#but this particular one puts a bad taste in my mouth and i felt like saying something about it hdugduvd

[joelscurls]

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n:  thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out. 

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do. 

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter. 

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “��the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that— 

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right. 

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship? 

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating. 

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend. 

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds. 

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool. 

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash. 

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down. 

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking. 

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie.  His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him. 

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need. 

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically. 

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him? 

But then you think of Frankie inside  — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly. 

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too. 

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?��� 

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes. 

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks. 

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone. 

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink. 

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline. 

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers. 

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again. 

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke. 

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver. 

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion. 

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming. 

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans. 

“Hey,” you announce. 

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm. 

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other. 

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement. 

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…” 

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of. 

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod. 

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively. 

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct. 

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it. 

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.  

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally. 

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed. 

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh. 

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway. 

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past. 

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.” 

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis. 

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat. 

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies. 

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you. 

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton. 

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand. 

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you. 

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest. 

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want. 

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls. 

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium. 

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below. 

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again. 

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.” 

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away. 

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky. 

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin. 

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.” 

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right. 

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist. 

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.” 

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

[muffinpink02]

Cravings

Okay, this is my first little family/baby story. Its my first attempt at fluff and cute stuff, I hope it makes sense. Let me know what you think. I've already started another one so hopefully you like this.

Summary - You’re pregnant, married to Alexia. Your cravings get you a little emotional. Just little bits and pieces of your pregnancy and Alexia helping you every step.

Warnings - swearing

You stood on your tiptoes as you rummaged in your snack box, trying to look for your latest obsession.

“Babe! Where are those salted caramel chocolates we got? The gold packet ones?” You shouted for your wife as you scanned the cupboards. 

Being pregnant wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Yeah, your body had completely changed, and your mind had gotten foggy, and your emotions were hard to keep up with and you struggled to do simple things like put your shoes on. But, having Alexia as your wife made the whole experience worth it, the girl was a saint. 

When you were around 6 weeks pregnant you had suffered with some morning sickness, though thankfully it didn't last too long. When you were rushing to the bathroom at 4am, flopping to your knees, trying to get your vomit in the bowl on time, Alexia wouldn't be far behind you. She would always be by your side, rubbing your back as soon as she heard you jump out of the bed. 

“It's okay, amor. Here’s some water, clear your mouth.” 

You rinsed your mouth, washing the taste of acid from your tongue. She helped you back to bed, stroking your cheek until you fell asleep against her chest. She would always feel so bad for you, she hated watching you in any kind of pain.

Then came the cravings. At first it was anything sweet and juicy. You became obsessed with fruit, the berry family in particular. Blackberries, blueberries, raspberries if it had a ‘berry’ at the end of it you had to have it. And your most favourite berry was strawberries. You found yourself going through a pack of the sweet fruits every 2 days. 

Anything with the flavour of strawberry you had to have. Strawberry ice cream, strawberry jam, strawberry drinks, strawberry sweets, you even changed your lips gloss to strawberry. If it had a trace of strawberry then you had it in your mouth. Alexia joked that the baby was going to come out with red skin and green leaf’s for hair.

The fixation then progressed to strawberry milkshakes. You discovered the obsession when you and Alexia were out in town, you had both stopped to look at a display in the shop window. But your attention was caught by a whole other shop. Alexia hadn't even realised you had gone until she noticed she didn't get a response to her question.

“What do you think? ….Bebé?” 

The blonde looked to her side where you had just been standing, she only had to look a few shops down, when she caught you watching the milkshakes being made in the other window. She smiled as she walked over to you, eyeing your ever growing belly as it poked out under your t-shirt. 

“Want a milkshake, amor?” Alexia wrapped her arms around you, her warm body pressing into your own.

“Yeah, a strawberry one.” You smiled as you felt her kiss your cheek.

So, Alexia brought you a milkshake, asking for extra strawberries without you even having to ask.

The milkshake obsession then became something you wanted, no, needed everyday. 

So, in the mornings before training Alexia would make your strawberry milkshake alongside her protein shake. You didn't know how, but the girl would always make the fruity drink so much better than you ever could, no matter how hard you tried, hers always tasted sweeter.

As soon as you found out you were pregnant you stopped playing for Barca and went on maternity leave. And of course Alexia became super protective over you, though it wasn't a shock to you when she did, she was protective with you before you even became pregnant. 

Slowly you had to reduce your personal training as you got further along. Alexia watched you like a hawk when you wanted to do any kind of weight training, making sure you never did anything over 5kg. She would take regular walks with you and even joined your swimming classes, as they were deemed ‘safe’ enough for her. 

She insisted on carrying all the bags when you went grocery shopping, not letting you carry anything that could potentially ‘hurt’ you or the baby. Though you secretly loved the extra attention. Until Alexia wanted to build the baby cot alone, because she was scared you would hurt yourself with the hammer, and you had to put your foot down. 

Alexia was also amazing with her hands, and not just for other things. If you ever complained about a painful back or sore feet she would be on you in seconds, massaging your muscles until you couldn’t even remember the ache you had. She would run you baths, make your favourite dinners and always make sure you and the baby were getting your vitamins. 

She was simply the best, you saw a whole new side to her, you didn't think it was possible but it made you fall in love with her more everyday.

Anything you wanted to buy for the baby the Spaniard would look into the product, and study the reviews for hours, making sure it was good enough for the baby. If there was even one bad review from 3 years ago she would ask you to look for another one. “Just in case, amor.”

She of course brought every book you could read on pregnancy and child care, reading them at night before bed. Telling you all the tips and tricks it had for expecting mothers. You listened while you stared at your wife, her serious tone was on but you could only watch her beautiful features as she spoke, making you wonder what parts the baby would get from her. 

You hoped they got everything from her.

One afternoon you came back from a shopping outing with Ingrid. You both walked through your hallway, but was stopped in your tracks when you saw a new gate between the rooms, it was a baby gate. You looked at Ingrid who was already smiling, she knew what Alexia was like. 

“Ale, baby? What's this?” You called out.

The blonde skipped down the hall, a proud smile on her face. 

“It's for the baby, so it doesn't get into trouble.” She tapped the gate proudly, looking at the object like it was a brand new Bentley. 

“But the baby won't be walking for a long time. I don’t know if we need this yet.” You chuckled as she eyed the bars.

“No, no. It's better to be ready. We can get used to it before the baby comes.”

“She has a point.” Ingrid chimed in.

“Sí. Ingrid gets it.” The blonde nodded at the raven haired girl. 

“If it makes you happy, then I’m happy. Now, open it up so we can get through.” 

Alexia moved to open the gate, but it wouldn't open for her.

“Wait, I think it's this way.” The blonde frowned as she tried to pull the handle. But still, she couldn't open it. “Cosa estúpida.” 

“Let me try.” You dropped your bags and attempted to open the gates yourself, but you couldn't do it either. 

“Why won't it open?” You sighed in annoyance.

“No, pull it. Pull that bit up. Towards you.” Alexia tried to direct you.

“I am doing that!” 

And just before you were about to have a domestic, Ingrid silently leaned forward and with no fuss opened the gate like it was the most simplest thing to do. You both gapped at the Norwegian, wondering what kind of trick she used to open it.

“Do it again.” Alexia stared at the gate, wondering how on earth Ingrid was able to open it.

Luckily by the 50th try you both had learnt to finally open it. 

Alexia hated leaving you in the morning when she went to training. She would wake up 20 minutes early just to have extra cuddles with you, or talk to your belly. Your heart would melt when she spoke to the ever growing bump. She had felt silly when she first started doing it, talking to a belly with a small human inside felt weird, but she slowly got used to it.

It actually became something she looked forward to, you would read or scroll on your phone as the blonde shared the events of her day with the bump, she even did it when you were fast asleep, having her own private conversation with the little human. And of course she spoke it in her mother tongue, there was no chance that baby wasn’t going to learn Catalan. 

One afternoon when you were five months pregnant she was talking to the bump, her face resting gently against the side of your stomach, stroking your skin. She promised the ‘Berry’ (as she liked to call it), that she was going to take them to all the Barcelona games and how she was going to train the baby to be a midfielder or striker, and definitely not a defender. 

You chuckled at her words. Earlier that day you had visited Alexia at training. All the girls excitedly greeted you, everyone wanted to feel your stomach, and you gladly let them, you had missed them all so much. 

“Sí, that's a defender in there, I can tell.” Mapi said confidently, smiling at you. 

“No, it's going to be a goalie.” Cata insisted.

You laughed as you watched Alexia’s face drop, the group then all started arguing about what position the baby would play, Alexia had sulked on the way home, but you only laughed at her pout. You were suddenly pulled from your memories. 

You both felt it. Alexia jumped away from you in an instant.

“Oh, Déu meu. Did you feel that?” She looked at you with wide eyes.

“Yes! It kicked!” You gasped as you touched the spot.

“Like a footballer! Berry has a strong kick!” She touched your belly in awe, staring at the bump. Then came another kick. The blonde gasped as you both felt the little life  wiggling inside you.

“That's definitely a striker in there.” She smiled playfully.

You rolled your eyes at the big child in front of you. 

“I love you, amor.” Her large hands cradled your bump, she looked at you with so much love it almost overwhelmed you. 

“I love you too, baby.” You whispered. 

You watched as she kissed your bump, you stroked her hair out of her face as her smile grew. You felt your own eyes water at the beautiful women in front of you. You couldn't believe that this was your life, you felt so lucky that she was the mother of your child.

By 6 months your cravings changed to everything salty. Peanuts, chips, crisps, pretzels, salty popcorn, you name it you had it. You added salt to nearly every one of your meals. Alexia had to conversacate the condiment out of fear of your obsession. 

Now you are 8 and a half months pregnant. You only had 2 weeks to go before the baby was set to arrive. So, now it was just a waiting game.  A long, uncomfortable waiting game.

“What ones?” Alexia walked into the kitchen. 

You looked through your snack cupboard, trying to find the chocolate you had become obsessed with. Your two cravings of sweet and salty had combined and got you into your new favourite obsession of salted caramel chocolate. 

“The ones we got the other day, I’m sure I bought 3 packets.” 

“You finished them, don't you remember? I even warned you that you didn't have any left after that.” She chuckled as she stroked your neck.

You felt your eyes prickle with heat, your tears making your eyes glassy. Of course you knew this wasn't a normal way to react just because you didn't have the chocolates you craved, but you were hormonal, and tired and everything hurt and your back was killing you and your feet were sore and the TV in the background was too loud.

“Oh.” Your voice cracked.

Alexia's eyes widened in panic. “What's wrong, bebita? Are you okay?”

You sniffed, you tried to hide your face as you felt the tears prick your eyes. God, you felt stupid. Crying over a chocolate bar. You felt Alexia’s hand travel to your back, stroking you with the softest touch. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just really wanted th-” You couldn't finish your sentence as the hormonal dam broke. 

Alexia really panicked then. “Bebé. Shhh it's okay, don't cry. I can get you more.” She pulled you into her chest. “I’ll go get you a crate of them, please don't cry.”

You sobbed into her chest, you couldn't believe you were crying over this, you knew it was just your hormones, but you couldn't control it.

“I’m sorry Ale, I’m just… it's just everything hurts. I can’t get comfortable in any position. I’m hot then I'm cold. My bodies changed so much. I can’t even see my feet anymore! My boobs are killing me. I hate the smell of my favourite perfume and now I’m crying over fucking chocolate.” 

“Hey, shh it's okay. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m sorry, bebé. Let me get your chocolate, and whatever else you want, we can get a take out tonight or I can cook your favourite meal. Does that sound good?” The blonde kissed your forehead. 

You nodded in her chest, you felt like a sulky child. At least you knew Alexia would be prepared when your child would have their tantrums, or she would just give in and give them chocolate.

“Good. Come sit down. I’ll run you a bath.” 

The blonde ran you a bath with your favourite bath soaks. The bubbles were nearly flowing out over the sides once she was happy with it. She helped you into the warm tub, stroking your hair back as you settled.

“Okay. I won't be long. Be careful when you get out okay.” 

You rolled your eyes and smiled. “I will Ale, thank you for this.” 

“Got to look after my babies.” She kissed your head and winked at you.

She closed the door and made her way to the shops for your chocolate.

You sunk into the hot bath, breathing in the sweet coconut bath milk that Alexia used. You already felt better, Alexia always knew what to do to make you feel at ease. She was always calm around you even when she wanted to panic. 

You laid for another 20 minutes soaking your muscles. You carefully made your way out of the bath, wrapping your fluffy towel around you. 

You began to get your joggers on when you felt a shooting pain, you grabbed your belly on the sharp twinge. Then another one came, but it was a lot less painful then the first. You took in a deep breath as you put on your t-shirt. 

Your doctor told you that you might potentially get pains closer to the due date. So you tried not to overthink it. You looked at your phone, Alexia should have been home by now. That's when you saw her texts.

Alexia - They don’t have the chocolates in the store, going to another one xx 

Alexia - They don’t have it in that one either, I’ll go to Summers.

Summers was over a half hour's drive, you didn't want Alexia to drive so far for a chocolate bar. You called her phone, she answered by the first ring.

“Hola baby, you okay?”

“Ale, you don't have to drive to Summers, it's too far.”

“I’m 5 minutes away now, it’s fine, amor. I know you want this. I know you would do it for me.”

You smiled. “Yeah, okay, well thank you, you’re the best.”

“I know.” You could hear the smile in her tone.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Let's hope the baby gets your humble characteristics.”

The blonde laughed down the phone. “I hope Berry is every piece of you.”

You felt your heart melt at her words. The girl really knew how to make you melt.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“Sí, i'll see you soon.” 

You hung up the phone and made your way to the sofa, trying to find something you could watch without ruining anything you and Alexia watched together. But as you clicked through the options you jumped with a flash of pain.

“Fuck!” 

The pain came again, quicker and longer. You panted as you felt the twinge trickle into your back, causing you to drop you to your knees, you gritted your teeth as the throbbing ache swept down to the bottom of your stomach.

“Owwwww! Shit!” You cried out.

You still had 2 weeks till your due date, surely this wasn't labour? It was just the pain the doctor told you about. Braxton hicks, that's what it was. You grabbed your phone, you tried to call Alexia but she didn't answer, because she was out getting your stupid chocolates! 

Then you called Ingrid. Your best friend. Her and Mapi only lived a 2 minute walk from you. Maybe they could drive you to the hospital. The line rang, Ingrid picked up after the third ring.

“Hello, sweet pea.” She sang down the phone.

“Hey, do you think- fuck!” 

Another sharp pain stabbed through your body.

“Are you okay?” Ingrid asked, panic in her voice. 

“Yeah, well, no. I’m in pain, I don’t really know what to do. Alexias half way across town and-”

“I’m coming over.” 

“Thank you, Ingrid. Sorry I don’t want to be a nuisance- oh my g-” You groaned as another sharp pain hit you.

“Mapi, get your shoes on. Stay on the phone, we’re coming now.”

“Okay.” You breathed out.

You put the phone on speaker as you cradled your belly. You could hear Mapi’s confused voice in the background. You pushed the whispers of hair out of your face as you felt your body start to heat up from the pain. Why did this have to happen now? 

The girls must have sprinted to yours as they were at your door just over a minute later. Ingrid let herself in with her spare key. You heard their feet as they rushed through your hallway.

“I’m in here gu- uys! Owww!” You groaned.

You felt Ingrid kneel beside you. Her hand instantly rubbing your back.

“How long have you had the pain?”

“Maybe 10 minutes.” You sighed.

“Do you think you're in labour?”

“No, the doctor said this would happen. I’m not due for another-”

Your sentence was cut short as you felt a stream of water coming from between your legs. You waters broke.

“No, no, no, no, please! Fuck. Not now!” 

“Ay dios mío!” Map shouted from the door. “We need to get her to a hospital!”

“Mapi, calm down.” Ingrid's tone was low.

The raven haired girl turned back to you, her face was calm but firm.

“Can you walk?” 

“Y-yeah, I think so.” 

“Okay, I’ll help you. Come.” 

Your best friend slid her arm under your own, helping you to your feet. 

“Okay good. Breath. Mapi, call Alexia.” 

Mapi stared at you with wide eyes, she looked more scared than you, to be honest she probably was. She hadn't even heard Ingrid’s instructions, her whole body stood still, frozen with fear. 

