#he would just piss me off so bad I’d have no choice but to suck his

[shaunasflannel]

Mmmmm yes please 🥲

backspin | bbf!frankie

surprise! we're taking a quick detour to fuck around with our brother's best friend again. what else is new.

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x fem!reader summary: you try to get even with frankie. it works. warnings: reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, enemies to lovers, mention of throwing up, alcohol consumption, cursing, oral, more dickhead frankie and more sassy reader word count: 6.3k

part one: rack 'em | main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💙

So, you fucked around with Frankie.

It’s no big deal, right? It was just a one-time thing. There was tension, you guys relieved it. Scratched an itch. Served a purpose. You still fucking hate the guy, and he still fucking hates you.

Nothing’s changed.

Right?

Mal sprays wine all over the kitchen table when you tell her. Gargles a, Sorry – fuck – sorry, through what little of the alcohol is left in her mouth.

You wipe your face clean in the crook of your elbow. It’s in your fucking eyelashes. You blink the room back into focus, and – “Jesus, Mal!”

Dark droplets teeter around the edge of the table, threatening to plunge straight down onto your mom’s chair cushions – thus damning you to her very own personal hell for all eternity. You can feel the flames licking at your feet already.

Your best friend rips a sheet of paper towel and drags it over the wood – white bleeding violet at the first swipe. “Why’d you tell me as I was taking a sip?”

“I didn’t think you’d fucking hose me down,” you hiss, taking the soaked crumple from her hands.

“You didn’t think I’d be a little surprised that you and Catfish Morales hooked up? Are you fucking ser–? Actually, you know what? I’m not that surprised.”

You glare at her from the sink, upper lip curled.

Mallory Bennett has been privy to your every thought since you were six years old. Hand in hand, arms swinging as you marched into first grade together.

Most days, you barely have to open your mouth – one flinching expression, one flash of eye contact, and she can parrot your own thoughts back to you.

Francisco Morales going down on you two nights ago is the first thing you’ve ever had to confess to her. It’s the first thing she never saw coming.

“Shut up,” you breathe, eventually thawing and sweeping over to your chair. The table sticks to your arms when you sit back down.

“There’s a lot to unpack there, alright? A lot of tension. I mean, you gotta fuckin’ feel it. You two hate each other’s guts! And you’re both single, and you’re only here for two weeks. And – he’s Santi’s best friend. It’s just…it’s the perfect storm.”

Another exasperated sigh passes your lips. You settle back, eyes closed, and lift your palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

“You wouldn’t’ve told me if you didn’t wanna talk about it. Was he good?”

“Mal.”

“Was he?”

“I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.” Her face screws up; the gold hoops wobble from her ears. “Like hell you don’t remember. Tell me.”

Your eyes slip from her over to Ange. The old pup pushes herself to her feet with a huff, her joints stiff and bones frail. She moseys over to your side. You scratch the back of the dog’s neck, shrugging to Mal.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way to a free round of drinks, I’d remember enough to share.”

“Fuck you,” she snorts, voice rounded by her wine glass. “Maybe that just means you gotta do it again – sober.”

You scoff.

Angie looks up at you – watery eyes blinking, tail slowly fanning.

Mal’s already recounting the time Frankie snitched on the two of you for raiding your mom’s makeup bag. She waves her hands in the air, eyes bulging.

Do it again. The thought actually makes you want to laugh.

You and Frankie – you and Catfish, hooking up again. As if the first time wasn’t a total mishap, the biggest mistake in judgement you think you’ve ever made.

He drove you home, he made you come, he left.

One nil, right? You have one up on him. You got yours, and he probably went home and jerked off to the thought of it. Alone in his room, tongue licking at the corners of his mouth where he could still taste your release.

You won.

You won, against Frankie Morales.

“…and then fuckin’ – Pope tried to help us tidy it up, remember? He was scrubbing the hell outta the lipstick on the mirror. But that asshole – Frankie,” she seethes, “he went downstairs as soon as your mom came home. As soon as she…And he fucking ratted!”

She growls, balls her fists. Screws her eyes tight shut like the enraged eight-year-old she was back then. She still has the same little crease between her brows. “What the hell got into you that night? We hate him, junior!”

Ange slumps to the floor with a sigh.

“Me too, girl,” you mutter to her, twirling the base of your glass. You look back up at the crazed woman opposite. “I don’t know,” you insist. “I was drunk, we were on our own…It just happened, alright?”

Her shoulders roll in a shrug. She lifts her glass to clink the neck of the bottle against the rim, purple wine spilling in a swirl. “Maybe it’s the start of something.”

You scoff. “Mal. Come on.”

“I’m serious. Perfect storm.”

“Nope. No storm. Stop that.”

She jabs a tipsy finger in your direction. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you messed around with your arch fucking menesis– arch fucking…with – with Frankie, and you just – still feel nothing for him?”

“No,” you admit, “I feel plenty for him. I hate his fucking guts. I used to wish every birthday that he’d disappear. One time in church, when Father Joseph told everybody to bow their heads ‘n pray, I actually asked God to kill him for me.”

“Not Father Joseph!” Mal shrieks, grinning. “He was so fucking hot, by the way, for a dude with no hair. When the sunlight caught that cueball just right…that was a real fucking miracle. Goddamn.”

You bat her snicker away. “Me and Frankie used to brawl so bad that our moms had to separate us,” you continue. “I had to sit in the front seat if we drove anywhere – and that still didn’t stop him! He’d reach around the headrest and flick my fucking ear.”

“You gave as good as you got, though. I’m surprised he can even still get hard, the number of times your foot…” She swings her leg and kicks your thigh softly. “He was an ass, I know.”

“He was an ass then, he’s still an ass now. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay,” Mal concedes. Her dark, glossy hair surfs around the lip of her wine glass when she leans in. “But you wouldn’t’ve told me unless it was still on your mind. ‘s all I’m saying.”

You throw yourself back with a quick, angry shake of your head. Your tongue flicks over your top lip.

“All I’m saying,” she repeats, holding her hands up.

But I won, you think – in a petulant little whine. Like you could shake your fists and stamp your feet at the same time. You got one up on him. He – he made you…

He made you come. He saw you. Felt you. Tasted you.

He knows what you sound like, whimpering his fucking name. Drunk on him, begging him not to stop. And now, the image of him fisting his cock over the memory of it feels less like a victory, and more like –

Another fucking loss.

You have no idea what he looks like, coming undone. No clue what his fragmented moans sound like as they tear from the bottom of his throat and rain down over you. You don’t know the weight of him in your hands, the wet slip of his tip as he leaks over your tongue.

Mal’s onto something new. Taken by a Facebook post from some girl you went to high school with. Biggest head I ever saw on a fucking baby, she mutters, wincing and then sprinkling a handful of salted peanuts on her tongue.

Frankie’s cocky smirk clouds over the sight of her at the opposite end of your kitchen table.

Francisco fucking Morales. The asshole wins again.

All at once, you hear his rotten little jeers in your ear – curbed painfully by his middle finger searing across your lobe. You feel his heavy palm on your skull, fingers scrunching roughly into your scalp.

A temper boils between your ears, heavy over your head. It feels juvenile, as if it’s armed with a Barbie in one fist and a juice box in the other. Sunken and wallowing in shame and rage, red-hot waves which wash over you as Mal cackles at some video on her phone.

You feel Frankie’s hands around your legs; the flicks of his hair tickling the inside of your thighs. The swarm of butterflies deep in your belly as you watched his figure swagger back across the street to his truck.

Loss after loss after loss. Each one wearing a satisfied smirk and a Standard Oil baseball cap.

Each one staining deeper than red wine in varnished oak.

You grit your teeth.

Frankie –

fucking –

Morales.

Santi floats the idea of a barbecue. Because of course he fucking does.

He says his place is too small, too many neighbors in earshot – and as long as Ms. Teller takes both hearing aids out, she won’t even know it’s happening.

“Just the guys ‘n us,” he chirps. “You, me, Will, Benny…Fran-kie…?”

You gag down the line. Body instinct whenever his name is mentioned, worsened by the latest developments in your relations. Ange glances up from her spot beneath the oak tree – her milky fur stark against the velvet green grass.

Santi chokes on a laugh. “Mal, too, if that helps with the Catfish thing.”

You lean the phone on your collarbone, sitting forward to apply a second coat of polish to your toes. The red gloss shines in the early morning light. “He is not welcome in my house.”

“First off: not your house. Second –”

“My house for the next eleven days.”

He says your name flatly. It sounds like a door being slammed. It shuts you up as though you’re nine again. “…Second: he won’t be in the house. He’ll be in the backyard.”

“You owe me,” you protest. “For ditching me the other night. I’m cashing in, Santiago. You want a cookout? No Frankie.”

Your brother sighs. “And how am I supposed to explain that to him, hermana?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Santi mutters something incoherent, though you know from the razor-sharp tone of voice that it’s no compliment. Still – he’s a man of his word.

Eventually he agrees: no Frankie at the barbecue.

The store is chilly, plucking goosebumps along your arms.

You round the aisles, scanning your list. You’ve been battling with a janky front wheel which has squealed and veered off-course at every fucking turn. It almost mowed over an elderly woman in the meat aisle.

You’ve cleared most of what Santi told you to get. Drinks, ice, buns, meat, corn on the cob. He wanted to use Mom’s dinner plates – but that, you countered, runs the risk of them being scraped, chipped, or worst of all, smashed.

That’s not a risk you’re willing to take. So you’ve piled in some paper plates and plastic cutlery, too – just to be on the safe side.

The cashier cuts a familiar figure at the checkout: her navy apron and full-cheek grin. She’s a staple sight from your childhood – a pair of dimples and sweet giggle trailing after you as you’d follow your mom’s skirt back out to the parking lot.

Her eyes widen and she clasps her hands when she notices you approaching. “Well, would you look who it is?” she sings.

“Hey, Pol,” you say, fanning yourself with your scrawled shopping list. “How you doing?”

The belt jolts your supplies closer to her bejeweled fingers.

“Same as always, honey. Rockin’ and rollin’. What brings you back to town?”

“Housesitting, dog-sitting…Santi-sitting. Mom and Dad are on a cruise.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she says, nodding. “She told me last week. Caribbean, right?”

You nod, sucking a deep, unenthused breath in.

Pol hums, smiling to herself as she clicks the barcode for your hotdogs into her computer. She begins telling you what her granddaughter thinks of second grade – her two times table and the tadpoles they’re keeping in class.

Your eyes sweep around the store as she chats. Everything looks the way it always did, a time capsule from the nineties. Speckled floor and fluorescent lights; placards hanging overhead which sway each time the great glass doors pull open.

Baskets of fruit and veg lined alongside a lawn set on offer. Beside that, heaps of flowers and stacked planters. Beside those, a discarded shopping cart. And beside that –

Frankie fucking Morales.

Well – the silhouette of him. It’s pretty bright outside. But you’d recognize the outline of that dumb baseball cap anywhere. He’s talking to one of the assistants.

You hand Pol the cash Santiago gave you, and she trades it for a receipt. Dumping your bags back into your cart, you nod to her in thanks and stalk off towards the sliding doors.

Frankie tosses and twirls a pack of cigarettes in his hand. The assistant is telling him about some big college football game.

Your grip tightens on the janky-wheeled cart. You feel your skin begin to heat; prickling all over your arms, flushing down between your shoulder blades. Gathering somewhere south of there.

But you walk by him with purpose, choosing to ignore that warm feeling. Choosing to ignore…him.

He doesn’t turn. Thankfully.

The doors grant you exit and you give your cart one good shove across the threshold, back out into blinding daylight and sticky heat.

“Alright, man,” Frankie’s voice calls from behind. “Good talkin’ to ya.”

You nail your eye on the car. It’s, like, fifteen paces. You can make it fifteen steps without having to deal with him, right? If you take longer strides, it’s probably more like ten.

Ten steps, and then you’re in the sanctuary of your car. You don’t have to see, speak to, or deal with him.

So why are you slowing down?

You’re slowing down. You are. You’re borderline fucking loitering. Quietly hoping he’ll notice, catch up, maybe talk to –

You click the unlock button. The car beeps in response.

Five steps out. The front wheel is rattling. You’re doing your best to ignore it.

Four.

Three.

The wheel spins, flitting like a confused compass needle, and stops dead in the opposite direction. The cart hurtles out of your grip for less than a second before you recover it and haul it close to your car, cursing under your breath.

But a force – stronger, steadier – reaches around your body and takes hold of the thing. It guides it back to course. A force which, when it speaks, sounds a shit ton like –

“Woah, lil Santi,” Frankie mutters, and your chest leaps.

You freeze in your tracks. His weight is still around your back. He’s right fucking there, when you turn to look.

The brim of his cap bumps against your head. He steps back with a smirk on his face. He’s so fucking smug, you could slap him. “You tryna cause a goddamn accident with that thing?”

You pull a disingenuous smile. “Hey, Fish. Ever tried minding your own business?”

He feigns a wounded sound and clutches his chest. “Ouch. I’m just looking out for ya.”

“Feels more like you’re pestering me.” You pull on the door handle and slot the first bag along the backseat.

Frankie lifts his chin, peering in at the contents. The star-spangled plated, the dripping bags of ice. “Having a party?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.

You yank the bag from his sight, spinning to push it alongside the others. “Nope.”

He crosses his arms. “Sure looks like you’re having one.”

“Well, I’m not.” You slam the door and turn back to him, staring blankly.

“Forgot,” he sniffs, “you need friends to have a party.”

“Hilarious. Those shit jokes how you make all your friends?”

He nods, impressed. Pouts his lips like an annoying little fish. Suits his stupid fucking nickname. “Then why’d Benny call ‘n ask if I’ll be at Pope’s parents’ tonight?”

Shit. Fucking – Benny.

You sigh, eyes rolling closed. Your fingers massage your temples. “It’s not…it’s…”

“Cookout, right? Yeah. That stings, baby. No call, no text. You owe me, remember?”

“I owe you jack sh–”

“Two drinks,” Frankie clips, holding a finger up to shush you. “Three, if you count saving your car from one hell of a scratch.”

“Fuck off,” you breathe, and then give voice to, “It’s a small gathering of friends, and – now you, apparently.”

He sways forward, bumping the cart into your hip. “You need me to bring anything?”

You heave it straight back at him, hopefully hard enough to bruise. “Tranquilizer gun, if you’ve got one.”

“Can get something even stronger, if it’s a party you’re after.”

Your eyes thin. “Wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite for much longer if she found out you were doing coke in her backyard.”

Frankie smiles. That trademark Catfish grin. “I’ve done worse in her kitchen, baby.”

