Baji’s shoulder down here.
So these days, you prefer to watch the moon rise. There’s more comfort in a light to guide you through the night, rather than watching your dreams disappear with the day.
And you do, the way you do every time you’re stood up or don’t feel—enough. You sit beside Baji with the full moon crawling towards you, staring at the conjunction of the river and the sea, and focus on how you’re going to get through this.
Baji cut his hair since the last date—the last time you’d been stood up, you correct. Still long, but now only to the edge of his jaw, not mid-back like you were used to. The light is bright behind him, bringing out the warm undertones in his onyx hair. You can make out the scab on his cheek from a bar fight a few weeks ago; the scar on his nose from when Mikey split it the first time they fought; the tender bruise along his jaw that looks too new to have told you the story yet.
Instinctively, you reach for it… then chicken out, instead teasing the edge of his hair. You’re left wondering if an angel’s wings would be as soft.
Baji glances at you from the corner of his eye. “You don’t like it?”
“What? I didn’t say that.” Your hand falls back to your lap, eyes quick to follow. The light behind him is too bright—too blinding. Too much like a halo. It’s impossible to hide the truth from an angel, and you know you don’t have the right words to convey just how beautiful you find him. “Just… gonna take some getting used to. I don’t think you’ve ever had it this short.”
He scoffs. “Maybe at birth.”
The idea of baby Baji flashes through your mind; sweet, chubby cheeks, little fists flailing at the world. A tuft of hair, dark as his and long already, but when he opens his eyes, they’re yours—
“Why’d you cut it?” your voice is steadier than you expect. It does nothing to change your thoughts, especially when Baji’s slender fingers start pulling at grass, just the way a baby grasps what's in front of him.
He stares straight ahead, letting one hand splay by your lower back as he watches the green blades dance in the wind. “Figured it was time for a change.”
You hmm in acknowledgement, brain too traitorous to come up with anything other than, ‘I bet you were a cute baby’ or ‘you look handsome either way’ or, worst of all, ‘why would you ever want to change?’
He probably meant nothing by it. Baji’s as flexible as they come; sets his own hours at the shop, varies what time he wakes or goes to bed, never eats the same thing too many times in a row… there’s not much permanency in his life as it is, so it sticks with you that he still wants something different.
If he thinks you’re being weird, he doesn’t say so. He waits for you to speak, like always, and like always, you find yourself loving him a little more for it. Baji’s so—quick; to judge, to speak, to fight… but in these moments, when it’s the two of you and the moon and no one else, he’s not. He’s slow; slow to speak, slow to touch, slow to pull away…
Slow to make you wonder why you keep wasting time with boys who don’t deserve it when he might be enough.
The silence becomes too much; too easy to drown in. Too tempting to fill with all the wrong things.
“What happened to your jaw?” is the best you come up with.
It’s no surprise when he answers, “got into a fight,” but how he says it… how he immediately ducks his head and covers the darkening bruise with a broad palm, as if he’d forgotten all about it and wished you would, too… that makes you pause.
One tenet of your relationship is that you don’t lie to each other. There are often times you wish he would, like when Chifuyu teases him about the pretty girl at the pet shop who came back and asked for the number of the flirty hunk who sold her a dog collar and Baji admits she was pretty cute and he’ll take her to drinks tomorrow night, or when Kazutora reminds Baji that he promised to go on a double date with the twins they met clubbing so no, he can’t take a look at that leaky pipe in your bathroom—but you’d never say that. Not when he could, so easily, call you out for keeping your own.
So when he goes out of his way to not have to tell you the truth, you know better than to push.
“Did it hurt?”
Baji looks to you with a cocky smile. “You should see the other guy.” You snort. Baji knocks his shoulder into yours. “I’m good, really. Just… had some business, s’all.”
It’s supposed to be comforting, but it’s not. It only flares your curiosity… and honestly? Your annoyance. “I hadn’t realized a pet shop needed such security.”
Baji barks out a laugh. “I mean, you’ve seen how crazy some people get about their pets, ‘specially when they think Dr. Google is a better resource than Chifuyu’s degree… but nah, this was… off the books.” He catches your inquisitive gaze and offers a smile, but it’s more like a grimace in the lowlight. His hand creeps closer, fingers pressing into your back, and for a moment, you’re willing to let it go. He gently grazes the middle of your spine. “It’s done, alright? Finished. Won’t happen again.”
You know he’s lying because he holds you close, the way he only does when he thinks you’re about to leave.
But you don’t leave; you never leave. You just give him a withering glare you know he can’t see, then turn back to the ocean.
You hate this feeling. The one where the world becomes unsteady, and everything you’d been trying to keep buried since you were thirteen sneaks up on you. That horrid, awful, destructive fascination and jealousy and yearning that’s plagued you since Baji first bragged about stealing a kiss from the pretty girl that lived three floors above him and only gets worse every time he mentions someone new.
Going on dates was supposed to squash this. Meeting a nice guy, having a good time, and getting a kiss or two of your own was supposed to end this. This—obsession—you’ve had since the first time Baji said he hopes that one day, you meet the right guy and you accidentally thought, ‘maybe it’s you.’ Because at the end of the day, he’s the one who’s there. Not Tadashi, who couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Not Draken, who recently started putting Emma above all else (even you). It’s been Baji, your Baji, whose mere existence makes everything better, that’s been the last one standing.
You can’t ruin that. You can’t risk pushing away the only companion who still puts you first for something you’re positive you can find somewhere else.
At least, that’s what you have to tell yourself, as yet another date fails and Baji is here, again, picking up the pieces and making you feel more whole than when the day started.
The sky is nearly dark when you finally ask the question that’s been on your mind since the barista gave you that pity cup—the one that’s probably still sitting in the bathroom, the last witness to your heartbreak. Just as alone and unwanted as you.
“What’s… wrong with me?”
Baji’s sharp. He alway has been, from the stern angle of his nose to the feral way his teeth carve like a predator’s. He watches everything—the road, the fighters, you—with a scrutiny that’s often clouded behind cheshire grins and snide quips.
But there’s nothing sharp about him tonight; only soft. Soft hands that gently grab your chin and force you to look at him. Soft breathes as he pulls you close. Soft words as he makes sure you hear him whisper, “nothing.”
Baji’s eyes, dark and teeming with something you can’t place, move from one eye to the other; to the fingers on your cheek; to your tongue, wetting your lips. He leans in, forehead resting against yours as his hand slides back, gripping your hair like you're his lifeline and not the other way around, and you’re back to thinking okay, this is it, he’s going to kiss me, he’s finally going to kiss me—
But all he does is repeat, “absolutely—fuckin’ nothing, alright? And—‘n fuck whoever makes you feel otherwise,” before resuming his seat like nothing happened.
You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. It’s stale and hot and full of fury, your fury, and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.
“Fuck you, Keisuke.”
“What?” Baji scrambles for your arm as you abruptly stand, too furious to even look at him. You rip away but don’t stop, trying to will the stupidness of—whatever this is—to go away, to release you so you can go back to feeling better and right and whole. “Wait—come on, I didn’t—what did I say? Did I do something? Where the hell are you going?”
“Forget it!” you snap. His every question—the fact he wants to make it right even though he’s the reason it hurts—just makes it worse. “Just—leave it alone, alright? It obviously doesn’t matter—”
This time when he grabs your arm, he doesn’t let you leave. He pulls you in to him, nearly crashing you into his chest as he holds you in place.
“Damnit, y/n, what the hell? What did—why are you being like this?” For the first time tonight, he meets your eyes without falter. He tucks a hand under your chin, all but pries your eyes open himself to search for what you're hiding. You try shrugging out of his iron grip, but he’s too strong. “What did I do?”
“Nothing—” You’re horrified at the way your voice cracks. “Fucking—nothing, Baji, you did nothing—“
“Then why’re you so fucking mad, hunh? Why’re you acting like I’m the bad guy here?” His fingers tighten. It would’ve hurt, if you weren’t so angry. “I’m not the asshole who stood ya up—I’m not the one who’s been dickin’ everyone around, pretending like everything’s fine when I know, Draken knows—even fuckin’—Pah-chin—can tell that something’s wrong—“
“You’re calling me an asshole?” you gasp incredulously. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes!” he retorts hotly—then, upon realizing how horribly angry you’re growing, quickly backtracks, “I mean—no! Actually, no, you know what, I did mean yeah, because guess what, princess? You are acting like an ass! You’ve got—all these people who wanna be here for you, I want to be here for you, and all you’re doing is getting mad at me for it—”
“What do you want me to say, Baji?” It’s useless, trying to get free, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. “That I’m—heartbroken—at being stood up—again? That I’m done with dating, that I’m giving up, that everyone fucking sucks but I must suck worse—”
“They don’t deserve you—”
“Like hell!” Your tone is scalding. It must burn him just as bad, because a single lapse in his grip lets you rip your arm away. “That’s the whole goddamn point of dating, jackass, to figure out who’s worth what—and all this has shown is that I’m not worth it, to anyone.” You slam your hands against his chest, tears stinging your lash line. If you weren’t so angry, you might not have missed how his face falters when you push him away. “And you just—sitting there, and—and holding me like that, and—and telling me that I’m not the problem when I’m the only common denominator—you’re such a fucking liar—”
“You think it’s any easier for me?” he’s quick to yell, frustration making him bare his teeth like fangs. Anyone else would’ve cowered—but you stand your ground. Place two hands on his chest and shove, hard, forcing him back as he continues, “you think it’s any easier to see you gettin’ your hopes up, to freak out over what to text, what to wear, what to do—all for those fuckin’ dickweeds? Hunh? Guys who can’t even—spell your name right, or remember what your favorite flower is, or fucking—show up? You think it’s any fucking easier seeing you so goddamn upset over someone who doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, let alone spend time with you–be with you? Because it’s not, sweetheart!”
The sweet pet name that usually makes your heart skip a beat only aggravates you further. Your hands go from shoving to slamming, open palms against the hard muscle of his chest—but he doesn’t even flinch. Just catches your wrists before you can do it again and stares, like you’ve started speaking in tongues. “Oh, poor Baji, must be hard, hunh, thinking no one’s good enough, thinking everyone’s so lucky as to have people throwing themselves at them left and right—but newsflash, Keisuke, not all of us are like you! Not all of us have the ability to pick whoever we want, some of us actually have to work at it—“
“Stop working on the wrong guys then!”
“You’ve never even met them, how would you know—“
“Because they let me stand in the way!”
The world stills.
You can’t place why; why this feels like a sucker punch, why your heart is suddenly skipping beats–why you can’t tell if this hurts. Not until Baji’s grip tightens, then his eyes widen, and you have a sneaking suspicion you know where this is going—but still, you ask, “what?”
He doesn’t respond. He can’t.
He lets go of you, though every fiber in his being begs him to stay. He takes a step back, though his heart pleads for him to wrap you in his arms and hold you close and tell you the truth, about what he did, why he did it, why he can’t bring himself to regret it…
He has to turn his back to you, to stare at the waves crashing along the sand as he tries to process just how badly he’s fucked this up and if there’s any possibility for redemption. It’s too late to lie. Too late to try and salvage this.
He’s made his bed; it’s time to lie in it.
Baji sighs–or something close. Something choked, not quite a laugh but also not quite a sob. Something is stuck in him, and even with the ice in your veins, you piece it together. Somehow, this—the failed dates, the heartache, the loneliness—it's all his fault.
Still, you have to ask. “What the hell are you talking about?”
You try making the venom in your voice match that in your blood, but you can’t. Not when he looks so—defeated. He runs his hands through his hair, doing a miserable job of either pretending he can’t hear you or attempting to buy enough time to come up with a plausible lie—though you don’t need him to. Not when his actions say enough.
It’s your turn to reach for him. Your turn to grab his arm, to keep him in place. You want to hold on to your anger, but the way his hands are shaking makes it impossible.
You draw him close, voice gentle as you say his name. You reach for his cheek, keeping his hands still with one of yours, and you tilt his head; he lets you tilt his head so that he has no choice but to look at you.
When your gazes meet, you wait.
“I had to,” he eventually says. His voice is steady, but his hands aren’t. His fingers wrap around your wrists tightly, as if he’s afraid you might try leaving—but your grip on him is equally tight. “They weren’t good for you. They were jerks, and they were only going to break your heart, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not to you. I had to—I had to.”
“Had to… what?” He doesn’t answer, not until you prompt, “had to what, Baji?”
“Don’t—” he breathes. “Don’t… call me that.” His eyes close, and he leans into the palm on his cheek. For a moment, you pretend that he’s memorizing the feel of you, as if he’s scared to lose you—but that can’t be it. Keisuke Baji isn’t afraid of anything.
You’re not sure what’s more painful: the knots in your stomach or the hope in your heart. “Tell me what you did,” you muster up. “Keisuke, tell me what you did.”
When his eyes finally open, all of his anger is gone. In its place is something you’ve rarely seen, and even rarer directed at you: desperation.
“I stopped them.”
For a moment, all you hear is your own heart… then the waves of truth come crashing down.