“Maria! Come on. Call Alexia.” Ingrid repeated.

Her brown eyes finally snapped to Ingrid. “Sorry, yeah. Call Alexia, I can do that.” 

The girl mumbled, panic setting over her shaky voice. You watched as she aimlessly patted her body, looking everywhere as if she had no clue what she was looking for. She finally found the device in her back pocket, she took a deep breath, looking for her best friend's name in her phone..

Ingrid looked at you. “Okay let's go.” 

You nodded your head, but as you took a step to walk the worst of the pain finally came crashing down. Your knees gave in once more as your muscles spasmed from the ache. 

“Fuck, Ingrid I can’t!” You groaned as you knelt to the floor.

Alexia smiled to herself as she slotted the big box of caramelised chocolates in the boot of the car. She was able to sweet talk the shop owner into selling her the large supply with a photo and signature. She felt so proud of herself, she couldn't wait to show you her little accomplishment. She got in the car ready to drive back home to you, that's when she looked at her phone to see Mapi calling. 

She pressed the green button as she lifted it to her ear.

“Hola-” The blonde flinched as the sound of your screams penetrated down the phone.

“Mapi? Wh-whats going on?”

“Ale, y/n’s in labour, you need to get back.”

“What? She’s not due yet.” Alexia felt herself panicking hearing your painful moans in the background.

“Her waters broke. She’s ready. We’re going to take her to the hospi-”

A deafening scream came from the depths of your stomach. There was no way you were about to move, not with the pain you were in. This baby was ready to come out. 

Mapi looked shell shocked as she held the phone to her face, her mouth gaping at you. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it to the hospital.” The defender whispered. 

Ingrid held your head, helping you move to whatever position you needed, she grabbed the big pillows of the sofa and tucked them behind your back, her calming presence was everything you needed right now but the one you wanted most wasn't here.

“Where is she? I nee-  ahhh! Oh my god it hurts so bad! MAPI! Tell Alexia to get home now!” You started to sob.

Alexia started her engine and her phone speaker on loud. “Mapi, tell her I'm on my way, I’m coming, I promise.”

Poor Mapi didn't know what to do, she looked at her girlfriend for help. Ingrid stroked your hair, your sweaty forehead making your hair stick to your skin.

“She's coming, sweet pea, isn't she Mapi?” Ingrid looked at her girlfriend urging her to say the right thing. 

“Y-yeah, Alexias on her way. She's already half way.” The defender stuttered. 

You threw your head back as another contraction rippled through your body. 

“Breath, try to breathe.” Your best friend stroked your back. 

“Mapi, let me talk to her.” Alexia said as she pressed her foot on the gas. 

“Sí, sí.” Mapi put the phone on speaker, allowing you to hear Alexia. 

“Bebé?” Alexia's voice rang over the speaker.

“Ale! Please, I need you. Come home, please!” You begged, hearing your lover's voice.

“It's okay, amor. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Okay.” Your lips quivered. 

“Mapi, keep me on the phone.” Alexia called out as she overtook some vehicles in front of her.

“Sí, I will. You're next to her now.” Mapi gingerly placed the phone on the table next to you. 

“I’m here okay, cariño?” 

“Yeah.” You whispered.

Ingrid stood up. “Mapi, comfort her, I’m going to call for an ambulance.”

“W-what? Me? B-but you’re so good at it.” 

Ingrid stroked her girlfriend's face. “You'll be fine baby, you can do it.”

Ingrid gave no room for argument as she started to call the ambulance service, walking out of the room.

Mapi slowly turned around, she had never been so scared before. Walking out to a stadium of 30,000 people was less scary than this. She took a deep breath before walking over to you. She slowly crouched next to your side, trying not to make any sudden movements as if she was in a cage with a wild animal. But in all honesty, you kind of sounded like one.

You felt her hand gently rub your back. “Can I get you anything? Water?” 

“Your hand.” You whimpered. 

Mapi smiled as she gave you her hand, but the smile quickly disappeared as you squeezed it with a force not known to man. 

“Dios mio! What have you been eating!” The girl cried out in pain.

Alexia couldn't help but laugh as she heard Mapi cry out. 

“I can hear you, puta!” Mapi groaned.

“Sorry Mapi, I just need you.” You sobbed as you looked at the defender.

That made Mapi smile even if she was wincing through the pain. But it made Alexia feel so guilty for not being there, even if it was out of her control.

“It's okay, breathe with me.” Mapi breathed out.

You breathed with her, but it didn't subside the pain.

Ingrid walked back in. “They’re on their way, but it won't be for another 30 to 40 minutes.

“What?!” You and Mapi shouted in unison. 

“I can't wait that long!” You cried out.

Alexia was driving as fast as she could without being too dangerous, she definitely went through a few red lights, only because the roads were clear enough, but she was more than willing to get a speeding ticket if it meant she could be with you.

“The operator said to remove your bottoms and get towels ready incase you have the baby.”

“I’m so scared, the baby’s not due for another 2 weeks.” Your voice was shaky.

“I know, sweet pea. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” The raven haired girl mustard up a brave smile but you could see through it, you could tell she was worried too.

Then you felt it. An agonising pain pushed right at your core. It was happening, the baby was coming. 

“AHHHHHH! It's coming!” You screamed. 

Alexia felt dread take over her body as she heard your pain.

Ingrid jumped into action, kneeling at your feet. “I'm going to pull your trousers and knickers off okay?”

You nodded. 

Ingrid quickly removed the clothing off of you. “Mapi, go get some towels.” 

Mapi went to move but you had a python grip on her hand. The defender eyed her girlfriend for help, too scared to ask you to let go herself. the Norwegian smiled sympathetically at her. 

“You may have to let Mapi go, honey.” 

You didn't even realise you were still holding on to her, you hesitantly let her hand go. You didn't miss the way Mapi winced as she stroked her own hand from the pain. 

“Okay keep breathing, nice deep breaths.” Ingrid said.

You followed her instructions, you tried to take deep breaths, but was cut short when another crippling contraction swept over your body. The pain was nothing you had ever felt before. 

“Erghh! Oh my god! It burns. It's coming, Ingrid!” 

Ingrid was between your legs, her green eyes popped open as she saw the start of your labour.

“Okay, I’m going to call again. I might need help.” She pulled her phone.

Mapi walked in just in time to see what Ingrid was talking about, you would have laughed if you weren't in so much pain. Her eyes bulged out of her head, like a cartoon character, her face turned to a shade of grey as she also saw the start of the birth. 

“Ay dios mío.” She whispered. 

Alexia heard Ingrid, she was only 10 minutes away, she was determined to get home to you. 

You screamed as you felt a deep pressure at the bottom of your back, it made you feel sick. 

“Where’s Alexia, I need her!” You cried out.

“I’m here, cariño. I’ll be there I swear!” Alexia said over the speaker.

Mapi then came back rushing over to you, the pain in your voice made her want to comfort you.

“Hey, need my hand?” The brunette smiled as she grabbed your hand.

You nodded at your friend, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Thank you.”

You took her hand as you felt Ingrid stroke your leg.

“Hello? My friends in labour. I can see the start of the baby.” Ingrid was on the phone to the operator. “Okay, thank you.”

Another jolt of pain hit you, making you squeeze Mapi’s already crushed hand. You watched her wince in pain, easing off her as much as you could.

“I’m sorry, Mapi.” You sniffled.

“No, no it's okay. I’m okay.” The Spaniard gritted her teeth as she tried to hold back her own tears.

The Norwegian put the operator on speaker. 

“Hello, I’m Julia. I’m going to talk you through the steps, okay? You’re doing great. Keep taking big deep breaths for me. How much of the baby's head can you see?” 

“I can see the baby's hair.” 

“Okay great. Can you tell me roughly a measurement?”

“Like 5cm?” Ingrid squinted.

“Okay. She’s going to be ready to push any minute now.”

Alexia was nearly home, 5 more minutes and she'd be there. Until she saw the police lights in her rear view mirror.

“Fuck!” She mumbled.

Alexia reluctantly pulled her car over to the side of the road. She quickly muted herself on her end of the call, not wanting you to hear the commotion. She tapped her finger anxiously against the steering wheel as she watched the police officer slowly approach her car. She rolled her window down ready to apologise and hopefully be on her way.

“You know you’re going over the speed limit- oh my god, Alexia Putellas! I watched your game just the other day, you played so well. How's y/n getting on? She must be close to having the baby now?” 

Before Alexia could answer you let out a high pitched scream over the speaker phone. The police officer looked at Alexia with a confused look.

“Yeah, that's actually her. That's why I’m rushing, she's in labour.” Alexia hoped that would be enough for the police to let her go.

“Oh! Oh right, why aren't you with her?”

Alexia stared at the police officer, was he really asking this?

“Erm, it's a long story, but it's why I was rushing.”

“Ah, I remember when my own were just born. There’s nothing like it.” The police man stared off into the distance, clearly reminiscing. 

Alexia smiled politely. She really didn't need this interruption.

“Ahhh! Fuck! It hurts!”  You shrieked over the phone speaker.

Alexia looked at the phone, your cries made her so anxious, she just wanted to be with you.

“Oh sorry, I’m holding you up. You get on your way. Try not to rush too quickly. Good luck with being a mama!” The police officer nodded as he went on his way, leaving Alexia to finally get home to you.

You couldn't believe this was happening. 

You were so scared that Alexia was going to miss the birth of your baby. Alexia had been with you every step of the way with the pregnancy. Every appointment, every scan, all the birthing class, she was there, holding your hand throughout it all. Now the mother of your child was out driving around town, trying to make you happy, all because you wanted a stupid fucking chocolate bar.

“Okay, give me a push.” Ingrid said.

You took a deep breath as you tried to push as hard as you could.

“Amazing, you're doing really well.” Ingrid smiled at you. 

“Well done.” Mapi gritted her teeth next to you, trying her absolute best not to sound in pain.

“Mapi, what’s going on?” Alexia shouted over the phone speaker.

Mapi jumped at the voice. She grabbed your phone with her free hand, her other hand was sweating in your own. 

“T-The babies coming.” Mapi stuttered from the pain.

“Merda.” Alexia muttered under her breath, pushing her foot on the pedal. 

“Okay, you’re doing it. I can see the top of the head! There's so much hair!” Ingrid smiled brightly. 

“There is hair Ale! The baby has hair!” Mapi repeated Ingrid’s excitement. 

Two more minutes and Alexia would be home. Just two more minutes. 

“Okay, another big push.” The nurse called out over the phone.

“Ready?” Ingrid stroked your knee, her eyes were on you, giving you a reassuring smile. 

You nodded, taking another deep breath. Your body was tired, everything hurt, and your bottom half was burning. It felt like something was ripping you apart. Like that scene from Alien. You just wanted Alexia to be here to tell you everything was going to be okay.

“Eerghhhh!” You pushed again. The pain was unreal. “No, no, no! I can't do it!”

“You can! You're doing so well! The heads out, I can see a face!” Ingrid shouted enthusiastically.

Alexia wheels screeched as she messily parked up outside, nearly forgetting to pull the handbrake up in her rush. She ran as quickly as she could to your front door, keys in hand. 

“Okay, if you can see a face you've done the hardest part. You're done really well. Another big push.” Julia’s happy voice chimed in.

Alexia rushed down the hallway, she easily jumped over the baby gates she had installed, cursing them as she leaped. She turned the corner just in time.

You looked up to see your wife standing at the door. Her face was similar to Mapi’s reaction.

“Ale.” You whispered, not having enough energy.

The blonde rushed over to you, she knelt by your side, pushing your hair off your sweaty cheeks.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You’re doing so well.” She kissed your sweaty head. 

You nearly started to cry, your emotions bubbled to the surface, finally having your wife with you in the scariest and happiest moment of your life. 

She brought your hand up to her lips, kissing you as she looked into your eyes, you could see she was scared but you couldn’t miss the love she had for you.

“You ready? Another push.” Ingrid asked from your bottom half. 

Alexia squeezed your hand, reassuring you. “You've got this, baby. You can do it!”

You took another deep breath, readying your body to do what seemed impossible.

“That's it! Push, push, push, push! It's coming!” Ingrid spurred you on.

Your whole body shook as the little life entered the world.

And she was loud.

“Oh my, god. You did it!” Ingrid laughed in disbelief.

You looked down to see a tiny little baby, crying in Ingrid’s hands. 

You felt Alexia grip your hand, you looked up at the blonde, she was gazing at the baby and you swore you saw her fall in love. She was smiling from ear to ear, her hazel eyes starting to tear up.

“I can hear crying, that's amazing. Wrap the baby up, cover the head, and place the baby on mum's chest.” Julia instructed. 

Ingrid did just that, she gently and neatly wrapped your daughter up placing her on your chest. 

“A little girl.” You whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

You looked up at your wife, she had tears rolling down her cheeks, as she looked at the baby on your chest. 

“She’s so beautiful.” She whispered as she kissed the top of your head. “You did so well. Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’m fine, just tired and sore.” 

She brought her lips to yours, kissing you gently. “I love you, amor. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Don’t be sorry, it wasn’t your fault. Besides, I had two very good midwives. You smiled as you looked at the couple who were now sitting next to each, smiling at your little family. 

Alexia chuckled. “Thank you so much chicas. How’s your hand Mapi?” 

“It’s seen better days, but I’m glad I could help.” The defender smiled as she pulled Ingrid closer to her.

“Do you have a name?” Ingrid asked. 

You and Alexia looked down at the already settled baby, then back at each other.

‘Rudy.” You both said in sync. 

“Rudy Maria Putellas. I like it.” Mapi smiled before Ingrid started rolling her eyes.

“No, just Rudy Putellas.” Alexia smiled, not taking her eyes off the baby.

“But, we do want to ask you guys something.” You looked at the couple in front of you. Ingrid was already smiling and Mapi looked scared all over again.

“Would you like to be Rudy's Godparents?” Alexia asked.

“100 percent, yes.” Ingrid smiled so hard her cheeks resembled a chipmunk.

You looked over at Mapi, her eyes had glazed over, she looked like she was about to cry.

“Mapi, are you okay? Are you crying?” Alexia asked in a teasing tone, smiling at her friend.

“Huh? What? Allergies. Do you have a cat? I’m allergic.”

“Mapi, we have a cat.” Ingrid smiled sympathetically at her girlfriend, knowing the girl was clearly just emotional to be asked to be a godparent.

“Hello? The door was open. Did someone call an ambulance for a mother and baby?” The ambulance crew arrived. 

“And a broken hand!” Mapi called out, rushing to the front door.

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “She’s a big softy, she would love to be a godparent to Rudy.”

You and Alexia chuckled, but your attention quickly went back to the baby on your chest as she started to squirm.

The paramedics checked you and baby Rudy over, everything was looking great, but they still took you in to get checked by the doctors and a couple hours later you were allowed to leave. 

You and Alexia gave Rudy her first bath together, laughing as she sneezed in the baby tub. Alexia dried her off and took her to her room, she got her nappy on her and creamed her little body.

“Okay, baby grow.” You mumbled as you looked through her draws.

“I actually have one mind.” Alexia looked guilty suddenly, smiling at you playfully.

She reached into another draw and pulled out a Barcelona home kit baby onesie. She turned it around to show your number on the back. Her dopey smile looked at the kit then back at you. You felt yourself go completely giddy. You looked at the woman in front of you, her proud smile made your heart melt. In that moment you felt so complete, you had your little family in front of you, with the woman that you loved with all your heart. 

“Do you like it?” She asked as she moved back to Rudy.

“I love it. I love you, Ale.” You kissed her cheek as she began to dress Rudy.

“I love you. I love both my girls.” She bopped Rudy's nose.

Finally, you got the baby down in her cot, thankfully she was already fast asleep. You smiled as you looked at her face, you could already see Alexia’s features in her. You both stood over the cot, staring at the little bundle in front of you.

Then you remembered something.

“Ale?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you ever get the chocolates?” 

[arc-misadventures]

The VTuber: The Ninja

VTubers are an eclectic assortment of fellows. Ranging form, humans, to catgirls, dwarfs to elfs, from dragons to loli’s. They were an odd sort.

There were various characters among this assortment of individuals as well. From dragons to knights, barkeepers to schoolgirls. Often times they were all of these at once. So it came as no surprise that one VTuber was a combination of two of these particular eclectic tastes.

Like a catgirl, and a ninja combined into one.