He’s so goddamn cocky. So full of it, it makes you want to scream. He studies you, eyes shadowed by his cap. His hair flicks out around his ears, dark curls doused in golden sunlight.

When your eyes trace the shape of his jaw, the wiry hair above his top lip – the faint flicker of a memory glows across your skin.

The weight of his hand on your stomach, pinning you to the bed. The bristling feeling ghosting the inside of your thighs. Your desperate wet, his tongue covering ground across your body like claiming territory.

Every shade of wrong. Ignoring every atom in your body – betraying every version of yourself for ten minutes of euphoria. He brought every numb nerve under your skin to attention, the second he knelt between your knees.

But he’s looking at you now, the same way he did the other night. It’s boyish and dangerous. A naked match just waiting to fall.

Maybe you’re waiting for an excuse to drop it.

Frankie gives his cap a quick tug, and makes off for his truck.

“See you at seven, Garcia.”

Daylight melts into dusk and with it, goes the sharp sting of summer. A pale blue rolls across the horizon, covering the yard in a hazy sort of chill. A relieving breeze, like satin over newly burned skin.

You’re still fucking sweating.

“Are you going to help me, or you just gonna lie there and text your girlfriend?” you call across the yard.

The dark figure spilling over the edge of the hammock grunts in response.

“Santi.”

Your brother groans, rolling free from the marigold fabric. He strides across the lawn, swinging an arm down to ruffle Ange’s ears. “Not a girlfriend,” he says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “She’s…she’s more of a…”

You lift your hand. “Not something I need to know.”

He laughs and looks at the spread on the table. He lifts the corner of a tricolor napkin, straightens a plastic fork. The foil over the hamburger buns crinkles. “We did a good job. Looks great.”

“We?” You scoff, slapping his wrist away. “Yeah, me and the fucking dog, more like.”

“How much did it all come to? The food and shit?”

You shrug. “Like, forty dollars. I don’t know.”

“Gave you sixty. Where’s my change?”

You frown, hands on your hips. “If you don’t know how to budget properly, that’s not my problem.”

“And if you don’t know when to just lie and say you spent it all, that’s not mine. Twenty bucks, kid.” He holds his hand out, fingers beckoning.

The squeal of the gate interrupts, followed by a barrage of voices. Will and Benny and Mal and – as you lean back to watch them parade through the yard, you spot the figure of Frankie at their heels.

“Pope?” Will calls. “Pope, do me a favor. Remind me which one of us threw up at Busch Gardens that one time. Remember – right after we rode Gwazi?”

Santiago chuckles. “I remember Mallory wearing her raspberry slushie.”

Will guffaws in Mal’s face.

“I spit up!” she protests. “I spit up in a flowerbed. I was not wearing my slushie.”

“You were fluorescent pink the whole day,” Will says. He slings an arm around your shoulders. “You remember, lil Santi?”

You frown. Yeah, you fucking remember.

You remember being forced to sit between Frankie and Mal the entire way home. Santiago got dibs on the front seat by pretending he was carsick, and Mal had to sit by an open window so she didn’t stink your dad’s car out with all her raspberry-flavored puke.

You and Frankie bickered the whole journey. Both absolutely certain that the other was leaning too far over your seats. Your dad vowed he’d never let you both in his car at the same time, ever again.

“Mhm,” you grit, shooting daggers at your best friend.

She mouths a Sorry, and then places her salad bowl in the middle of the table. “Enough about throwing up. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

The boys spend twenty minutes arguing over how the barbecue works, before a single bit of food is cooked. You and Mal watch from the table, sneaking Ange slices of cheese and giggling when Will and Benny break into their fifth argument of the night.

Santi and Frankie take charge, shoving the brothers out of the way.

Pope passes over the meat, while Frankie mans the grill. He lifts his cap and wipes his brow with his bicep, giving his head a shake as he flips burgers and turns sausages.

And no, you’re not watching him. You’re focused on Mal and her story about some guy from work. Or – it might be a guy from her yoga class. The instructor, maybe? You’re not sure. Frankie just flapped the collar of his shirt and the hem lifted, exposing a sliver of his tummy.

You’re not watching him, though.

He runs his tongue along his top lip, focusing on the sizzle and spatter of the grill. His arm tenses, turning the tongs over and over. Wide shoulders stretch when he reaches for a plate.

He’s laughing quietly at whatever Santi’s babbling about at his side. His eyes are stuck on the barbecue in front of him. His fingers twirl around the tongs again. He never looked so lean and so broad and so fucking different, all at once.

Weird different. Good different?

You feel your cheeks flush with heat. This time, it’s not so much anger, as it is –

Oh, shit.

Mal gets up for a refill at the same time Santiago jogs inside to grab more meat. You and Frankie are alone on the patio – Will and Benny are kicking a ball for Ange to chase on the grass.

Morales turns, and you instantly stare down at your beer. You take a forceful swig as he approaches.

“Hotdog?” he asks, holding a plate down to you.

“Huh?”

He glares at you and scoffs. “Are you dumb? Hotdog.” He slips it onto the table in front of you.

You squint at the grill marks, and then squint up at Frankie. Puzzled and…offended, at the same time. You come back to your body with a jolt. “Why the hell are you–? Have you laced it with something?”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, tongue between his teeth. “No, I haven’t fucking laced it with anything. I just figured you should have the first one, since you put all this on for us. But – Jesus, give me it.”

Your fingers lock around the paper plate when he tries to steal it back. For all that he’s a dick and might actually try to poison you – you’re fucking starving.

You figure you can stomach the poison.

Frankie sighs. He lets go. “I’m tryna be nice, alright? You know nice?”

“I know nice. You’re not it.”

“Shut up and eat your hotdog, lil Santi.”

You mimic him in a squeak as he strolls off, shaking his head. Still, the second he’s back at the grill, you rip into the hotdog.

Frankie stays at the opposite end of the table for the entire meal – closest seat to the barbecue, and furthest seat from you. There’s too much chatter, too much hilarity being thrown back and forth between you for either of you to kick up a row.

Probably better for the guys’ sakes, but – you want to fucking row.

It’s like a hit, now. A rush of electricity, any time Frankie looks at you for longer than it takes his face to twist into a grimace. You’re hunting for ways to ignite something – anything. Looking for an excuse to drop that naked match and set the whole thing alight.

Because it’s fun, when you’re in the heat of it. Feeling his eyes on you, as hot and angry as flames. Being suffocated by the smoke of it all; breathing in less and less air and more…him.

And, anyway – who knows you better than the one person who pisses you off the most?

As the sun is snuffed by the heavy hand of dusk, you disappear to a quieter corner of the yard. Tucked between two thick beech trees, you throw yourself into the hammock – one leg draped over the side, swinging idly through the night air.

A beer bottle balanced on your tummy, the round base seeping a chilled ring into your shirt. The swish of leaves overhead and the annoying midges at your ears for company.

That is – until the sound of footsteps over crisp grass, and the creak of an old, splintered garden chair disturb your peace.

Frankie adjusts his cap, flatting his fringe beneath it, and sits back. “You never change, do you, Garcia? Still the same little longer you always were.”

You hold your hands out, gulping back beer – and glee. “Can I fucking help you? I’m minding my own business.”

“Thought you might want some company.”

“Not yours, dickhead. You think I’m way the hell over here ‘cause I wanted you to come annoy me?”

He hums, picking at a flake of paint on the armrest. “Sure wanted me to annoy you the other night.”

“Alright,” you clip. “Cheap shot. You been practicing that one all afternoon?”

“Since I saw you at the store.”

You roll your eyes.

Frankie slips a cigarette from its pack and lights it, tipping his chin to blow a white cloud to the sky. “You’re too much fun,” he tells the stars.

You squint through the dark, staring at the glowing cherry. “What?”

“You. You get so pissed, so easily. Always have.”

“Well, you antagonize me. Always have.”

His cheeks lift. It’s something softer than a smirk, still laced with too much attitude to be a smile. “That’s ‘cause you were always around. Everywhere Santi went, there you were. Closer than his shadow.”

“Well,” you glower, “’s what happens when you have a big brother. You’re void of love; I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I get it,” he says. “It just got fun to mess with you, after a while.”

“Uhuh,” you take another swig, “so is that what you’re doing? Messing with me?”

Frankie’s shoulders jump. “You tell me. There were two of us in your room that night.”

You swing your legs down to the grass. It’s brittle under your socks when you stand, still focusing on the end of his cigarette. “Damn, you really can’t shut up about it, can you? How many times have you tugged one to the thought of it?”

“Tugged one,” he snickers, but he seems nervous – watching as you approach. “What age are you?”

You push his knees wider, slotting between his thighs. “Which part does it for you? What sends you over the edge?”

“Come on, lil Santi,” Frankie says, averting his eye. “You’re embarrassing yourself now.”

One knee up, resting on the crease of his jeans. You lean forward and nudge his hip, lay your hands gently on his shoulders. “I bet you still hear me in your dreams.”

He scans up and down your body, lingering on your bare thigh. “Not – not gonna work, kid,” he promises, shaking his head. “You still annoy the fuck outta me.”

“Right, right.” You pinch the pale stick from between his teeth. “’cause nothing’s changed, yeah?”

His head sways in agreement. He’s distracted, watching as you lift your hand to your mouth.

You smile down at him. “’cept you know how I taste now, so.”

You slot the damp end of the cigarette between your lips and suck. Sharp, acrid heat sails over your tongue and down your throat, filling your chest in one inhale. You cough a little, batting the smoke as you blow it out.

“Tastes fucking disgusting,” you croak. “How can you smoke these?”

Frankie’s eyes never leave your lips. “You get used to it.”

You take another draw, letting the smoke soar through the space between you. “Gross,” you say, and prop the cig back between his lips. “Just like you!”

“Sh…shut up,” he groans, adjusting in his seat.

“Make me.”

But he doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares back, rolling the smoldering stick between his thumb and finger. Running his tongue along his teeth.

You spill the last of your beer onto your tongue, cocking an eyebrow at him, and push from his lap.

You make it no more than five steps, before that same weight from the parking lot is around your shoulders.

He pings the cigarette somewhere in the grass, and grabs onto your elbow.

“Fran– Jesus – Where are we–?”

He drags you through the dull dusk to the other side of the lawn, ignoring the click of the motion sensor. You’re thrown through a wooden door onto cold concrete before the yard light floods over you.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Weak slivers of moonlight illuminate each tool hanging from the wall. The fairy lights outside lose their battle against the darkness the second they creep through the window.

Before you can sling something mocking at him, Frankie has you pinned against the wall.

“You want me to make you shut up?” he growls, teeth grazing your neck. His fingers slip behind the waist of your shorts, plucking at the button. “I’ll make you shut up. Make you shut up all goddamn night.”

“Frankie,” you gasp, grabbing hold of his shirt. You push on his chest, walking him backwards over to the workbench.

The thing shudders when he rocks against it.

“The fuck are you doing?” he murmurs, watching as you kneel before him.

“Getting used to it,” you reply.

You pull his belt apart, loosen the fly on his pants, and pull until they’re low on his hips.

Frankie holds onto the bench with a white-knuckle grip. He lays his hand over the crown of your head, rubbing small circles. A laugh slips across his tongue. “This what you’ve been thinkin’ about?”

You ignore him, instead focusing on the solid shape in his underwear.

His hips flinch when you drag your palm along it. He’s hard already. He hisses at your cold fingers on his stomach, tensing as your knuckles skim below the elastic.

And then…he’s in your palm. All of him. Frankie fucking Morales.

You’re trying not to think too deep about it.

Your fingers wrap around him, barely meeting around his width, and you slip him from his boxers.

His cock springs free, swaying once, twice – then settling to the right.

Your mouth fills with saliva. Suddenly – there’s no way not to think too deep about it.

He’s…he’s big. He’s thick; smooth and sculpted, veins trailing around his shaft. It’s not like you ever considered what he’s walking around with before, but looking at it now – you can’t believe it’s him.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him all the way down to the hair at his base. A wet trail, lips curving around the size of him. You run your tongue up and down, circling the tip and toying with it.

Frankie cups your cheek. “Pretty little mouth,” he utters. “Put it to good use, huh?”

You don’t need him to ask twice.

You sink down on him. Every inch of him – every aching, choking inch. Your jaw slackens to take him; nails digging into his thighs when he bumps the back of your throat.

“Oh, shit, baby,” he hisses. His hand comes down on your head a little too heavily.

You yelp and pull back, gasping when he slips out. “Prick,” you breathe, closing your lips around his tip again.

“Just too sweet with it,” he murmurs, guiding himself back across your tongue.

You suckle on him, using your hands to pump the inches your mouth can’t take.

Frankie’s head tips back, panting at the roof. His hips thrust to meet your movements. “Feels so – goddamn – good,” he moans, and you hum with glee.

You take his balls in your hands, kneading them as you work your way lower. He’s so deep in your mouth that it makes your eyes water. Each slip of his tip against the back of your throat makes you gag, pulls a lewd, muffled sound from your chest.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. But he’s falling apart under your fingertips, he’s unwinding right before you. He’s whispering your name, begging you not to stop. Just like that, just like that, just like that. Oh, fuck, just like that.

It’s addictive. Now that you know how he looks, how he feels, you’ll never go back to before. When the most thrill he gave you was a burning temper; feeling your pulse jump in your throat with rage.

This – whatever the fuck this is – is all you know, now. Pulling threads from one another, watching the way they unravel. Watching each other unravel. Flashes of eye contact, salt and slick and sex dripping from every secret word.

Frankie’s hips jerk. His cock spasms.

You don’t want him to come down your throat. You don’t want him to climax when he’s too deep for you to taste it.

You want him all over – your lips, your tongue, dribbling down your chin. You want to mix him with your saliva and swallow; warm, salty, Frankie.

He got his taste. Now you want yours.

You bring your hands up to his thighs, purposefully pushing back off him.

His grip loosens, and he looks down. Brows low and close, eyes blown wide like he’s higher than any drug could take him.

He’s as addicted as you are.

“My mouth,” you mumble, head of his cock circling your glistening lips. “In my mouth.”

“Yeah?” he says, and the weight of his cock slaps on your bottom lip. “That where you want it, baby?”

“Mhm.” You wrap your lips back around him.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Frankie spits, laughing. “Shit – just like that. Yeah, that’s it.”

Three, four more soaking strokes of your tongue and he’s twitching again.

You pull back only enough to rest his tip on your tongue, feeling the pulsing heat as he comes. Watching the way his face tightens, the pull of his brows as it overcomes him.

His eyes stay locked on you. Your fluttering lashes, your puffy, glossy lips. He fills your mouth and then some – semen spilling from the corners and dribbling down your jaw. And the sound he makes – this broken, scattered moan, bordering on a fucking whimper – is fucking perfect.