“I—I found them, and I swear on my life, on your life—I only meant to talk to them, to figure out if—if they had good intentions, if they were gonna treat you right—but they all sucked, y/n, they were awful—going on and on about how they were—how they wanted to—to fuck you, just to say they could—or they weren’t—serious about how they felt and I couldn’t—I couldn’t let them do that, I couldn’t let them hurt you like that, so I… I hurt them first. Not—not much, just enough so they’d—get the idea. Leave you alone. Stay away from my girl—”
He cuts himself off, and for a moment, you’re frozen. You don’t know what to do, what to think—is this real? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Does he really mean it?
Baji’s voice cracks when he says your name.
“Y/n, listen—listen to me,” he pleads. His forehead presses against yours. Your cheeks grow wet, though you can’t tell if that’s because of you or him. “You are—the most amazing person in this whole freaking world. You get that? You’re—smart, and pretty, and so fucking funny and—and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot. And it fucking—kills me—that you’ve got it in your head that what these—stupid pricks think is the only thing that matters, because it’s not. It’s never mattered. The only thing—the only thing that has ever mattered… is you. Okay? You.”
Your throat closes. Your hands reach for his, catching only wrists as he cradles your face, trying to ground yourself in this moment. In all the things he says and all the things he doesn’t; in the silent, desperate dream that refused—refuses—to die, taking over you once more.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” His lips are so close, they brush your nose. “I’d say I regret it, but I don’t, because— you deserve better. You deserve the world, if you want, or—or the moon and all the stars, and—and unless they’d get it for you, they don’t deserve you. Okay? None of them deserved you.”
You’re just a hair away from kissing him, from caving to the impulses you thought were dead and gone and hopeless all these years, and the worst possible sentence sinks out: “you’re an idiot, Kei.”
Then you lean forward and kiss him.
In an instant—you feel whole. You feel right, in a way you haven’t since you decided you never had a chance with him; in a way you’ve been searching for in the words of all the others who’d let you down, who’d broken your heart and always, always, always led you back to moonrise with Baji, back home—
Baji jolts. He pulls away and stares at you with a wild mixture of shock and confusion. His fingers ghost his lips, only to draw back as he stares at them, then at you, then back at them, like he can’t quite comprehend this hand is attached to his body—like you were. Like you want to be, like you thought he wanted to be, like you thought he was asking you to be—
Your heart plummets as he just—stands, no witty quip or teasing remark at the ready. No lines to read between; no phrasing to draw false confessions from; nothing other than the stillness of the night, and the pounding of your heart.
“Wait—” you shrink as you realize just how hoarse a single stolen kiss has left you. “I thought—please, Kei—”
A flicker of… something dances in his eyes, and then—he watches you. Studies you, with the same scrutiny he holds before a fight or when picking apart a bike to see what parts are broke and what can be saved.
“Say it again.”
It’s your turn to blink; your turn to have wide eyes and parted lips, to study him like you’re not sure how to fix it. “I don’t—“
“My name,” he says, and your heart starts to leap. “Say my name, sweetheart.”
“I say your name all the time, Keisuke.” You’re barely above a whisper. Barely above the fear that this time, he’ll break your heart and there’ll be no one to pick up the pieces because—you ruined this.
“Not like that,” he breathes. You forget how to. “Say it like it means something. Like—you don’t hate me. Like—”
“Kei,” you interrupt, hands coming to cradle his cheeks as you read between the lines, “I forgive y—”
He doesn’t even let the final word form before his lips are on yours. Hard, aggressively melding like he’s worried you might change your mind and wants to milk every second out of this as he can—but you reciprocate just as desperately. Keisuke’s hands wrap around you, one gripping the base of your neck and the other resting on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth opens, teasing your lips apart as you trade air, fingers digging into your soft skin like it’s the last thing he’ll ever touch.
You pull away first, and that’s only because your lungs are aching—not that you mind. The pain helps make this feel real.
For once, Keisuke’s grin doesn’t seem mocking. He moves a hand to cradle your face, thumb rubbing against your cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that, sweetheart.”
“Not as long as I have,” you admit with a breathy laugh. Your hands lock around his neck, fingers playing with his hair, and you realize you’re smiling.
You kissed. Keisuke kissed you, you kissed him—everything makes sense. Everything is right, and with the moon and tides as your witness, everything is good again.
“Can I…” Keisuke starts, eyes flicking to your lips in an unspoken question. You finish his sentence with a kiss.
“You can always kiss me, Kei,” you say. “You don’t even have to ask.”
There’s the grin you recognize; the scheming, teasing grin that always makes your stomach flip in a way you thought meant he’s up to no good, but now realize as a sign you’d fallen for him long ago.
“Oh, yeah?” he questions, brushing his lips against yours. “Only here? Or can I kiss… here?” He moves to the corner of your lips, then to the hollow of your cheek as he continues, “and… here? And maybe…”
He trails off, and he trails down, letting his lips drag against your cheek while his hand keeps you firmly in place, lips going done to your chin, down the column of your throat and back up. Your breathy yes would be pathetic—if it ever made it out. All that escapes is a breathy groan of displeasure when he stops, teasing lips hovering just above your own. “What’s that, babe? Want me t’stop?”
“You’re such an asshole.”
Your hands tangle in his hair, lips melding as your make-out turns heated. He slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, silently asking you to open—and you do. His hands curl around you, bringing you closer until there’s no space left between you.
Something digs into your leg. Something hard and unmistakable, and it leaves you grinning deeper than Kei.
You break away, laughing at his whine of protest and briefly glance down. Keisuke follows your eyes and is quick to splutter a nervous chuckle, hands dropping as he tries to step away with a short apology—though the way you catch his belt loops stops him. “Shit—sorry, I didn’t—I just—it’s your fault, y’know—“
“Shut up,” you giggle and drag him back. Now, you kiss him; once, twice, then a third before trailing your lips along the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, along his temple, to his ear. “How about you take me home, Kei?”
Keisuke’s whiplash nearly hurts you. His eyes, big and brown and wide, stare like you’ve grown an extra head. His hands shakily splay against your back, as if he wants to keep you close but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. His voice wavers slightly when he asks, “but I thought… aren’t… I mean, isn’t this… what you wanted?”
Slowly, you nod. Even slower, you pointedly look at the space between you, bridged only by the tent of his black pants. You smile at the sweet way a blush covers his cheeks, and risk slowly trailing your hand along his belt until your fingertips are hovering over that stupid, shiny, obnoxiously big belt buckle you always tease him for.
“I want you, Keisuke, and I want you to take me home.”
He doesn’t need more encouragement.
Keisuke’s kisses grow fiercer. He devours you, never once breaking contact as his hands slide to find firm purchase on the back of your thighs. With ease, he lifts you atop his bike, setting you in front of him and stepping between your spread legs. The hem of your dress slides up with his calloused palms, collecting in a bunch then pooling down to protect your modesty as he finds two handfuls of ass. He gives a squeeze, eliciting a delighted gasp from you, then pulls back with a toothy smile.
“Then have me, sweetheart. Always been yours, anyways.”
Your stomach twists, the way it always does when he looks at you like that, and you like it. It makes sense, it feels right—and you don’t have to pretend to justify why it makes your panties wet.
“Gotta—gotta get home—“ you try saying, but Keisuke’s hands have a mind of their own. They’re the only reason you’re still upright as he starts kissing along your neck, carefully grazing his sharp teeth but never once digging in. Your arms lop around him, digging into his scalp and shoulders as he finds this one spot that makes you moan, and you almost curse him for what that smile has done to you.
“Fuckin’—insane—if you think I'ma make it,” he mumbles into your skin, and you think you finally understand how some people can climax from someone’s voice alone.
You laugh and intend to push him away and demand that he do, that you have to, that you need to, because this—isn’t like you, you’re not one to get hot and heavy like this, certainly not in public—
But you can’t think straight. Not when Keisuke’s hands are kneading your ass, pinching and releasing like he can’t decide if he wants to hold on forever or explore somewhere new. Not when his teeth nibble your neck, and you shudder at the unbelievably primal sensation running through you.
Not when the unmistakable hardness of Keisuke’s boner finds home between your thighs, and he starts bucking his hips. It’s subtle, and he doesn’t tease you for the pathetic way you start whimpering. He focuses on continuing to explore the expanse of your otherwise untouched skin, while all you can do is revel in the way your high starts building.
You’ve been kissed before, on the lips and neck and once a little lower, but no one’s ever done this to you; pressed against your collarbone. Moved your neckline aside to suck on the fat of your breast. Left a mark that’ll last longer than a minute. For a moment, you wonder if you should tell him he’s the first, but when the zipper of his pants starts catching your clit, the only thing you’re able to do is moan his name.
Loudly.
Breathy and passionate and different than before, and he pauses. Lifts his head from your collarbone, a thin tendril of salvia keeping his lips still attached to the sensitive skin you know will bruise. He lets one hand trail up your side and cup your face, staring like this might be the last time he ever sees you, all while his hips continue to rut against you.
“Say it again,” he breathes, thumb catching your bottom lip. “Just—just like that.”
“Kei,” you repeat, giggling at the way he brightens and starts kissing you, “we need to go home—now.” For good measure, you boldly let your fingers slide to the edge of his belt buckle, in case he needs some more convincing. His free hand darts to yours, but he doesn’t stop you. He laces his fingers in yours and guides you, letting you palm at his thick hard-on. He lets out a low groan and drops his head from your lips to rest at your chest, just above the collar of your dress. You card one hand through his hair, the other applying light pressure to the (you assume) very painful ache between his legs—and not at all because you know, if he kept bucking into your core the way he just was, the way he keeps doing against your palm—you wouldn’t be able to make it home, either. “Take—take me home, Kei—”
“Not—” he huffs. His grip on your ass tightens, but you can barely feel it. Not when Keisuke whines, low and needy, teeth coming out to nip at your breast, and all you can focus on is the ache between your own legs, getting even worse as his hips start moving faster, forcing the back of your hand against your cunt as you continue to palm him. His hips don’t stop; they push against you so fiercely, so desperately, that you cave, taking away your hand so there’s nothing between you but your clothes.
You’re on the precipice in minutes; hands digging into his shoulders as you choke on a sob, pleading with him to go faster, to not stop, to keep making you feel good—and it’s made all the worse when he does, pressing his throbbing erection even harder against your soaked panties, all the while pleading into your skin, “can’t—can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t—y/n—“
You gasp when his teeth break skin.
Keisuke’s hips still. Warm air saturates your chest as he groans into it, and for a moment you’re frozen. Your whole body aches, and you want to scream at the cruel way your orgasm was stolen—but you’re too in shock that he got you there that fast, that easily. Something warm trickles down your cheeks, between your breasts—blood? saliva? tears?—he doesn’t move. You don’t move. You’re not even sure he’s breathing, until his shoulders heave and your skin is warmed once more. A slight burn starts to spread across your chest, and when you open your mouth to ask him why the hell he stopped—all that comes out is his name.
You say it softly, then a little louder, but it’s not until you grab his face and force him to look up that he speaks—but his eyes are fixed firmly on the reddening bite mark forming atop your breast.
“M’sorry…”
A mean part of you wants to tell him he owes you a lot more than sorry, but the way his lower lip disappears as he nervously chews on it has you choosing otherwise. “It’s okay,” you comfort instead, “it didn’t hurt that bad.”
Keisuke grimaces. “No, I—”
He sighs, head dropping back to your chest. Both arms wrap around your waist, and he presses a light kiss to the place he’d just bitten; the only way he probably figures he can keep close without meeting your gaze. He mumbles something, but you only know because you feel his lips moving.
“Can’t hear you…” you try prompting, but it only makes him snuggle deeper. He sighs again, loud and warm and in a way you’re familiar with—the way that really means, I can’t believe I have to do this… “C’mon, Kei, don’t you want to take me home?”
“Ididntmakeit.”
You have never, ever, in your life ever seen Keisuke embarrassed. Not when he told you about needing Chifuyu to tutor him post-juvie; not when he failed his college entry exams; not even when you accidentally walked in on him showering (in hindsight, he was probably a little too comfortable with how long it might’ve taken you to leave).
This was the man who went skinny dipping for fun. He’ll order fruity drinks for his friends who are too embarrassed to do it themselves. His approach to a lost fight is to get a rematch, not pretend it didn’t exist, and even in mundane moments that have you at a loss for words, like mistaking someone’s name or forgetting a face, Kei’s always quick for a retort or defense or a smile that makes everything better.
Keisuke Baji doesn’t get embarrassed—but that’s the only word that fits. His cheeks are redder than you’ve ever seen, his breathing faster than his pulse. His eyes refuse to meet yours, and his fingers knead into clumsy, nervous patterns along the side of your thighs.
Then he takes a deep breath, and with one shaking hand, he slowly brings your palm to the crotch of his pants… that are now sticky.
Your eyes widen, and you’re almost too late to choke down a gasp. Kei’s eyes close, and he ducks his head in shame. “I didn’t—I mean, I haven’t—you're just—I’m so sorry—”
“Why?” It sounds curt, and you don’t intend it to. Better than laughing, you reason—although you will absolutely get him for this later… when it stops feeling like the most humiliating thing in the world.
Keisuke swallows. “I haven’t ever… you know.”
“What, cum early?” It’s cruel to tease, you know that, but you can’t stop the slight satisfaction that you—you—are able to bring a man like Keisuke Baji to his knees.