For that’s how one would describe the VTuber SushiandShibari. Aka, NyanNinja.

Least that’s how people described her appearance, when it came to her personality, that was a whole different can of worms to deal with.

~~~

Instead of doing, SushiandShibari’s usual stream videos; Playing romance game, to horror games, and the like. She was stuck in an unexpectedly awkward conversation with friend: DraGunShow.

SushiandShibari: So… Care to explain why you just jumped into my stream, call me a bitch?

DraGunShow: Ughhhhh…

DraGunShow: I lost the bet we made…

SushiandShibari: What bet?

DraGunShow: The one where you bet I couldn’t get, Errant to blush.

SushiandShibari: Oh that one, so you called me a bitch because you couldn’t get him to blush? That’s rude.

DraGunShow: No… My chat let it slip what was going on because they were making bets on whether, or not I could do it. So, he changed the game on me; Who ever blushes first loses, and wins their chats betting pool money. And, I lost… Oh god did I lose!

SushiandShibari: It wasn’t that bad was it?

DraGunShow: He asked me if I ride a motorbike, to which I do. So he asked if you have to grab the handlebar to drive it.

SushiandShibari: Is he thinking about getting a motor bike? Oh I bet he would look food on a bike!

DraGunShow: He would look damn hot on a bike~! Ahem! But, no that’s not what he asked about.

SushiandShibari: It wasn’t? Then what did he ask?

DraGunShow: He asked if he had to grab me by my horns to ride me.

SushiandShibari’s eyes inwidened as her mouth fell open, look at her chat in wild shock as she processed the words her friend had just said. Leaving her with, but one course of action to hearing that.

SushiandShibari: DAMNNNN! That is so hot!

DraGunShow: I turned tail, and ran like hell! I could not stay around him anymore! I have never been so thoroughly flirted with before in all my life!

SushiandShibari: Really? I thought you got flirted with a lot.

DraGunShow: No I don’t, I tend to teasingly flirt with other people.

SushiandShibari: Like me.

DraGunShow: Like you, but I don’t tend to be flirted with. Least most of the times I’ve been flirted with people tend to ‘flirt’ with my boobs.

SushiandShibari: With your boobs?

DraGunShow: ‘Hey babe, nice buns you got there, how about I put my sausage between them?”

DraGun’s voice dropped into what could only be described as her best ‘dude bro’ voice. Or that, Muscleman character, whatever you felt was more adept.

NyanNinja however looked on in horror for several reasons, least of all was the voice she impersonated.

SushiandShibari: A guy once used that exact same line on me?!

DraGunShow: Oh shit, really?

SushiandShibari: Yes, but he wasn’t talking about my breasts, bastard was talking about my ass!

DraGunShow: Ppfff-HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

DraGun burst into a fit of laughter as, NyanNinja’s ears flattened against her head as she glared at her friend.

SushiandShibari: Its not funny, quit laughing!

DraGunShow: Like hell it is! “Hey babe, can I hotdog your ass?” Pfft! Hahahahaha!

SushiandShibari: Grrrrrrr! Listen here you…?

NyanNinja was about to start berating her friend when an automated voice from a donation started playing.

: Hello Sushi, I noticed you lack of notifications sounds, and I decided to make one, adding it to your streams prompt pack. Enjoy.

SushiandShibari: Uh oh…

DraGunShow: Oi! Aren’t you supposed to review those before people are allowed to put stuff on there? In case someone put on something inappropriate that could get you cancelled?

SushiandShibari: I do! But, there is a filter, so if people say anything with certain words they’ll…?!

: Good girrrl~!

SushiandShibari: …?!

DraGunShow: …?!

The duo’s blood frozen in their veins as a shiver of excitement coursed down their spines. The pair looked to one another before addressing chat.

DraGunShow: W-W-Was that what I think it is…?

SushiandShibari: Please tell me it was!

: Good girrrl~!

DS: Ahhhh~!

The pair, for the lack of a better word fainted in shear excitement, and the coursing thrill as they heard those words, or more importantly who said those words. For it was a simple sound bite from everyone’s favourite paladin, Errant.

DraGunShow: He called me a good girl!

SushiandShibari: Like hell he did! This is my stream, I’m the good girl!

DraGunShow: Fine, but only the first one is yours, I get the second one!

SushiandShibari: Like hell! They’re both mine! Every time he says that it’s fucking mine!

DraGunShow: Then chat! Give me that sound bite too! I want to be called a good girl too! In fact! Give me every sound bite like that I want them! I want them all!

SushiandShibari: I want them too! Give me all the sound bits of him being sexy! I NEED THEM!

DS: NOW!!!

~~~

Meanwhile while, ErrantryPaladin was watching a video recommended to him by chat, he hit pause as he stopped, and looked around. A worrying expression etched across his face as he looked about expecting some sort of monster to suddenly pop out, and attack him.

ErrantryPaladin: C-Chat… anyone else just get this foreboding sense of unease… Like something bad is about to happen…

Errant continued to look about before he stopped as he saw a message appear on his screen, offering him a deal he couldn’t help, but view suspiciously.

ErrantryPaladin: Okay… why the hell are you bribing me with thirty subs if I say, ‘ara ara’ in a seductive voice?

[xavviquz]

♥︎ thirsty for you. - vamp!choso x fem!reader ♥︎ HCS

warnings // !!MDNI!! period sex, p ⇾ v, unprotected, somnophilia, blood mention, pussy eating, fingering, not proofread (though i dont think any of my fics r but that doesnt make it bad 😘)

notes // getting back into my usual with hcs! i absolutely love vampire choso btw i swear im bent over for him but anyhow, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do! this is also a few years late like heian era late wc: 825

synopsis: you havent been the same since you got with him.. and neither has the aching in your body stopped either.

☆ vamp!choso┊ who has you on your knees at the break of dawn just because he desperately wanted your warmth.

your pussy was so wet and warm, he could fall asleep and never pull out for days no matter what. its not like he hasnt done that before anyways.

you were minding your own business, falling asleep after a long day of talking to customers from the village in order to pay off the rent that was due in the next month. you were tired. exhausted to the bone if you will. as you were drifting to sleep, you felt the mattress get slightly heavy in a particular spot that your boyfriend would sleep on. thinking nothing of it, you drifted off to sleep as you felt a pair of hands feeling your body up and down, your waist all the way to your boobs, pinching at the nubs as you batted your eyes.

you rubbed your eyes before you felt something inside of you. too familiar.. damn it. why now and especially when you were sleeping??

☆ vamp!choso┊who doesnt know how to ask to have sex or put you into the mood, so he reacts on impulse.

you glanced behind you with a sleepy look to see your boyfriend with a dumb smirk, digging his face into the crook of your neck. it felt so wrong and so right.. you’ve talked about this before with him but he never seemed to get why he should ask when you’re ‘his property’ he’d say, but in a sense, you were.

his dick was slowly being pushed in and out of your sensitive walls as he nibbled on your shoulder to hide his whines. you felt so warm and so peaceful.. it was hard to resist someone like you.

☆ vamp!choso┊who has a habbit of using his abilities for his lustful desires.

choso can turn invisible, be a bat, and even have unnatural speed. it made you slightly jealous that you didnt have any but its not like you minded or anything except when he would.. tease you.

the other night when making dinner for the both of you, you felt his slender hands reach up into your shirt, cupping your boobs as he licked your neck. once you turned around though, no one was there. “cho’ stop playing around and help me out..”

“i am helping you out.” he appeared behind you once again, one hand leaving your boobs to venture down to your clit, slowly playing with it. he knew damn well what he was doing and he knew he would get his way by doing so. your moans were like music to his ears and he wouldn’t have you any other way.

☆ vamp!choso┊who loves it when you’re on your period.

your boyfriend was there inbetween your legs as your hands lazily covered your mouth to keep the moans slipping inbetween your lips hidden but.. how could you?

choso’s tongue flicked up against the clit of your pussy, going down to your hole and practically sucking you dry.

damn it. you should’ve never said anything about your period. but even then, he would’ve sniffed you out anyways and have you eaten out in the nearest bathroom he could find just for a taste of you.

☆ vamp!choso┊who always bites and nips at your neck no matter how tired you are. his stamina is endless being a vampire.

you’re nearly fucked out of your mind, everything you saw was a complete blur. your back was arched and it was so late in the night.. you had to open up shop early today so why this day specifically did he decide that he wanted to fuck you brainless?

you scratched at the sheets, his length turning your insides into complete mush. you felt choso’s fangs slightly bite into your skin, digging his teeth into your pump skin. warm red blood from your neck pooled into his mouth, licking spots that dripped.

your mind was lightheaded from all the fucking and bloodsucking. your head drooped down and swung low. you could barely even hold yourself up so how were you going to open up shop now?

choso smirked, kissing the back of your ear before whispering in a low tone. “now you dont need to go to that small stand..” he hugged your waist, pushing on your stomach while he did another deep thrust.

you were so exhausted.. too exhausted to think. your eyes kept fluttering, each blink longer than the last, slowly drifting to sleep in the middle of sex with him.

by the time you had woken up, he was asleep right next to you, sleeping while his fangs were in your neck, and his dick deep within you.

a/n: please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting recommendations!

Ⓒ 2024 xavviquz - dont copy, repost, or modify

[toppamplemousse]

not ENTIRELY sebchal but you know how seb is going to be in australia in March for roc? and you know how ausgp is just a week after? and how mark webber is also in australia? anyways i think there's something great about the tension of having your somewhat toxic ex lover, your (gestures at sebchal) whatever that is, and possibly even mick if you're into that. all rancid dynamics all of them after one middle aged twink I think there's just a lot of potential

thank u for this thought. there are many sebchal scenarios to address but while waiting for my flight i was struck by inspiration:

there’s not even anything to tag here like. sebchal. real (to me).

—

“Don’t look at him like that.”

Seb snaps his head, recognizing that gravelly voice anywhere. Mark walks over to the railing, leaning out over the track next to Sebastian.

“Don’t look at who like what?” He asks back. Mark was always fucking annoying. Sebastian’s older now, more relaxed, able to put the fire of his past behind him. But Mark was annoying when they were teammates, during races, on podiums, even when he had his dick shoved halfway down Sebastian’s throat.

“It doesn’t suit you, Seb,” he says, continuing to look below them.

Sebastian’s not stupid. He knows Mark is talking about the red figures below them, milling about before practice. One red figure, in particular. The one that haunted him for a decade, bright eyed and eager and bashful and naive. Everyone read into everything back then, fabricating stories from nothing. From bad moves on track, from misunderstood translations of second, third languages. From weddings and girlfriends and wives.

“Why are you here again?” Sebastian taunts. “Surprised Red Bull security let you through, now that you’re fraternizing with the opposition.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Mark cuts back. “You’ll always be Red Bull’s golden boy, but don’t act like you don’t have eyes for the red garage.”

Charles looks up at them at that moment. His bright green eyes lighting up the moment he catches Sebastian. It’s the same horrible, star struck smile he carries every time he sees Sebastian. Always trying to talk with him during Sebastian’s environmental events, pretending like he gets some special pass as the only remaining teammate of Sebastian.

He knows Charles waits for scraps, would still get on his knees for an ounce of recognition. He knows Charles waited after Abu Dhabi three years ago, wondering if he was going to receive a text, a call, anything that said congratulations for doing what you were meant to do, what everyone thought I could do, until you came along.

Mark waves at him. Sebastian does too. Charles’ cheeks flush pink, visible from up on the balcony. Years have passed; Charles has more facial hair, more lines around his eyes, less of the baby fawn face that everyone fell for. Next to Charles stands Ollie, Ferrari’s latest victim. Lanky, boyish, stuck to Charles’ side. It leaves a bad taste in Sebastian mouth. The gold band on his finger burns.

Sebastian pushes away from the railing. Years of therapy, years of a happy marriage, has helped simmer the emotions that used to overcome him. The wrath, the ire, the way Charles would get under every crevice of Sebastian’s skins. He would drive, get pole, outperform Sebastian as a fucking first year Ferrari driver, and then he’d turn to him at the end of the race, doe eyes big and wide and eager for feedback.

Or worse — the days where he felt robbed. Because that’s how Charles works: the win is always his, unless you pry it from his hands. Those days, where Charles would get out of the car, icy and silent and seething, giving this textbook answers to the press and then self-combusting behind closed doors. Talk to him, Mattia had always said, like it was Sebastian’s fucking fault that he wanted to win too. That he could win too. And there the media would be, gushing over Charles, fawning over him, placing his photo first, placing it bigger.

Sebastian takes a deep breath.

“Thought you were over all the ire from racing?” Mark quips. Sebastian is going to bash his head in.

“Yes, well, not all of us fuck our protoges about it,” he spits back. Mark visibly stutters, brain coming to a halt behind his weathered eyes.

“It’s not— that’s— that’s not the same,” Mark whispers, grabbing Sebastian’s hand. As if it’s some secret, as though Oscar doesn’t walk around the paddock with Mark following him like a lost puppy. Like an old dog on a limping leg, days numbered. Sebastian has caught glimpses of milky thighs photographed on Mark’s phone, of skirts and lingerie left lingering in his room.

“You’re married,” Mark reminds him, like it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind every day in 2019 and 2020. “Oscar just— he’s— I don’t need to explain it to you.”

Sebastian huffs. There’s a reason he avoids coming to races these days. Mark is just one of them. The green-eyed siren outside is another.

There’s no avoiding him for too long. World Champions have this unspoken duty, pass on their wisdom, all that bullshit. Charles stands in the middle of the group, looking up at Sebastian with stars in his eyes.

It’s tempting, really, to see how far Sebastian could push it. To find out once and for all if Charles was willing to give everything for Ferrari, to fall to his knees for it, take what Sebastian had to give him. Ten years ago, there would have been no question. Charles would have looked so beautiful like that, red-faced and whimpering and cheeks streaked with tears. The thought haunted Sebastian every fucking day of their time together, to know how it would feel to truly put him in his place, surrendering completely to Sebastian.

But he knows, Sebastian would not have come out on top. No, Charles would have squirmed his way into every crack Sebastian had and held all the power. Would have begged for it, pathetic and needy and desperate, and would still come out ahead of Sebastian.

He shakes his head. Sebastian doesn’t need it anymore, he doesn’t. And Charles doesn’t need Sebastian for that now — there’s a more than willing participant glued to his side, the same wide-eyed admiration oozing out of his pores. If Charles wants to feel power, to feel like he’s in control, dominating — he has his own rookie to torture. It’s not Sebastian’s business anymore.

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfics - Cuddle

Words: 904

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🎄✨🌙

It didn’t mean anything.

At least that’s what Remus kept repeating in his head over and over. Like a mantra. Like a prayer.

It had been a bad moon, the worst since the Snape incident. James and Sirius had detention and Pete couldn’t go alone, so Remus was alone in the Shrieking Shack for the first time in years as he transformed. Nobody heard his screams. Nobody winced at the cracks of his bones. Nobody looked on, eyes full of… something Remus still couldn’t quite place.

He’d thought it was pity at first, but it was probably closer to concern, sympathy, or maybe even anguish. James and Pete would always look away as it happened, but Sirius would hold eye contact with him until it was time to turn into Padfoot.

He’d found it a little intrusive at first. As though Sirius saw him as a zoo animal, but after far too much fire whisky one Friday night, Sirius had told him that he did it to help Remus remember who he really was as he transformed. That he was Remus and not the wolf. Needless to say, the absence of that strangely intimate moment was incredibly hard, and the wolf tore himself apart more than he had ever done before.

He would usually wake up in the shack with the other three fussing over him until Madam Pomfrey arrived, but that particular morning, when he woke up, he was already in the hospital wing. He slowly got his bearings before he felt the warm breath on his neck.

He turned his head, wincing as the healing wounds pulled, and saw Sirius, asleep next to him in the hospital bed, with his head on Remus’ shoulder, his arm slung across Remus’ tender stomach, and his legs tangled with Remus’. Remus froze. Everything hurt, and he felt a lump in his throat as tears pricked his eyes viciously, but not because of the pain. He sniffled softly before resting his cheek on the top of Sirius’ head, and then he fell asleep again.

When he woke up the second time, he was alone. He’d have been able to convince himself that he dreamed it if it wasn’t for a damp patch on his shoulder, where Sirius had evidently drooled on him. He looked around and found Madam Pomfrey bustling towards him. He tried to sit up but pain radiated through his whole body that took his breath away.