Frankie’s hand locks at the base of your skull, holding you steady until he’s done. His cock slips from your bottom lip. He gives one last satisfied sigh, petting your head as you stroke him slowly, tenderly – swiping kitten licks at the dripping mess of him.

“Fuck,” he moans, letting his eyes close over. His weight slumps against the workbench. “The fuck do you spend so much time yapping for when you’re that good with your mouth?”

You hum in amusement, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. He’s softening, but still a decent size. Still a weight to it that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

One last little kiss, and you tuck him back into his boxers. You drag the back of your hand across your chin.

Frankie holds his hands out, and you pull yourself up. He fixes himself into his jeans, turning away to do up his belt. He had his cock in your throat two minutes ago, and here he is pretending to be shy.

He turns back around, half disappeared to the dark shed. “I, uh…I don’t want you to think that I came here just to…just for that.”

Your tongue dabs at the inside of your cheek, all salty. “Then this is awkward, ‘cause that’s the only reason I hadn’t kicked you out yet.”

He laughs, dropping your gaze. “You…” he shakes his head, “…are such a little shit, you know that?”

It’s nicer than he would’ve worded it half an hour ago. But still – having an exchange with Frankie that doesn’t involve spitting insults or jagged glares, warms your blood in a way that’s new and…unsettling.

“We should probably…” You toss a thumb over your shoulder, eyes flitting to the string bulbs outside. “We don’t want them wondering what’s…you know.”

He nods and strides over to the door. The wood squeals against concrete as he pulls it open.

The summer swirls around you again, sweetening the stuffy heat of the shed. Mal’s voice surfs through the breeze – she’s still arguing over the Busch Gardens story.

You make to step out, and Frankie’s arm halts you.

He opens his palm. “Even,” he tells you. “We’re even.”

He seems sure of himself. Sure of you. He looks you in the eye and doesn’t blink.

You smirk. Your hand slips into his, letting him shake your fist once. You stare straight back at him.

“We’re just getting fucking started, Francisco.”

[frozenjokes]

CuteGuy Would Prefer Greatly If HotGuy Never Ever Had Any Nice Things, But Especially Not His Good Friend And Roommate Cubfan135 (1/3)

I absolutely refuse to go through an add italics to the tumblr versions of my fics but grian is so angry all of the time it was necessary in this case

next

“So let me get this straight.” Grian, well, CuteGuy stood over HotGuy, the hero’s head pinned under his own boot. It was times like these that Grian considered ditching the boots altogether; wrapping his talons around any hero’s face like this would be an absolute sight, but alas, he wasn’t trying to get painful calluses all over his feet. Grian was sure HotGuy could escape this if he wanted to; he’d just have to roll to knock Grian off, but he stayed still, staring up at Grian with those big, pathetic eyes. “You want my help with your romantic endeavors. You want to pretend fight so you can pretend win, yeah? Impress that special someone?”

Grian knew who it was, of course. Not because HotGuy announced it or because it was on the news, no, but because this certified idiot had set his sights on Cub. Cub! His roommate Cub. What could HotGuy even want from a guy like Cub- just a guy! A human, not even a conventionally attractive human, who hardly knew anything about heroes and villains other than their names! Cub, who worked a shitty job with a shitty manager, who basically did nothing but go on little walks and hang out at home- there was nothing about Cub that stood out, so why in the fuck was HotGuy so- Grian hissed, pressing a little harder on HotGuy’s head, who grunted. HotGuy didn’t get to have Cub. Cub wasn’t- HotGuy didn’t even know him! He didn’t get to take Cub- his Cub- and turn him into some kind of hero worshiper!

“Stop looking at me like that!” Grian’s anger reached its boiling point, though HotGuy didn’t flinch, looking more disappointed than anything.

To his credit, he did look away, pursing his lips, “So I take it you’re not a fan of the idea.” The infuriating amicable lilt to his voice stayed even despite his face being crushed against the pavement, and Grian wanted nothing more than to choke it out of him.

“What gave you that idea?” Grian snarled, and HotGuy shrugged.

“When you’re really pissed off you start drooling, and honestly, it’s quite gross. Are you stressed? Have you considered Xanax? Does wonders for me on bad days.”

“My insurance won’t renew my prescription and my doctor fucking sucks.”

“Ah, I feel you buddy. I mean, I basically live in a hospital, but sometimes I need some more benign stuff and it just feels like the whole system is out to get you! Don’t even get me started on before I got into the hero business, gosh. Well, if it makes you feel any better, you were far from my first choice. I asked The Goat, but he told me that would be a monumental waste of his time, Mumbo told me he wouldn’t be convincing enough and also to stop calling him he’s retired, I haven’t seen Worm Man for years but I’m still looking-“

“How many people did you ask before me?” Grian tried not to be offended, but honestly, he was very offended- HotGuy has the gall to ask favors then admit Grian wasn’t his first choice? Why not? He knew why. But why not???

“Anyone I could find, really. I mean, heroes are easy enough to track down, but a lot of them are busy and also don’t give a fuck, but villains kinda just wander around and cause problems wherever. Though, I figured if I stood here long enough you’d jump me like you did last time. Hey, by the way, if you see Poultry Man, will you tell him I’d like to talk?”

Grian seethed; he had seen HotGuy up on the apartment complex where they had fought last and assumed he was looking for Cub- was Grian really that predictable?

“The last thing Poultry Man would want to do is help you impress some guy you don’t even know- what’s the deal anyway? Don’t answer that, I don’t care.”

“Hey! I know Cub plenty! We had such a nice walk the night you broke my visor and then a lovely lunch date the next day! Well- maybe not a date. I don’t know, I never asked what he thought. I kind of don’t want to know, though. And I wasn’t going to ask Poultry Man to help me do anything, I just wanted to talk to him about all the chickens he released into the poor woman’s home- it’s not important-“

“Poor woman? She’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s not important,” Scar strained, and Grian felt the tiniest bit vindicated, “All I meant to say is that I would feel bad beating the shit out of Poultry Man, even if it was just pretend. He’s just a misguided guy in a chicken costume.

“Misguided?” Grian’s hiss cracked into a higher pitch, “Poultry Man is EVIL. Poultry Man could CRUSH YOU. What makes you think you’re any match against him, huh? Really.”

“I mean, his costume looks a bit bulky, not great for maneuvering. I doubt he can see very well out of the mask, too. I don’t know, maybe he’s like, secretly ripped or something, but I still don’t think he could do much damage.”

“You’ll regret underestimating him when you’re taking your last breaths under his claws.”

“Oh, I hope not! I just wanted to chat about where he got those chickens, but you’re nice for standing up for him! You’re a good friend, CuteGuy.”

“I-“ Grian felt his body short circuit for a moment, everything replaced with the type of fury that can only be released by picking someone up and violently shaking them. HotGuy was perfectly polite about it, enduring Grian’s fit of rage before hanging somewhat limply in his arms, not even using his own legs to stand after Grian was done. HotGuy stared. Grian stared back.

“You’re strong.”

“Fuck you.” Grian dropped HotGuy, who just collapsed, wholly unready to support his own weight. Fine. Good. With a few strong beats of his wings, Grian took off, leaving HotGuy firmly in the dust. Flying was good and the evening breeze was good and if shaking someone annoying wasn’t enough to make them stop being annoying, then it was time to let it go. Something Grian was famously bad at.

When he looked back HotGuy was still just laying there, INFURIATINGLY, just staring at the sky! He wasn’t even looking at Grian, he was just completely zoned out-! What was his damn problem?

Grian’s boots cracked against the cement on either side of HotGuy’s waist, and HotGuy screamed, so genuinely frightened, Grian was pretty sure the noise would color his memory for the rest of his life. “Where are you meeting him?”

“What?” HotGuy squeaked, and the sound was just as beautiful.

“Where do you want me to be for your stunt?”

“I-I was going to meet Cub at the City Park-“

“Are you crazy? Are you trying to get me arrested? You’ll meet here, in the parking lot across the street at 9:00. And I don’t do play fights, but if you shoot me I’ll rip you a new one. And I want $500.”

“That’s- a lot of money-“

“You won’t miss it. You and your piece of shit rich friends spend that kind of change like it’s nothing on designer clothes and cocaine. And I want to see your sorry face when you’re forced to cough it up after I flatten your ass then steal your man.”

“You- why are you so mean to me? Hey- you are not allowed to-“ Grian didn’t let him finish, beating his wings hard enough to batter HotGuy’s face before taking off, definitively this time.

Perfect. This was going to be fun.

[demigodsanswer]

Twice Upon A Pointe: 12/13 Coda

Coda: the concluding section of a ballet, especially the final part of a pas de deux.

Percy heard footsteps behind him, and he tried to wipe his eyes as quickly as he could. 

“Hey,” he said, trying to play it casual. 

“I thought I’d come see if you were okay,” Frank said. He sat next to Percy. “Hazel is holding back the small army of people hoping to be the first one to offer you comfort,” he said. “I’m sorry. About Annabeth.” 

Percy just nodded, swallowing his sadness as best he could. “Yeah, it sucks,” was all he managed to say. 

Frank just held open his arms. “Want a hug?” He offered. 

Percy nodded, and Frank pulled him in tight. Percy's voice broke as he finally confessed, “I think I love her.” 

“I know,” Frank said. “It’s so hard. Last year, when I thought Hazel was going to stay in New York with Alvin Ailey … it almost killed me.” 

Percy pulled back, letting Frank out of the hug. “Would you have ever forgiven her if she had stayed?” 

Frank nodded. “If it’s what she wanted, I’d never have been able to stay mad at her. Annabeth won’t hate you either.” Percy just stared at the ground and shook his head. “And if it hurts this bad to leave her behind, maybe Miami isn’t the right spot.” 

“It is,” Percy said, “everything about here feels good, and I want that contract, it’s just … she’s something else. I’ll always have my family if I’m here, even if they’re far away. I was ready to move away from them at eighteen if I needed to. But Annabeth …” 

“I get it. Girls like her and Hazel are special,” Frank said. 

“Would you do it? Go to another company if it meant losing Hazel?” Percy asked. 

Frank shrugged. “They’d need to offer me everything I’d ever wanted.” 

Percy stared out towards the road, where Annabeth had left. “Lupa just did.” 

“Maybe not everything,” Frank suggested. “C’mon, let Hazel and me take you out for a drink. We’ll hide you from everyone hoping to offer you comfort. You can talk this through with us, or we can take your mind off it, whatever you need.” 

Percy accepted Frank's offer. 

~

When Frank went to the bar to get their third round, Percy turned to Hazel. 

“Do you ever regret staying in Miami?” He asked. 

She took a deep breath. “I wonder a lot what my life would be like if I stayed in New York. It will always be a huge what if. But I trained her. I worked my ass off to get here. I earned my promotion and Swan Lake.” 

“And Frank?” Percy asked. 

“He told me to stay with Alvin Ailey, if it made me happy,” she said. Hazel reached a hand across the sticky bar table, and Percy took it. “Annabeth thinks she’s doing something kind. And she is. I know how much that conversation hurts to have, trust me. But you cannot let her be part of this decision. It’s your career. If you make a choice just for her, you’ll only resent her if it turns out to not be what you wanted.” 

“But Jason and Reyna --” 

“Are best friends. They still talk. She’s not mad at him. She’s pissed as hell that Lupa isn’t hiring a taller dancer, but she’s not mad at Jason,” Hazel promised. “Just … make your decision, and then work it out with Annabeth, okay? She won’t stay mad at you forever.” 

~ 

The strong drinks at Calypso’s with Frank and Hazel hadn’t helped him make up his mind at all. Or, rather, his mind hadn’t changed from it has to be Miami. He just hadn’t figured out how to cope with losing Annabeth. 

He’d called his mom the next morning, trying to sound as excited as possible. She tried to match the tone, but it seemed like the idea of him moving to Miami did nothing but hurt two of the three most important women in his life. 

“Estelle will be happy for you,” his mom assured him, “she’ll get the bigger bedroom now.” They both forced a laugh. 

There were no more performances or classes to take at Miami, just one last free day to see the city. 

Rachel took him out to brunch, and Percy sipped on black coffee, nursing a headache and remembering why he didn’t like to drink too much. 

“She really just ended it?” Rachel asked. 

Percy nodded. “I get that long distance is hard, and we were barely together before I came here but …” 

“You would have been willing to try it?” Rachel finished for him. 

Percy picked at his eggs. “Yeah. For her? Absolutely.” 

Rachel flagged down the waiter and ordered them two mimosas. Percy only managed a few sips, before he slid it to Rachel for her to finish. 

“And you wouldn’t stay in New York?” Rachel asked. 

Percy shrugged. “That’s what I told her. I don’t know … maybe it would be different if New York’s offer was real, but it isn’t. It’s just something Annabeth thought would happen.”

“It’s your career, Percy. She shouldn’t be mad at you for making the necessary choices for it,” Rachel said. 

“I don’t think she’s mad at me. I think she wants me to be happy. It’s just that if I’m happy here then I can’t be happy with her,” Percy said. 

I’m deciding for you, she’d said, removing herself from Percy’s choice so that he could pick his career without her messing things up. She wouldn’t let him choose her over his career, even if it meant both of them leaving heartbroken. Annabeth was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’ll ruin it, she’d warned him. And before they could ruin everything together, she’d run off and done it herself. He wanted to be angry at her, or find some cold, uncaring words to say about her, but all he could think about were her gray eyes, resolute and sure, even as she started to cry. 

“Maybe you give her too much credit,” Rachel suggested. “Maybe it is better this way.” 

Percy couldn’t agree. He just slouched back in his chair, one hand over his eyes to block out the light. 

By sunset he was ready to be alone. His friends in Miami had taken him out to dinner -- one last round of shots at Calypso’s. Reyna noticed the sick look on his face when the waitress set down the tray of silver tequila. She took his shot from him and dumped it into her margarita, before filling his shot glass back up with water. 

“Thanks,” Percy muttered. 

The group was going to stick around after dinner for more drinks and maybe a trip to a karaoke bar, but Percy decided to just go home. He had an early flight. He left them all with a big hug, and they toasted to their newest company member. 

He went back to his AirBNB, packed everything he’d brought with him, and did his best to get some sleep. 

He was leaving Miami with everything he’d ever wanted. And he’d never felt worse. 

~ 

His plane left early in the morning, and by noon he was in his apartment again. Stella was at school, his parents at work. He’d be alone until nearly four at least. He dropped his suitcase in his room, not bothering to unpack it, before flopping down on the couch, not even moving to turn on the TV. 