“No! I mean—no, I…” Kei looks out to the ocean, fingers still anxiously kneading into your thighs. The temperature drops, though you’re not sure if it actually does or you’re just feeling like it as you try to understand what’s happened, what’s happening—what you’re to do next. His jaw clenches and he tries to pull away from you, but you don’t let him. You wrap your legs around the backs of his thighs, keeping him in place.
“Kei…” you say softly. You don’t force him to look at you. Instead, you let your fingers trail up his abs, curling around his neck so you can rest your forehead against his temple and kiss his cheek. “I don’t care. Just means you gotta make it up to me—”
“I’ve never had sex before.”
You’re grateful he doesn’t look at you, because you’re not able to control the utter shock coloring your face. How is that possible? You’ve heard the whispers when you go out; you’ve seen the looks. At parties or bars or clubs, he’d find a pretty thing and disappear, and you assumed you knew what happened behind those closed doors—because why, why, why would you want to ask about that?
The others didn’t dispel it, either; in fact, they’d constantly rip on him for his… gift, and Keisuke never fought back. He’d just smirk and wink and say, “it’s never disappointed,” and by the time you’d turned red, thinking about when you caught him in the shower and knew what they were saying was true, they’d moved on to taunting someone else.
So how the hell is it possible that Keisuke’s a virgin—and, more importantly, how didn’t you know?
You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover. If he were to ask, you’d say you were just waiting for him—because when you do speak, it’s only when Keisuke turns to you with narrowed eyes, an apprehensive blush clear on his face.
“Wanna know a secret?” you ask, forcing a teasing lilt to your voice—though your stomach twists. This isn’t exactly the way you wanted to tell him, and for a flash, you think of how disappointed he might be to learn the truth.
But when he meets your gaze, eyes wide and focused entirely on you, somewhere between hopeful and nervous, you know it’s for the best. Your smile is sweet, but not as sweet as your lips when you kiss the crinkle between his eyes. He immediately relaxes, hands stilling as he leans into you. “Neither have I.”
He straightens and pulls far enough away so he can examine you. For a minute, your confession hangs between the two of you, then Kei starts floundering, “but I thought… you said… but he… what about your ex?”
You shrug, your own cheeks starting to flush. “It never felt right.”
Keisuke blinks. His mouth parts, eyes darting between yours like he’s waiting for the gotcha!, but all he receives is the embarrassed way you can’t meet his gaze, feeling as if you’ve somehow let him down. You squirm, his warm hands still atop your thighs sending butterflies to your stomach, and shrug again. “I dunno, I just—didn’t think it was fair. Doing that with someone, when all I could think about…” you swallow, lips twisting as you debate whether or not to tell him the truth.
He catches your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Think about what, sweetheart?”
The way he asks tells you he already knows; but like earlier, when you knew and had to hear it anyway, he needs you to say it, too.
So you take a steadying breath. You gently trail a finger down the side of his jaw, and you make yourself smile as you say, “you, Kei. It didn’t seem right if it wasn’t you.”
This time when he kisses you, it’s slow. He takes his time in tasting you, in savoring the moment. He lets you guide where his lips go, how his hands wander, and he waits for you to pull back before he suggests, “how about I take you home now?”
Your stomach flutters. Fingers knot at the base of his skull, and slowly, a smile spreads on your face.
“I’d like that.”
He presses a chaste kiss to your temple. You can feel the joy in it, one that doesn’t fade for either of you as he unhooks your legs so you can properly straddle the bike, then tucks the helmet on you and pops on himself.
“Hold on,” he calls as he revs the engine, “might be goin’ a bit faster than usual.”
“Don’t worry,” you laugh, and even though you know he probably can’t hear you, you add, “I’m never letting go.”
You make it to Keisuke’s apartment in seven minutes flat—which, normally, would leave you terrified, given his place is twenty minutes from your spot, but you doubt that’s what’s got your heart racing. He barely gives you enough time to take the helmet off before his hands are back on you, easily scooping you up and carrying you up the stairs. You bump into a few walls, and the way you’ve got a loose grasp on his helmet sends it craning into his back just as often, but neither of you care. Between fits of giggles and cautious glances to make sure he’s not about to walk you through a glass door (or down a stairwell), you kiss like it’ll be the last time you ever get the chance to.
“Anyone home?” you mumble into his lips. He slams you against the front door of his shared three-bedroom apartment, using his hips to keep you up while he tries to find the lock by memory.
“Nope,” he replies, lips busy with your skin, fingers fumbling uselessly behind you. “Stupid—fucking lock—told Tora to leave it—never fuckin’ listens—”
“Relax,” you laugh, although that’s rich coming from you. Your legs tighten around him as you break free from his kiss, instead sucking along the column of his throat. Freeing his face is supposed to give him enough room to actually look for the lock, so the two of you can stop dry-humping in the hall and finally get the privacy you need—but like always, Keisuke does the unexpected.
He throws his head back and moans, giving you more access to leave a matching hickey—and you’re not strong enough to resist the temptation. A whine starts in his throat, from where you’re sucking on his pale skin. The keys clatter to the ground.
“Keisuke,” you scold—but before you can tease him for being in a rush, his lips are back on yours.
“Never gonna make it,” is his only defense.
“Gonna—gonna have to,” you reply, but every time you try pulling away or reach for the keys yourself, he grabs you. Wraps your wrists in his rough hands, pins them to the door beside your head, and leans so far forward that, even with your limp legs, he’s able to keep you up himself. “Kei—“
“So help me sweetheart,” he warns, hips rolling against yours with a sense of urgency only outmatched by his kiss, “if you keep saying my name like that, I swear to the gods I’m gonna fuck you right here.”
“So help me, sweetheart,” you shoot back, breathy and hot as you try to avoid the way his lips chase yours, “if you don’t get me inside right now, I might let you.”
He freezes. Pulls away from the delightful bruise he’d just been leaving below your ear and stares at you with a mixture of awe and utter delight. “Really?”
You swat the back of his head. “No, dumbass, open the fucking door.”
Keisuke’s lips, pink and bruising slightly, twist in a pretend pout as he squats. He keeps one thick palm under your thigh, keeping your leg wrapped around him as he snags his keys. “You’re such a fucking tease.”
“Says the guy who does—that,” you try scoffing, but you’re cut off with a moan when Kei stands and bounces you against his hips. His boner is back and harder than before, pressing into your core, the messy, wet mix of your drenched panties and his earlier cum making a lewd sound in the otherwise silent hallway.
“Does… what, babe?” he teases. “C’mon, finish that sentence.”
You don’t know how he finds the focus to actually find the lock this time, but you thank every deity in the world that he does—because it takes just a second, a single, solitary second for him to jimmy it in, slam the door open, and you’re finally alone.
The door frame rattles. Something falls, but you can’t tell if it’s the mirror you insisted he hang above the entry table you insisted he get or if it’s the rickety old coat rack Chifuyu said would ‘class up the joint’; all you know is that as soon as the key is in, Baji’s hands are back to cradling your thighs for support as he crosses the threshold.
You reach for the door, but he catches it with his ankle and slams it shut, quickly spinning to pin you against it.
“Really—” you pant, “really got the place—to ourselves?”
“Mhm,” Keisuke confirms. He leans into you, palms rubbing along your thighs until they get to your knees, silently asking you to wrap tighter around him. You do, and the moment he feels your ankles cross at the small of his back, his hands move to your waist. “Told ‘em—needed space.”
“Oh?” you question, your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt and tug, tug, tugging—“And when’d you do that?”
He reaches behind his head and yanks his tee off, tossing it carelessly into the darkness of the apartment. You hadn’t even paused to turn on the lights.
“After I saw Tadashi.” You can tell he’s grinning, especially as you drag your nails along the chiseled plane of his abs. His hands slide up your torso, thumb rubbing your stomach through the thin cotton of your dress, grazing the underwire of your bra. “Told Tora this one wasn’t gonna work, either, ’n he said I should just tell ya the truth, 'cause he couldn’t watch me mope around all night again—”
“Mope?” you tease. Kei’s fingers dig in. “Kazutora accused you of moping?”
“Well—shut up!” he whines. “You try watching the person you’re in love with go out with guys who don’t deserve them and tell me you wouldn’t start moping either—y/n? Why… are you looking at me like that?”
Your eyes are wide. Your hands go limp, the helmet falling to the floor with a loud clatter. Your lips part to say… something, but you’re not sure what.
Keisuke’s told you he’s loves you a thousand times; the brief ‘kay love ya! before he hangs up; the gentle love you, see ya tomorrow whenever he’d bring you home; the drawn out gods I love you after you’ve surprised him with his favorite meal—but none like this.
None so… blatant. So unmistakable.
Kei stares at you curiously, as if he isn’t even aware of what he’s just said. He repeats your name, hands leaving your waist to catch your chin.
“You’re… in love with me?”
Keisuke blinks.
For a moment, you think you must’ve misheard, he must’ve misspoke, you must have misunderstood—but a brilliant smile breaks his face, and he nuzzles his nose against yours. “‘Course I’m in love with you, sweetheart. I’ve been in love with you, and I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you—”
You kiss him.
The gentlest one yet. The way you always dreamed your first one would be; soft, sweet, lips pressing together while your hands held him close. Heartbeats synching. The world falling away as it’s just the two of you, in this moment, endless and forever.
There’s only one thing to say when you pause: “I love you too, Keisuke.”
Your teeth knock together as Keisuke can’t contain his smile, either. Hands move, one around the small of your back and the other under a single thigh. Your lips never part as he carries you to his room.
He sets you at the foot of his bed and stands above you. His chest heaves, bare and flushed with need. Your hands slip from his neck to his bed to keep yourself propped up, legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. Keisuke’s hands travel to your knees, and he just—stares.
He loves you. How could he not, with the way that pretty dress puddles on his mattress, exposing nearly all of your leg but hiding what he’s been waiting for his whole adult life? How could he not, with the way his spit makes your collar glistens in the moonlight, filtering in from behind those sheer curtains you insisted he get? How could he not love the way you say his name, reaching towards him, fingers catching on his belt buckle as you ask him if he’s ready?
“Not yet,” he whispers. The hoarseness of his voice, the way it’s dropped several octaves from merely seeing you on his bed, sends a jolt of electricity through you. You’re about to ask why, but the reverence in how he’s looking at you makes you not want to break this spell.
He trails his fingers along your calves. Gently, he unhooks your legs from his waist. His fingers shake as he struggles with the straps of your heels, but when you go to help, he catches your wrist.
“No,” he repeats, “not yet.”
You keep quiet and merely watch as your best friend, the man of your dreams, takes his time in undressing you. One wedge, then the other, falling off your feet with a dull clank! on the carpet. Keisuke kisses your ankles, then starts kissing up your calves, then your knees, then your thighs—
The anticipation has you dripping. Your thighs instinctively clench when he gets to your hem, hands curling into fists by your sides. Your panties are uncomfortably glued to your cunt, sticky in a way you’ve never been before, and he’s not even lifted your dress to see yet.
Keisuke rests his chin atop your thigh. “Please,” he pleads—pleads—“Let me—baby, let me. I wanna taste you.”
Today is not the day you learn to refuse him.
Your muscles shake from anticipation as you slowly spread your legs, but that’s not enough for him. “Baby, no, I—I wanna hear you say it.” His voice is soft, shaky. A little hesitant, as if he’s not sure if this’ll ruin the moment but he knows he has to be sure—he has to hear you say it… if only to revel in the desperate way you say his name.
“Keisuke, please… whatever you want, have it. Just—touch me, Kei, please, I need you—“
“Need you too, sweetheart,” he praises, running his lips along your thigh. “Gonna—gonna have you now, okay?”
His fingers still shake when he lifts your dress, exposing the black lace of your panties to him. At first glance, he can’t tell that they’re absolutely soaked—but that doesn’t stop the way you start to squirm in embarrassment as he just… stares. His thumbs dig into the fat of your hips, broad palms keeping your thighs spread and pinned to the bed.
It takes you a moment to realize he’s not breathing.
“Kei?”
He doesn’t look up.
His grip gets tighter. His eyes narrow. Before you get the chance to ask him what’s wrong, he growls, “you wore these for him?”
You blink. That is not what you were expecting, but before you can defend with they’re my lucky pair, or I wanted to feel sexy, or it doesn’t matter, I’m here with you—Keisuke’s ripped them off.
You yelp when the fabric bites your skin, failing to wriggling away as Keisuke strips them off your ankle. “What the fuck—“
“I’ll get you a new pair,” he mutters. “Shit—I’ll get you a hundred pairs, but you get rid of every single set someone else has seen. Got it?”
Your lips purse. He’s being unreasonable, you think, and totally ridiculous… but no matter how much your brain tries to reason he’s out of line, your fluttering pussy doesn’t get the message. Your slick is evident now, exposed and iridescent in the moonlight, dripping down your hole and slowly saturating the sheets.
Usually, Keisuke wouldn’t let it go. Usually, he’d keep picking at it until you cave, or at least recognize you heard him—but usually, he’s not staring at your cunt.
Right now, he can’t focus on anything but how desperate he is to be inside you.