“No, no. Don’t move, Mr Lupin.” Madam Pomfrey said as she reached his bedside. “I have some potions here for you that will help, and naturally, they taste awful.”

“Naturally.” Remus’ voice was hoarse, from all the howling, he assumed. “Was Sirius here?”

“You just missed him. Mr Potter came and dragged him to lunch. He wasn’t very happy about it at all, but I threatened to ban him for the rest of the day if he didn’t eat”

Remus chuckled softly. “A wise plan.” He opened his mouth and let her pour each of the five potions in, and only one made him gag, which wasn’t bad by his standards. “It was bad this time, wasn't it?”

“Worst you’ve been in a good while, certainly.” She looked down at him. “I won’t pretend that I don’t know why, but your secret is safe with me. I was very tempted to put a stop to it when I realised what your friends were doing, but you clearly have a handle on things, and anything that helps is a win in my book. The look on Mr Black’s face when he brought you here this morning was… well, he cares for you very much, Remus. You make a fine couple if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh, we’re not— No— He’s not— We’re not a couple,” Remus said, wide-eyed. “He’s just my friend.”

“Hmmm, we’ll see.” Madam Pomfrey said as she walked away from his bed.

It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything!

Less than five minutes later, the door creaked open and Sirius poked his head into the hospital wing and grinned when he saw Remus was awake. He crept over to his bed and sat on the edge of it.

“How are you feeling, Moons?” Sirius asked earnestly.

“Sore, but the potions should kick in soon.” He smiled softly at Sirius. “Thank you for staying with me this morning, Pads.”

Sirius frowned slightly, “How did you know it was me?”

“Besides waking up a few hours ago with your head on my shoulder and your arm…” He pressed his lips together, not daring to finish that sentence. “You drooled on my shoulder, you daft mutt.”

Sirius looked thoroughly offended until he spotted the dark spot on Remus’ shoulder, at which point he barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “Fuck! Sorry. Blame Padfoot.”

“Padfoot didn’t fall asleep on me, you did,” Remus said. “It was… uh, nice, actually.”

“Best I’ve slept in ages,” Sirius admitted, as a blush bloomed along his cheekbones. “You’re like a Moony-sized hot water bottle.”

“Well if you need warming up over Christmas break…” Remus trailed off, suddenly looking away from Sirius, mortified that he’d said that. James and Peter were leaving for Christmas the following day, and he and Sirius would be alone in the dorm for two weeks, and now Remus was bringing up cuddling?

A slight smirk appeared on Sirius’ lips. “Yeah, I think I probably will.”

[satansapostle6]

Angel With A Broken Wing | Jonah Simms

And if I may just take your breath away / I don't mind if there's not much to say / Sometimes the silence guides a mind / To move to a place so far away / The goosebumps start to raise / The minute that my left hand meets your waist / And then I watch your face / Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste, yeah / These hearts adore, everyone the other beats hardest for / Inside this place is warm / Outside it starts to pour

Warnings: Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen: Time’s Tide Will Smother You/And I Will Too

One sunny Thursday, I got into the passenger’s seat of my car after my day of work as Jonah got into the driver’s seat, taking the keys from me.

“I get to pick the music,” I dictated.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he complained as he shut the door, putting the key in the ignition. “Driver picks the music!”

“Well, not today,” I sighed.

He nodded, sensing my emotional exhaustion.

“Okay, fine, but you owe me a day,” he noted.

“Fine,” I surrendered, plugging in the aux.

“What are we listening to, then?” he asked me. “Smiths? Bauhaus?” he tried to determine my genre of sadness.

I just shook my head as I turned the volume up and played my music.

“Jesus Christ!” he jumped at the volume.

I just shook my head as he drove off.

“What even is this?!” he tried to look at my phone. “…Okay, there should be a legal limit for how loud you can play Three 6 Mafia in the car!” he shouted over the music.

“Sounds racist,” I said flatly.

Jonah just dismissed me as he drove, continuing to look back and forth between me, and the road. He stopped at a light before turning down the music and looking back over at me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I gave him a confused look, if only to distract from the fact that I kind of wasn’t. Ever since Marcus and I talked, I’d felt miserable in an intangible sort of way. Everything was fine, and things were actually better now than they were before, especially in that department, but still, I felt horrible. Like everything in my life was just off, in no particular way.

“Look, we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to…” Jonah began awkwardly, trying to help. “But I can tell you’re in a bad mood. I’m here for you… Whatever you need, just tell me. I wanna be a good friend.”

I frowned. Jonah really was one of the sweetest, most nosy people in existence.

“You are a good friend,” I said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled sympathetically as he kept driving. “I mean it… Whatever would make you feel better, whatever you want… I’ll do it. Even if it means watching Jersey Shore with you.”

“Hey, you like watching Jersey Shore!”

“That’s true, Deena is the heart of the show,” Jonah admitted. “But, honestly, I can’t stand Mike.”

“No one can,” I pointed out.

He just shook his head and kept driving.

*****

Picking up Gigi from the daycare program at school was probably going to go interestingly. I had told Jonah that he could just wait in the car, figuring that was what he’d prefer, but he had awkwardly offered to come in with me, to say ‘hi’ to Gigi, if I was okay with it, of course. It took us about two full minutes to come to a conclusion. I practically had to drag him toward the school with me.

We were walking to the daycare building as I watched Jonah looking around at all the kids running around. He had the same kind of look about him that I did whenever I watched a Pixar movie on my period. We were both startled when a tiny little boy, definitely no older than six, ran up to Jonah, trapping his legs in a hug.

“Daddy!”

I was definitely alarmed. “Uh…”

Jonah was looking at me with wide eyes, frozen, arms up in the air as he silently mouthed a frantic ‘What do I do?’, to which I could only grimace. But the small child pulled away, looking pretty confused.

“…You’re not my daddy.”

“…No, I’m not,” Jonah said finally with a friendly smile, not sure how to handle this. “You need some help there, little buddy—”

He tried to offer help before the boy just ran away screaming.

“Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

“Uh…!” Jonah turned to look at me, mortified, trying to determine what to do.

I just shook my head, grabbing ahold of his arm as I led him toward the right building.

“Let’s go, before you end up getting your papers pulled as a chomo.”

We walked up to the daycare building as he looked at me curiously.

“…Do I really look like I could be someone’s dad?” he questioned vainly.

I made a face, slowly scanning him up and down; button down shirt, khakis…

“Okay, okay, I get your point,” he snapped as we walked.

He was silent for a moment as we passed by more children, looking at me with curiosity.

“Do you think you’ll ever have any more?”

I stared at him in horror. “Why would you even say that?”

Jonah laughed at me. “Not now. I just mean, like, in the future. You know, down the road.”

I sighed. “I don’t know… I don’t know, maybe.”

“But what?” he asked perceptively.

“I don’t know,” I remarked, “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to afford another one.”

He nodded understandingly. “Yeah, that’s fair,” he thought. “But… What if you had someone else helping you?”

“I have someone else now,” I scoff.

It took him a moment to remember Ryan.

“I mean, someone who doesn’t ask for nights alone with his PlayStation,” he stated.

I just sighed at the thought. “I don’t know. I think I need to figure out one year from now before I think about, like, ten.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable,” Jonah agreed. “…Honestly, the idea that I’m old enough to have genuinely been that little boy’s father is still surreal to me. Like, my brothers have kids, but the idea of me myself having one is something else entirely.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I stated.

He chuckled. “Sorry…”

He paused for a moment.

“Honestly, I keep forgetting that I’m older than you,” he said with amusement.

“By, like, three months,” I argued.

“Still older,” he bragged with a smile. “…Remind me to come up with something really cool for your thirtieth.”

“Ugh, how about don’t remind me?” I groaned.

“Oh, come on!” Jonah exclaimed. “Society dismisses the beauty of women at far too young of an age, aging does not affect a person’s value, or even attractiveness, whatsoever—”

“What? Ew!” I cried at his cringeworthy mini dissertation. “I’m not dreading turning thirty because of that! I know I’m hot.”

“…Fair enough,” he concluded.

“…I just don’t wanna be thirty and be still working at a Cloud 9.”

“Hey!” he laughed.

Now he was the one offended. We walked up to the daycare building as I opened the door, smiling politely as we were greeted by the daycare teachers. Two of them stood by the door, noticing us coming in.

One of the teachers smiled. “I’ll go get Gigi.”

“Thanks,” I smiled politely, waiting beside Jonah.

The other woman just stood there, not saying much of anything as we just waited. Jonah, however, had to fill the silence as he stood beside me with his hands held out in front of him, anxiously rocking back and forth on his heels as he felt like a fish out of water with all the small children running around. He looked at the other teacher, smiling compulsively.

“I’m Jonah!” he announced.

The daycare teacher just smiled. “…Cool!”

I slowly turned to look at Jonah, whose eyes just darted back and forth awkwardly.

*****

“Where’s the car?” Gigi complained as we walked.

Jonah for some reason validated this with a response.

“Just over there, near the portables by that silver Acura.”

I look at him in disbelief as Gigi just trails along.

“That’s just words,” she informs him.

Jonah nods as he looks at me, realizing his mistake. “Right,” he nodded in defeat.

“Mommy, can you carry me?” Gigi asks me.

I groan as we walk, looking down at her. “Baby, I just worked a shift, I’m tired! Why can’t you carry me, huh?” I question as she giggles.

“Here,” Jonah offered, “Jonah will carry you… Sorry. Not sure why this third person thing is happening… Here!”

I watched as he bent down, kneeling in front of her as he gestured.

“Come on. Piggy back ride,” he decided.

I just smiled as he let her jump on his back, steadily getting up as we walked toward the car for another whopping thirty seconds.

“You’re lucky Jonah’s a people pleaser,” I reminded her.

*****

Jonah drove us home. He and I watched Gigi as she ran to the door.

“I just realized, this is my first time actually coming to your apartment,” Jonah remarked pleasantly.

“You pick me up all the time,” I argued.

“Well, this is my first time coming inside,” he corrected.

“That’s what she—” I shook my head, abandoning the joke as he just looked at me curiously, “Nope.”

“Nice,” he smiled sarcastically.

We all went inside, and Jonah took the opportunity to do a mental scan of the place, perceiving me far too much for my liking.

“Nice place,” he said appreciatively. “I like the movie posters.”

“Mhm,” I nodded, trying to keep up in the conversation as I turned to Gigi, “Did you finish your homework?”

“Almost.”

I nodded. “Get your homework. I’ll check, and we’ll finish together.”

I put my stuff down as I turned to look at Jonah, who was still examining every inch of my place for some reason, now onto my flowers, which happened to be sitting in an old bong filled with water. His mouth pressed into a confused smile.

“What’s with uh…?” he gestured toward it, hoping a descriptor would come to him, but it just didn’t.

I sighed. “I… I told her it was a vase, and now we’re just too deep into it…”

He nodded, accepting that answer. “Right.”

*****

Jonah and I were sitting on the couch with Gigi after she finished her homework, which Jonah overzealously decided to help her with, much to my appreciation.

“Alright! Coloring, done. What now?” Jonah grinned.

“Can we watch TV?” my daughter asked me.

I nodded, sitting back tiredly. “Mhm. Let’s do it.”

“Ooh!” Jonah piped up eagerly. “I’ve been meaning to see Apocalypse Now. Believe it or not, I still haven’t seen it.”

“Jonah,” I stared.

He paused, looking down at Gigi. “Oh. Right. Child. Sorry,” he apologized, “It’s been a while since I’ve been around my brothers’ kids.”

I frowned as I turned on the TV. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Oh, doesn’t matter to me,” he shrugged, “We can watch whatever. Hmm, what’s a good kids’ movie… Ooh, how about Back to the Future—” he offered as I shook my head profusely.

I gestured wildly, trying to cut him off. “No!” I whispered.

He gave me a funny look. “What? Why? What’s wrong with that?” he asked, genuinely thinking he did something wrong.

“Ryan and I agreed we’re not letting her watch that,” I whispered to him as she sat on the floor coloring.

He looked confused. “Why? It’s a kids’ movie, isn’t it?”

“No,” I debated, “It was made in the 90’s, there were barely kids’ movies then, just movies kids were allowed to watch. Ryan and I decided we’re not showing it to her, because it’s weird, and a Freudian mess, and frankly, it disturbs me.”

“Yeah, the concept is a little weird,” Jonah admitted, “It is basically an entire movie about a kid who thinks the younger version of his mom is hot while she’s attracted to him.”

“Exactly,” I said in a hushed tone, trying to find a movie on TV.

“Kids’ movies and TV shows are pretty weird in general, though,” he thought. “Avatar‘s just the Holocaust.”

“So is Harry Potter,” I pointed out.

“You know, fantasy is weirdly political of a genre,” Jonah realized, “It’s like we can’t even create a fictional world without subconsciously giving it the same biases as ours, it’s really interesting.”

I frowned. “Remember Muppet Babies? That was a whole other hate crime.”

“Yeah,” Jonah nodded. “That did freak me out. Still does, to be completely honest.”

I nodded as I finally put on a movie, mostly for Gigi. “Remember Rugrats? That was a whole mess.”

“I didn’t really watch that one as much,” he noted.

“Honestly,” I confessed, “Before Gigi was old enough to talk, I used to just put on The Boondocks.”

Jonah smiled, both amused and endeared. “I think that’s just the Oakland in you… Honestly, though, I never saw it.”

“Oh, we have to watch that then,” I told him, “Not now, but… You know.”

“I’m feeling hungry,” Jonah thought aloud.

“I don’t have much,” I admitted.

“I’ll order something, then,” he decided, pulling out his phone, “You guys want something? Sandwiches, Mexican…?”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded quickly, “What about cheesesteaks? You want cheesesteaks? My treat.”

“Yeah, sure,” I nodded slowly, as he started to order. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he nodded as we all ordered food together.

It was quiet for a moment before he thought of something.

“Hey, you know, if you’re ever, like, in a jam, or something I could always babysit for you,” Jonah offered. “…If you’re okay with that, of course.”

“Really?”

I was surprised by the offer.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I like spending time with Gigi. She laughs at my jokes.”

“Because she’s five,” I reasoned, which he didn’t disagree with.

“But seriously, though,” he reiterated, “I’d love to watch her.”

“Why?” I stared.

He didn’t seem to understand my reaction.

“‘Why’ what?” he questioned me.

“Why are you doing this?” I wondered softly. “You know you don’t have to…”

“I know,” he nodded. “I want to.”

I nodded slowly, finding myself more and more able to believe him. “…But why?”

He looked at me incredulously, thinking he had an answer, but he had to think for a moment.

“Because… we’re friends,” he said finally, his gaze softening. “I’m here for you, Sophie.”

I nodded, smiling to the best of my ability as I wondered about the subtext. He set his phone down, having ordered food as Gigi sat up next to me. I turned up the TV volume as he shifted as rested his arm along the back of the couch, all of us getting comfortable.

-

Chapter Seventeen

[t1rkb]

Wish (Disney) vs Lawsuit Arc (SMG4)

I usually compare these two but never in a critical sense so i'm doing that.

Story:

I do think Lawsuit somewhat repetitive in a sense, I can barely call anything unique about it other than its meta, its a basic story and while im not offended or angered by it, it feels stale.

Wish bares that same flaw as it is a simple and somewhat repetitive story.

Narrative:

At first I thought there was but Lawsuit barely felt like it HAD a narrative, I feel very little but I will say this and Wish have similar narratives when it comes to freedom of choice

Wish's Narrative is to give all wishes a chance to be pursued, but it doesnt give of the narrative well enough for others to understand.

Songs:

Objection slaps but its lyrics suck and it does basically nothing to help their case to the point Miyamoto points out the same thing.

Wish... you already know all the songs have bad lyrics (At all costs is good tho fight me) but there is more in abundance... which shouldnt really matter

Protagonists:

Meggy isn't a good focus character, none of the three are in Lawsuit, they just have too much screen time overall and already have too much development in hand, in particular Meggy was at her worst in this arc, her motives like Asha is to give the people their choice, only she does it in the worst way possible by pissing off the villain, Mario and SMG4 are just forgettable but Meggy's too flawed to be a good protagonist.

Asha in contrast... is better by a lot, she actually admits her fault in Magnifico's reign... even if she did nothing to him directly that was Magnifico's own actions, she's still mid but better than Meggy in Lawsuit by a mile, Valentino however is kinda mid and is on the same level as SMG4 in terms of role, Star isnt as good as Mario but he is cute ill give that for him.