NYCB Spring season rehearsals started the next day. Two weeks of A Midsummer Night's Dream opened the season. Another full length ballet. He’d looked over his schedule on the plane. He had been slotted to learn Lysander, Demetrius, Puck, and Theseus. Percy knew he would likely only be cast in one, maybe two, of the roles. He’d only had corps and minor soloist roles in Midsummer before. He almost felt something like hope to see he’d been slotted to learn more principal roles. He’d have to remember to ask Paul about the plot and the four men he’d been slotted to learn. No way was he reading a Shakespeare play by tomorrow. 

And then he remembered it didn’t matter what roles he got. He was only with New York for one more season anyway. 

 He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind settle. He had a dull headache from the plane, two days of “goodbye for now” drinks, and the stress of not crying over a girl who’d never even officially been his girlfriend. 

The universe didn’t want him to have a moment of peace though. His phone buzzed. 

Chiron Brunner. 

Chiron hardly ever called from his personal number, or called at all. Here we go, Percy though. 

“Hello?” He said. 

“Percy, are you back in New York?” 

“Yeah, I just got home,” he said. 

“Great, do you think you could pop down to my office?” 

“When?” 

“As soon as you can.” 

~ 

Percy took two Advil and headed back down, catching the downtown 1 train to Lincoln Center right as the doors closed. 

The hallways were mostly empty, with most dancers enjoying their final day off. When Percy found Chiron’s office, the door was open. 

“There you are,” he said. “Come in, Percy.” 

Percy shut the door behind him. He suddenly felt seventeen again, just a student waiting to find out his future from the man who held it in his hands. But, Percy reminded himself, you know your future. 

He nervously glanced around the room. Chiron had fewer photos of himself up on the walls than Lupa did of herself; mostly he had pictures from the last fifteen years of dancers he’d directed in the company. Percy spotted one of Annabeth and Beckendorf, only nineteen and twenty-one, dancing the Romeo and Juliet Chiron had choreographed himself. Next to it was a new photo. It was him and Annabeth in that same Sleeping Beauty fish dive. 

“I never thought I’d make it onto the wall,” Percy said. 

Chiron smiled. “I’m not surprised. It’s a tribute to my greatest achievements,” he said. “Your Sleeping Beauty was certainly one of them.” 

Percy spotted a third photo of Annabeth. She looked so young; she was in the green Sugar Plum tutu, and Lee Fletcher was her cavalier. He wondered if it was from that very first performance she’d told him about. 

“Annabeth is in a lot of them,” Percy said. 

“Yes, of course,” Chiron said. Percy felt Chiron’s suspicious gaze on him. “Should she not be?” He asked. But to Percy it sounded like Has Lupa already gotten the better of you? 

“Of course she should be up there,” Percy clarified. He pointed to the picture of him and Annabeth in Sleeping Beauty. “You know, Lupa has a picture of the two of you in the same pose in her office?” 

Chiron smiled. “Believe it or not, we used to work very well together,” he said. “Mr. B paired us together himself.” It was always surreal to Percy to hear how casually Chiron talked about Balanchine. In Percy’s mind, the man was a legend, a god. But to Chiron it was just Mr. B, as familiar to him as Percy was with Chiron. 

Percy thought about asking what happened between him and Lupa, but Chiron gestured for him to sit down. Percy did. 

“When I decided to offer Jason Grace a contract, I called Lupa ahead of time, as a courtesy,” he started. Percy’s heart beat faster. “She did the same for me. I wasn’t surprised that she saw you were ready to be a principal. I’ve seen the same thing in you since Sleeping Beauty rehearsals started.” 

Percy’s mouth hung open slightly, but he couldn’t find any words, or even move his body. 

“Her offer made it easier for me to put pressure on the board to finalize your new contract. The pay should be competitive with anything Lupa is willing to offer you, but if it’s an issue, we may be able to negotiate something higher.” 

Chiron slid a manila folder across his desk to Percy. He opened it. The pages inside were fastened to the top, holding the contract in place. Percy’s dyslexia made some of the words swirl, but he managed to focus his eyes on the most important ones. Chiron had taken the liberty of highlighting them in yellow for him. New York City Ballet. Percy Jackson. Rank: Principal. 

“I hope you’ll consider both offers carefully,” Chiron said. And then, he spoke more warmly, less all-business. “You should know, this has been long in the works, since well before you went to Miami. I always believed you were capable of making it this far, Percy, it was just a matter of …” 

“Of what?” Percy asked. “This happened the last time, too. When I got into Miami as a teenager, my apprenticeship materialized. Why now? Why again?” 

Chiron nodded. “I understand this might be confusing. I apologize for the strange parallel circumstances. When you were seventeen, you had so much promise. But it was untested. You didn’t have as much training as everyone else, but that didn’t hold you back on a technical level. But it always held you back mentally. I wasn’t sure how reliable you could be, or if you’d have the mental strength to sustain yourself in a company. That extra year at SAB, and the experience you gained in auditions, it changed something in you. You had always been so willing to hide in the background, so unsure of your own talent. But once you were really tested, I started to see the dancer you would be. That apprenticeship contract was all but guaranteed halfway through your final year in the school. In less than a year, you had truly come into your own as a young dancer. 

“And then in the company, you were reliable. Stable. Strong. But you started to see yourself as an understudy, and nothing more. You started to slip into the corps, into the shadows. You were always talented, but I never knew if you were really ready to step up. You proved yourself reliable and adaptable in Opus. You had a star power to you that first night. You were no one’s understudy. You could take a role and make it your own, you could be adaptable, moving into roles on short notice, and dance them as if you’d rehearsed for weeks. You were the ideal soloist. 

“But a soloist isn’t a principal. You were adaptable and strong, but you didn't have that confidence. The Sleeping Beauty turned out to be the perfect test. When Beckendorf went out, it became clear early on that you were the perfect fit to replace him. But I was worried you’d only think of yourself as his replacement. If you did think that way, it didn’t show in your dancing. From that first rehearsal to the final bow, you were clean, confident, and everyone could tell Annabeth trusted you one hundred percent. After that first show, I started working on your principal contract. But, these things take time. And Lupa was there for those first few shows. To see Jason, I thought. But she and I have always had the same eye for dancers. She must have seen you and known you were ready. And she tried to steal you out from under us.” 

“The same eye for dancers,” Percy repeated. He doubted Lupa felt that way. “That’s what you said when you gave me my apprenticeship.” 

“Hmm,” Chiron hummed, “it remains true.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “I wouldn’t give you this contract if I didn’t think you were ready, or if I didn’t think you’d earned it. If I thought Miami was giving you the better offer, or if I thought that was the right place for you to dance, I would encourage you to go. But I’m not. You’re a talented dancer Percy, and you should stay in New York.” 

“You said that the last time too,” Percy said. 

“That’s still true too,” Chiron said. “If you do choose Miami, you will always be welcomed back here with open arms. There won’t be bad blood. But think on it carefully.” 

“Would you be offering me this if Luke Castellan hadn’t been fired?” Percy asked. 

Chiron raised a curious eyebrow at him; the public narrative had been that Luke retired. Percy’s verb choice told Chiron I know what he did to Annabeth. But Chiron didn’t dwell on it. 

“You are not Luke Castellan's replacement. Jason Grace was Luke’s replacement. They have a similar look, they’re the same height. Firing Luke freed up the money to offer Jason a contract. You are not the replacement for him.” He paused. “You are no one’s replacement. You, Percy Jackson, are completely singular. And if you’re going to be a successful principal, I need you to start thinking of yourself as such.” 

Percy looked down at the contract, and thought about what Chiron had said. He had spent almost a year working for Luke’s position. So many men in the company were fighting for it. But it had already been filled. So his contract … he ran his fingers over the brass fastener at the top of the pages, leaving smudged fingerprints behind. 

Miami had made space for him. They wanted him in the company. It had been so easy to imagine taking that offer when he thought New York never would. 

I don’t think it would make a difference, he remembered himself saying to Annabeth. Percy closed his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference if the contract had materialized only out of Chiron’s desire to spite Lupa. But it hadn’t. Annabeth had been right. They were going to make him a principal for his dancing in Sleeping Beauty. And Percy had been wrong. This contract did make a difference. It at least mattered in his decision making. He felt the world shift as his decision became much less easy to make.   

Percy summoned his confidence and said: “If I stay, I want to do Tarantella.” 

Chiron almost laughed. “That sounds like a fair request. I can make it happen. Lupa will probably demand some kind of compensation for stealing her program lineup, though. Ms. McLean has already demanded Slaughter be part of her contract.” 

Percy smiled when he realized what Chiron was implying. He and Piper were being promoted. 

“Annabeth is never wrong,” Percy said under his breath, but Chiron heard him.

“In all my years of knowing her, I’ve only ever known Annabeth to be wrong about one big thing. And even then … It wasn't her fault.” Chiron almost sounded guilty, like he knew he could have done more to protect her. The room got quiet, then, and Chiron’s gaze turned towards the photos on the wall. Chiron smiled. 

Percy followed Chiron’s gaze, and looked at the photo of him and Annabeth on his wall. They were two of Chiron’s greatest achievements. Percy couldn’t help but smile too.   

“When do I need to make a decision?” Percy asked. 

“Well, it depends on Miami’s timeline, but your contract with us expires at the end of Spring. So, by then, I suppose,” Chiron said. “Now, go get some rest. You’ve had a long month, and I don’t want you getting injured.” 

Percy nodded, took the folder, and headed out of the office. 

~

Percy stared at the folder in his hand, worried it might just disappear if he took his eyes off of it for one moment. Miami wanted him. They’d always seen something in him that Chiron has hesitated on. They wanted to make him a principal on only a few minutes of dancing alone. But New York … 

He thought of his future again -- him in Miami, running things down there, far away from Annabeth, their affection for each other long-since soured. 

But he didn’t want to run Miami City Ballet, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to run New York City Ballet for that matter. Maybe he would even enjoy dancing in Miami for the rest of his career. Jason seemed to be enjoying his change. Maybe Percy could enjoy his. 

But maybe it didn’t matter where he danced. What mattered to him more was where he lived his life. 

What he held in his hand was the thing he’d really worked so hard for. This contract, with this company, in his city. He wanted to make a change for everyone else here too. He couldn’t do that from Miami. Sure, he could teach Miami kids, but he didn’t know Miami. He couldn’t teach a new generation of New York kids who never would have danced otherwise, the way Miss Hestia had. He couldn’t take his sister to dance class and introduce dozens of girls to ballet superstars like Annabeth. He couldn’t have dinner with his family. He’d have to leave his friends behind. 

He thought about Hazel, and how thoroughly she’d asked about New York last year. And then he thought about how happy she looked at Calypso’s. Everyone, even Hazel herself, seemed to attribute her staying to Lupa bribing her with a principal contract and Swan Lake. But maybe there was more to it than that. Maybe she didn’t make the choice because of Frank alone, but he wasn’t the only person in Miami she loved.

Percy looked at the subway tracks in front of him. A rat the size of a small cat was dragging a hot dog in its mouth down into the dark tunnel. He hadn’t seen that in Miami. He looked at that enormous rat and realized Lupa could never actually offer him everything. 

The folder was still in his hand. He flipped it open and read those key words again. New York City Ballet. Percy Jackson. Rank: Principal. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said to the rat, before turning away and running up the stairs to the other side of the subway stop as the downtown 1 train pulled in. 

~ 

Percy slipped into Annabeth’s building as someone was leaving. He had her apartment number, but it took some running up and down the halls to actually find the door. Finally, though, he found 415, and then double checked he hadn’t read the number wrong. She’d texted him the new address when she signed the lease three weeks ago, when they still expected him to come back from Miami as if nothing had changed. 

Everything had changed since then, but maybe it had finally changed for the better. 

He knocked. 

When Annabeth opened the door, she looked annoyed to see him, like him arriving at her apartment was interrupting her being mad at him. Still, her hand went to her hair, tucking back and smoothing out some front pieces, and tucking loose strands into the clip that held most of it at the back of her head. She was still in her pajamas -- just sweats and hoodie with the name of her dance school in Virginia -- and her glasses. 

Yeah, he thought admiring her, a smile already blooming on his face, she’s completely singular.  

“You don’t get to decide for me,” he said. 

She stepped aside and let him in. Her apartment still had a few boxes left to unpack, and only seemed half decorated. Her coffee table was covered in pointe shoes that she was in the middle of sewing; her TV was on, the volume low. When he turned to her, her arms were crossed, and she stood a good distance away from him, her face stern and solemn. 

“What’s left to decide, Percy? You’ve made your choice clear, and I’ve made mine,” she said. 

“Annabeth …” Percy said, taking a step closer. She stepped back. Percy held out the folder. If I go here, he tried to ask, will you follow? 

She reached forward, grabbing it out of his hand. “What is this?” 

“Look at it.” 

She flipped it open. Percy’s heart pounded as her eyes scanned over the words, before she finally lifted her head. She looked completely unsurprised.  

“Chiron finally offered it to you,” she said. Her face was unreadable, only the rapid rise and fall of her chest under her shirt gave Percy any kind of hope that it wasn’t too late.   

“Apparently it was in the works before I left,” he said. He was trying and failing to match her neutrality. He couldn’t help but smile. Everything he ever wanted was in New York, right in front of him. 

“I thought it didn’t matter,” she reminded him.  

Percy shrugged. “I was wrong. Of course it matters,” he said. He stepped closer to her, and she didn’t back away. 

“But what about Miami actually wanting you, appreciating you?” She asked. 

“I was wrong about that too. They do want me, and dancing there was great. But you were right. Chiron wouldn’t keep me out of spite. City Ballet does want me in their company. They do appreciate me. Chiron made space for me. And everything I have ever wanted is in New York,” Percy said, taking another step towards her. “Why would I ever give that up?” 

“Even if it’s just the stuff Luke left behind?” Annabeth asked. 

“Luke Castellan is an abusive asshole who got dumped and fired in the same week. It’s not stuff he left, it’s what he lost.” He rested a hand on her face. “I’m so sorry I said that to you. You were never what I meant. I promise, I won’t lose you.” 

Annabeth’s facade finally broke. She let herself smile, the faintest little whisper of hope, as her eyes filled with tears. 

“You’re staying in New York?” She asked, her voice quiet, a few tears escaping to trace lines down her cheeks. 

His hand was still resting on her face, and he used his thumb to brush away a tear. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“You promise?” She asked. He held up his pinky, and she almost laughed as she twisted hers around his.

“Yes,” he said again, “so, Annabeth Chase, can I please, please finally take you out to dinner?” 

She dropped the contract on her coffee table, her tears halting, before she tangled both of her hands in his hair. “Oh you can do so much more than that,” she said, before pulling him down into a kiss. 