“Yeah, think ya got it… fuck, babe… seems like you like it when I say shit like that, hunh?”
You whimper slightly, having to bite your lip to keep it together. Slowly, he drags the tip of his finger from the sheet beneath you up along your wet folds. He barely touches you, but when he pulls his finger away, it’s covered in a layer of you.
He brings it to his face with a cocky grin, watching how the pad shines in the moonlight. “You always this wet, or am I special?”
“Shut up,” you shoot back, preparing to bring up how special he found you earlier—only to immediately throw your head back and moan as Keisuke buries his face between your legs.
There is no preamble. There are no more teasing quips or pauses; Keisuke dives in like a man starved, and the only thing that can sate his appetite is you.
He starts with broad strokes, gathering as much of your slick as he can. He’s messy, messier than you, and soon there’s more of his spit than your wetness between your legs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned and spread on his shoulders as he continues to feast, thumbs spreading your lips open so he can truly devour you.
When Keisuke starts suckling on your clit, your fingers knot in his hair. You moan, loud and whiney and plead for him to keep going as your orgasm starts to boil—faster than before, more powerful too, with greater ease than you’ve ever managed to pull from yourself.
Keisuke brings a hand to your clit, quickly swiping the puffy bud with the pad of his thumb as he focuses his tongue on your fluttering hole. In and out, up and down, the warm muscle drives you insane. Your grip on his hair must hurt, but he says nothing; he focuses on making you feel as good as humanly possible, never once letting up, not even when you start to choke, “Kei—I’m—I’m gonna—“
“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he commands. “C’mon, pretty girl, make a mess on my face, wanna feel how you clench, wanna make ya cry—”
It sends you over the edge.
With a scream of his name, your back arches. Your thighs try closing around him but still, he doesn’t let up. He keeps pace, tongue-fucking you, lapping up all the juice that spills out as his thumb continues caressing your clit until you do start crying and you do have to plead, “no—no more, Kei, can’t—“
“Can,” he corrects—but he stops. His hand stills, moving so that the warmth of his palm covers that sensitive bundle of nerves, and only then does he stop lapping at your hole. He presses a gentle kiss to your sex, then to your inner thigh. “But I’ll be nice tonight, sweetheart. Only ‘cause I love you, though.”
You stare at the ceiling as you catch your breath. The paint is peeling in the corner. The glow-in-the-dark stars you helped him put up when he first moved in are dim. The walls are covered in motorcycle posters. A calendar set to the wrong month hangs above a salvaged desk, covered with various veterinary textbooks, barely legible notebooks, a handful of empty beer cans, and a handful of DVD cases, one of which you know is Dyslexia; How to Read When Even Your Brain Doesn’t Want You To. A neon sign advertising Margaritaville is unlit beside his closet. A pile of clothes that didn’t make it to the hamper rests beneath it.
The room is so—Keisuke , you feel at peace, even as your limbs turn to jelly.
Your heart is racing faster than if you’d just run a marathon. “Thought—thought you said you hadn’t—“ you try panting, but it’s too much effort, too soon. You end up collapsing back on the bed, head swimming with euphoria.
“Said I hadn’t had sex,” Keisuke corrects as he stands, your limp thighs falling to the either side of his waist, “not that I’ve never eaten pussy.” He scoffs, as if that should’ve been obvious. “I’m not an idiot, babe. I respect women enough to know where the clit is.”
A little laugh escapes you. The fan motor is the only other sound. It’s cool, your nipples perk beneath your bra, but you’re still hot. Still hyper aware that Keisuke is just a few inches away, watching your bare cunt flutter and beg him for more.
Keisuke does love you. You know he does, because he gives you time to catch your breathe before he starts up again, only pressing soft kisses to the inside of your legs and quiet offerings of, “so fuckin’ pretty” and “can’t believe you’re here” and, your favorite, the only one you respond to: “so in love with you.”
“I love you too, Kei.”
He runs his hands along your sides, slowly taking more and more of your dress up with it until the entire thing is resting by your neck. He makes quick work of your bra, not even needing you to sit up as he unhooks it and lifts the cups away.
He says nothing; just stares at your naked body with the same adoration and awe he held when taking off your shoes.
“You’re—so beautiful,” he whispers. “Y’know that? So—so fuckin’ beautiful.”
He bends down and takes a pert nipple in his mouth. You whine, hate yourself for doing so, then whine again as his free hand starts tweaking your other nipple. He runs his tongue over every inch of your chest, making sure you’re covered with his spit and hands, traversing as much of you as he can.
When he gets to your face, he smiles. “You’re mine, yeah? All mine?”
Your fingers run over his jaw, over the bruise that’s barely discernible in the moonlight. No one’s touched you like him; no one’s even kissed you like him, either, and you’re not sure if it’s the “Keisuke” of it all making you feel like this, or if this is how it’s supposed to have felt all along.
The answer comes easily.
“Yeah,” you agree with a smile of your own, “yeah, m’all yours, Keisuke. Pretty sure I always have been.”
“Always, hunh?” He holds you gently now; a stark contrast to the hungry way he’d just devoured you. “That mean you’ve always loved me, too?”
Your breathy yes is lost in a gasp when his hand slides between your legs. Gently, he prods a single thick finger into your virgin hole, shallowly dipping in and out. “Never had someone else in here, hunh? M’gonna be your first?”
“Y-yes,” you repeat, voice cracking. Your eyes flutter close as he keeps fingering you. You’d had fingers in there before, but none like this. Your own couldn’t compare, two of yours barely able to stretch the way one of his does… and he’s not even going all the way. Not even knuckle deep as he explores only the shallows, letting you adjust.
Your face scrunches when he adds a second.
“This okay?” he asks. You look at him, hand wrapping around his neck as you bring his forehead down to meet yours.
You nod, then remember what he said earlier, how you could feel his cock jumping when you were sweet and needy for him. “Yeah, Keisuke. Yes—yes, I want this. I want you.”
He cups your face and trails soft kisses from corner to corner, breaking apart only to lift your dress and bra over your head. They’re carelessly thrown to the floor, you have half a mind to scold him that it’ll wrinkle—but when he goes back to your cunt, two fingers halfway in, all you’re able to say is the harsh inhale of his name.
They’re shallow, never pushing in deep enough to hurt, slowly stretching your rim to its max. He goes a little deeper, then starts scissoring them, and it becomes nearly impossible to believe he hasn’t done this before.
“No—no way you’re a virgin,” you hiss when Keisuke’s lips travel to your breast. He alternates between sucking hickeys and kneading them while staring at the way your cunt sucks him in, never stopping his ministrations.
Keisuke lets out a short scoff and shifts. “You literally made me cum my pants like a teenager.”
“Then how—“
“I told ya, babe, I respect women,” is his only reply. The only one he’s willing to give, at least, because he starts paying more attention to your tits than what questions are spilling his way.
You feel like you’ve got to be ready when he adds a third, and you say as much—only for Keisuke to meet your gaze with a cocky grin. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re gonna thank me for this.”
It can’t be much longer until he deems you ready, but it feels like forever, even if he keeps you distracted from the slight burn between your legs by playing with your breasts, sucking on your throat, praising you.
“Taking m’fingers so well, pretty thing. You’re such a good girl f’me, can’t believe you made me wait this long…”
“You didn’t tell me either,” you scold. He curls his fingers mid-way through your sentence, rubbing against a sensitive spot you’ve never been able to find on your own. You keen his name, hand snapping down to catch his forearm. He pauses.
“Too much?”
Slowly, you shake your head, eyes watering. “Please, Kei, I—I want you to fuck me.”
Keisuke presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Never could say no to you, sweetheart.”
If you could think clearly, you’d start listing all the times he has denied you, starting with just a few seconds ago—but him withdrawing his fingers leaves you feeling too empty to do much but pout.
When he pulls away, you chase after him, only for him to shake his head with a fond grin. “How am I supposed to fuck you if you won’t let me take my pants off?”
With hot cheeks, your lips twist. “You were the one who wanted to fuck on your bike, and then in the hall—what, were you planning on stripping naked then, too?”
You’re rewarded with a very rare, very endearing blush. He sits back on his knees and rubs his neck, eyes dropping from yours—then his lip curls in a smirk. “With how wet you got, seems like you wanted me to. What—you like the idea of that? Getting fucked in public? Don’t worry, sweetheart, maybe we’ll try that one day…” He laughs at the way you squirm, but he’s not wrong; your cunt clenches at the thought.
“You’re such a dick.” Your hands reach for his belt, fumbling slightly as you try to undo it. Keisuke’s hands take over, getting rid of the black leather in seconds.
“Your dick,” he corrects, hands back on you, gently laying you back against his pillows, trailing over your now completely naked body, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. You roll your eyes but say nothing, heart in your throat, pussy pulsing in anticipation.
He straightens, taking in the display in front of him. Taking in you.
You sit up slightly, chewing your lower lip. He’s beautiful, but even more so in the moonlight. It illuminates his pale skin, almost making him glow in the darkness of the rest of his room. Obsidian hair falls in a straight sheet around his flushed cheeks, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Violet and red marks adorn his neck and chest. His abs flex when he watches the way your eyes trail down; down the inlet between them, down the stern jut of his prominent v-line, over the faint trail of dark hair that disappears into the band of his jeans.
His fingers—the ones just inside you—hover on the button. They’re covered in your slick, resting just above a bulge that looks absolutely delicious, one that you know he can’t wait to bury inside you—but still, he hesitates.
“I love you, Keisuke,” you say. He smiles. It’s the only further confirmation he needs before he’s pushing off the bed and pulling down his jeans and underwear in one go.
The others have lied about a lot—like Baji’s lack of virginity—but the size of Keisuke is not one of them.
Your jaw drops as you push to your knees, staring at Keisuke’s cock like it’s the first you’ve ever seen. It’s not, and technically speaking, it’s not even the first time you’ve seen his—but that time in the shower, when it was hanging heavily between his legs and you only caught a glimpse… apparently, that was him soft.
Keisuke hard is more impressive than any porn you’ve seen. So heavy that it can barely support its own weight, even with all the blood rushing through it, and so wide around even Keisuke, with his broad palms and lanky fingers, doesn’t dwarf it.
A thick bead of pre slips out the tip, trailing along the bulging vein that disappears under Keisuke’s hand as he starts to stroke it.
“This… is where the others tapped out,” he says slowly, taking in the way you watch. “I mean—not that I’m thinking about them—but I just—“
“You’re big.”
Keisuke chokes on a laugh. “So I’ve heard. Pretty virgin like you wouldn’t know any better though, would you?”
You give him a withering glare. “I’ve sucked dick before, asshole. You’re big.”
Keisuke’s jaw clenches. “Yeah? Go on, then. Show me how you’ve sucked dick.”
Later, you’ll tease him for how jealous he got, and later, you’ll revel in the possessive way he determines to erase every other touch from your memory—but now, you obediently crawl towards him, one of your smaller hands overlapping his, and you take control.
You press a soft kiss to his flushed tip. It’s larger than your lips, his pre a salty gloss as you kiss again and again—Keisuke grips your hair. “Suck.”
It’s as much a plea as it is a command, one you can’t ignore. You take him,—just the tip—in your mouth, tongue swirling over his warm head as your hand replaces his on the rest of his dick. Your fingers barely touch, and no matter how you adjust, how you lay your palm or spread your fingers… there’s still at least an inch of him exposed.
He hisses, nearly drowning out the lewd, wet sound your pussy makes as it clenches around nothing.
“This—turning you on?” he says, as if his cock isn’t twitching obscenely against your tongue. “Fuckin—sucking on a big cock making you wet?”
You let go with a wet pop! and bat your eyelashes at him. You know exactly what you’re doing when you say, “No, Kei. I’m this wet ‘cause of you.”
With a groan, Keisuke pulls your head back to his dick and thrusts in, sliding as far as you’ll let him before you start to gag. “That’s—that’s it, sweetheart, get it nice and wet.”
He holds you there for a moment, waiting until you tap on his thigh before sliding out. Your eyes are teary, saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth. Deftly, you twist your wrist while catching your breath. His fingers go from knotting in your hair to petting the back of your head.
“You keep doing that, I’m gonna bust,” he warns, but his fond smile gives him away.
You merely smile. “Telling me you’ve never had your cock sucked, Kei?”
His lip curls in a snarl, which disappears with a groan when you take him in your throat once more. Slowly, lips pursing around him, tongue flicking along the sensitive underside of his cockhead as you try going as far as you can. Your jaw is already starting to ache, but you’re determined to prove yourself.
“Not—like this,” he moans, pushing your head a little further down. Your lips split in a smile, and you raise your hand to start fondling his balls—a trick that’s always gotten you success before—but before you make contact, Keisuke is sliding out and grabbing your jaw. He’s breathing heavily, pupils blown out with lust. He stares at your lips then leans forward, not flinching at the taste of himself on you.
“Wanna fuck you now,” he mumbles. You wrap your arms around his neck and start to lean back, nodding.
“Want you to fuck me too,” you agree. One of Keisuke’s muscular thighs slides between your legs, easing them apart. He keeps kissing you, letting you fall softly against his pillows while he keeps stroking his member, slick with your spit.