Antagonist:

Lawyer Kong is honestly forgettable as a villain, he's not hands on enough for me to say much but he IS a looming threat to the smg4 characters, it's just he does a lot of the same things some smg4 villains did.

Magnifico is a similar case, He does a lot of what other disney villains did but worse, not to say I didnt think he was a BAD villain but he is definetly low on the villains ranking.

in terms of Defeat Magnifico wins because LK did kinda just feel unfinished.

Side Characters:

Honestly the SMG4 cast is too underutilized other than luigi, there isnt much given from the other characters other than gags and the WOTFI challenges

Wish doesn't flesh out the side characters more but I do remember them DOING more than any of the smg4 characters, at least the seven teens and amaya are relevant, Tari even points out she missed out

Allegorial Accuracy:

Lawyer Kong is very much a representation of Nintendo's Worst and it does feel intentional with the jokes

Magnifico does give off a Disney CEO's vibe when it comes to his actions torwards the wishes, however Wish feels unintentionally allegorial so I cannot day wish is better in that aspect.

Comedy:

Lawsuit is mildly funnier.

Wish doesnt make me laugh enough, theres just ONE joke that makes me chuckle.

Ending:

Yeah the redesigns grew on me but man did they not do justice when it came down to it and it ends pretty weirdly which leaves a weird and somewhat bad taste in my mouth.

Wish's ending felt like it showed what Disney SHOULD be as a company, it shows IDEAL disney creativity without the need for restrictions or holding back.

and I do enjoy most of it, I wouldve preferred if star didnt make Asha a fairy godmother but hey, she's probably just gonna help people pursue rather than grant.

Overall:

Lawsuit is a messy rehash of what came before and it shows, despite the effort put into it it is often considered the worst arc, and I only think its 2nd worst.

Wish is... a Disney mess and corporate slop to many, it is relegated to be forgotten as one of the biggest fumbles of the century long reign of Disney.

But in terms of which was better, Im gonna have to say Wish overall, it doesnt frustrate me with its protagonist like Meggy and I can safely laugh at how bad the songs are, Lawsuit just is too frustratingly undercooked for me to think its better.

[sil-writes-fiction-too]

A Moment of Distraction

Gale x OC!Tav

Genre: hurt/comfort with just a dash of angst

CW: bodily harm, injury, blood, gore

A/N Here's June of Doom, Day 5! This time with the "It's not as bad as it looks." prompt paired with the "Bite" and "Swelling" prompts. Just some delicious battle aftermath for Gale and Summer this time around (there's plenty of time for more heart-wrenching angst). @juneofdoom . Also don't call out my absolutely wrong use of the Infernal language, I kinda have my own tweaked version of it so if it doesn't check out that's why.

The stench of blood and guts hangs heavy in the air. Summer once heard someone say that one never really grows accustomed to this scent but she is starting to doubt the truth of that statement. By now this smell accompanies their little ragtag group's everyday endeavors. The sticky, slimy sensation on their skins, the taste of copper in their mouths, the red staining their vision...

Luckily, they seem to be competent enough to ensure that most of it doesn't belong to them. In the beginning, Arwen had expressed with Summer her worries over taking in so many strangers. She was fully convinced the two of them would have to pull all of the weight and babysit a bunch of stumbling, incompetent fools, before being stabbed in the back by at least one of them (to be completely fair Astarion didn't make such a good first impression)... but she was wrong.

Sure, some of them aren't really physically strong, but not one of their new companions is a damsel in distress, that's for sure. It's been a while since Summer's last felt like this. Confident in her allies' ability, not having to constantly keep an eye on them for fear of having to rescue them while she tries to fend off the enemies. The fight is getting to her head, she is entering that particular mind space where everything blends together in one seamless dance. The crushing of bones, the slicing of skin, the stabbing of bodies and the clashing of metal all together in one blurry cacophony. Summer would like to think of herself as a good person, but it's at times like this when she has doubts. No matter how many people call her a hero, a friend, a good fucking person... she likes all this. Likes the fighting, the warm splash of blood on her face, her claws ripping through flesh and the smell of burning skin... her enemies falling at her feet as she triumphs. She wonders if this is Doskan's doing, or if she is just a fucked up person deep underneath. The heat of the fire and the raging inferno inside of her soul makes her hope the former explanation is more accurate than the latter.

Maybe it's this freedom to slash and bash without fear, or her ever-present internal crisis that dulls her perception, but the core of the matter is that all of a sudden something heavy smashes into her, throwing her to the ground with a fierce, deranged growl. A sharp pain explodes in her left shoulder, spreading through her arm and chest, and more warm and sticky blood pours onto her red skin. Her blood. Goddamn gnolls.

She finds herself wrestling with the beast, gripping at its muzzle to try and pry its maws from her poor shoulder. She manages, and the rest of her efforts are spent trying to push the snarling creature off of her, but the pain shooting through her shoulder makes it impossible for her to put her whole strength into it. She sees herself getting a faceful of sharp teeth, but before her grotesque imagination can become a reality, a bright, blue and purple light flashes from somewhere at her right, followed by a loud boom, and the ferocious gnoll is blasted away with a yelp. It crashes into a nearby rock wall and then limply falls to the ground. Dead.

"Summer!!" Gale's frightened voice reaches her ears even through the ringing in her head. Fuck, that was loud. She sits up with a groan, grimacing at the painful sensation now spreading through the entire left side of her body. "Ffitch", she curses when she sees the gaping wound in her flesh that's dripping blood and soaking her clothes. Great.

"By Mystra's mantle, what happened back there??" he exclaims as he wraps an arm around Summer's back in order to keep her propped up. "Ah, I guess I slipped up" she says sheepishly, grinning at him through the pain. "It's not funny!" he bites back with a surprising amount of anger, catching her off guard.

"Woah, Gale, I'm fine. See? Still breathing, still here among mortals-". He shakes his head in disapproval at her words, urging Wyll over so he may help him lift her up to her feet. The last gnoll has just been slayed, and now everyone is gathering around with varying degrees of worry plastered on their faces.

"Oh come on guys, don't look at me like that..." she looks around with a dash of confusion and perhaps even a little bit of annoyance. She's not annoyed at them, in truth, but at herself for being such a klutz in the middle of a battle.

"Okay, don't just stand there like a bunch of idiots. Let's find a place to camp and get Summer the help she needs." Arwen's harsh voice is the first to cut through the awkward silence and the uncertain shuffling of hands and feet. After that they all act swiftly, camp is set up rather quick and Summer finds herself laying down in her tent with Gale and Shadowheart sitting at her side. The cleric is in dire need of rest and that becomes apparent when her attempt at healing Summer's wound fails miserably. Unfortunately all the group has left is a small potion of healing so... traditional medicine it is!

"Go and take a rest Shadowheart, I can perfectly manage to tend to Summer's wound on my own this time around." Says the wizard as he grabs the healing kit from Shadowheart's hands. She'd insist on helping, but right now she feels like she'd best leave these two alone or Gale will have a nervous meltdown. "Very well, but Arwen will punch you in the face if you mess it up. No pressure." She says with her snarky smile before getting up to leave the tent. Her little quip would usually pull at least an amused smile from him, but not this time.

Silence falls between Summer and Gale, and it's definitely not the usual, comfortable quiet that comes between them whenever words are no longer necessary.

"I need you to take your shirt off" he say with a sigh, his hands tightening into fists in his lap. She'd normally crack a flirty joke at him for saying something like that, but for some reason she feels like that might not be the best idea right now, so she does as she is told, unfastening her corset and pulling her blood-stained shirt off of herself. At least it didn't get stuck in her horns, she thinks. That would be embarrassing.

It's subtle, but she hears Gale's breath hitching in his throat as soon as her wound is uncovered. She notices the tension in his body and how his agitated expression turns into one of pure worry. Summer is quick to look down at her shoulder and then back up at him again.

"It's not as bad as it looks" she says softly, propping herself up on her elbows. Gale's eyes snap to her face at her words and he opens his mouth in what she can only assume to be bewilderment.

"Not as bad as it looks?? Look at it!" he gestures to her shoulder with wide eyes, flabbergasted by her behaviour. A full bite mark is embedded in the flesh of her shoulder. Even though the blood has stopped flowing, the wound is of a dark crimson color that somehow looks even more sickening on her naturally red skin. Had the gnoll gotten a better grip on her, a good chunk of her flesh would be missing right now. As if that wasn't enough, the skin around the wound is swelling and getting irritated. It ain't pretty.

She huffs a little in exasperation, but doesn't find it in herself to actually be annoyed at him. Actually she is quite endeared, but she'd better not say it out loud right now.

"I mean to say that I am okay. I mean, it hurts like a bitch, but I've definitely had worse before. This is nothing compared to other things that happened to me." She tries to smile reassuringly at him, but he definitely misses it as he's already fully focused on treating her wound.

"You're not okay. You're hurt. And I, for one, fail to see why you would be so reckless in front of a pack of gnolls! I expected better from you Summer! It was right there, you couldn't have possibly missed it! Honestly! What if you- you...! What if you didn't-" he stumbles over his words, suddenly failing to find what he wants to say to her, and Summer feels his hands tremble while he patches her up. Before Gale knows it, she is grabbing one of his hands and bringing it up to her lips, then down to press against her chest. Right there, her heart beats strongly in her ribcage. "I am okay." She repeats with more sincerity in her voice, staring right into his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize what it must have looked like to you when it happened. I didn't mean to scare you".

A trembly sigh falls from his lips and he slowly relaxes, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. "Just... please be more careful next time. I saw you, you were... absent." This time it's her turn to sigh, perhaps to gather the courage to acknowledge his correct observation. "I was. I'm sorry. I promise I'm not trying to be so reckless while we fight." She smiles at him, and this time he returns the smile, even if wearily.

"Gods, don't do that to me..." He leans his forehead against hers. "My heart can't take losing you. Hells, even seeing you hurt proves to be too much sometimes." She answers with a small, breathy laugh, her eyes shut in contentment at the contact with him. "I know. But I hope you know that the only thing stronger than my will to live is my will to come back to you at the end of the day, no matter how gruesome the battles become. You won't get rid of me so easily, Gale of Waterdeep." She grins at him with that sparkle in her eyes that simply makes him melt like butter in the sun.

"I couldn't ask for anything better." His smile turns warmer as he cups her cheek in his large hand. She leans her face against the warmth of his palm, sighing softly. Then, her eyes crinkle again and another grin curls her black lips. "That was an impressive rescue by the way... got me all hot and bothered." She jokingly wiggles her eyebrows at him and he huffs in amusement, leaning back as his eyes roll in exasperation. "Of course."

Her contagious laughter can be heard even from outside the tent, much to the group's relief.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Day 12 -- Caesar

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober 2023, Day 12 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don’t interact.

Somnophilia with Caesar x F!Six

Caesar is... super creepy and bad overall. Just had to put that out there. He's a bad guy, a very shitty person, and this is him still being shitty and bad.

That being said... he is pretty interesting to write for? Just the way that a person's mind, when they are practically deified, can become so egotistical as to think that the universe literally revolves around them and their experiences was just... wild to explore.

Anywho, I hope y'all like it?

This is another one though, DEFINITELY read the included for a whole SLEW of TWs.

Here is the link to my  Kinktober 2023 Event List so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: (nonconsensual) Somnophilia, medical play, noncon/rape, aphrodisiacs, slavery, legion bullshit, entitlement & ego, restraints, (really) possessive sex, unhealthy relationships, obsession, allusions to erectile dysfunction, painful sex, breeding kink, purity kink, delusional and misogynistic Caesar, creampie, (author approves of absolutely none of this at all).

Words: 4k

--

“She looks so innocent this way, so… vulnerable. But I suppose that’s what sleep is, isn’t it? Vulnerability… You know,” Caesar ran his fingers over the sleeping courier’s arm, keeping his gaze locked to her peaceful expression, even as his head turned to better address Siri, where she stood across from him in the extended room of his tent. “Most social species understand this very idea. They post sentries for the pack while the others sleep, while they are exposed, unable to resist any fate which may befall them whilst they’re unconscious… A shame the courier didn’t have the option, nor the social resources, to take such measures. Hmm... When will she wake?” 

He spoke still without looking at the slave. Siri need not be paid any mind, as she was merely the administrator, the examiner, and now her job was finished. Now, he and Six could be alone. 

Finally. 

“Soon.” She answered him quickly. “The herbal mixture should pass through her system in the next half hour, or so. Shouldn’t be longer than that, surely. Though, it’s not always easy to tell when–”

“Enough. That answer was adequate, I don’t need to hear your rambling. Is mine ready yet?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted before she could utter so much as a word. 

“A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice. I don’t need every ingredient involved, or your life’s story.” 

“Yes.” Siri’s voice was monotone. Unemotive, but unbothered. 

It wasn’t like this sort of interaction was uncommon. 

And Caesar… while he appreciated her function in his society, he’d never taken a particular liking to her. One thing was certain now, though. She didn't envy Courier Six. 

“Good. You’re permitted to leave.” 

She nodded to him, almost more akin to a bow, and moved to take her leave, before his cold voice stopped her once more. 

“Oh, and Siri? Tell the others I’m not to be disturbed.” 

One more affirming nod, and the tent flaps opened to allow her through. As they fluttered to a close, Caesar tore himself from Six’s table and went to take the herbal mixture Siri had left him into his hand. He swirled it around curiously in the mortar she’d prepared, before downing the bitter potion with a grimace. 

The taste may have been rather grotesque, but the effect of the mixture was near immediate. Or perhaps it was merely placebo, but it mattered not. If it worked, who was he to care?

Caesar sighed aloud as he felt his body physically warm, his spine tingling as an anticipatory feeling settled deep in his gut. It was almost as though he could feel the way his pupils dilated, the way his blood ran hotter and faster through his veins. 

The absence of pain was a boon as well, particularly in his head. He’d often considered utilizing this mixture’s effects on his worst headache days for that reason, but there were… adverse symptoms to consider. 

Symptoms which he now planned on taking full advantage of. 

“You have managed to do the near impossible, my pet.” He spoke now to the unconscious Six, strapped down on the medical cot she’d been examined upon. His voice was low, strained with a growing intensity of feeling, of the sensations roiling within him. Caesar was relieved no one was here to witness the way he was, so quickly, becoming undone. 

“You…” Caesar paused to pant out a few heavy breaths, trying to keep from becoming completely overwhelmed at the licentious feelings spiraling through him, the promiscuous thoughts that barricaded his usually composed and aplomb mind. “You have surprised me. Quite the feat, I know.” 

He approached her now, prowling like a possessed animal until he could brace his stiff hands on the side of the cot, and then run his fingers over her bare side. 

Naked women in the Legion were about as common as clothed ones in any other society, but even still, to look upon the courier so wholly… The delicacy of it had his mouth watering, had his tongue wanting for a taste of what was now his. 

Scars small and large littered her otherwise delicate skin, her muscles were toned from surviving in this harsh land, like many of the slaves they kept on such a rigorous schedule of serving. But even still… there was something alluring about her… unremarkable visage. Perhaps it was that she was a dead woman walking, as surreal to gaze upon as a ghost, but no less beautiful than a dancing spirit, however haunting one might be. She was the one, the point zero one percentile, that could evidently survive anything the wasteland threw her way. It was admirable; her tenacity, her cunning, the way she’d tried to betray him… her innocence too, was something he found tasteful. 

Of course he’d been tracking her every move, having Vulpes or another Frumentarius listen in on her conversations. If he was ever going to trust her, he needed to know where her loyalties lay. 

Caesar would never trust her though. Trust is a fickle thing that would just as soon stab you in the back as promise to be in your life forevermore. 

No, but if he could control her… Then he could explore this curiosity of his, he could understand her, inside and out. She could be his. 

All he needed was this. Siri to put her under, to do an examination, ensure she had no wasteland diseases she could give him, no seed of a previous partner already festering inside her, where only he belonged. 

But the girl had come up clean. So clean, in fact, the minx had him wondering if she was pure… Oh, to be this creature’s first… To take something from this extraordinary person that can never be returned to her, and make it– make her– his own. 

You’d have to be a fool not to see that Six was created for him, brought to him like fate delivers years upon the living; inevitably, forcefully, demanding your attention. Their meeting was as certain as the sunrise, as notable as the stars, and he’d known, from that moment, when he saw the twin scars upon her forehead, when he felt his pain pulse cripplingly in that very same spot within himself that he saw marked upon her… Caesar knew that their futures were tied with one another with so many bounds of rope. 