Whatever invisible boundaries had been set up between them crumbled. There were no worries about Luke or Miami; everything that had held them back had gotten so, so small it was inconsequential. Percy pressed his hands into her back, the way he did in a pas de deux right before a lift. She took the familiar cue and jumped. He caught her, holding onto her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his hips. 

They moved together in perfect time, matching each other as though they were a single person. They didn’t need choreography or rehearsals for this dance; they already knew it. 

~ 

They’d dozed off. Percy had curled himself around Annabeth, not caring that he was mostly breathing through her hair. It smelled faintly of lemons and hairspray. The last time he’d been in her bed, he’d tried to stay far away from her, not rolling over or invading her space in the middle of the night. Now, he didn’t want to leave any space between them. One hand was pinned between his chest and her back, while the other reached over her, resting on the soft skin over her rib cage. Her breathing was soft, and her face peaceful and relaxed. He might never get off of her, he thought. She looked so beautiful. Something told him that if he’d seen this particular vision of her before he’d left for Miami, he wouldn’t have considered their offer for a single moment. 

His phone started to buzz somewhere, pulling him from his half-asleep cuddle. He carefully untangled himself from Annabeth, hoping he didn’t disrupt her sleep, as he slipped out of the bed. He found his phone in his pants pocket over by the bedroom door. He grabbed it, trying to pull on his underwear as he read the caller ID. 

Percy stepped out of Annabeth’s room, shutting the door quietly as he answered. “Hey Mom,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. 

“Did you make it home?” She asked. “Did your flight get delayed?” 

He looked at the clock on Annabeth’s microwave. 5:00 pm. They’d been expecting him home. 

“Yeah, I’m back in the city. Sorry, I should have texted. I went to see Annabeth,” he explained. 

“Oh …” her voice got very sympathetic, “Percy I’m so sorry. I know how much you care for her.” 

Percy just smiled as he looked at his City Ballet contract on Annabeth’s coffee table. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re okay,” he promised. Much better than okay, but Sally didn’t need to know. “I’ll be home for dinner. Seven, you said?” 

“Yeah, your sister got you the most ridiculous cake I’ve ever seen.” Percy laughed. “If Annabeth is up for it, she’s always welcome,” Sally added. 

“I’ll offer,” he said. 

“Love you sweetie, I’ll see you soon,” Sally said. 

“Love you too, Mom,” Percy said, hanging up the phone. 

He walked back into Annabeth’s bedroom. She was still laying down, her bare body snuggled under the blankets, but her eyes were open. 

“Have you told her yet?” Annabeth asked. 

Percy shook his head. “No, I came straight here once I got it,” Annabeth smiled and sat up, letting the blankets fall away. Percy kept his eyes on her face to keep himself from saying something dumb like awooga. “You’re invited to dinner, though, if you’d like to help me surprise them.” 

“I’d love to,” she said, slid out of bed and slipped on her glasses. “I’ll start getting ready.” 

Before she could go into the bathroom, Percy grabbed her hand, and pulled her into another long, tender kiss. When they parted, Annabeth just smiled a wicked smile, and pulled him into the shower with her. 

~ 

Annabeth had slipped the contract into a tote bag for him with a bottle of fancy wine to make it look less suspicious. 

When they got to Percy’s front door, Annabeth let go of his hand. He turned to look at her as he pulled out his key, and saw she was near tears. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. 

She smiled, the sad look on her face disappearing. “Oh yeah,” she said. “You’re surprising them with the news, so I figured I should act like you’re still moving to Miami.” 

Percy leaned in and kissed her. “Alright, just let me know the plan next time so you don’t scare me.” 

 Annabeth gave him a thumbs up as she slipped back into her melancholy mask. 

Percy opened the door and announced to the apartment that they were there. Stella ran at him first. She gave him a big, tight hug, but didn’t say anything except: “Mom invited Miss Hestia.” 

Percy squeezed her back, happy that for once his little sister was more excited about seeing him than seeing Annabeth. 

They walked together into the living room, where his parents and Miss Hestia were sitting, looking over some old pictures of him. 

“Hello,” Percy said. “Are we embarrassing me already?” He asked. 

The three of them jumped up, each taking their turn to give him a big congratulatory hug. It took everything to not whip out the New York contract, but he’d decided to do it during dinner while they were all sitting down. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Sally said, holding onto him tight. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” she said. Percy choked up a little, and he wouldn’t have been able to say don’t worry, I’m staying even if he planned to. 

“You must be Annabeth,” he heard Miss Hestia say. Percy pulled loose from his mom, and turned to the two women. 

“Yes, Percy’s told me so much about you,” Annabeth said, holding out her hand. “Are you still teaching?” She asked as they shook. 

“Oh yes,” Miss Hestia said. 

“Percy and I would love to come help one of these days,” Annabeth said, volunteering him, not that he minded. 

“Maybe this summer?” Percy suggested. 

“Before the big move?” Miss Hestia asked. 

Percy and Annabeth nodded, still keeping up their act. 

“Let me show you your cake!” Stella said, pulling Percy towards the kitchen. As he headed into the kitchen, he watched his mom pull Annabeth into a sad hug, offering her comfort about Percy’s move. 

“It’s all right, Sally, we’re figuring it out,” he heard her say. 

Maybe dinner was too long from now, he thought. 

Estelle lifted the white cardboard lid of the bakery box, and inside was a round cake with a printed image of Pit Bull and the text “I’m in Miami Ballet.” Percy laughed. 

“Now, how on earth did you come up with that?” He asked. 

“Well, I’m funnier and smarter than you,” she reminded him. 

“And a better dancer,” he added. 

Stella smiled, before pulling him to another hug. “I’m gonna miss you. You promise you’ll come back and visit, right?” 

Percy couldn’t take it anymore. “Of course,” he promised. He broke the hug and took the folder out of his tote bag. “But …” he handed it to her, “look at this.” 

Stella’s eyes scanned over the highlighted parts. She looked up at Percy then, her brown eyes wide and welling with tears. 

“You’re not moving to Miami?” She asked. 

Percy panicked a little. “I’m sorry, you can still have the bigger room --” 

She started to cry. “I’m not sad, I’m happy,” she said. Percy almost cried then, when she started crying in that loud, heartbreaking way little kids do, and he couldn’t do anything but pull her back into the tight hug. If there were any last doubts about his choice, this killed them completely. 

Sally ran over to them. “Stella, sweetie, what’s wrong?” She asked. 

“Percy doesn't need to move to Florida,” she said through her tears, still holding onto Percy. She managed to hold out the contract. “Look!” 

Sally opened it, and Miss Hestia looked over her shoulder. Percy saw Annabeth drop her facade and nudge Paul to go look too. 

“Does that say New York?” Sally asked Miss Hestia. 

“It does,” Miss Hestia said, her smile almost audible. 

Sally turned to Annabeth. Annabeth just smiled wide. “He’s staying in New York,” Annabeth confirmed. 

Everyone piled on top of him. Stella didn’t let go as their mom hugged him. Miss Hestia wrapped her arms around all three of them. He heard Annabeth say, “Should we get in there?” And Paul said, “I think so.” Soon there were two more bodies crushing him. 

~ 

“So, if you two are official now, can I finally embarrass you by showing her your baby pictures?” Sally asked as she cleared away cake plates (Pit Bull’s face had tasted delicious). Percy wasn’t sure they’d communicated with her that they were official, but there was no point in challenging her if she was right. 

“I’m pretty sure moms only do that in movies,” Percy said. 

“But I would love to see them,” Annabeth said. 

Sally was already on her feet, and Stella jumped up to help her. Sally plucked a few frames from the mantle as Estelle went to the living room to get the big photo album off the coffee table. 

“This one isn’t too embarrassing,” Sally said. “It’s Percy at one of his first competitions. He came in twelfth.” 

Sally held out the frame holding the photo of the top fifteen junior boys and top fifteen junior girls to Annabeth. 

Annabeth grabbed it quickly. “Oh my god!” She yelled. She pointed to Percy. “Is that you?” She asked. 

“Well, this seems like a bit of an overreaction,” Percy said, already embarrassed. 

“No it’s …” she looked up at him, and pointed at the photo. He hadn’t really looked at the photo in years, and if he did, he selfishly only glanced at his younger self. He followed her finger to Giselle in the middle, the little girl who’d won not just his competition, but the national-level one too. The little blonde girl with the hops on pointe that no one else could do at their age. And he realized just how familiar she looked. She’s going to be famous, Lester had predicted correctly. 

“Percy, that’s me,” Annabeth said. Of course it was. 

“Oh my god,” Sally said, leaning over Annabeth to take a closer look. “It really is!” 

But Annabeth was already leaning in to kiss him. See, Percy tried to say through the chaste, family-friendly kiss, we were always meant to be. 

~

They indulged in extra desserts and wine as they sat on the couch and let Stella scroll through different YouTube videos on the TV. Naturally, she kept picking ones with Annabeth in them. Most of New York's rep was under lock and key, but there were a few good recordings. Stella found several favorites, like Marzipan, Romeo and Juliet’s balcony scene, and the Black Swan coda. While they all admired her, Annabeth offered a steady commentary of “oh that was terrible”, “point that foot, Annabeth Chase”, and “turn out from the hips, dear.” Percy just pulled her in closer and kissed her red cheeks, no longer feeling quite so embarrassed about the half hour they’d spent looking at his childhood photos. 

“You look beautiful,” he promised her. 

When Miss Hestia finally stood up to leave, Sally told Stella they’d had enough ballet for the day, and it was time for her to get ready for bed too. 

Estelle gave Percy another big hug, before turning to Annabeth. As she hugged Annabeth good night, she added: “Woman to woman? You could do better.” 

Annabeth laughed, and Percy just scooped his sister up and carried her to her room. 

When he came back, Annabeth leaned in close to him, her mouth near his ear. “Do you want to come back with me?” She asked. “We can go to rehearsal together tomorrow.” 

Percy nodded. “Yeah, of course.” 

Percy stood up and tried to play things casually. “We’re going to head out soon too,” he told his mom. 

She smiled knowingly at the conspicuous we but decided Percy and Annabeth had both been embarrassed enough for one night. 

“Alright sweetheart. Let me pack you some leftovers.” As she did that, Percy packed his dance bag, adding some things for overnight. He didn’t want to presume too much, but he did pack two days worth of clothes, just in case one night turned into more than that. 

Annabeth was chatting with his parents when he walked back out, helping them stack plates and arrange tupperwares. 

“Ready to go?” She asked. Percy nodded. 

Percy hugged his mom tight as they got ready to leave. 

“I’m so proud of you, Percy,” she said. “Really. I have always been proud of you, and I will always be, but, this …” she touched the tote bag on his arm where the contract was stored away again. “You’ve worked so hard, and you deserve it so much.” 

For the second time in three days, he felt himself cry, just a little. His mom wiped away the tear, before pulling him in for another hug. 

“I love you, Mom. Thanks for … ” he didn’t quite know how to put into words everything she had done for him and sacrificed for him, from ballet classes to Gabe, so he just settled on a simple but insufficient, “.. everything.” 

“Of course, Percy. It’s what moms are for.” She gave him an extra squeeze before letting go. “Alright, I’ll let you go enjoy the rest of your night now,” she said, pulling away from him. 

When they parted, Percy turned to Paul. “I never really thanked you,” he said to his stepdad, “for everything. I wouldn’t have been able to go to SAB without you. You’re just a high school teacher, and you had a baby on the way. I mean, really, none of this would have been possible without you supporting me. And you didn’t need to do that. I’m not your son.” 

Paul rested a hand on Percy’s shoulder, and just said, “Of course you are,” before pulling him in for a hug.  

Behind him, he heard Annabeth sniffling. 

“Sweetheart, you can’t start crying too,” Sally said, pulling Annabeth in for a hug. 

It seemed like Sally could tell Annabeth had not had a sufficient number of mom hugs in her life, because she refused to pull away first. 

“Come out to Montauk with us this summer,” Paul said when Annabeth and Sally let go of each other. “I’ll teach you how to drive. I taught Percy, and you can’t possibly be worse than him.” 

Annabeth laughed. “That’d be great,” she said, opening her arms for a hug as well. Theirs was a shorter goodbye hug, but it made Annabeth smile all the same. 

“Alright, I think it’s time we let them get on with their night,” Sally said to her husband. 

Annabeth took Percy’s hand as he led her out of the apartment and back downtown. 

~ 

It was past eleven at night, and he knew he needed to get ready for bed. But all Percy could do was stare at the contract in his hands. He wasn’t thinking about anything except that it was real. He didn’t process the sink turning off or the bathroom door opening, until Annabeth was kneeling behind him on the bed in her bathrobe. She draped her arms over his shoulders, her chest to his back, and her face near his ear. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asked. 

“That I haven’t actually signed it yet,” he said. 

Annabeth leaned back a little. “It’s not going to disappear,” she said. “Or are you having second thoughts?” 

Percy turned his head towards her. “I’m not going to disappear either,” he promised with a quick kiss. “I was just thinking that I should do it now. I can give it to Chiron tomorrow.” 

Annabeth was smiling. “Have you read it all the way through?” She asked. 

“Well, no … but I was going to,” he said. He wasn’t stupid enough to sign something without reading most of it. 

“Don’t sign it yet,” she said. Percy raised an eyebrow. “Let me read it tomorrow. I’ll compare it to mine. You might be able to look at Beck’s too. Just to make sure you’re getting everything you should. Have you gotten Miami’s offer yet?” 

“Not the official contract,” he said. 

“Maybe even wait to see their offer. If they offer more money, Chiron might boost your pay,” Annabeth said. 

“Sneaky,” Percy teased. 

“Strategic,” Annabeth corrected. 

“I thought you’d want me to sign it as soon as possible,” Percy said, “and commit to New York.” He looked at her carefully when he said New York, and she understood what he was saying. 

“When you were going to pick Miami, what did you hope would happen with us?” She asked. 

Percy shrugged. “That we’d make it work somehow. I wasn’t thinking it was a choice between you and other women.” He was smart enough to know that mentioning Rachel’s name might send her into another spiral. 

She nodded. “I’m sorry I made it about that,” she said. “And that I wasn’t willing to try. I just didn’t want you to choose me over your career and what you deserve.” 

Percy brushed her hair back. “I accept your apology, and I forgive you. I’m a dancer. It’s something I do. I can dance anywhere. Everything else, my life, my family, my goals, they’re all in New York. And, Annabeth?” He kissed her gently. “There was never anyone else I wanted to be with. The whole time, you were all I could think about.” She smiled and leaned in. When they pulled away, Percy added. “You do owe Rachel Dare an apology though.” 

Annabeth carded her fingers through his hair. “I sent her an Instagram DM during the party. I’m sorry I was so mean to your friend.”

“You did warn me that you get jealous,” he said. 