He taps the tip of his cock against your clit. You hiss in surprise, eyes closing shut at the sudden sensation of pleasure that rushes through you. “Let me know if it hurts,” he says quietly. He grips his cock right beneath the head, guiding it through your slick folds, getting as much of your fluids on him as he can.
He’s torn between needing to see the way you suck him in, and the need to squeeze his eyes shut. The sight of you alone, legs spread on either side, pussy gushing because of him, covering in marks because of him, mewling his name as you beg him to fuck you—it’s almost enough for him to cum on the spot.
Faintly, honks echo from the street below. It’s amazing that in this instant, as your world is about to change forever and for the better, everyone else is going about their business like nothing’s happening. They’re catching a late-dinner with their partner; walking home from a late-night meeting that could’ve been an email; swinging by the grocer’s to pick up snacks and drinks to share with their friends… The whole world is continuing on, just beyond that window, but for you and Keisuke… it’s as if time’s stopped.
The world is only real for the two of you.
He bends down to kiss you, making sure to pour every ounce of love and care he has into this one. You respond just as sweetly, reveling in the power of this moment, this one decision that will irrevocably tie you together forever, the way you were always meant to be.
He loves you, you love him, and there’s nothing else that matters.
“Ready?” he asks. You nod, then echo, “ready,” and he puts it in; just the tip, spearing past your tight hole. The two of you let out a synchronous gasp.
It’s even more than three of his fingers; warm, too, and thick, softer but also harder and full—you’re so, so, so full as he slowly edges in. It hurts—it feels good—it burns—you need more—
“Baby,” Keisuke pants. He’s let go of his cock, letting just the first inch or so rest comfortably within your walls. You feel him twitch, feel how tight his fingers dig into the sheets on either side of you so he doesn’t add more bruises to your ever-growing collection. “Baby, talk to me. Tell me—are you—are you okay?”
You whimper slightly when he sinks a little further. Eyes scrunching, your fingers digging into his thighs as you try to even your breath. “It—it’s so—“ you try saying, but it’s like you can feel him in your stomach, the pressure tightening all the way up your throat and cutting you off.
“So—good,” Keisuke gasps. He does the best he can, really, but you—you’re so—warm, and wet, and inviting—the place you’re joined might be the best thing he’s ever felt–ever seen. He slides a little further, presses a kiss to wherever he can reach as he waits until your chest stops heaving as horribly. He tries telling you he loves you, he really tries telling you how amazing you are, how perfect you are, how good you feel—but all that comes out are choked, half-sentences that fade into groans.
Tears prick at your lash line by the time he’s securely sheathed in you. Your fingers dig into his back, trying to pull him flush to your chest and bury his head in your neck so he can’t see. You know how he’ll feel; he’ll pull out and say he’s sorry, that he never meant to hurt you and it’s not worth it and he won’t try again–and that’s not what you want. You just need some time to adjust, that’s all.
You never realized how empty you were.
Keisuke lifts up from the crook of your neck when the first tear slides against his cheek. “M’sorry,” he breathes, kissing one eye, then the other, licking the tear tracks and kissing you again. “M’sorry, I don’t wanna hurt—“ His arms shake on either side of you. The urge to start shifting his hips is sinful, but he doesn’t. He can’t, not until you're okay, not until you tell him it’s okay.
“It’s—okay,” you breathe. Your face says otherwise, but really… it’s okay. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck, offering him a little smile as you shift your hips ever-so-slightly against his. “I’m—I’m okay, baby, really. Just—just go slow.”
Keisuke kisses you. Slowly, deeply, spreading your lips with his as he gently pulls out and slides back in, heeding your directive to go slow. It hurts, it still hurts, is it supposed to hurt like this—but right when you’re about to give up, right when you’re about to tell him it's too much and maybe you should stop… it starts to feel good.
Not just full, but satisfying, bumping against the back of your messy cunt with every stroke. The ridge of his cockhead catches your insides in a way that makes your toes curl, and before long, your legs are wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.
“Gods—fuck, Kei, fuck—“ you hiss, burying your head in his shoulder, biting his collarbone to keep yourself from screaming. “Just—there, like that, don’t—fuck—“
“Thought you said you were a virgin,” he hisses. Your broken pleas of, I am, I am, I am—go unrecognized as he slowly picks up speed. “Virgin pussy—heh—always feel this—fuckin’ good?”
You moan, loud and unreserved, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. Your stomach burns. Your pussy clenches, but for the first time, there’s finally something to hold on to, finally something to fill you up—you’ve never been so full, never felt so good. The coil tightens in your stomach, made all the more tense by the fact there’s something inside— “Gonna— gonna cum, Kei, don’t—don’t stop, please—“
“Yeah, sweetheart? You gonna—gonna cum for me? Go on, cum f’me. Cum on my cock, baby, show me what we’ve been—been waitin’ for—“
You cry when your orgasm finally washes over you.
You’ve never climaxed this powerfully before, to the point that you’ve felt like—this. The world is empty besides the two of you. Bells ring in your ear as you struggle to keep your eyes open, your whole body floating. You feel everything and nothing; like you’re weightless but have never been so heavy in your life.
You gasp for air, fingers digging into Keisuke’s shoulders as his hips stutter a few more times then still. His moans into your ear as his own orgasms consumes him, painting your insides white, shooting so much it drips out of your spent pussy and starts to puddle between you.
He stays there for a moment. Lets his lips trace lazy patterns beneath your ear, still half-hard inside you, one hand gripping the back of your neck and the other holding your breast. Even though you’re spent, your hands delicately trail up and down his spine. Your breathing is heavy and your smile bright and you think you could stay right here forever.
The plastic stars one his ceiling smile down at you, and you imagine the ones outside are doing the same. ‘About time!’ they seem to say. After all these years, about time. There’s a shrill whistle of bus brakes, screeching to a halt; a muffled shout from one pedestrian to another. The fan creaks slightly, the cool air washing over you and helping calm the raging fire on your skin. The clock on Keisuke’s lopsided nightstand, made even with a stack of textbooks he never got to put to use, beeps at midnight: the end of one day, the start of forever.
Kei takes a deep breath and slides off, hissing as his sensitive cock is exposed to the cool air of his bedroom. He lays on his back, taking a hand and placing it over his eyes as he tries to calm his racing heart.
Your legs are sticky. They’re already getting sore. Your hips ache, your spine stretches, your chest burns—but you relish it. Kei’s breathing evens beside you.
Glancing, you check if he’s asleep—but with the way his forearm covers his eyes, you can’t tell. He looks even more like an angel now. Light, from a city just waking up, creeps past the curtains, illuminating slivers of his pale and flushed skin. He looks–relaxed. Content, even with the blush still coloring his high cheeks bones. His lips are parted, shallow gasps of air being sucked through them, but the longer you look, the more it looks like they’re curling in a smile.
His chest rises and falls steadily, and just when you start to think he might actually be asleep, the hand beneath your neck starts playing with your hair.
“Think it’s—always this good?” he asks breathlessly, pulling you in a little closer.
You pretend to think. He tilts his head, cracking an eye to look down at you curiously. You smile. “I don’t know. Think we better try again—y’know, just to be sure.”
Kei barks out a laugh and pulls you to his chest, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And right now, with the gentle light filtering through his open window, sweaty and smiling and with his cum dripping from between your legs to make a mess of his thigh, you are.
You play with the edges of his hair, sprawled lazily across his sweaty forehead. With a soft smile, he reaches for your fingers and pulls them to his lips. “Do you actually like it? My haircut, I mean. Pretty sure you liked the other stuff.”
You answer with a laugh, pressing a kiss to where the edges fall. “I love it.”
He grins and rolls over, pinning you to the mattress. The short locks make a curtain, hiding the two of you from anything but each other. “Good. Did it f’you.”
“For me?”
He hums and buries his face in your neck, delicately kissing the bruising skin. “Noticed your type. None of them had long hair, ’n I thought…”
With a pealing laugh, you grab his cheeks and bring his face to yours, smothering him with kisses. “Keisuke, you are such an idiot.”
He pretends to frown, but kisses you all the same. “Weren’t calling me that when I was making you scream earlier.”
“Kei,” you say, forcing him back so you can really meet his eyes, “short hair, long hair. No hair. The only kind of guy I’ve ever truly wanted has been you.”
Keisuke blinks. Short, thick lashes bat against those endlessly high cheekbones of his, and then he smiles. He lowers his lips to yours once more and gifts you a kiss; deep, slow. A kiss that’s been years in the making, that says all that your words have and then some.
“I love you,” he says, and you barely have time to say the same before he’s kissing you, hardening cock easily gliding back through your sticky folds, and you go for round two.
So... happy adventuring :) thank you for reading! if you made it this far… pls reblog, drop a comment, or leave an ask if you enjoyed!! I worked really, really hard on this, and it would mean the absolute world to me that, if y’all enjoyed it, you told me why. if you hated it, tell me why. if i made you cry or scream or fall in love or fierce fiercely full of disappointed rage, tell me why!! i won’t bite (unless you ask)!
hopefully the next adventure gets even better. thanks for reading!
#baji#keisuke baji x reader#baji x reader#baji smut#keisuke baji smut#baji x reader smut#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo revengers x reader#keisuke baji x reader smut#tokyo rev smut
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Yeah I totally agree as to how writers are leaving. I agree. Why are they leaving you think?
me figuring out how much trouble i wanna get in tonight
lmaoooooooooo
okay, listen. i have thoughts. i have observations. and i’m going to share some of them with you.
in my experience, most writers have been leaving for one of these three reasons:
1. engagement (rather, the lack thereof)
yeah, yeah i know, writers post about this a lot but here’s why: it’s true. readers on this site, for whatever reason, don’t interact with fics as much as they used to. even some fics that get a lot of likes may only have one or two comments, maybe a couple of reblogs with no feedback.
for what it’s worth, i’ve always felt that for the size of my blog (and how flipping long it takes me to post something) i get wonderful reader feedback and engagement. but i see so many writers struggling out in these tumblr streets, posting really great work that gets very little feedback and it’s discouraging for them. i get it.
i will also be transparent and say that as a writer who biases a “less popular member” it kills me when amazing stories about him (and other “less popular members”) just fall flat.
one of the best hobi stories i ever read had 20 notes when i found it by accident. twenty. it had been posted for some time. in my mind, that was a crime—that story was an absolute masterpiece and it had 20 notes (!). i sent it to every person i knew short of my mama because i was offended that people hadn’t recognized its brilliance. sadly, that writer left tumblr and took her masterpiece with her which brings me to my next point:
2. drama and writer-on-writer crime
phew y’all, there’s just so much of it. i don’t know what it is about tumblr that makes some people lose their absolute minds but they sure damned do. i’ve been here for a minute and i have seen it all.
writers mounting anonymous hate campaigns against one another (this happens a lot). writers mounting anonymous hate campaigns against people they pretended were friends (this one happens a lot a lot). writers sending themselves a boatload of hate anons to get sympathy and attention on the dash (this one happens a lot a lot a lot).
popular writers going out of their way to befriend up-and-coming writers only to then turn around and start nasty whisper campaigns about them when the up-and-coming writer’s blogs and stories eclipse their own in popularity.
insecurity is a hell of a drug.
there are some writers who get on here and they’re cool and they stay cool and they enjoy success and guess what? they’re cool about it.
and then there are the writers who get a few thousand followers and a bunch of notes and delude themselves into thinking they’re real-life celebrities. to those writers i would say: pick the fanciest restaurant in your city, call to make a reservation on a friday night and if they don’t have a slot make sure you let them know you’re really big on tumblr. let me know how that works out for you, okay?
it sounds stupid and it is stupid but this happens on this site all the time. what makes me sad is that it drives people away. they take their personalities and stories and contributions to this insane little space we have here with them, which sucks. the author of that amazing hobi fic? deactivated her account over tumblr drama.
so if you have a blog here and you are so wrapped up in jealousy and insecurity that you feel the need to harass someone off the site (including “friends”), log off and seek help.
3. life (adulting, sigh)
this is the boring one, but it still tracks. this community blew up when covid hit and we all had a lot more time to muse about what kim namjoon would look like in his underwear. but so many people had to get back to the grind after a while, and that meant less time for tumblr and for writing in general (wait is this entire one about me oops)
when i started tumblr i wasn’t working full time. then covid hit. so i had a long stretch where i could dedicate a lot of time to writing and posting. and YES i was still slow, so go ahead and throw that tomato lmao but STILL. it really does impact the number of stories going up and some people who joined during the pandemic just don’t have the time to go back to this like they had before.
so yeah, that’s what i’ve personally seen and experienced on this site. the good news is that for every nasty, insecure writer on this site there are dozens of great people telling great stories. i’m going to stick around for them and i hope you do, too 💕
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(mockingbird au!) be okay - platonic!hughes
request: jack and reader get in an argument and he's really mad and chooses to leave to cool off so he doesn't say anything else that he'll regret, she calls quinn to talk her through her panic before jack comes back apologizing
requested by: anon : )
notes: i have mixed feelings on this, but it's not bad. continue sending in requests for the au! check out the request rules below! thanks for requesting <3
likes are good, reblogs are better <3
mockingbird! au request rules!
tags: @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme , @svechnikovvv , @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots , @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila , @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy , @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily , @panarin10 , @equallyshaw , @power2myheart , @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya , @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 , @emsully2002 , @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 , @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj
join my taglist!
gif not mine!