“Now…” He continued speaking to her in hushed tones, his voice rough from the climbing arousal spreading through his body. “Now I will make you mine.” 

His hands had been exploring her all the while Caesar was in his thoughts, dragging his shaking fingers over her smooth torso, her lower stomach, up to her shapely throat, her full breasts. Those, he paid particular attention to, noting the way he felt his cock begin to swell, with more than just what the herbs provided him. 

A rare talent indeed.

He’d thought maybe it would be worth seeing if she could keep him hard all on her own, if she could get him all the way through his climax… But the herbs became more attractive when he remembered how long they lasted. 

If only her own medication lasted longer. I like her this way. Pliant, yielding. Unable to interrupt me or refuse me at every turn. 

There was a certain appeal to her resistance of him, the fire in her, and she chose to showcase it with her words and wit more so than with physicality, which was refreshing, but he wanted to at least be able to get her ready for him without such a fuss. 

Six was tied down, so he didn’t fear too much unwillingness from her in that sense, but she was strong-willed, and would fight the arousal Caesar was bound to bring her, and if she truly was innocent, well…

He’d rather not have her in pain. As much as that sort of discipline worked wonders on their slaves, Six was his, not the Legion’s. He would not have her completely broken before she’s able to properly serve. 

In time, who knows? She may come to have affection for him. Caesar knows that the possibility is there from the feelings he often finds festering within himself on those sleepless nights he thinks of her; the conversations they’ve had buzzing about his aching head, her expressions, the annoyed ones and the inquisitive ones, her anger and her mirth. 

Caesar looked forward to the myriad of looks he would be privy to tonight. 

Without further preamble, the Legion leader set his sights between her slightly spread legs. The bonds were holding her knees wide enough apart for him to slot his hips between them, but there would be time enough for that soon…

First, he set a finger upon her, starting at her entrance and smoothing the pad of it between her lower lips until he felt the point of her clit. She was still slick from the jelly Siri had used to examine her, but he could do better. 

Raising that same hand to his nose, Caesar took a deep inhale and felt his limbs shake with anticipation as her musky, sweet scent curled around him until he could all but taste it. He was almost tempted to drink from the source, as it were, but that was for a night when she’d earned it, for when he was feeling more patient, and his erection wasn’t practically ripping a hole in his tunic. 

No, he decided. Just his hands, for now. 

Before he carried on, Caesar adjusted the bed that way he’d seen Siri do it, dropping it to be perfectly level with his hips. 

It was orgasmic already, the way his head didn’t ache, the way the most discomfort he could feel was emanating from his swollen cock, and that too, would soon be rectified. 

Caesar’s hand returned to her then, two fingers stroking around her folds, spreading the moisture that was already there down to her entrance and back up to brush over her sensitive little nub. Sparingly, he rubbed there with his thumb as well, until he felt it begin to swell under his touch and saw the way her hips twitched unconsciously upwards in her sleep. Usually, Caesar would never opt to give a woman pleasure this way. She was meant to derive it from ‘the bliss of servitude,’ but he knew it was bullshit. It was meant to demean them, and give his men an excuse not to be too distracted by the slaves here. They were meant to be used, not fallen in love with, not doted over, not pleased. 

Six was his, though, and while he would discipline her the way he might a slave at first, he also planned on rewarding her when she was deserving of it. 

Six’s breathing picked up in her sleep, and Caesar looked on with intensity at the way her brows furrowed over her closed eyes, the way her breasts jostled with every breath, the way her muscles tensed beneath his attentions. He licked his lips at the sight of it, at the feeling of her own unique wetness beginning to gather over his prodding fingers. 

No more waiting. Caesar told himself, and pulled his hand away, scowling at the way her movements ceased, her breath slowed again. 

She’ll be awake any minute. 

Caesar stepped back to pull apart his tunic, moving the folds so he could reveal his erection to his unconscious companion. He hissed as the moist tip met the cool air of the Mojave night, and felt goosebumps erupt over his arms and the back of his neck at the sensitizing feeling. Trembling slightly, the leader stepped forward, his hand shaking as it guided the broad head of his cock to her little entrance. Six’s lower lips were dark with arousal that he dreamed mirrored his own, as he noted the dark color encasing his member, the way his own pre-arousal leaked from the weeping slit. 

“Tu eris bonum mihi, meus deliciae, won’t you? My Six…” 

It wasn’t often he became sentimental, least of all with women, but this… Caesar wished he could document it somehow. It felt pivotal, significantes, Homeric… fateful. 

There were no proper words to describe the overwhelming feeling of one’s fate being fulfilled, of two destinies intertwining for the first time, when it was bound to have been planned out from the very dawn of the ages of man, and of the earth itself. 

Perhaps he could request a painting from one of his more talented artists to commemorate an event such as this…

She was warm against him as he rubbed the tip of his length along her folds, not wishing to stall, but not wanting to rush through this process either. It would only happen once, after all. Especially if this was the moment in which he was stripping her purity away, in favor of endowing her with the honor of his occupancy en perpetuum.

With that thought fresh and desirable in his mind, Caesar slotted the head of his cock against her opening, pushing forward an inconsequential smidge, to the feeling of only a little resistance on her part. 

A good sign. 

A sigh escaped him as he gripped his cock more firmly with his hand, the other resting on her hip, his fingers sinking and dimpling the skin there. 

She will accept me. 

His eyes stayed trained between her legs as he began to unreservedly press inside. The movement only grows in its unyielding nature, as he feels her entrance stretch around him, as her walls expand to take his very shape. Like the artists of old, Caesar took her body like a slab of marble, etching his name into her, shaping and molding her to the image he perceived, to the one he desired. Her face was a work of art in and of itself, as Six’s eyes finally fluttered open, the color of them startlingly vivid as her gaze met with his. It was hazy with her fatigue, but her brows were drawn together in what he could only determine as discomfort. 

It was all he could hope for. 

Six waking up just as he settled completely within her. She was utterly full of him, and her breath hitched as the image she was met with made sense in her fatigued mind, as it melded with the sensations of her body. 

She was likely to be sore already, what with Siri’s thorough examination, but after his anticipated attentions, Six would be lucky if she could stand in the morning. 

With that smug thought, Caesar wrapped both hands around the swell of her hips, and hauled himself out until only the tip of his cock remained. Six’s eyes widened and glistened at her waterline as she felt the drag of him leaving her, and then, he slammed back in. It was with distinct effort that Caesar kept himself from repeating that euphoric action immediately and with even greater vigor. 

Just once is enough. For now.

No breaking her. His cross mind reminded him. We have time. 

“W-wha.. The hell?”

Six’s voice was weak, slurred a bit from her groggy awakening, but Caesar paid her no mind, only kept his eyes trailing hungrily over her form as he pulled back and delivered another dizzying thrust into her. Though this time, he did force himself to hold back, to move more slowly, despite the herb-enhanced sensations urging him on, on, on.

“F-fuck, what the hell? What are you doing?”

The pain of his last invasion seemed to spike her into reality faster than was usual with the medication she’d been given. Caesar couldn’t complain though. Not now that he was firmly within her, not now that his plans were in full motion.

“Taking what is mine by right. Lex nostra est. You are a woman in the Legion, what did you expect?” He spoke to her almost passively as he continued focusing on the physical, the bliss sparking through his doped up body as his pace steadily increased. 

Truly, Caesar was being quite polite in terms of the Legion. He’d warmed her up, he was taking his time, he didn’t punish her for the way she spoke to him, so out of turn.

Others in her position likely would have been on their way to a cross by now.

Due to the circumstances though, Caesar would allow his Six a few select liberties. For now.

“Yours by– goddamn it, I never should’ve– Ah, fuck, get off of me!”

A panic seemed to set in, and she shouted rather dramatically as she strained against the ties that held her firmly to the cot. 

“I’m serious, you asshole, get off of me now!”

Caesar paused in his thrusting, feeling the distinct pulse of his cock within her spasming walls as he panted heavily from above her struggling form.

“You command me?” He scoffed, “I don’t think so. Not here. Are you so blind as to not see it?” 

Six's confused expression and distracted squirming were enough of an answer for him. 

“The way that you belong with me?” He punctuated it with a violent surge of his hips against her, and Six's gaze locked to him with a gasp, as she fully ceased her struggles. Pure horror shone through her expression, disbelief and fear and disgust rampant in those vivid eyes, and Caesar had to keep from slapping her. 

Am I really alone in my belief? It cannot be so…

Instead, he hiked his hips out of her until only his tip remained, and drove forward painfully until his hips smacked audibly against the skin of her ass. A yelp of pain left her throat unwillingly as he repeated the action, testing the strength of the cot’s bonds with every fervent, furious movement. 

“You. Are. Mine.” Each word left him with a forceful buck of his hips, his teeth gritting together painfully as he felt his anger boil up inside him.

So be it. If breaking the ungrateful whore will get her attention, if it will force sense into her unreasoned mind and inject understanding into her stubbornness, then that is the sacrifice I will make.  

The herbs he’d been given were known to do this as well, to increase all sensations, in addition to libido, to make one have less reservations, to feel emotions more vividly than usual. 

Perhaps he should have saved a sip of the mixture for her. Maybe then her potential affections for him could've been forced to the surface.

“I’m not yours.” Six spat, crudely interrupting his thoughts as his gaze honed in on her: the way her fists clenched in pain against the metal sides of the cot, her gritted teeth, the tears running down over her temples, the veins bulging in her neck. 

What a sight… If only she could understand.

“Are you a fool, Six?” Another painful thrust had the woman wincing away from him with tears in her eyes. “You truly believed you would be treated differently here? After you saw the other slaves, after Siri warned you what you might become if you stayed?” 

“I d-don’t know… You talked to me, I thought…” She was starting to look confused now, some sort of female hysteria setting in and causing her to go numb, he was certain. It happened with many slaves during their breaking. 

So soon though… maybe she’s not the spitfire I thought she was.

“I trusted you.” Six said with a snarl and a realization, and Caesar half-grinned at the savagery that rose within her in just that short moment. 

Ahh, I thought too soon. Good.

“Get fucking off me! Can you just– I want to talk, we can discuss–”

“No, Six. I’m not leaving until you understand. Meus es.” He pushed forward then with finality, sinking into her more slowly as he let his body lay upon hers, his hands sliding up from her hips, grazing over her belly, up to both breasts, then to cage in her face from either side. 

“You are mine.” 

His grip tightened until he could feel her jaw tensing, feel the bones beneath the swell of her cheeks. 

“Nothing you say or do from here onwards can change that. You have been mine, since I first heard your story.” He was still panting from his exertion, but his voice was less feverish now. The certainty of his resolve was plain within it. “A life as indestructible as yours, a mind so impenetrable, to mix with my brilliance, my power… We’ll be insurmountable.” 

Six’s mouth hung open, maybe in shock, maybe in awe, and maybe those were just too similar to bother distinguishing between. Nonetheless, Caesar took advantage, and plunged his lips against hers, capturing her opened mouth with his tongue, conquering and swiftly pulling away before she had a chance to bite. 

She would yield to him, in time. Already, his muse was doing beautifully. A fine mix of resistance and submission that had his cock swelling and his thoughts running wild with the possibilities. 

He was growing close, and so, Caesar pulled away again, until he was fully out of her. The action– his absence– he hoped would make Six realize how she craved the feeling of him filling her. She would associate this gaping nothingness, the want that came with it, with her desire for him to remedy it, to make her feel whole once more. 

Six needed him. 

She had to see it that way, had to see that they would be unstoppable as a force, that the Legion was meant to thrive, with them leading the way. The future of this great faction lies within the realm of both of their responsibilities. She needed him to lead her and the faction both, needed him in order to become a mother, as he knew all women craved, and… He needed her as well. For the future of his faction, Caesar needed her to bear his heir before the pain in his mind took him for good. 

She needed his intellect, he needed her wit. He craved the way she amused him, and she surely needed an audience. 

They completed each other in every way possible, and that fact was evident, as Caesar reinserted himself and surged forward until he felt the very last resistance within her. Six cried out and her body tensed deliciously around him. 

Instead of pulling away for another thrust, Caesar merely ground his hips against her, keeping himself buried as far as he could go and laying waste to the last barricade within her. She bucked her hips in discomfort beneath him, lost for words as she whined out incomprehensible expletives and writhed against the feeling of him within her. 

Sweat beaded on Caesar’s forehead, lightning shot in bursts down his spine, and his hands gripped her hips until they were sure to leave marks there, but finally, he felt his bliss reach a peak, he felt himself tense up, felt his length swell further within her, and then he was bursting against that final, defensive rampart deep inside. Vise-like walls gripped him until he felt wrung of all his blistering, white seed as her body reacted favorably to his final claiming of her. 

It took Caesar a moment before he could see or hear anything but bright, splotchy colors surrounding him with his explosive release, but when the fog began to clear from his head, when the last rope of spend leaked out from his eager slit, he heard the way Six moaned out his name. 

Perhaps it was to curse him, to ask him one last time to get off of her, or maybe he had her. Maybe she’d come to realize all he said was true. Maybe now she knew she was his. 

It didn’t matter too much to Caesar, regardless. If Six was cursing him or declaring her dedication to him, he would know her true colors in the coming months. For now, though, for tonight, it didn’t matter what she said or felt. She would grow used to this, in time. 

Perhaps even by the end of the night. Caesar thought, and felt his blood begin to boil up again.

[arvandus]

Hey, I wanted to ask what do you think of how hori concluded the todo fam arc and dabi’s vague ending? Do you think he’s alive or dead? Hori could’ve showed us at least a grave or a shrine. I just wanted closure :(

So, I'm going to preface this by saying that I have not actually READ the ending to BNHA, and gathered info just from the tumblr community. I checked out of the manga a while ago because it felt like Hori's heart wasn't really in it.

To be honest, compared to the ending the others got, I'm glad that his was left vague enough to be open to interpretation. After all, how many times has he been assumed dead/would die soon, only for him to give the middle finger and keep going?

I feel like Hori's feelings around the Todoroki family and Touya in particular run a little bit deeper than the others, just with looking at how much attention he put into the backstory. I really feel like it's been a combination of mixed messages, swinging back and forth between empathizing with Touya and being an Enji fanboy.

Hori's portrayal of Touya's childhood was VERY sympathetic, and Enji was shown as very monstrous in some of those panels (and in fact, the parallel was done with Shigaraki and Toga's pasts as well). Even his titling of the chapters (e.g., Wrong Way to Put Out A Fire) showed that the responsibility for Touya's downfall fell onto the parents rather than him as a child. I also liked how pathetic he showed Enji was after Touya's reveal, and when his family came to visit him in the hospital. Rei's commentary towards his sniffling was so refreshing, I was cackling and fist-bumping the air. Finally, I really loved that Natsuo never forgives Enji and straight up tells him he doesn't want him in his life.

But at the same time, Enji gets to continue on with life more or less without any repercussions, or at least that's the impression I've gotten from the snippets I've gathered on other peoples' posts and the manga screenshots I've come across. Yes he's handicapped and will never be a hero again, but at the same time, it felt like there's a lack of social/societal consquences. Hawks never stops being his fanboy, and Rei stays with him (God knows why)... I dunno. It just left a bad taste in my mouth. I think it's because he never really figured out how to step away from his hero persona long enough to really prioritize his family until it was too late. Enji should have immediately been out there looking for Touya after his big reveal. As a parent, I can tell you for a FACT that if I found out my child wasn't actually dead but was in fact alive and running around out there hurting others, you bet your ASS I'm dropping everything and going after them. Also, Enji should have been the one to face off with Touya in the final conflict, not Shouto. He should have faced him, lost, and then Shouto could have stepped him to have his emotional brotherly conflict with Touya just as it happened in the manga. Enji's behavior was cowardice until the very end, and his apology to Touya at the very end fell very very flat for me.

Maybe Hori is just going for the more realistic portrayal of how complex family dynamics can be, and how forgiveness really depends on the person. I also think that Hori's idea of what counts as a good redemption arc for Enji differs from what I think a good redemption arc for him would be. So in that sense, I just have to accept that Hori has his own take on the entire Todoroki family story and that it differs from my own.