“I’ll work on it,” she promised. 

“You’re really okay with me not signing it yet?” Percy asked. 

“I trust you,” she promised. “And I do think you can probably get a little more money out of Chiron.”

“More money might not be a bad idea. I’ve been thinking it’s time to move out of my mom’s place,” Percy said. “Kind of lame to bring a girl back to my mom’s apartment.” 

Annabeth shrugged. “I love your family, and … we can always come back here anyway.” She brushed some hair out of his face. “No need to rush out of there. Save your money for more important future things.” 

“What kinds of future things?” Percy asked. 

“Oh, you know,” she kissed him, “vacations, fancy dates, and other future stuff.” Her cheeks were pink, as she kissed him again. 

“Come on,” Percy said softly between kisses, “don’t be embarrassed. Tell me what you were thinking about.” 

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” she said. 

“Try me.” 

Instead of saying anything, she just opened her robe to reveal she hadn’t put her pajamas on yet. She pulled Percy further into the bed. His contract flopped to the ground, forgotten for the time being. 

“Annabeth,” Percy said. “Tell me.” 

Annabeth pouted a little when she realized her distraction hadn’t worked. 

“Future stuff,” she said, “you know, like moving in with someone, marriage, kids …” 

“Just someone?” he asked. She hummed. He kissed her again. “Do you want those things, Annabeth? Do you still want them?” She’d had or nearly had them before and walked away. Percy knew it was the future he wanted with someone, but she might not. 

“I do,” she said. “Not yet, but … Luke didn’t ruin everything, you know? But do you want them?” She asked. 

Percy leaned down to her, kissing her lips first, before moving to her neck, then her chest. 

“Yes,” he promised. He’d gotten everything he’d wanted so far -- his promotion at his company, in his city, and now he had her too. And there was still so much of his future he could dream about. 

No, not dream, he remembered. Goals. Goals he could work for. Goals he could -- would -- make happen. 

[sheinthatfandom]

Tonight is the night!!! God the card for dynasty is so fucking stacked literally the only one I’m like eww no is Jericho and even then I’d be fine if he was on zero hour but whatever. Anyway time for me to make my winner predictions of who I want vs what I think is booked to win

Zero hour

Let’s start with Trent vs Matt sydal: I’d love to see Trent lose because I’m a Yuta girl and Trent should always lose lol. But more than likely especially cause of the best friend breakup storyline Trent would need the win far more and it would make sense for him to win over Matt who involved himself in the feud and helped orange.

Orange and shibata Vs Shane taylor promotions: it’s orange and shibata even if Anthony cheats and gets involved I can’t see orange and shibata losing ohhh unless Trent’s match actually does go first and he causes orange to lose… seems like a lot for a buy in though

The acclaimed vs bullet club gold: THIS SHOULD BE ON THE MAIN CARD!!! How tf is the unification of the two actual company belts not be put on the main card the actual FUCK!!! Tk I hope your pillow is never cool. I want BCG to win they’re fun, they’re entertaining, they’ll be insufferable as double champs, they will have a feud with anyone. Thanks to the win on dynamite though I think it’s gonna be the acclaimed who will be booked to win and make all the belts useless because they’re never on tv they have zero feuds going on and caster will continue to be a cunt online.

Main card time

Jericho vs hook: this should be on the pre show the ftw belt is not legitimate and there’s been no real build for this they didn’t even have beef until Wednesday. Anyway I wanna see Hook win cause Jericho needs to go far away but I feel like Jericho booked himself to win to hold the ftw belt and will probably have a run in from Sammy.

Rated R chicken Kings vs house of black: I have no idea if that’s their name they have no name and I love them for it lol Eddie and mark should never suffer losses ever actually. Plus it’s a team of champions sorry HOB

Julia vs willow: I think with the storyline and Mercedes and Julia’s injuries we’re getting a title change. Julia wasn’t a bad champ at all and honestly made the tbs title a big deal it just sucks she got injured and couldn’t be on tv every week fighting. Willow will be a great champion and Julia can still be spooky and get involved.

Okada va pac: okada stole Eddie’s belt no one should beat him but Eddie in my humble simp opinion.

The young bucks vs ftr: if the fucking bucks lose again I will be cursing tk to lose all the hair on his head and grow it out of his nose and asshole. The bucks shoulda NEVER loss at Wembley and they need their win back. Especially after seeing the video nope evps win hire me as the ref I’ll make sure to count correctly

Kyle vs rodrick: I know with the whole never able to pivot and the Adam and mjf injury thing we haven’t been able to do the Undisputed Kingdom storyline like everyone wanted but let it GO! Give Kyle his win give Kyle the belt give Kyle the fucking WORLD okay my beautiful sad eyed air guitar boo boo kitty man gets it all.

Toni storm vs thunder Rosa: the way I need Toni to go berserk on Rosa but also for deonna to get involved in a if I can’t beat her I’ll be damned you will story beat. Personally the only person who should dethrone Toni is Mariah and she’s not ready yet.

Will Vs Bryan: is it too early to call this match of the night i mean we all know that it’s gonna be right? Personally I’d love to see Bryan take the win prove he’s still the best (make zacks win that much more legitimate) and piss off don that his golden goose lost (3 days before his other teams loss when mox spanks Hobbs) and drive more a wedge between don and will forcing Kyle to make a choice (not my brain jumping right back to cakeys will Claudio Kyle fic high key rec)But this is tk and wills first PPV as a full time aew worker it’s probably gonna be him

Samoa Joe Vs Swerve Strickland: OUR FIRST EVER BLACK AEW MENS WORLD CHAMPION!!!!!!

[toastspirit]

Slightly unrelated but I think myself into circles alll the time. Similarly, I do this in my writing pretty often too, and it’s something I still haven’t learned to tackle academically

Example, continuing the stuff above:

Man I hate when people say mean things to me and hurt my feelings. I struggle with my confidence really often so I can randomly be really sensitive to what people say about me. Man I should really stop being so sensitive—or maybe people should be nicer? But other people feel hurt too, and they might be suffering a lot more than me, so that’s why they’re lashing out… but even if that’s the case, they shouldn’t treat me poorly. I try not to hurt others when I’m feeling hurt. But I still have on accident, haven’t I? Have I? I don’t know if I would remember. The ax forgets but the tree remembers and all that. But I shouldn’t think about the mean things people say to me, people say nice stuff to me too! But I don’t believe them because I still view myself as a person who isn’t deserving of kindness. But I’m pretty smart! I get good grades. Well, grades aren’t a one to one sign of intelligence. But I’ve had a 4.0 GPA since forever and if I got 100 in multiple classes I can’t be stupid… And I got 100 on a final in my COLLEGE CLASS! Wait but I’m just staking all my self worth in my grades again and that’s bad. But I don’t have much else that I feel good about… I can crochet well? But I haven’t been crocheting much recently. Work exhausts me and also hurts my hands. Oh but I should stop thinking about the mean things people say to me, they’re assholes anyways. Or, well, people shouldn’t just be divided into black and white categories of ‘good’ and ‘bad’, we’re all multifaceted. Maybe they treat me poorly because they know that I’m secretly a bad person? No, if I give people grace, shouldn’t I give myself grace too…? And my dad loves to say that ���happiness is a choice” and that you can only make yourself upset. Man that always pisses me off, and he says it at the worst times too… Wait I shouldn’t think like that about my dad. He loves me and has given me so much in life and I’m an ungrateful little leech. But he told me that he loves me and he got really angry when I called myself a burden… But he scares me. His anger really scares me. I wonder why I’m not afraid of my mom, she’s the one that split my lip that one time. That was kinda fucked up. I guess because she listens to me more. But she still misgenders me. My dad doesn’t, but I did have to tell him that I’d rather be dead than be a woman for him to take me seriously. I wish I didn’t have to say that. I wish I could tell them how horribly I feel all the time. I should go to therapy. But the thought of speaking to another therapist is so scary, my last one sucked… What was I originally thinking about? Oh yeah right, that mean thing that person I never liked said about me. Man I fucking hate them. But have they done anything for me to hate them? …not really, but I still can’t stand them. And now I’m thinking about them more… but I can’t just block out what they said. And venting about it just makes me think about it more… Ugh. I wish I had been more brave. The next time they make fun of me I’m gonna let them have it… No, I won’t. I’m too much of a coward to stand up for myself. And as much as I pretend to be callous and careless, I don’t really want to hurt others. But I really just want to be left alone…

I hate when I can’t find the right words and the right way to put them together. While talking, while writing—it’s like writer’s block but worse. Like a full word block. Can’t get my thoughts across, can’t get my feelings across

[the-lone-witch-and-secret-room]

Camila Noceda and Flawed Parenting

A perspective by a flawed person with loving but extremely flawed parents

I’m genuinely baffled at some people’s hostile reaction towards Camila. Like… do any of you have flawless parents that always know the best solution instantly, make no mistakes and never get emotional?

My parents are great. They’re super supportive and I love them very, very much. Overall I think I got very lucky in the parents department.

But god, they are far from flawless. I still live at home, and despite all the good, there’s moments when I can’t take my dad anymore. He’s the kind of dad that stayed up until two am to help me with homework when I was in school, and he does so, so many things to make sure I’m happy. I know that. But despite all of this, I have told my mom in emotional moments before that I’m not sure if I can keep living with him, because for all his good sides, he has a couple of fatal flaws that sometimes make him unbearable.

My mom listens to me and is very open to being educated on certain topics, but she has her flaws, too. She hates when I fight with my dad, and gets so torn up about it that I’ve once apologized to my dad out of fear of her getting into a car crash otherwise. She’s very vocal about certain flaws of mine, and sometimes uses the things she does for me as leverage against me when she gets very emotional.

And both of my parents pay a lot more attention to my brother because he needs it more, because he’s more of a “problem child” while I “seem so capable” even when I’m not.

And guess what? I’m not a perfect child. I make mistakes sometimes, some of them pretty severe. Just like Luz, I’m the kind of person that struggles to communicate certain issues of mine to her parents. I’m stubborn, and when I get emotional, I say very hurtful things sometimes. So do they.

And this has nothing to do with my parents being horrible or abusive. They’re neither of those things.

The takeaway from this should not be that my entire family is made up of terrible people, but that we’re all flawed in our own ways, despite loving each other and trying our best. There’s things about my parents I wish I could change, and there are things about me that my parents wish they could change. And to an extent, that’s perfectly normal.

In our strengths and flaws and frustration with each other, we’re all human.

Specific, spoiler-y Camila and Luz things under the cut since this got very long.

We have no indication that Camila has a pattern of emotionally manipulating Luz. Her “emotional manipulation” as I’ve seen some people put it, is people for some reason thinking that the second you become an adult, you’re suddenly perfect and can no longer make mistakes, lest you’ll be dubbed horrible and abusive.

The whole concept is absurd to me. There is no perfect way to parent. There simply isn’t. Of course, there’s some genuinely abusive patterns that are horrible and inexcusable. But out of the parenting styles that aren’t, which one works depends on a number of factors, one of which absolutely includes that every child is different and has different needs. Camila is an amazing parent for Vee, giving the kid everything she’s ever longed for. She’s not an ideal parent for Luz. And that’s because Luz and Vee have fundamentally different needs.

Likewise, Luz is a pretty great child for Eda, but not a perfect fit for Camila. Luz relates to Eda a lot more than she relates to her mom, and that’s why the two of them have an easier time understanding each other. Both of these mother-child relationships exist, and one is not more doomed to fail than the other, but I think you’ll agree that the better you understand someone and where they’re coming from, the easier it is to communicate, pick up on certain signs, etc.

As mom and daughter, Camila and Luz are both flawed and have issues seeing the other’s perspective because of how different they are. And we should simultaneously acknowledge both of their roles in the issue and give both of them the space to learn and grow past those issues.

Luz struggles to communicate her problems. She doesn’t want to burden people in the demon realm, and it’s a given that this started out as not wanting to burden her mom. So she keeps quiet about her issues. Camila tries hard but can’t read her daughter’s mind, so there’s only so much she can do to understand and help the way Luz needs her to. Hell, Eda, who Luz is a lot more open with than her mom, struggles to help her, because Luz doesn’t tell her what’s wrong. I don’t see anyone calling Eda a terrible mom for that.

Camila tries her best, but she struggles to understand her daughter because of this, and because of how fundamentally different they are. She loves Luz’s creativity, we actively see her supporting it in the new episode—she keeps the weird stuff Luz made because she thinks Luz will regret throwing it away, and even plays along in what she assumes to be some elaborate role play because “she’s glad Luz kept her creativity even though it’s not made things easy for her at school”. But at the beginning of the show, said creativity got out of hand and people got hurt. Luz could’ve gotten hurt. So of course Camila had to interfere. I love Luz dearly, but she thought it was okay to bring snakes to school and set off fireworks inside a school building. Creativity is great. Doing reckless stuff that causes people to get hurt is not.

In sending Luz to camp, Camila tried to have someone else fix her issue because she didn’t know how to help Luz. That was a mistake, and a bad one at that, but she’s realizing that. She looks disheartened when Vee tries to throw out Luz’s stuff, because she never meant to change her daughter or take that part of her away. She just thought Luz needed a reality check—which, for the record, is something the narrative actually agrees with.

Luz spends her time in the demon realm getting reality check after reality check, realizing that even her ideal fantasy world where she has everything she always wanted doesn’t mean she’s free of consequences. She goes overboard constantly, causing:

-Eda to be forced to fly into a trap because Luz is chasing a fantasy (Witches before Wizards)

-Eda to almost be branded by her sister because Luz doesn’t think through why Eda doesn’t use magic to publicly announce her presence constantly (Once Upon a Swap)

-Eda and the twins to get kidnapped by a Slitherbeast because Luz stole Amity’s wand (Adventures in the Elements)

-Her friends to get hurt when she goes overboard trying to help Willow (Wing it like Witches)

-Eda to be captured and almost petrified because Luz thought she could just steal from the Emperor with no consequences in an attempt to help (Agony of a Witch)

I’m like 90% sure these aren’t even all. None of those make her a terrible person, for the record, but as all humans are, she is flawed and makes bad choices. She learns from these experiences and matures, just like her mom had hoped she would at camp. She’s also made friends there, which was another thing Camila wanted for her daughter.

You’ll probably realize that a lot of Luz’s behaviors I mentioned follow one of two patterns: 1. Luz’s idealized fantasy world causing problems, when she walks around with rose tinted glasses and gets people in trouble in the process because she hasn’t thought about the consequences, and 2. Luz trying to help someone she loves, but instead making things worse in the progress. The issue with this one is often that she doesn’t communicate her ideas/listen to the people she’s trying to help—like when Willow and Gus said they’ve had enough of Grudgby, or how she never actually talks to Eda about the healing hat idea before doing something reckless.