“then why is melanie telling me you guys were making out?” you repeated.
“i’ve been telling you this for the past ten minutes, but i never kissed her!” jack began to raise his voice. “i haven’t even seen her since that new years party you threw. and i was with you the entire time for that.”
you refused to back down, “you’re saying melanie — one of my closest friends — is lying to me about something like this?”
“yes!” jack agreed. “that’s exactly what i’m — you know what? i can’t. you don’t even believe me, and i can’t do this right now if you’re just gonna keep accusing me of something i’d never even think of doing.”
you watched as jack grabbed his phone and keys, storming out of your shared apartment. part of you wanted to go after him and apologize, while the other part was telling you to stand your ground.
there was no reason melanie would lie to you, right?
after all, she was one of your first friends when you began college. the two of you hung out a lot, and she’d always thought jack was amazing.
at the same time, there was no reason for jack to lie to you either.
dropping your face in your hands, you sat on the couch.
jack was probably the best thing that ever happened to you. after a run in with the eighteen year old jack, the two of you had ended up getting along really well — eventually dating. you never had a boyfriend before, and you hated when the two of you fought.
for some reason, this fight felt like the end of something.
“oh god,” you muttered to yourself, the tears beginning to flow.
you reached for your phone as it rang, picking it up immediately.
“jack?” you asked.
“oh shit,” em, another friend of yours, said. “you didn’t tell him about what melanie said to you, did you?”
“you know?” you sniffled.
“melanie just told me,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “she was lying, y/n. she was just bragging about it to me, and i left because i needed to make sure you didn’t tell him. please tell me you didn’t tell him.”
you froze,”why — why would she do that?”
“she likes jack,” em explained. “that’s what she told me. she said a lot of bad things about you, and that if you accused him of cheating, the two of you would break up, and in his heartbreak, she’d get him. she’s messed up, y/n. i don’t think you should be talking to her after this.”
“no, i — i need to go,” you shook your head, ending the call immediately.
you dialled another number, nearly crying in relief when quinn picked up at the second ring.
“quinn, i did something stupid,” you whispered, crying.
“talk to me. what’s wrong?” he asked.
you began to tell him everything. about how melanie called you that evening while jack was at a game, claiming he kissed her a few days ago. she said she was ‘looking out for you’, and that she felt you deserved to know what he did. the devils lost that night, so jack was already a little upset, and your accusation only made it worse. you confronted him about it, he denied the entire thing, and the two of you had a huge fight — your worst one left.
“and he — quinn, he left,” you sniffed. “i don’t know where he went, he just left. and i - i don’t know what to do, because i don’t want to lose him, because this is all my fault, and-”
“this isn’t your fault,” quinn insisted. “you can blame it on melanie, but you can’t blame it on yourself. jack was already upset over the loss, and he took out some of his anger on you. you know he doesn’t like getting mad, especially not at you. he’s probably taking a walk, or at nico’s house to calm down. just breathe, y/n. you guys are going to be okay.”
“you don’t know that,” you whispered.
“i do,” quinn stated simply. “i know that jack is absolutely crazy for you, and that there’s no way he’ll ever leave you over a misunderstanding like this. i know you’re so in love with jack that there’s no way you’ll leave him either. just calm down, and give it a little while. he’ll come home. and if he doesn’t, i’ll talk to him.”
your breathing came a little easier as the conversation with quinn flowed. quinn had that effect on people. he could instantly make them calm down and feel safe. after learning of your shitty childhood, quinn tried his best to always make you feel safe. he just hated that jack was the reason he had to do it right now.
you perked up at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
“wait, wait, i think he’s home,” you said to quinn.
“you want me to hang up?”
“i’m scared,” you admitted.
“just breathe. you guys are gonna be okay,” he reminded you. “i’ll stay on the line as long as you want.”
you placed your phone to the side, the assurance that quinn was on the other end of the line giving you some sense of ease.
“i’m so sorry,” you and jack blurted out at the same time.
“no, no, i started the argument,” you stepped forward, pausing unsurely in front of jack. he reached for your hand as if it were second-nature to him. “i — i trusted melanie too blindly, and i didn’t take in the fact that you’d never do something like that, that that’s not who you are. i know you didn’t kiss her, and i’m so, so sorry for accusing you of that. i — i don’t know why i didn’t stop to think that melanie might be lying, or to even ask you. i — please tell me we’re okay.”
“hey, we’re always okay,” jack pulled you into his arms, tears in his eyes as well. “i’m sorry for walking out on you like that, i should’ve taken a walk on the balcony or something. i just — i needed to clear my head, i don’t like fighting with you. but we’re okay, i promise. we’re okay.”
quinn smiled to himself on the other end of the line, hanging up the call.
he knew they’d be okay.
#mockingbird au!#naqia's au's!#naqia writes!#jack hughes#jack hughes imagines#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes fanfiction#jack hughes blurbs#quinn hughes#platonic!hughes#platonic!quinn#platonic! quinn hughes#quinn hughes imagines#quinn hughes imagine#hughes brothers#platonic#new jersey devils imagine
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If You're Smart You'd Read This:
I’m in my 20’s.
I write adult shit so children shouldn’t be interacting with me or my posts.
Blank pages /Ageless pages /Minors get blocked. Like 90% of the shit i post is not suitable for yall lmao.
Don’t ask me for tips/advice on anything such as art, your writing, anything. Google it. Thats what I did.
I speak my opinion. And if you don’t agree idc.
It’s very easy to be blocked by me. So don’t try out the theory of it.
YOU CANNOT BE ANONYMOUS WHEN REQUESTING ONLY NSFW If you want a nsfw request you have to unanon yourself so i can see ur age in ur bio.
Do not ask me super personal questions.
Do not ask me why I will or wont do something.
Do not be annoying and send long mf hcs in my ask. It’ll get deleted.
Do not try and keep having a whole convo w me in my ask (unless ur my mutual) esp. if u anon.
Speaking of Mutuals. I have mutual bias. So theres some things I let them do/say to me that my followers cant.
I will not write: Piss play, rape, incest, furry stuff, Alpha/Omega verse, pet play🧍🏾♀️ and will ABSOLUTELY NOT write anything blasphemous about God or other religions
Please only use my ask box for request or genuine questions
I don’t do emergency request
I do not write catgirl or catboy stuff or anything w furries ig (all humans only)
I will write for other fandoms besides One Piece! An example (but not limited to): Jujustu Kaisen, Naruto, Fire Force, Gangsta, etc
Speaking of One Piece my page does contain MAJOR spoilers (ill try to put warnings if i can)
I mostly write for POC/Black Fem Readers but it’s not limited most of the time. Any girl can read.
If you request something please give me time :( I can only write so much in a day.
I hate like 99% of ships people have made in all fandoms so please don’t tell me yours, and if you ask me opinions on them I will be brutally honest with it.
I do not tolerate any form of racism, bullying, or homophobia here. It’s annoying go away.
I also don’t gaf if you don’t agree with my HC…I just…bro go write em yourself I’m not writing these for you.
Please don’t trauma dump on me…just don’t I’m not a therapist.
If you want something specific BE SPECIFIC
I don’t really care for dark content(?) I’m not really sure what it is exactly it is (because I’m stupid) so if your request dark content lmk and if I feel uncomfortable with it ill decline lol
I will NOT Write NSFW for characters like Chopper, Brook, etc
I will NOT Write for demons like Sukuna or characters from Obey Me
If your share repost/blog my writing please give credit!
I really only write female x male NSFW. (I will however write fxf or mxm platonically) That’s just personal preference and what I feel best writing :) please respect that decision.
I don’t do character x character writing unless it’s canon (…or if it’s eren and Mikasa i—)
I do NOT age up characters for nsfw writing. If they’re not canonically already an adult or have a pre timeskip I’m not doing that. I’ll do SFW ones though!
I do have to right to not write for a character I just simply don’t like so don’t get mad if I don’t.
Remember: this is mf FAN FICTION writing. Just a bunch of ideas I have in my weird head so if u don’t like or agree with it dip.
I’ll keep this rule list updated (ill reblog when i update the list) when I can if new stuff comes up. I’m relatively new on here so bare with me :(
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Can we get some some more Trueblood heir Alec for writing wendsday?
How is everbody doing? I hope that this week will be less stressful for you than the last!
Hey anon, i went with star eater which is the alec trueblood sentient shadow au. i hope you enjoy it and that this verse worked for you!
Thank you so much for asking! the week was less stressful but more busy but i'm slowly catching up on all the things i'm behind on! (writing and laundry and i need to thaw some chicken)
-
Saeth: doing alright. Really sore and tired. Our wrist is killing us because host got into on tumblr (rping as if Pokémon is real) and killed our hands lmao (I’m plural and not the host of our system)
*they've also been playing the new zelda game and finally passed out after refusing to sleep so they could keep playing - lumine
-
Alec stares at his little sister and his something-of-a-younger-brother Jace and wonders exactly where everything went wrong. It’s one of the rare times that Alec gets to see them both and while he’s still getting used to Jace, he likes the other boy well enough. Or at least, he does when he’s not encouraging Izzy to break the rules and be stupid.
“We’re not doing that.” Alec says, interrupting Jace’s latest attempt to form a plan. A plan that Alec already knows wouldn’t work. “Mother left us here with the understanding that we are mature enough to not cause problems or get ourselves into trouble. Are we not mature enough?” Alec gives them both the deadpan stare he’s seen Ragnor give to idiots and is gratified when they shuffle nervously.
“But hermano—” Izzy whines and Alec’s noticed that she only ever calls him that when she wants something, “LA is so boring compared to New York. We just want to see if the demons are different!”
“It’s daytime. The only demons you could hunt are in the sewers. I didn’t know you were so interested in sewer monitoring.” Alec pretends to brighten up and he starts to tap into his tablet when Izzy shrieks and tries to grab it from him.
Alec’s genuinely surprised.
Not many people dare to touch him and certainly not in anger, so it’s with baffled confusion that he watches his shadows pluck Izzy up and deposit her back in her chair.
“That was rude.” Alec comments, because he’s not sure what else to say. “I didn’t realize you were still a toddler, Izzy.” Because he honestly doesn’t remember having to deal with this level of entitlement since Izzy was two and refusing to understand what ‘no’ meant.
“I’m bored and you’re such a dull blade, Alec!” Izzy complains and she huffs and crosses her arms, “Jace and I agreed we were going to have fun!”
“Well, I didn’t agree to that, and this is going to be my Institute.” Alec reminds her, because it is and he’s not about to risk getting what he wants because his baby sister wants to act like a baby. “The portal to Idris is still open, you can always leave.”
Alec nods decisively and says nothing, even when Izzy’s face scrunches up and she sniffles or Jace sends him a dark, admonishing look. Izzy and Jace get to do whatever they want in LA, but this isn’t LA and Alec isn’t that nice. Ragnor’s taught him all about consequences and Alec’s not going to be paying the price for other people’s stupidity.
Also, Alec already knows that Izzy and Jace aren’t interested in hunting demons during the day. The two of them want to see the mundane side of things in New York and if Alec knew anything about the mundane side, he might be willing to show them around. However, he doesn’t, and he doesn’t trust them on their own. Therefore, they won’t be leaving without supervision and his company.
“We never get away from LA and you’re being such a jerk.” Izzy complains and she looks about ready to throw her plate on the floor, something else Alec thought she’d already grown out of. “You never even visit me, so why is it a big deal if we want to explore here with you?”
“You know why I don’t visit you.” Alec tells her, honestly confused, “I didn’t think you also hated Robert.”
Izzy pales and Jace looks between the two of them with confusion hidden under his arrogance.
“There’s no guarantee Robert will survive a second encounter with my shadows.” Alec explains and he shrugs, unsure why Jace looks so distraught and upset. “Mother says he’s lucky he was left alive. If I visit LA, I’m going to have to see him and if I see him, there’s no telling what happened. So, I guess I’m asking, what changed? Because I thought you still loved him?”
Izzy gives a little, small snarl and falls into the back of her chair with a glower. “Fine, that’s not what I meant. Don’t be stupid Alec, I just meant you could loosen up. Learn to live a little and let us live a little, you don’t have to be this unfeeling soldier all the time.”
“Not letting you break the rules isn’t being unfeeling or a soldier.” Alec rolls his eyes, “it’s understanding that the consequences for the rules you want to break aren’t worth it. Especially when the only reason you want to break the rules, is because you’re bored and curious.” Alec waits a minute and then he looks at them both, “and spoiled.”