But, I digress... back to Touya. I've always had the feeling that Horikoshi has had a soft spot for Touya especially, and I think this implied ending of Touya not surviving rather than showing it explicitly like he did with the others demonstrates that. So I'd like to think that Touya somehow survives and heals.

Overall, I think the ending of BNHA has fallen a bit flat because there has been so much emphasis on the grey areas between villains and heroes, and I always felt that the students were intended to save them. And that was especially Shouto's goal with his brother. The thought of him failing in that goal and not being able to ever have soba with him feels like such a waste of his character arc as well as Touya's.

So, I'm going to take it as-is. Touya's ending is intentionally ambiguous to allow the fans on both sides of the fence to pick the ending that they want (Hori, you coward). My ending for him is that he heals (although never completely of course) and eventually gets to have soba with his brother. It's not only what Touya deserves, but it's what Shouto deserves too.

[mechanicalowls]

the L word

a terrornoss fic

chapter 1: repression

rating: m (for now)

warnings: mentions of depression, non-explicit references to masturbation, obsessive behavior, real person fiction

summary: upon receiving a gift in the mail from his friend, brian has to come to terms with his repressed obsession with evan before they meet in person at a rynx concert.

ao3 link

fic below the cut:

The day that package arrived on his property, Brian knew he was in too deep.

It wasn't completely out of the ordinary for him to receive a surprise delivery from one of his friends, he'd certainly sent his fair share in return. So when he'd trudged out his front door that cold November morning, scraping sleep gunk from his eyes and attempting to smack away the bad taste in his mouth after waking up, Brian wasn't surprised to find a plastic baggie in his mailbox; along with all his other mail. He was even less surprised to read that the sender of the package was one Evan Fong.

Evan sent him things all the time, a small piece of technology Brian would mention in passing, a belonging left at the canadian’s house during his last visit, something Evan had seen while tipsily scrolling through Amazon that made the man think of Brian. Evan wasn't good with words, so Brian had concluded long ago that this was his way of showing that he was fond of him, cherished their friendship; a wordless “thank you” for everything Brian had put up with for Evan's sake.

Brian knew he wasn't special in that regard. He knew that Evan did this for everyone in their group, especially around Christmas time or their birthdays. He'd seen Nogla's energetic thank you's to Evan in the group chat after the man had sent a hefty load of candy his way for his birthday one year. He'd heard Delirious express gratitude at the thoughtful Christmas presents Evan had gotten for him over the years. It stung, if only a little, that Brian wasn't the sole recipient of these sorts of gifts from Evan.

Jealousy did not look good on him, and he bottled it up as such.

He brought the package inside and stared at it on his counter for a while. It was soft and malleable, so whatever it was wasn't something fragile. Brian tried to think back to the last few times he'd spoken to Evan, if he'd mentioned anything that Evan might've gone out of his way to buy for him, but he came up short in the memory department. Sure, it was late November, but Evan's Christmas gifts usually didn't arrive until mid-December at the earliest. With both of those possibilities crossed out, Brian could only assume this was yet another patented “I was drunk on Amazon and I saw this and thought you'd like it” gift from his favorite canadian bastard.

Gingerly, Brian tore open the plastic packaging, pulling out another plastic bag from inside; it was clear, bearing something black and fabric within, as well as a few pieces of paper. Upon cutting open that plastic baggie, Brian pulled out the mysterious gift he now knew to be a t-shirt, as well as it's accompanying letter and sealed envelope. Brian couldn't help but smile at the somehow neat yet still unorthodox folding of the t-shirt, no doubt folded by Evan himself. He felt his heart stutter at the realization that Evan had sent him a “Rynx: In Pieces” tour shirt; and in his size, no less.

His cheeks burned a little at that. Evan was often subject to his endless complaints about american sizing and fits, and how Brian had trouble finding clothes that didn't hug him weirdly or drown him in fabric. He held the shirt in the crook of his arm as he finally picked up the note to read.

dear mr handjob,

Any other time, Brian would've bristled at that, but he just didn't have it in him to be affronted by the purposeful misspelling of his name this time.

I suspect ur coming to the show mainly for the meetings that are happening afterwards and because I put the terminator theme song in my set.

Damn that asian fuck for knowing him so well. Brian spared a glance at the ticket to that particular show that had been proudly sitting on his dining table for about a month.

Either way, thank you for always making fun of me whenever I wasnt able to record video games due to being busy making music,

He wasn't sure why, but seeing Evan physically, genuinely type out the words “thank you” just made Brian flush deeply. Even if it was a thank you for making fun of him. The fact that it came from Evan of all people made his stomach do somersaults.

it always got to my head and would make me work even harder.

Brian scoffed at that, willing the redness away from his cheeks, as if Evan could see him from whatever ditch he was drunk in right then. He didn't want to think he was that special to Evan; that his mere jestings that bordered on complaints urged Evan onwards in his musical endeavors. Brian didn't want to plunge himself into a spiral where he could think of nothing but Evan just because the man had said “thank you for making fun of me”. Much as he desired for there to be some deeper meaning to their particular friendship, with how much Evan confided in Brian, how much he relied on him, Brian didn't want to get his hopes up.

They were already too high to begin with, and he'd had his heart broken like that before.

U would always tell me “yea go to ur dinner date with skrillex”. Even tho I've never, and probably will never meet skrillex. Cause edm is dying and i picked the wrong time to start.

Brian couldn't help the way his heart fluttered and his lips curled into a smile at that. At the time, he'd been annoyed, mostly because he didn't have nearly as much fun recording if Evan wasn't present in some capacity. He'd spat that particular line out in a half-hearted attempt to convey this annoyance, but part of Brian was just happy that Evan was doing something he loved and was passionate about; especially after the depressive spell he'd been in for a couple years at that point. YouTube wasn't as emotionally rewarding as it once had been, the only game anyone seemed to care about anymore was a game Evan despised, and the views just weren't there anymore.

And that's not to mention all the small disputes their group was having too. Ever since Fortnite came onto the scene and took Tyler, Marcel, and Delirious with it, it seemed like petty arguments were the only thing ever typed in their group chat. Brian felt the pressure amounting whenever he was in a call that wasn't just himself, Nogla, Brock and Evan. They'd all been walking on eggshells around each other, and if it made Brian feel like shit, he couldn't imagine what it was doing to Evan. The ever present dark circles under his eyes were very telling.

but its okay, its better not to meet the people u look up to. For example, u used to look up to me, look where that got you, nowhere, youre a failure.

And just like that, Brian's thoughtful pondering about Evan's mental state screeched to a halt. He shook his head and rolled his eyes in disbelief. He expected no less from his friend.

(He'd rather be shot in the left asscheek twice before ever admitting to anyone but himself that he still, to this day, looked up to Evan.)

Anyways hope this is the right size, you always complain cause u have that awkward “i'm european but now i live in america” fit. sincerely, - “fong fuck”

Brian couldn't keep the smile off his face at Evan's sign off, not to mention the discovery of the contents of the envelope; a VIP pass displayed proudly upon a Terminator themed lanyard. Brian was glad he lived alone, so no other soul caught a glimpse of the dumb smile upon his face as he ran the pass over his palm. He felt an odd sense of wonder at the way his half-hearted, friendly insults towards Evan had morphed into terms of endearment for the man, so much so that he'd sent him a VIP pass under the assumption Brian would be in attendance. Try as he might, and as Evan might for that matter, he could never truly spit any heated, venomous words in his direction. To put it simply, he just liked Evan too much to every truly be mad at him, or have any ulterior motives behind his frustrated insults beside getting a good clip while recording and bantering with someone he loved and cared about.

Dammit, there he went again, throwing around that L word when he thought about Evan.

He'd been doing it alot lately. Never verbally, but in his head Brian often caught himself associating that L word with Evan. Sure, he did love all of his friends, they were like the brothers he never knew he wanted, but the type of love his brain and heart associated with Evan felt different. And how could it not?

Whenever he was in a bad mood, Evan always came to Brian first. He'd confided the depression he was experiencing in Brian; the self loathing and doubts he held about his future and career. The hopelessness he'd felt during the shitstorm that had drowned their group in drama, the perfectionism getting the better of him and burning him out while working on his music. Part of Brian was devastated that these things were impacting a man he cared about and looked up to so much. Another, often green-eyed part of him inhaled the attention and the refuge the younger man sought from him, and relished in how he was number one on Evan's trusted friends list. Not any of his real life friends, not Nogla, not Brock, or Delirious or Tyler or Marcel or anyone else.

Brian kept that part of his psyche deep in the dark recesses of his brain, for his own sake and for Evan's.

Whenever Evan had an idea for a video or a skit or anything, he would always, always run it by Brian first. Brian was always first on his list of people who he wanted a peer review from, and first on the list ready to drop everything and help Evan record. Like a dog doing tricks for its master. Always under the guise of doing it for a treat, but really, it was the attention he craved. Brian would never have enough of Evan's attention, even if they fused into one solid being, it wouldn't be enough.

He often spent many quiet evenings editing out clips of his facecam where his lips would curl into a jealous frown or pout when Evan stopped giving him the attention he pined for.

Then, there was the little things that Evan did. The way his breath caught in his throat when he laughed uncontrollably, the smirk Brian could hear in his voice when he was scheming or setting up a skit. The jovial excitement Brian heard in his voice whenever they played anything that involved explosives. How silently considerate Evan was of everyone else's footage. When he'd fall quiet while playing a game he wasn't fond of, and would only confirm that his heart was indeed still beating when Brian would address him directly.

When that infernal monotone he bore most days would waver ever so slightly whenever Evan talked to him. When they would hang out in person, and Evan always gave him a solid, yet hesitant hug when Brian would first arrive, and another right before he would leave.

(Sometimes, if he was feeling really delusional, Brian would convince himself that the hugs would linger on just a second too long, and the hesitancy that rolled off of Evan like beads of sweat was a reluctance to let go, rather than a reluctance to hug.)

The way his hair had looked when he was first growing it out into that ridiculously long emo flap; which later morphed into the locks that now fell just past his shoulders. A stark contrast to the close cut faux-hawk Evan had worn well for years before then. Brian had been a bit put off by the length at first, but it grew on him quickly; totally not just because he had had the privilege of seeing Evan fresh out of the shower on one subsequent visit. His hair, slightly frizzed out from having a towel roughly run through it, just did something to Brian that day. His heart had disconnected from his arteries and plunged into his ass when he had caught a glimpse of a shirtless Evan trodding out of his bathroom, towel around his broad shoulders and hair slicked back like he'd been slathered in Vaseline.

Another thing Brian would never admit to anyone ever, was the guilty pleasure he felt when he jerked himself to completion in Evan's guest room that night; pictures from Evan's Instagram and blips of memories of the canadian serving as his fuel. He'd done it many more times since then, the bitter sting of shame Brian experienced upon releasing onto his fist and mulling over what he'd just done was oddly intoxicating to the irishman. He couldn't help but wonder, whenever he engaged in this act, what Evan would say, were he to walk into the room and discover how depraved Brian was; jacking off to the thought of your friend in secret treaded a thin line upon the moral compass.

Would he be disgusted? Would he cuss him out, make fun of him, and cut him off entirely?

Or…

Brian dared not entertain the possibility that his complicated feelings for the younger man were mutual. That was a one-way road that led to a dead end; that being an even more vicious cycle of Brian's unwavering obsession with his friend. He was already so dedicated and loyal to Evan to start, if Brian allowed himself to grow evermore infatuated with the canadian than he already was, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from flying all the way to LA to make Evan his once and for all.

He could barely do that whenever they hung out in person.

The green-eyed part of Brian that lurked within the shadowy recesses of his mind tried to convince him that he needed to shoot his shot. There was no denying that Evan looked at him differently than he looked at their other friends. Tyler had once complained about Evan's propensity to stare at people, but as a quiet observer of this phenomenon, Brian could safely say that that habit of his was a good way to gauge how he felt about those around him.

The eyes are windows to the soul, or whatever the saying was.

A brotherly fondness lingered in his gaze when Evan looked at Tyler, Brock, Scotty and Anthony.

A mischievous spark crackled behind his pretty (really Brian? Pretty?) brown eyes when he joked with Marcel, Nogla and Lui.

But the look in his eyes when he would shift his gaze to bore into Brian's soul?

Yeah.

Safe to say Brian had a lot to think about in the few weeks before that concert.

As long as he didn't use that L word, he'd be fine.

[missmagooglie]

Seven Sentence Sunday

So now that How Long Do You Wanna Be Loved is officially FULLY WRITTEN and will have the final chapter posted to AO3 next weekend to keep to the posting schedule, I'm gonna start posting more of my other wips. In particular, I've been very excited about my babysitter AU in which Buck is still in high school and babysits for Christopher. If you're a sucker for Age Difference or Eddie having an emotional crisis, you're gonna love this one.

As a taste, have a quick peek at Eddie fighting his feelings and talking it out with Hen (and a bottle of wine).

“I’m a terrible person,” Eddie says the moment Hen opens the door. He pushes one of the bottles of wine he brought into her hands as he brushes past her, making a beeline for the kitchen and the drawer where Hen and Karen keep their corkscrew with the other bottle clenched tightly in his hands. “Um. Hi, Eddie,” Hen says, closing the door behind him and following him through her house. “How are you?” “Bad,” Eddie says, pouring himself a glass of wine and throwing back nearly half of it in one long gulp. “I’m doing bad, Hen. Because things were finally getting back to normal, right? All that stuff about the babysitter having a crush on me? He’s moved on, we’ve put it behind us. So what do I go and do? I start fantasizing about the babysitter when I’m supposed to be making love to my girlfriend.” Hen wrinkles her nose at him and says, “Ew, who even says ‘making love’?”  “Ana, apparently,” Eddie says with a frown. Honestly, it had felt weird to say. His mouth feels weird after saying it. “She said it, like, a bunch of times last night. And that’s not the point. The point is–” “No, I heard you,” Hen assures him. “Are we still talking about the seventeen year old babysitter?” “Like I said,” Eddie tells her, finishing his first glass and pouring himself another. He sets the bottle down and points to himself, “Terrible person.”

See more posts, teasers, and tidbits about this fic here.

Tag list beneath the cut. To be added, interact with this post.

@onyxmoonstone @daffi-990 @lover-of-mine @pleasestopdeletingmyaccount @coatedpanda16 @littleblackraincloudofcourse @littlefruitybastard @idealuk @blackberry-l @imabtastic @indiearr @machtaholic @zahlibeth, @ladydorian05 @piratefalls @poetry-protest-pornography @911-on-abc @robinplume @mattsire @coatedpanda16, @snowviolettwhite,@kaseysgirl86-blog, @tranquility-or-chaos, @mcityxe, @aroeddiediaz, @buckleyobsessed, @mattsire, @monroemary, @akathoristos, @hippolotamus, @ellaaliveforlive, @thebravebitch

[pe0ple3ater]

OK I've had a full hour and a half driving to think about this so I have a whole etoiles/bad/cellbit au to present to you now 🖤 but before I begin: RAHHHHH Cellbit angst my absolute beloved thank you PeopleEater you're so right and based and roier would 100% beg cell to eat him omnomnom

Now without further ado:

This is gonna come in 2 parts and I'm gonna start with Etoiles because goddamn that man is WOOF. Etoiles in clerical clothing BARK he is so fine he would look so good in that sexy little priest outfit.

They probably didn't have anything properly his size because how many priests are absolutely jacked? (mmm thinking abt fit too) So it's a little small. So his shoulders and chest stretch the fabric and his thighs and ass in the slacks are enough to distract many parishioners from the word of the lord. Maybe a few of them even come to confession to talk about it. Whether he knows that they're talking about him who knows

He'd be really good at it too, I mean, that man is so sweet and honorable and bright, he's like the golden boy of the church, everyone's favorite priest for his sermons alone. Of course he gets up to some nasty debauchery behind the scenes. (Im still thinking about that one fooletoiles size kink ask and imagining Foolish meeting him in a back room between services to fuck between his thighs still in his pants and turn the confident, holy man into a begging mess to have Foolish inside him. Etoiles gets upset with him afterward because now he has to change)

Cellbit is the newer, priest. Etoiles knows he has some issues, he just doesn't know what and he doesn't make it his business. What matters is that Cellbit is doing well and working to become a good man. Etoiles thinks he already is, Cellbit just has a hard time believing him. Etoiles is teaching him exorcism

Then one day Cellbit comes to him shaking and on the verge of tears and asks him to come to the confessional. He looks really good like that, but Etoiles is good at ignoring such unholy thoughts...Until Cellbit tells him what happened and he gets to prescribe some...particular acts of penance

Etoiles stays in the confessional for a while after Cellbit leaves. It's late, there weren't even services today, but he's expecting someone. And sure enough, though he can barely see it through the small holes in the booth wall, the door to the next chamber opens. He can't see who or what entered, but the scent of blood and ash follows after it, something Etoiles didn't expect to find so alluring. "Greetings Father."