…does the latter one sound familiar to you at all? No? Because it’s the exact same thing that Camila did.

Some of the things Luz does are reckless and actively endanger others and herself, and that’s something that I think we need to acknowledge before judging Camila. As Luz’s mom, it’s Camila’s job to interfere in those situations. That she made a mistake while trying to protect Luz doesn’t make her a terrible person, especially as, again, the narrative proves her right to an extent.

I’m not saying her making Luz promise to come back and stay isn’t something that hurt Luz—it absolutely is. But it was born out of desperation. She’s emotional and in shock. She’s so full of pain and regret. She just wants her fourteen year old daughter home safe, and there’s nothing abusive or even morally ambiguous about that.

From Luz’s perspective, what she says is absolutely heartbreaking, but from Camila’s, it’s perfectly reasonable. I doubt Camila has the full picture, but even if she does, she’s had a full fifteen seconds to process that her daughter has not only been lying to her for months, but chose to leave her, and is in the demon realm of all places. Of course she’d be emotional and upset about that! Who wouldn’t? Camila isn’t a robot. If she’d been calm about this I’d be way more concerned, honestly.

My parents don’t get mad that easily, but if I would lie to them for weeks on end, they’d be pissed off too, not even taking the running away from home part into account. That’s a normal thing. People don’t like being lied to. Camila is absolutely devastated in that moment because she’s scared that Luz left because she hates her, when Luz actively states that her leaving wasn’t about her mom—which is another thing we should really be acknowledging.

Abusive parents suck and abuse should obviously never be apologized or trivialized, but saying something hurtful in the heat of the moment isn’t the same thing as being an abusive parent. My parents have done this. I’ve done this. And yes, those things can be emotionally manipulative, but there’s a huge difference in whether that’s a habit or a person speaking out of hurt and desperation in a very specific context. I doubt there’s anyone on the entire planet that hasn’t had a bad moment where they’ve said something like this because they were hurting. People lash out when they hurt, and they beg for reassurance when they’re scared. That’s something we all do.

The whole mindset of “all parents have to be perfect and can never get upset or make any mistakes” is harmful as hell, and honestly also very unrealistic. No parent is perfect, and especially people like me who have a relationship with their parents that’s very good overall should know that.

Once you have a child, parenting is a non-stop learning process, every day for the rest of your life. Taking away that room to grow and expecting perfection isn’t helping anyone, especially not struggling single parents.

And I see Camila as someone who is very willing to learn, because at the end of the day, all she wants is for Luz to be happy. Let’s give her some time to wrap her head around this whole situation. Let’s see what she says once she sees for herself how happy Luz is in that world, may it be via the videos eventually coming through or Camila visiting and meeting Luz’s found family, her friends and her girlfriend.

Ultimately, I don’t think Camila will force Luz to stay at home, but we have to give her some time. She wants what’s best for Luz, and she’s gonna need some convincing that a dangerous magical world is what’s best. I feel like that’s very normal considering the circumstances.

Her and Luz need to work on their communication on both ends, they both have things to learn, but I’m certain they’ll manage to fix their relationship in the long run.

If the bunk bed is any indication, I think Vee is gonna stay in the human realm permanently while Luz sleeps at home but keeps attending Hexside in the daytime. That feels like a solution that keeps everyone happy, and allows Luz to spend time with all the people she loves. I can’t see her being forced to choose at the end.

As a closing statement: Eda isn’t an ideal mom, Amity isn’t an ideal friend or girlfriend and neither is Luz, Lilith isn’t an ideal sister… but that’s because no one is ever an ideal anything. Being flawed is a big part of being human. Everyone has different facets to their personality. Their flaws are what makes them such great, relatable, believable characters.

And I feel the same way about Camila. She’s an extremely believable character that reminds me of my own parents, flawed but very loving nonetheless.

(Also honestly, I think it’s pretty telling that some of you guys immediately bash the black single mom that’s obviously trying her hardest while giving the benefit of the doubt to Alador, who has been portrayed as neglecting and threatened his six year old daughter on screen. This was already a thing before we knew much about either of them, and I’m disappointed but unfortunately not very surprised that it still is.)

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Laito Dark [03]

ー The scene starts on the balcony

Yui: ( Ah, over there that’s... )

Laito-kun!

Laito: Oh? Bitch-chan! What brings you here? 

ー Laito moves closer

*Rustle* 

Yui: Ah...

( His hand is on my lower back...Now that I think about it, it’s been a while since he’s pulled me close like this... )

( I’m happy but...Since the situation has not changed at all, I’m having a hard time understanding how he feels... )

( It’s a little troubling... )

Laito: ...Haah.

Yui: Laito-kun...?

Laito: You’ve been looking at me like that all the time as of late. 

You know, like... ‘Oh no~! I have no idea what goes on inside Laito-kun’s head!’

It seriously pisses me off...

*Thud* 

Yui: Kyah...!? 

Laito: There, be a good girl and sit down on the railing, okay~? 

Yui: ( His hands are the only thing supporting me...and the wind’s blowing strongly...I’m scared...)

I-I don’t like this, Laito-kun...!

Laito: Come on, you’ll fall to the ground if you move around too much, you know?

Of course, I’ll gladly remove my hands if that’s what you want...~

Yui: ...!

( If he were to let go right now...! )

Laito: Oh? Does your lack of a response mean you want me to do that? 

In that case, I’ll remove my hands and head back to my room. 

Yui: Eh...!? 

Selection

→ Don’t go... (M)

Yui: D-Don’t go...!

Laito: Oh come on, don’t scream like that. You’re making it sound like I’m treating you badly. 

Yui: ( I mean, he is, but now’s not the time to point that out...! )

I’m scared...Save me!

Laito: Nfu~ Guess I have no other choice... 

→ Let me down! (S)

Yui: L-Let me down!

Laito: Why? It’s not that high to the point where you can’t get down yourself, is it?

Yui: I know but...The wind is too strong, I’m scared...! 

Laito: Heeh...?

Laito: In short, I just need to take away your fear of falling, right? 

In which case...Nnh...Nn...

ー Laito bites her

Yui: Hyah! Ah...!

( He’s sucking from my thigh...! )

Laito: Phew...Now you can focus on this...and the fear will just melt away, no?

I’m such a gentleman...

Yui: ( T-That makes zero sense...! )

Laito: You like it best when I suck from the inner thigh, don’t you...? Nn...

Yui: Hyah...!

Laito: Nfu~ I hit jackpot. Oh? Then how about the outer side...? Nnh...Nn...

Yui: Ah...!

Laito: ...How odd. You reacted positively to both, didn’t you? 

I wonder if your whole body is just out of whack because I’ve sucked your blood too many times? 

But that’s what makes you the very best...

Yui: ( This is bad. At this rate, my body will go numb... )

*Rustle rustle*

Laito: What’s wrong...? If you give in to the pleasure, you’ll fall, remember...?

Yui: Eek...

*Rustle* 

Laito: How cute of you to cling onto me like that. But I’d rather not fall to my death with you. 

Just when I finally took away your fear, you truly are weak to the pleasure, aren’t you? 

Yui: S-Says the person who’s to blame...

Laito: Oh no, you’ve got that wrong. This is your own fault. I’m only having a bit of fun. 

Yui: H-How mean...!

Laito: How so? I’d personally argue that a girl who gets off on having her blood sucked by a Vampire...is much worse, wouldn’t you agree?

Yui: Ugh...

( Aah...I wonder if Laito-kun would save me if I really were to fall down...? )

( Even that...I can’t say for certain anymore... )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[starks-hero]

What He Doesn't Know Won't Hurt Him

Pairing: Loki x Stark!Reader

Summary: You and Loki had been doing a fairly decent job at keeping your relationship a secret from the other members of the team, specifically your father. But what happens when word finally gets out?

Word Count: 4,480

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, angst

a/n: This gif, that is all

You had your music playing at full volume as you worked your way around the lab, your latest suit laid out on the table. It was almost finished and you were more than impressed with how it had turned out.

Grabbing one of the many tools strewn out on the tabletop, you got to work assuring each circuit was in place.

It was fair to say that whilst you were in one of your zones, you could easily get lost in your work. Which was probably the reasons you hadn't noticed Loki make his way into the lab.

You jumped slightly when two slender arms wrapped around your middle. “Loki,” you scolded, not taking your eyes away from your work. “I'm busy.”

He chuckled. “I can see that, dove,” he purred. “But I'm bored.”

“You're welcome to stay here as long as you stay out of my way,” you offered, smirking when Loki rose his hands innocently.

“You won't even know I'm here.”

You managed to steal five minutes of peace. And then Loki's ability to sit still and not cause trouble seemed to reach its end. He started simply, standing ridiculously close, running his hand along your side. Your frustrated sigh and visible struggle to focus on your suit only egged him on. He re-positioned himself behind you, hands resting on your hips and lips finding your neck.

When one of his hands began to trace down your stomach and towards the waistband of your jeans you drew the line.

“Loki, stop.” you chided urgently. “Not here.”

“Why not?” he asked, nipping at the exposed skin of your neck. “It's as good a place as any.”

“Someone could see,” you pressed on.

Loki’s kissing ceased but he didn't remove his arms from around you. If anything he held you tighter.

“And would that be such a bad thing?” he asked after a beat of silence. You sighed and turned in his arms, now facing the god. His eyes said it all, he wasn't hurt, but he was tired of keeping up this charade.

He hated having to wait till you were both alone to show his affection, having to settle for stolen kisses and subtle glances all in an attempt to keep your relationship a secret from the rest of the team. Loki was growing sick of it. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, mark you, to show everyone you belonged to him. He hated having to hide his feelings as if they weren’t acceptable.

“Loki, we've talked about this. If the team finds out, especially my dad, it'll cause nothing but trouble.” You frowned at Loki's defeated expression. “I want to tell them, I do. I love you and I want everyone to know that. But only when the time is right.”

Loki nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. Slender fingers wrapping around your wrist and he placed a kiss to your hand. “As you wish, darling.”

Loki turned to leave but you gently grasped hold of his sleeve and tugged him back. “Where do you think you're going?”

Loki tilted his head. “You said-”

“I said I wasn't ready to tell them,” you clarified. “I never said anything about you leaving.”

A devilish smirked spread across Loki's lips as he stepped back towards you, hands grasping your waist. “Why of course, my dear.” He pushed you against the cool steel of the table. “How may I be of service to you?”

You pulled him into a hungry kiss and he practically moaned into your mouth. Grasping hold of your thighs, he hoisted you up onto the table and slotted himself snugly between your legs. Truth be told, this wasn't what you had in mind. You were serious when you said the lab wasn't a good place to start something but Loki was just too irresistible. His kisses trailed from your jaw down your neck and you couldn't help the whimper that left your lips as he sucked on the sweet spot just above your collar bone.

Your hand tangled in his raven hair and he laughed breathlessly against your skin as he pulled you closer to him. “That's it, pet.”

The sudden sound of someone clearing their throat caused both of you to almost jump out of your skin. You turned towards the lab door and found a rather unimpressed Natasha standing in the threshold, arms crossed and glare seething into a certain god.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you hurriedly pushed Loki away and scrambled to your feet.

“Oh, no. Don't stop on my account,” Nat snarled and the venom in her tone was enough to send shivers down even Loki's spine.

“Nat! We were just-”

“Don't bullshit me, Y/N. You know it doesn't work,” Nat stated plainly and you swallowed. She was right, it was near impossible to successfully lie to her. “Does your father know?”

“No, no, no. Nat, you can't tell him,” you begged. “He'll kill us.”

Natasha scoffed, pointing an accusing finger at Loki, who was still standing sheepishly behind you. “He's lucky I haven't killed him myself.”

Loki shifted uncomfortably. When it came down to it, he was a god and Nat was human. She probably couldn't do much damage to him. But she was certainly intimidating. Loki wasn't so much upset over the fact that you'd been caught, if anything Loki found it rather exciting. His only worry was how this situation would pan out for you. And your relationship.

“Natasha, please. You know how my dad overreacts.”

“I'm not sure I'd count ‘getting pissed that your daughter's dating a criminal’ as overreacting.”

You felt helpless. With Tony as your father, the team were the closest thing you had to family. Nat had always been important to you, she was an older sister, a cool aunt and in some cases, a understanding mother all rolled up into one. She wanted what was best for you, and you knew if that meant throwing Loki under the bus, she wouldn't hesitate.

Noticing your struggle, Loki decided to intervene.

“Agent Romanoff, if you'd allow us to explain. I-”

Nat turned to Loki with a glare that stopped the god mid-sentence. “I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Y/N.” She turned back to you. “Tell your dad.”

“What?!”

“Tell Tony about this.” She clarified, gesturing between you and Loki. “Or I will.”

“Nat,” you started but as she raised an eyebrow you knew she wasn't bluffing. She was dead serious.

“Okay, okay, fine. We'll tell him. But just not yet-” you hesitated. “Just give us a little more time to figure it all out.”

Natasha seemed unconvinced, to say the least, but when she noticed the genuine worry in your expression she backed off and her voice softened.

“Fine. But if he finds out beforehand, I had no idea about any of this,” she ordered. “And you,” Nat glanced at Loki who was still standing behind you. “Are on thin ice.”

Nat turned to leave, shooting one final glare Loki’s way. “Oh, and a bit of advice. Next time lock the goddamn door.”

You both sighed in temporary relief as the door slammed shut and you were left alone.

“Well, that went well,” Loki commented sarcastically, rubbing at his temple.

“And that was only Nat. How do you think the others are going to react?” You took a seat on the workbench and Loki joined you.

“Were you serious?” he asked. “About telling them? Telling him?”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands. “I suppose we don't have much of a choice now, do we?” You murmured and Loki chuckled slightly.

“I suppose not.”

“You're enjoying this.” You growled as Loki’s mood seemed only slightly diminished by the situation you’d just been landed in.

“Yes, I find being threatened by a world-class assassin immensely enjoyable,” he noted nonchalantly. Loki sighed when the fear remained evident in your expression. He gently caught your wrist and pulled it away from your face, lacing your fingers as he did so. “Honestly, my dear. There's no need to worry. It will be fine.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“That’s because I am,” Loki smirked, his tone reassuring and soft. He placed a harmless kiss against your cheek, but couldn’t resist the urge to continue down to your jaw.

His nose grazed your neck as his breath fanned out over your skin. His voice fell to a low whisper. “Now, what was it we were getting to before we were so rudely interrupted?”

You couldn’t help but laugh in slight disbelief. “You never learn, do you?”

Loki flicked his wrist as he began to plant kisses down your neck. “Do you take me for a fool?”