#shadowhunters#magnus bane#malec#alec lightwood#writing wednesday#saeth talks too#writing wednesdays#lumine writes#star eater au#my fic#my fanfics#my ficlets#shadowhunters au
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Another stick of truth request because
Grand Wizard Cartman x Princess Reader Romantic Headcanons
But like. A girl boss princess??? She kicks ass. She'd kick my ass, she'd kick your ass,,
And cartman is just completely enhanced
- men kisser anon
Literally perfect I love it
Jen says Cartman would be mean and wouldn't let you be a princess but I don't care because it's cute
Grand Wizard Cartman x (badass) Princess reader
• Honestly, Eric was really reluctant to have you as a princess at first because Kupa Keep already had princess Kenny but after Kenny literally begged Cartman to let you be a princess he finally agreed
• (Like in the other hcs) So you're Princess Kenny's sister, tbh you wanted to be a thief but Kenny wouldn't let you. Princess Kenny desperately wanted for someone else to be royal too to take some of the heat off her
• So you ended up being a warrior princess, much like your sister princess Kenny
• And because you're a princess, Cartman almost immediately said he would be the one protecting you rather than a knight (because he has a big ass crush on you which is a huge part of the reason why he kept bothering you to join them in roleplaying), honestly you didn't need it tho considering you had a battle axe
• If anything it slowly started becoming you protecting Cartman but he refuses to admit it
• Tbh he really just wants a reason to be around you/follow you around without seeming like he has a crush on you
• Anyways- no one even knows where the hell you got a battle axe but no one is questioning it, especially because you know how to use it REALLY well
• The first time you guys got ambushed you beat the elves asses before Cartman even got the chance to try doing a spell (cough hitting them with his staff a bunch of times cough)
• He probably takes any and all credit for any elven forces that were defeated but you don't mind, it gives you the element of surprise
• Honestly tho, Eric's probably a little scared of you. And ya know what? He should be
• You're probably some sort of cracked healer tho, and he makes you heal him all the time
• He refuses to let anyone else heal him and you can't for the life of you figure out why
• Hear me out, he made this a thing but your kisses heal him. He just really wanted to find excuses for him to get you to kiss his cheek
• Even when he's almost full health, he won't stop bothering you and taps his cheek until you kiss it. He's purposefully tripped or got punched so you can kiss him and he plays it off by saying your kisses are gross but he loves them and you know it
• Whenever y'all start dating, Cartman refuses to let it be known in game. He probably says it's so you don't get kidnapped but everyone knows you guys are dating
• He keeps trying to be sneaky and kiss you when he thinks no one's looking, but there's always someone
• You're the older one out of you and princess Kenny (by a couple of months) so that means you're technically next in line for queen or something, so ofc someone has to be watching you
• What's funny is that instead of you getting kidnapped, it was actually Eric who got kidnapped!
• He hated it and was cursing and yelling the whole time
• And he sulked the entire time you fought Kyle for him
• He was the one supposed to be saving you! Not the other way around... stupid Kyle and his stupid logic
• Of course you had Kyle beat tho, no one really expects you to be as strong as you are considering Eric for the most part uses you as his personal healer
• One time you and him were making out and Kenny came to check on you, poor Kenny. The princess was traumatized and had Eric yell at her to get out while you were laughing at her
• Another time, Kyle had sent Stan to go kidnap you so he could trade you for the stick of truth but that backfired
• It was a complete disaster
• Not only did Stan fail to get you, you beat him up AND Cartman teabagged Stan because he thought it was funny
• He then sent Butters to the elf kingdom to send a message more or less saying "suck my big fat hairy balls -the grand wizard AND the future queen of kupa keep <3"
• Tbh he probably wasn't the happiest that you signed it as the future queen of Kupa Keep but he couldn't argue with it since you technically were
• We know he's consistently lost the stick of truth and almost every time you would have to beat up on the elves while he tries stealing it back
• It never works out and you always have to heal him
I don’t think there’s any spelling mistakes but most of the time I was proof reading this and writing it I was half asleep
#south park x reader#cartman x reader#eric cartman x reader#south park x reader headcanons#h harleybaby needs help#eric cartman x y/n#Harley’s anons <33#stick of truth x reader#Harley’s favs#harley’s requests!
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are u okay vic? sending love xx
(hateful ppl only have hate in their sad lives and try to bring everyone else down to their depressing level, don’t listen them!!)
frankly, anon? no, i am not.
and if you think about it, it's incredibly stupid to be all torn up because of a fucking sport I watch for general enjoyment but what else is new? i got into f1 when life hit the absolute possible low for me and it helped me immensely through it all, still does, and i found so many friends and wonderful people and i started writing again. it's pure fucking escapism coming back to bite me in the ass.
it hasn't been great to be an f1 fan lately because of events I don't need to be recapping - it's all out there in its disgusting glory, all over social media every single day. we're just being reminded of how rotten the core of this sport is and how high of a role money and power play. it's not new but disappointing nevertheless, considering there isn't much we can do to try and fix that.
but the hate among us, the fans? it's getting out of hand.
i will never go out on my way to police anyone's behaviour (it is never justified) but clearly there is a line between haha jokes and pure fucking malice. there is having genuine, critical conversations you can have (recently had one with my close friend and it was so refreshing to talk instead of secretly talk shit) and using this sport as a yardstick to measure someone's morals. it's been happening more and more, considering recent comments made by drivers in regards to the ongoing case that deals with harassment. that opened a can of worms that made ALL of us unhappy and even more disappointed, in one way of another. there is expressing genuine opinion and then there is being a hater because it's a trend.
are all Charles fans insane? are all Daniel fans delusional misogynists? are all Lando fans insufferable pricks? are all Max fans outright racists? are all Lewis fans stuck up? I could go on and same sentiment goes for each team on the grid. can we rightfully define someone by who they are a fan of? are we all required to make a statement each time a driver says/does something mindnumbingly stupid in order to, god forbid, not get cancelled along with that driver? can we genuinely bring a driver up without shitting on the other or is it not mutually exclusive?
there has been a barrage of hate towards several drivers and i get it, i do, it's sports, we're always gonna get like this. it's the whole spirit of it. i am not saying we can't root for someone and talk shit about the other. but again, i am seeing the waves of hate getting bigger and bolder, assumptions being made on the spot. people openly calling each other stupid over being fans or having a different opinion. in some ways any sense of compassion and critical thinking is dead in a ditch.
it wasn't like this before, if i am honest, but i am also a rather new fan. i am seeing all sorts of stuff on my dash both from people i don't know and from people i do know. it's a knee jerk reaction, to go and judge someone by posts and stuff, i know it but i made myself not do that. but i am just afraid of this ongoing trend of hate. i really am.
it just seems like there is no margin for error. your fave can either be squeaky clean, completely unproblematic, or they should be shot on sight. it doesn't matter if any of us acknowledge it or not. for some reason, it's a "you are what you eat" situation. and i find it rather unfair. you can separate person and a driver. two things can be true at once etc etc. none of it warrants wishing actual harm on other people.
so yeah, sorry for a rant. i'll stop now and, for what it's worth, i have been trying to unlearn the ways of "people pleasing", so here are just my thoughts that i don't think many will agree with but i don't want to bend under whatever popular opinions circulate here (especially by "big blogs"). i'd rather have people talk to me personally and i am always open to having a conversation, making friends and discussing opinions. those at the head of f1 management don't seem to do better but us tearing each other apart can also mean that we aren't doing any better, too. at least i personally think so. don't take my word as a generalized opinion.
thank you for the message, anon, i appreciate it. sorry again to be Like That. big hug!
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why don't you post all your asks, you coward. you dish out enough hate and negativity that other people sending it won't even make much more of a dent.
I'm not going to give a platform to every single psycho who comes here, insults me, twists my words out of context, and adds nothing to my blog other than their own ignorant opinion. It's my blog I reserve all the rights to post what I want and what I don't want.
I'm not a coward because I don't want to post anon hate. I'm not feeding the trolls by not posting anon hate. You do not have a right to have your shitty ask answered on my blog. If you need it posted publicly so badly, do it yourself, away from me.
How self-entitled of you to be mad at me for choosing the content I do and do not put on my own blog? Huh? Do you realize how selfish and bratty that is?
"Boo hoo I sent some stranger anonymous hate saying stupid mean shit and she won't post it like I want her to so she's a coward!" -You, that's how you sound
No, the real coward is the person who hides behind the anonymous inbox option, says shit because they are so empowered by the internet that they think they can get away with anything, and walk away feeling as if they accomplished something.
You'd never have the balls to say any of this to my face and I know that because you can't even come off anonymous to type it to me. That's being a coward. Me not wanting to reply to your shitty asks isn't. Understand, darling?
Also "dishing out" facts you don't like and theories you don't agree with isn't the same as being the hateful cunt you've been to me all day in my inbox. Especially when my blog isn't mandatory reading and you can just leave if you don't like reality or what I have to say.
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(NSFW) SHORT - Arashi Onodera (01)
Originally Written: 04-14-21
Prompt: ok omega arashi brainrot anon here again w that in mind can i request arashi in heat w an s/o who is just being so lovely and soft with him that he breaks 😈 maybe including multiple orgasms ? and dacryphilia ?
Heats are terrifying. That part has never changed. Arashi hates when his body gets out of his control, when desire consumes his mind and becomes all he can think about.
When he wants you so badly he can hardly take it.
But this time, you're going to be... taking care of him. Fuck if he knows why. Arashi is, of course, horribly anxious about how badly this could go. You could shove your cock into him like anyone else would, fuck him raw, and leave him to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity and trust off of the floor when you're done.
You're not like that, he tries to tell himself. You're kind. You've never hurt him before.
So when he strips for you, Arashi tries very hard not to feel as helpless as he does. His little cock is already hard and dripping. His cunt has been slick for the past day and a half, and the sight of the sticky trail of fluid that connects to his underwear makes him gag.
Instead of pinning him to the bed, you settle him in your lap, humming softly into his hair. Arashi shakes. He squeezes his eyes shut. The feeling of being held is making him more and more nervous, and he can't stop rubbing his thighs together in search of something. His Heat is making him stupid and desperate already.
When your fingers find his inner thighs, Arashi gasps and bites his lip. He doesn't want to make pathetic sounds just from your touch, and yet—
Two fingers slip inside of him right in time with you pressing a tender kiss to his cheek.
"I love you," you say as Arashi keens.
His hips buck against his will. His cunt squeezes down on you in a way that's entirely unfamiliar. It never felt this good when he was on his own. The way his cock twitches is a clear give-away for how much he likes it.
You finger him slowly, gently. The careful stretching sends liquid heat up Arashi's nerves, and by the time you find a spot that makes him shriek, he's already on the edge. A couple of curls against that place is all it takes. Legs shaking, hands balled into tight fists, Arashi comes while biting down on his lip until he tastes copper on his tongue.
And you keep going. By now, he's panting, fighting desperately to not let any embarrassing sounds out. You slide a third finger inside of him, spread them slightly, and—
Arashi moans. He can't hold it in. His head tips back to meet your shoulder as his little body writhes in your arms. Like this, he's acutely aware of how small he is next to you. Part of him wants you to hurry up and stick it in so you can knot him, but the part that's still composed of conscious thought recoils at the very idea. He doesn't want that. You can use your fingers for now, but being fucked would be too much.
Pressing constant little kisses to his hair, you finger Arashi until he can't take any more. You haven't even touched his cock yet, and he's already close to coming a second time.
His orgasm takes him by surprise. It's unclear what pushes him over the edge, but Arashi comes around your fingers with a cry. His body clenches down on you desperately, trying to milk a knot that isn't there. Even three fingers feel painfully empty.
After that, he can't stop squirming. The drag of your skin is too rough and not enough. He's so sensitive that the friction of fingerprints hurts.
You notice quickly.
"Is it okay if I eat you out?" you ask as Arashi comes close to choking from shock.
No way. You wouldn't actually...? He nods anyway, too desperate for relief to think about what he's agreeing to. All that's registering right now is that he needs more. And that he whines from loss when you pull your fingers out and slide him out of your lap.
The next thing Arashi knows, you're between his legs. His legs are spread and hitched over your shoulders, and the embarrassment of the position is quickly setting in. His face is burning. From where you're at, you can see every detail of his soaked, squeezing cunt and his red little cock, slippery with its own come. He's on full display for you, and that's—
When you lick a slow, wet stripe up his cunt, Arashi moans way too loudly. You have to hold his thighs open. As you keep licking him, you're forced to manhandle his body to keep him from writhing away. It feels so good that it can't be real. You're still gentle, painfully gentle, but every drag of your tongue against where he's way too sensitive leaves Arashi jerking and bucking like you're shocking him.
"Please," he whines, then comes again.
This time, it drives him to tears. You're rubbing his outer thigh gently, lovingly. You kiss the base of his cock, just above his tender, full-feeling balls, and it's too much. Arashi sobs brokenly and tries to hide behind one arm.
He can't stop shaking. He's even more sensitive than before, but his hips won't stop grinding against your face in search of more. He can't get his eyes to stay open.
Arashi whimpers and cries. Tears keep flowing down his cheeks no matter how hard he tries to stop them. He feels small and helpless and utterly pathetic, but the feeling of your tongue working into his dripping hole overrides any shame that might have gotten him to make it stop. It's too good, way too good, and exactly what his body needs.
Thinking of what it'll be like when you do fuck him tips Arashi over the edge again. He hates himself for succumbing to a thought like that, but— You're gentle. Your knot would stretch him open so good, you'd rub his back and stroke his hair, and he'd be warm inside and out.
Your loving touch leaves him shaking and lost.