The voice is sweet, high and thick with amusement. Etoiles isn't in the mood for a demon's play, he's fucking upset. He skips the pleasantries. 

"You turned that poor man into a monster," he hissed. 

"He already was a monster." A pause. "You don't seem to be all that offended, are you father?"

The demon plays tricks, they get in your mind. "You dragged him from the faith!"

"I didn't make him do anything. He did it all on his own."  He could practically hear the smile on the creature's face and it made him sick.

"You know," the demon offered. "I could help you too."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can see the truth in you. You liked hearing what Cellbit did. You've tasted blood before and you want more."

Etoiles froze. The confession felt like it had been ripped from his very mouth, yet he hadn't said a word. 

No. "Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes." Etoiles took a deep breath in, letting the demon's temptation roll off his shoulders (even if the idea of watching cellbit tear into someone, covered in viscera was enough to start making him hard).

"You ought to burn for what you've done."

The demon tsked. "You're no fun. What are you gonna do? Exorcise me?" Then in a flash, before Etoiles could respond, the world warped. Suddenly he was no longer alone in his side of the booth, but with a pitch skinned, grinning demon perched on his lap. A very pretty demon, wearing nothing but a wine red dress, archstar criscrossed over its bare chest and skirt slit high up over its hips. "Or are you gonna make me repent like you did with your student?"

The demon's tail swishes behind it, and he looked for all the world like the cat who got the cream. Without thinking, Etoiles grabbed the tail and yanked. 

The demon lets out a high gasp that goes directly to his dick. It hadn't seemed to notice, but one clawed hand had shot out to grip his shoulder. Etoiles barely flinched. Instead, he pries it off with his other hand and dropping the tail, picks the demon up to slam it against the wall. Etoiles rolls his hips into the demon's making him whine. "You don't deserve to repent," he mutters, still grinding, nails digging into the demon's exposed flesh. "But I'll fuck you so hard you'll never go near my student again."

"Wh- Language!" For a moment he has to stop. You've got to be kidding.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he rolls his eyes and drops Bad to a heap on the floor, grabbing one of his horns and shoving his cock in its mouth before they complain. 

Anyway--this definitely wont be the last time they see each other. Etoiles fucks bad's throat against the wall then makes Bad grind on his thigh until he cums, clawing at his back making the priest hiss with delight. Bad begs Etoiles to choke him and he takes his crucifix to burn into the hollow of Bad's throat like a brand as he does. Etoiles also definitely gets Bad a collar with a chain for him to hold short and tight when he fucks Bad ruthlessly over the altar

Bad definitely has a pussy and a dick in this and Etoiles makes good use of everything. I have a lot of demon Bad fucking thoughts. He/it/they Bad is my everything, also.

I have limited time so the cellbit part will come tomorrow but I might make this properly longer and into a fic we'll see

--Sin Anon

OKAY SO I'M INSANE ABOUT THIS BY THE WAY. SIN YOU'RE INSANE!!

"Etoiles in clerical clothing BARK he is so fine he would look so good in that sexy little priest outfit." I have a Thing for priests so I was SO EXCITED to read this. You did not disappoint AT ALL

"So his shoulders and chest stretch the fabric and his thighs and ass in the slacks are enough to distract many parishioners from the word of the lord. Maybe a few of them even come to confession to talk about it. Whether he knows that they're talking about him who knows" First of all, Etoiles in tight black slacks made me dizzy to think about. Poor guy is constantly dealing with leering, hungry eyes and he doesn't even know.

"..imagining Foolish meeting him in a back room between services to fuck between his thighs still in his pants" HEY HEYUM YEAH. Yes Foolish fucking his thighs, yes please. Making a pretty mess of his clothes and laughing at Etoiles frustrated little whines when he realizes he has to change. hah yeah.

"He looks really good like that" YEAH HE DOES, yes Cellbit with big wet eyes all sniffly and needy ngh..yeah I feel normal about it. I'm normal.

"(even if the idea of watching cellbit tear into someone, covered in viscera was enough to start making him hard)." yeah we're the same btw, Etoiles being a good man of faith and yet no one can deny how pretty Cellbit would look covered in blood!

"..grabbing one of his horns and shoving his cock in its mouth before they complain." YEAH GRAB HIM BY THE HORNS. PLEASE. Bbh having horns that people grab to fuck his mouth is everything to me. It's what he deserves!

"Bad begs Etoiles to choke him and he takes his crucifix to burn into the hollow of Bad's throat like a brand as he does." HOT, a brand from a man of the lord. Etoiles is doing gods work, purifying this demon from the inside out! He can't be blamed for it, it's the only way to get to the demon.

Sin anon..please make this into a full fic and drop it in my inbox I love it very very much. Hell, I'll even edit for you

[psychewritesbs]

How do you feel about Gege's overall writing style?

Am I wrong to think that sometimes he introduces stuff, interesting stuff that could be further explored but just drops/brushes past it?

Cause ngl I'm genuinely fearing for Megumi right now. The way Gege had handled the Zenins before, the politics, the clans, the higher ups - all intriguing plot points that led to nothing of notable consequence, makes me think he's fully capable of ditching a proper closure for Megumi despite all the build up. I'm also quite disheartened that, for a shonen manga that has enough awareness to question the idea of 'child soldiers', it doesn't seem that eager to delve deeper into the root cause - which is the jujutsu society and how it affects generation upon generation of sorcerers.

The Zenins are my biggest gripe with regards to this. I know not a lot in the fandom care for them but tbh I found Naobito, Mai and Naoya pretty interesting, esp. Naobito. I find him pretty reasonable and that bit of exchange wherein he tells Maki he'll put her under trials befitting her goal of becoming the Zenin clan head, made me think he had potential to be more nuanced than just a misogynistic prick. But, then he dies and gone he is along any possible character arc.

And with his death we got to the Megumi becomes the Zenin head plotline which - didn't lead to anything meaningful in the overarching narrative (at least so far, but I don't really see Gege backtracking and picking this subplot again). All of this gone to waste just so Maki could get a power up. Even Naoya seemed like he was just written to be a punching bag for one character. And while I know loads in the jjk fandom loved this mini arc, it left a bad taste in my mouth.

Now, I'm not a Maki hater. I liked her before, but after her power up she just became bland to me. And I hate how so much subplot was wasted just for her. Megumi didn't even benefit from any of this. We didn't even get to explore his dynamic with the rest of the Zenin which is just criminal. We could have delved into generational trauma. We could have had Megumi finding out more about Toji which could lead to an emotional conclusion if he ever gets told the truth about Toji's death. As it stands, I don't get why finding out would even matter to Megumi atp, since he doesn't have any emotional attachment to Toji and the story doesn't seem inclined to rectify that even just a bit. Like, we could have explored more of Megumi's character and other relationships. Cause contrary to popular opinion, and while I may seem like I'm being contradictory just for the sake of it, but his relationship with Yuji and Tsumiki is the least interesting thing about him for me.

I know that Yuji and Megumi's bond has more bearing to the overall narrative of the manga (and basically even to Megumi's character as well), but I feel like while Yuji gets to be explored in the lenses and relationships he build with other characters (like Junpei, Nanami, Todo, Choso, even Gojo just to name a few), Gege doesn't seem all that interested in doing the same with Megumi. We barely get scraps of interactions between him and other characters. And it feels like Gege is purposely limiting him to just Yuji, and Tsumiki, although we know how this particular one turned out. Once again another possible character relationship introspection gone to waste. Tsumiki being treated like a plot device felt like an insult to Megumi tbh. That's one of the only 2 developed relationships he had but, again, it gets brushed off.

Now I'm probably just overreacting, but I'm highly pessimistic with Gege's writing and execution of Megumi's character. Not to say he's not well-written, the reason why I'm this pissed is because he is the exact opposite and I think there's so much more to him that could be expanded upon beyond his relationship with the MC.

Hola! Welcome back to our regular programming with JJK confessions Sunday! Not on a Sunday.

Ok so you ask two specific questions:

How do I feel about Gege's overall writing style? I love it. Although I'm looking at writing style from the perspective of how Gege conveys his vision and not necessarily the technicalities. This kind of requires that I am in tune with that vision. While I do feel like the technicalities have room for improvement, I'm so focused on the vision that I am not concerned with the technical bits. I also see Gege as a an amateur writer who is having his first major commercial success and who is doing a really good job for how long he's been writing. I often talk about CLAMP, right? And I by no means want to make it seem like their first commercial success (Tokyo Babylon) was bad. I LOVE tb and it is well-written. But there is a marked improvement in storytelling and writing that you can follow along throughout CLAMP's career. So I kind of see Gege in the same light as someone who is going to improve his craft.

Am I wrong to think that sometimes he introduces stuff, interesting stuff that could be further explored but just drops/brushes past it? No, you aren't necessarily wrong.

Let's taco'bout it under the cut.

I was actually having a similar conversation with a moot about this because I don't necessarily think that Gege is leaving loose ends, I see it more as two things happening:

First, patience grasshopper! In a couple of interviews with the cursed cat that have surfaced lately where he talks about his writing, he makes reference to writing as a craft. When I read those interviews, the way he talks about how he writes feels like he's very intentional about how he chooses to plot, develop characters, etc.

Problem is sometimes we don't see a payoff for some time. i.e. I don't remember the actual chapter number, but the enchain clue was dropped as early as somewhere around chapter 12, but we didn't get a payoff for another 200 chapters.

We also learned about Gojo becoming "The Strongest" as early as chapter 70something, but we don't learn how that identity hindered him for [insert maths here] chapters.

The other thing I see happening (and I can't necessarily back this up take a shot for every time I use the word necessarily in my answer) is that Gege is a metaphorical thinker.

Regarding this, someone in an ask before said something that made sense to me: Gege might not be grounding his vision into the page in a way that is concrete and understandable to everyone--I agree.

As a highly metaphorical thinker myself, I struggle with communication because the way I use language to convey meaning is too flexible, ambiguous, and dependent on people picking up on the mental images I associate with the words I use when I speak. And... unfortunately for my infantile desire to be understood in my own terms, communication doesn't necessarily work like that.

All that said, from reading you, I have the feeling you are a natural meta-thinker, and that you have a very good imagination that is very expansive.

So it's only fair and understandable that you'd like to see Gege expand upon the themes you mention. After all, they ARE good and interesting plot points and you can see the untapped potential.

The part where I'd disagree (although I am not necessarily disagreeing), is that, while these themes are touched upon, they aren't necessarily the sole focus that Gege might have in mind for the vision he wants to convey. Exploring these themes in depth would also necessitate a much longer manga, and it seems Gege has an end in mind that he's trying to reach.

I swear if I say necessarily one more time.

So yeah... I can see why you feel like he's brushing past these themes, but to me Gege is simply exploring "depth" in a way that is perhaps not aligned with what you'd like to see.

For example, you might disagree and I could be wrong, but I see the whole "child soldier" theme and looking for "the root cause - which is the jujutsu society and how it affects generation upon generation of sorcerers" theme playing out through Kenny's desire to push the evolution of mankind. There's something here about how Kenny's goals are a sort of continuation of Geto's will.

As for Megumi lacking some sort of emotional connection to Toji, you have to remember that Megumi says one thing and feels differently sometimes. Saying "I don't care" is a conscious defense mechanism for wanting to suppress "caring too much". Again, I could be wrong, but from a psychological perspective, we are inevitably emotionally bound to our biological parents. So we have yet to see how this plays out. Clearly Gege has something in mind.

Sticking to Megumi--I want to write more about this, because I used to agree with you about Tsumiki. I don't know how to explain in concrete language yet, but the more I think about it, the audience was never meant to see the real Tsumiki, and that was the whole point. Tsumiki existing in Megumi's imagination is the whole shebang because she represents his anima, which he has to integrate into consciousness as part of his psychological development.

The way I see it, what Gege did with Tsumiki, is both 100% shameless plot device and masterful Analytical Psychology and Psychology of Fairy Tales in action.

As for your grievances about execution. Here's where I join you 😂. God did I hate the Sakurajima arc! I l liked things about it, ofc. But Naoya coming back and getting his ass kicked again just made me want to move to Alaska and lock myself up in a cabin and become a recluse.

I can see the arc's role in retrospect (reading people's meta about it really helped with it), I acknowledge it, and I still didn't like it. 'Tis what 'tis.

I think every manga has that one arc you are just not going to vibe with.

Love your comments about Naobito and Naoya being interesting characters too! Mai also strikes me as a well-executed example of Gundam Seed's Flay Alster.

So anyways, you might disagree with what I say but, in writing this, goal is to invite you to think differently about what you mentioned if you feel inclined to do so.

Thanks for stopping by anon and here's to hoping Gege doesn't drop the Megumi storyline.

[dovelydraws]

Im no creator or anything, but that last part you wrote about how the internet is becoming a lonely place…i kinda feel that. Most likely not in the same sense you do, but everywhere the release of new and newer stuff and media is on the forefront, AI is rising and making the release even faster (at the cost of quality most of the time) and it‘s just…there‘s no appreciation anymore? Nobody stops to listen or see or engage with stuff because newer music or art or anything really is coming out and everyone wants to keep up. Communities or fanbases become short lived and that‘s for the huge pieces, and the smaller ones kinda seem to just…fall behind and are forgotten

Engagement also seems to have become somewhat precarious. That‘s solely an opinion of mine, but whenever I hear what creators have to deal with due to the animosity made possible by the internet…it‘s just sad. And as such, I for one don‘t want to bother anyone and so I feel like not wanting to say the wrong thing and in the worst scenario cost an artist some motivation or joy (yes, Im aware, me sending an ask anonymously is a bit ironic, but that‘s mostly my anxiety peaking)

Yeah, I totally agree about everything going way too fast. Over the last few years I REALLY began hating the binge-format brought on by streaming services, ever since I noticed how quickly communities die out after new shows air because of it. I remember a lot of people complaining when certain ones like hbomax and disneyplus decided to release their shows weekly instead of all at once, but I actually felt relieved and excited by the idea, because it meant we'd all actually have time to digest and truly appreciate what we were seeing and have actual discussions around it like we used to.

It's why I describe the feeling I get when people simply leave a quick "like" on my art without actual engagement with me and my work as "consumption." I don't fault people for doing it on occasion, I get sometimes we just like what we see and don't have much to say about it and that's that, I certainly do the same thing sometimes. But when it's constantly the only form of recognition I'm getting, it really starts to feel like I'm not being seen as a person behind the screen, that my work was churned out for instant individual gratification with no extra thought behind it.

This feeling started to get really, really bad with the rottmnt fandom in particular actually, which is why I swore off making any more fanart for it. Seeing several strangers discover me, spam-like through my blog on all my fanart posts, ignore everything else, no reblogs, no comments, and not even follow me afterwards, it really began to leave a bad taste in my mouth and made me super uncomfortable. It was happening literally every day for months at one point, after the movie came out. It made me feel like a content mill, and I very nearly deleted every single one of my fanart posts because of it. I'm hesitant to jump into making fanart for any other fandoms now too, because I don't want that to happen again.

As for what you said about the way people treat artists making you nervous to engage yourself, in worry that you'll bother them or make it worse- tbh, I think your recognition of that makes it even more important for you to say what you want to say? Art is a form of communication. Artists are looking for community, when we share our work to the world. We're always bound to not be understood or treated fairly, when you open yourself up like that. Whether that's feeling hated, or ignored, or disrespected, I think every positive comment left by someone who enjoyed what they saw helps to drown out those bad experiences. It's all we're ever looking for, to know that our effort meant something to someone.

I totally get where you're coming from with your anxiety, but I truly think you could only do more good than harm by letting someone know that you liked something they put a lot of love and effort into creating. I always reblog art that I like over on my personal blog, and I try to leave little comments in the tags whenever my brain's not totally fried after an 8 hour shift at my job, lol. It doesn't even need to be anything specific! I try to do that for people when I can because I know how happy it makes me feel when someone else does that for me. :)