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Hi! I I love your blog and I’ve scoured it like crazy for Rengoku family content! but there’s one other thing I love about it and it’s how much you hate Kagaya, I’m not sure if this is something you may have talked about before but I recently reread the Rengoku one shot, it’s Kyo’s first mission but he has been sent to fight a demon that had already killed NINE SLAYERS - what is Kagaya doing?
And I have a terrible suspicion why, Giyuu is one year older than Kyojuro, we know everyone survived Giyuu’s final selection except Sabito, I can’t help but feel there may have been an excess of not very strong (even for lower rank standards) kids in the corp at the time and Kagaya just wanted rid of them, and he was testing if Kyojuro was any good due to his family name
Much love
- 🫧🫧
Hello anon! Thank you for asking in and I'm so glad that you love my blog that means the world to me! I do hate him a ton lolol. I haven't talked about his leadership decisions in Kyojuro's one-shot yet, I try to be careful and not overshare my hatred of characters, especially in analysis because it's a dangerous place for me but I'm fine with discussing it in asks as long as it doesn't become too long I hope you will understand.
Kagaya doesn't know what he's doing, and honestly, he's really not doing anything. He can't physically fight? Ok fine, but he also doesn't have any leadership skills and Kyojuro's one-shot is another great example because as you point out: he sends Kyojuro---who's fresh out of Final Selection---after a demon who's killed at least nine slayers.
I can't even go into all the issues because there are so many of them, but one of the most important ones is Kagaya and his family created this problem themselves and there's not really anyone else to blame. You can't train kids for a couple years--isolated--then throw them into a mountainside full of starving demons and only a select few can use full-style breathing styles and then expect them to survive there for a week or really any interaction they have with a demon afterward.
This "organization" is anything but organized. I mean my hell ya'll saw how many people went into Tanjiro's final selection, and only FOUR came out! There were AT LEAST twenty people there when Tanjiro arrived, maybe if you and your stupid family got rid of Final Selection and created teams under the Hashira and didn't just throw them straight into the demons' mouths maybe they'd be alive and you'd have enough people to wipe out demons!
I can almost guarantee you that the slayers killed by that flute demon were probably very low on the ranking list if not a first level like Kyojuro was.
It's shown at the end of the series that when Slayers work together even if they don't have breathing techniques they can make a huge impact, so why are they never trained together besides our main trio? Why are they not organizing them so that they make a stronger force together? It was made so painfully clear, very quickly that Tanjiro and Inosuke survived Spider Father's attack because they worked together. If they hadn't they definitely would have died. And all those Slayers the Spider Family slaughtered probably died because they couldn't figure out how to work together and weren't used to trying to.
In regards to Kyojuro's one-shot, Kagaya most likely sent him BECAUSE Kyojuro is a Rengoku, they do have a legacy and so Kagaya most likely just assumed Kyojuro would be able to be successful, but even then Kyojuro had to injure himself to win and not in a small way. He could have been completely deaf after that and just got very lucky.
I'm not sure if I agree that he sent them all just to get rid of them, I believe it is more that he doesn't know shit about what it takes to kill a demon or work as a team so he may have just thought throwing a ton of numbers at Flute Demon would be enough. And then it wasn't so he decided to try the Rengoku kid who had very little chance of failing.
Part of the reason I don't quite agree is because that kind of behavior is not a one-and-done-thing, if that is how he gets rid of "useless" slayers then there would be other instances of him doing similar methods and the only other time we see something like that happen is the Spider Family Arc. To me it's just he's so tactless that the only thing he could come up with is "oh one or two slayers wasn't enough, maybe if I add more it will fix the problem!" Which obviously it didn't, because things like this require more brain cells than Kagaya possesses, like I'm amazed this guy made it to twenty-three.
Thanks for dropping in!
-Much love
Also guys I'm finally back, for as long as my...issues will permit anyway. Thanks to everyone who is new to my blog, for all the favorites and the reblogs and the asks.
#kyojuro rengoku#flame pillar#rengoku kyōjurō#set your heart ablaze#demon slayer#demon slayer mugen train#rengoku kyojuro#rengoku shinjuro#hate kagaya#dont like it too bad#terrible person#terrible leader#just as bad as muzan if not worse#friggin murderer#flame hashira#he's technically a child murderer too so that makes him double awful
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Please tell us more about how your wife tricked you into dating her
So, setup, details all under cut, cuz it's a bit lengthy. Fun story though!
Tumblr circa 2015. Junior year of high school. I've convinced myself that dating is NOT for me, and that I should just wait until college to fuck around and find out. Just gone through a nasty little emotional breakup where in the near future, I'll wish that thar 2nd ever relationship was simply, entirely expunged from my life.
Paige, known as benedict-cutiebatch here, makes a post about being bored and wanting asks sent her way. Send your best pickup line. This was back when people sent eachother asks willy-nilly. I think, "Oh, sure, I've seen this person around, she seems alright. I'll send something funny and stupid, maybe make her laugh."
Send the "hot leg, hot hot leg" poem thing. She is so amused by it, she asks for my hand in marriage. Yaddayaddayadda, back and forth of just playing around pretend times. I have a lot of lighthearted fun. Cue the interaction ending, and us doing our separate things again. A week or so passes, and I've been specifically checking her blog. I don't do that with anybody else. This is a new habit I've picked up, because I loved the silly fake marriage tee hee haha joke.
Send an ask saying as such. She expresses similar sorta thing on her end. And we start talking again. Talking waaaayyy mooorree.
We talk fully through the night. No sleep. We talk fully through that next day. Eventually we exchange Skypes, because that's what everyone did in 2015. Flirting through the roof. Terribly blatant. Oml. But we're not dating, we're just. Completely all up in eachother. And I'm perfectly convinced that this girl probably just wants to enjoy the fun of somebody being bluntly into her, but not actually follow through further then that, and we'd just remain terribly forward friends with eachother, and that's how life goes sometimes.
Until I recieve an anon ask, that basically asks if me and her are dating and how c u t e we both seem to be, and I Assume that this is an unrelated third party, because, again. It was just waaay more common to recieve asks like that, back when I was a teenager. I respond to it all...
"L o l, naaahh.... b u t... It's not a Bad Idea.... 👀"
Anon sends another ask all... You should! You should try asking!
I think nothing of it, I take it as quite genuine advice that I do frankly agree with. And so. That's what my ass did. Asked Paige out in the most goofy, awkward way, after sending her screenshots of the anons, all "Haha, omgg, isn't this just sOoOoOo CrazyYyYy?? How Silly, hahaha.......... Unless.....?"
Fast forward like 2 years later into us being together, she's visiting me while I'm at college, we've Been seeing eachother, we've been having fun! So much fun!
She's sat on my lap while we're waiting on a ride back to my home, outside at a table and chairs; my ass fucking commuted. It's winter, and terribly cold in NY. I'm holding her close, and she starts saying something like... "Hey, you wanna hear something kinda fucked up...?"
I'm intrigued, of course, I'm like. Shoot, okay! I'm all ears.
Tells me that She was the one who sent those anons, and that she had a feeling I wouldn't Just Ask without being prompted. She, as she put it herself, lied to and tricked me. And she's clearly all broken up over it a bit, because she's sounding so hesitant as she tells me it.
I just sigh, hug her tighter, and I'm honest. Recalling best I can, I think it was something along the lines of...
"Thank goodness you did that, because you were totally right. I was too nervous otherwise, to just do that myself. And I would've kept on thinking you only wanted somebody to flirt with. I liked you too much. I didn't want to accidentally ruin anything between us."
Poor thing starts crying. So I just keep holding her, and telling her I love her, and that I'm r e a l l y not upset, after she says she was so worried that I would be, that I'd hate her, or think our relationship was built on a lie. I just see it as a perfectly reasonable thing to do, when someone too stuck in not doing the wrong thing, is too afraid to just ask for what she wants.
So yeah, basically, I got led into a relationship with a carrot and then a box slammed down around me, and I was completely chill with it the entire time. I truly was just having a blast.
#liveblogging#ask#timetodiverge#wifey#lmaooo i love retelling this story even though im certain my forgetful ass has probably left out a detail here or there#it's fiiiineee
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This Fandom Is Changing For The Better (ft naked Tamlin at the end)
Back when I first started posting anti stuff I got a wave of hate that I thought was pretty normal until other people pointed out it wasn't. That's because instead of just the usual anti IC or anti Feysand stuff I was also being really blunt in my anti Nessian takes.
Back then people used to DM or anon ask me to tell me they didn't always agree but they liked this or that point but didn't wanna say anything cause of stans harassment
Now? They comment and reblog and I see so much more slander it's great.
I'm not saying this is me or this is what I did or something stupid like that. I'm just saying that things are different and it's great.
Once the anti side moves past constantly being on the defensive by pointing out how in canon we're literally just right?! Then we'll be able to have more fun.
Less think pieces and more:
imagine if the Suriel was Mama Archeron???
here's fanart of butt booty naked Tamlin covered in baby oil (I AM BEGGING)
What if Illyrians were centaurs
What if Alis was a Hybernian spy????
Here's Nesta and Amren wizard dueling
(Edit: by fandom I mean the anti side. Idgaf bout what the other side is doing. I don't hate them at all but I'm not crying for reconciliation)
The title was click bait but now you owe me naked Tamlin if you're a fan artist 🤷🏻♀️
Also send me you ACOTAR DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT anon takes or DM. I won't judge I just neeeed to know
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Hi everyone!
Yesterday was a disaster. Thanks to everybody who's reached out to me in any shape or form, and to everybody who's accepted my apology.
There are some things I'd like to say due to some requests in my inbox:
1. I've never reached out to those two kids. I've never written to them; I've never sent any message, and neither has the anon. The whole relative thing was put together via a few posts that the boy has up, but nobody asked them anything or reached out to them.
2. I only posted public information. I don't know where people get that I posted private information, because I didn't. I only posted things you can find on their Instagram pages in like 2 minutes. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not trying to find excuses; it was still a stupid and horrible thing to do, but as I mentioned, I didn't reach out to them; I didn't hack any portals for information, as somebody mentioned in my inbox.
3. People asked why I hadn't apologized way earlier, after I deleted it. So I'm going to explain how everything went down. I collected the information I'd received, then I posted it. I went to answer some DMs, then checked my activity, opened the post, re-read it, and decided to delete it. It had like 10 likes and no reblogs. I went out then, and in the car, I continued answering DM's, and I had 2 asks in my drafts; I posted one and then added the other one to the queue. Then I got home and saw a DM asking if I'm the Maja people are talking about, and another one asking if I'm the one they are after. And then I saw the post and started phrasing what I had posted. I definitely should've written something out after I deleted it, but I thought not a lot of people saw it, and that's maybe better to leave it like that rather than writing something out, because after that I will need to explain what I was talking about, and it will gain even more attention, which I clearly didn't want because that's why I deleted it, and I felt ashamed, and you can even call me a coward, but my apology is sincere. It was never anything other than feeling sorry for what happened. I was trying to be very careful not to share anything too specific, and people know I would never ever try to harm anybody, especially not on purpose. It was a huge mistake, and all I can do is apologize and make sure it never happens again.
I'd like to ask everybody to not send hateful emails or write hateful comments to Maddy or anybody who agrees with her or supports her. You don't have to block or unfollow her because of me. I don't talk about other pages on my blog, and I will continue to do the same.
I will try to hop back and answer some asks, but I'm not really in that mental state yet. I'd like to apologize once again for everything; I'm very ashamed of myself.
Thanks for hearing me out!
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Hiya Liv. Hope you’re doing amazing!
It might be a little niche ask and if you don’t know any fics that are like that no worries, your work is generally like a balm to the soul anyway.
I got rejected from my dream job recently and I feel so violently sad, it sounds stupid but it feels more brutal than any of my break ups ever did.
I was wondering if there’s any type of fics where our boys have to come over this type of rejection or even maybe grief and just understand it that no matter how much they want something sometimes it’s just not in the cards and it’s okay.
Thank you in advance and have a wonderful weekend!
Oh anon I’m so sorry to hear that 🫂 I’ve been there once or twice and I agree it can be worse than a breakup, such an awful feeling. I guess the only way to move forward is believing there are greater things ahead for you! Here are some fics where Draco struggles with his job and/or has his applications rejected. This trope can be quite depressing but I think we can find some inspiration in these stories. Sending love your way anon, I hope you feel better soon ❤️
Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)
Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping.
Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (E, 11k)
Draco wants to do something to get his life back on track, but no-one seems to be taking him seriously – until he finds himself in an Auror training session led by Harry Potter.
Evolution by Pie (M, 13k)
Draco Malfoy was condemned to live a Muggle’s life for his three-year probation. His wand was locked away, and he was forbidden to set foot in Wizarding Britain until Hermione Granger secured a job for him in the Aurors’ stock room. Junior Auror Harry Potter frequently visited Draco to check out supplies, take Spanish lessons, and witness Draco’s resolute—if painful—adaptation to a non-magical life … while falling in love with the man who might be too fragile to love him back.
Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 77k)
Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all. Meanwhile, on Level One, ex-Golden Boy Harry Potter is stuck in another interminable policy meeting, completely unaware of the mysterious comings and goings just three floors below.
The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 103k)
This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.
By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)
Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.
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