 You glanced at the labs' door to find the keypad had turned red. Locked. Smirking, Loki pushed you down and picked up where he'd left off.

It had been a little over a week since Natasha had found out about your relationship with Loki and thankfully, she hadn't said anything as of yet. She was giving you a generous amount of time to build up the courage to tell both your father and the rest of the team, but it was courage you were yet to find. The stress of the whole situation had been getting to you, something that was becoming more and more apparent to Loki.

In some desperate attempt to help you blow off a little steam, the god had dragged you down to the training hall. You and Loki often trained together, though since the beginning of your relationship, training seldom actually took place during your sessions.

But you needed it today, and after less than fifteen minutes of sparring, you could already feel some of the stress dissipating.

“Let's try that again,” Loki stated, helping you up from where you'd fallen back onto the training mat. He steadied you before pacing back a few steps as you both prepared for another round.

You made the first move, Loki easily blocking your strike. He caught your other arm as you tried to hit his shoulder and he only barely avoided a knee in the groin by spinning you around and catching you in a gentle headlock.

“Fighting dirty today are we, darling?” He purred in your ear and you smirked. Leaning forward, you used the momentum to throw Loki over your shoulder, straddling him to assure he stayed down.

“Problem with that?”

Loki chuckled, staring up at you. “Certainly not.” Throwing his leg over and shifting his weight, he threw you off of him and you landed on the floor beside him. He then took up his position on top of you. “Two can play at that game.”

He used his new vantage point to lean down and kiss your shoulder. “And I do enjoy it so very much.”

You turned your head to the side to grant Loki better access as he kissed up your neck, but your blood ran cold when you noticed a familiar figure standing dumbstruck at the halls entrance.

“Shit, Steve!” You pushed Loki off of you and for a moment he thought it was an attempted diversion until his own eyes locked with the captains. “Steve, wait!”

He was already turning to leave and you took off after him, Loki right behind you. You barely caught him before he reached the door. “Steve, hear us out, please.”

He turned to look at you with slight disappointment, his cheeks still tinted red with embarrassment given what he'd just walked in on. “Why didn't you tell us, Y/N?”

“I swear I was going to. I should have sooner and I'm sorry.” You rushed. “But please, Steve. You can't tell my dad, not yet.”

Steve hesitated. He'd taken you under his wing from day one and he'd be lying if he said he saw you as anything less than family. He didn't want to put you in a situation where he knew you'd face hardship. But he also didn't want to put his relationship with Tony on the line. He knew what that could lead to.

“I won't lie to Tony.”

“Then just don't say anything!” You tried. “Not saying anything technically isn't lying.”

Steve sighed, glancing between you both, his eyes lingering on Loki a moment longer. Loki seemed to have read the captains mind.

“Captain, I understand your concerns. But I can assure you my intentions are completely good-willed.”

Steve shook his head, questioning his sanity. “Does anyone else know?”

“Natasha, that's it.”

Steve seriously pondered the dilemma he was being faced with. Part of him wanted to march off and tell Tony, part of him wanted to strangle Loki for even putting his hands on you and the other part was still hung up on how upset you’d be if he chose either of the latter options.

“Alright,” Steve said after a moment of silence and relief flooded your expression. “But if your father asks-”

“I understand.” You nodded, still breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Steve.”

You counted your lucky stars as Steve left the training hall, the whole conversation having gone way better than you could have possibly imagined.

“You know, my dear,” Loki stated from behind you. “We really must stop picking the worst possible places in the compound to make out.”

You'd been peacefully working away in the lab, adding the finishing touches to the suit you'd been working on. A few more final touch-ups and a test run and it would be ready for missions.

The door slamming opened behind you immediately caught your attention as a severely pissed off Loki stormed in. His jaw was set and his hands were balled into fists. This couldn't be good.

“Loki, what's wrong?” you asked, rounding the table and approaching him. He was already pacing.

“Thor knows,” he growled and your heart stopped. “He was asking ridiculous questions about you and I and he knew I was lying.”

You inhaled sharply and did your best to avoid groaning in frustration, unable to grasp how Loki of all people had gotten caught out lying. “Loki, you're the god of lies.”

“And Thor's a persistent bastard!” He bit back.

You grappled with the little composure you had left and sighed. Loki was still clearly fretting and at least one of you had to start thinking straight.

“Okay, well what did he say?”

“That he wouldn't tell anyone,” Loki murmured, running his index finger along his top lip, something he often did when nervous.

“Alright then, what are we worried about? He said he wouldn't tell.”

Loki scoffed. “It's Thor! He struggles to keep the simplest of secrets, he's going to let it slip!” Loki took a seat and wrung his hands. “Your father is going to kill me.”

You stepped towards him and ran a comforting hand through his raven hair. He sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head against your stomach.

“You're a god, Loki. I don't think he could kill you even if he wanted to.”

“He'll find a way,” Loki moped, tightening his hold on you.

You huffed at Loki's dramatic antiques as you continued to run your hand through his hair. One thing was now painfully clear, you needed to tell your dad. Before anyone else found out.

It was all planned out perfectly. The team was set to have dinner together in an attempt to bring some normality to your crazy lives, and you figured it would be the best time to break the new. You'd wait until everyone had finished eating and you and your dad were alone and then you'd tell him.

Not only did you think it would be better to have the conversation one on one, but Loki not being there also lessened the likely hood of your father trying to kill him if he didn't take the news kindly.

The only major challenge now was making it through the dinner itself without losing your nerve. Loki assured you that he'd be by your side right up until the moment he had to leave, and he meant it. Your father sat at the head of the table, because of course he did, and you sat to his right. Loki was seated beside you.

Most of the dinner passed as they usually did when the team ate together. Clint complained about the take out choice, Nat downed an impressive amount of wine whilst somehow remaining sober and a philosophical debate had broken out despite their being no indication as to what had started it.

For once, you and Loki remained silent, too nervous to offer any input should your worrisome tone give you away. You had spent most of the dinner toying with the food on your plate with your fork.

Loki's hand gently held yours beneath the table. It was risky, but no one had noticed and it was currently the only thing keeping you sane.

“You alright, kiddo?”

You glanced up to find your dad staring at you. He motioned to your untouched plate of food.

“You haven't touched your take out. It's your favourite.”

“Oh yeah, I- uh,” you stumbled over your own words and cursed yourself for being caught off guard. Most of the team were still chatting amongst themselves, but Steve and Natasha were now watching the exchange between you and Tony attentively. “I guess I'm just not that hungry.”

He seemed entirely unconvinced and leaned in slightly, away from the prying ears of the table. “You sure everything's alright?”

You gulped. Your father was no idiot and he knew something was eating away at you. From the corner of your eye, you could see Nat nodding her head and Steve smiling supportively. This was the perfect opportunity to bring it up and you decided it was now or never. “Well, actually-”

“Nice going, Clint!”

Both your heads snapped up to see that a knocked over wine bottle had stained both the end of the table and Bruce's white shirt.

“Hey! It's not my fault. Who even drinks this stuff anyway?!”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean, bird brain?” Sam yelled, possessively grabbing what was left in the overturned bottle and dunking it into his glass. Bucky hid his smile behind his bottle of beer.

Everyone else's attention had turned to Bruce, who seemed to be doing an excellent job at not hulking out and sending Clint through the nearest wall.

You bit your lip.

“Dad, is it alright if I leave? I'm not feeling up to eating right now.” You asked. Now clearly wasn't the best time to bring something up and you decided waiting till after everyone had turned it in for the night was probably best.

“Sure thing, sweet pea,” he smiled as you stood and pushed in your chair behind you. Loki followed you, rising to his feet.

“I think it's time I also take my leave.” No one paid much attention as Loki mimicked your actions and prepared to leave the table.

“Leaving already?” Wanda asked politely and you smiled back, already prepared to answer with ‘Yeah, I'm just tired.’

“Of course they are! I'm sure my brother and Y/N have much to do and discuss,” Thor smirked, winking and raising his glass to the both of you in a not so subtle way.

Silence fell over the entire table and you and Loki grew rigid. Natasha and Steve turned to glare at Thor, who lowered his glass, realising what exactly he'd just said.

“What?” Tony said, turning to Thor with a shocked expression. Loki quickly stepped in.

“I think my brother may have had a tad too much Asgardian ale, I-

“No, what did you say?” He asked again, voice raising. All eyes were now either on Tony, Loki or you.

Thor seemed to shrink into his seat, taking interest in the bottom of his cup as he attempted to backtrack and fix his mistake. But it was too late.

Your father's gaze turned to you and then Loki, who was cautiously standing behind you. 

“One chance.” He was livid. “You get one chance to tell me the truth.”

“Dad, can we not do this now,” you asked quietly.

“The truth, Y/N.” You couldn’t recall the last time you’d seen your father so angry. And as terrified as you were, you knew lying would only dig you a deeper hole.

“I was going to tell you,” you started, wincing as he ran a hand down his face. “I just didn't know how and then Nat told me I should just-”

Your father's glare turned to Natasha who choked on her wine at your words. You mentally grimaced as you realized what you'd just said.

“Oh, so you knew!” Tony yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Nat. He turned back to you. “You told Thor and Natasha before you told me!”

“I didn't tell her! She just sort of found out...” you fumbled and Tony laughed humorlessly.

“Did anybody else know besides Nat and point break?” he asked, addressing the whole table. Steve fidgeted awkwardly in his seat and Tony immediately singled him out.

“Steve.” He crossed his arms as he glared at the captain. “Something on your mind?”

Steve sighed. “Look, Tony I-”

“Don't bullshit me, Rogers.”

Steve nodded wordlessly and Tony bit the inside of his cheek, looking as though he was prepared to rip into each member of the team. You cowered back slightly and Loki stepped infront of you, shielding you from your fathers rage the best he could.

“Great! Awesome! Did anyone else know my daughter was dating a psychopath and just decided to keep that information to themselves?”

Everyone awkwardly shifted in their seats, some clearing there throats and others offering you sympathetic glances. Natasha mouthed a ‘sorry’ and Thor seemed to still be beating himself up for letting it slip in the first place.

Loki stepped forward. “Stark, I can assure you-”

“Zip it, Reindeer Games,” he warned and for once, Loki did as he was told. Tony pointed to you as if he were scolding a child.

“You are grounded,” he stated. “No more missions, no more lab privileges, nothing.”

You scoffed. “I'm not a kid!”

“Yes, you are! You're my kid.”

“Dad, will you please just listen to me.” You begged as you stepped towards your father in hopes of reasoning with him. He rose from his seat to meet you.

“No. This,” he gestured between you and Loki. “Ends now. End of discussion.”

You took a step back, feeling as though an arrow had hit you in the chest. Tears were brimming your eyes and you couldn't find it in you to meet anyone's gaze. Seeing how upset you'd become, Loki refused to bite his tongue any longer.

“Stark, with all due respect, I won't allow that. I understand your disdain for me and it's more than warranted but do not take that anger out on Y/N. You have no reason to trust me but I can assure you that my feelings towards your daughter and nothing but sincere and genuine.”

Loki's sudden statement seemed to have surprised Tony. He opened his mouth to argue but Loki didn't give him the chance as he continued.

“She has given me a second chance and I love her dearly for doing so. And I would never do anything to harm her. I love her unconditionally and all I ask is for a chance. Allow me to prove myself.”

Loki's speech had left you teary-eyed with a warmth spreading in your chest. A smile pulled at your lips as Loki turned to you. The genuine and loving look in his eyes spoke volumes and it took every ounce of control you possessed not to launch yourself into his arms then and there.

“Tony, I don't know about you but that seemed pretty convincing to me.” Nat voiced from the table and Thor immediately agreed.

“My brother may be the god of lies but he has spoken nothing but the truth tonight.”

Steve, ever the diplomat, offered Tony an encouraging nod. “All he's asking for is a chance, Tony.”

“It's pretty sweet if you ask me,” Bucky murmured from beside the captain, Sam and Wanda nodding in agreement.

Tony watched as the table seemed to take Loki's side and he battled with himself until his eyes landed on you. You were standing side by side with Loki, whilst he smiled at you in adoration. The glances you shared were nothing short of loving and Tony couldn't help but notice how genuine and mutual it truly was. Loki's hand was brushing against yours, desperate to grasp hold and comfort you but not wanting to overstep the line the tension had drawn.

Tony sighed as he realized what he had to do. You were his daughter, his everything. And he just wanted you to be happy. Even if it was with someone he didn’t initially approve of. 

“You love him?” he asked nonchalantly and you nodded.

“And you, Frosty,” Tony motioned to Loki who tried not to frown at the nickname. “You love her?”

Loki glanced at you, smiling softly. “Wholeheartedly.”

Tony swallowed down the lump in his throat as he watched the both of you, not completely ready to accept that you weren't a kid anymore.

“Well then, I guess that's that.” He smiled at you softly. “Leave it to you to fall for the God of mischief. You always were a troublemaker.” 

Your father pulled you into a hug, muttering a quiet ‘love you, sweet pea’, before pulling back to look at Loki.

“You hurt her,” he started and Loki cut him off with an amused chuckle.

“You'll kill me?” He guessed.

“Oh no, not just me. They'll kill you.” Tony smirked, pointing to the table full of avengers.

Loki nodded. “Understood.”

Nat sent you a wink and Steve and Thor smiled whilst the rest of the team seemed to congratulate you with supportive, and in some cases embarrassing, comments.

You and Loki smirked at each other, slowly turning to leave the dining room when your father's voice called you back.

“Woah, where do you two think you're going?” he asked. “Cats out of the bag now so no need to run off and hide. Sit.”

Seeing no point in arguing, you both took your seats, Loki holding your hand atop the table for everyone to see. Things quickly settled back into a comfortable conversation, you and Loki feeling freer than you had in months. The domesticity of it all was enough to make your heart burst.

“So,” Clint, who was slightly tipsy at this point, yelled. “When's the wedding?”

Tony turned red. “Don't push their luck, Barton.” He partially joked, glaring daggers at his teammate as the rest of the team laughed. As for you and Loki, you couldn't help but smile at the possibility.

tag list: @leftperfectionmoon @doozywoozy @bakerstreethound @miraclesoflove​ @Kealohilani-tepise

[gojology]

Strawberry Flavored Pocky.

pairing : teen! gojo x gender neutral reader warnings : the big three: unedited, most likely badly written, and some cursing. also there’s like.. graphic imagery that gojo and reader exchange to eachother. it’s just banter though! wordcount : 2273 a/n : for that one anon that wanted teen gojo. my stroke of genius always occurs when im eating strawberry flavored pocky i swear.. anyways yeah this is unfiltered writing n it’s probably like not the best tbh and maybe i didn’t nail teen gojo’s personality but u know what this was so fun to write

     The sound of the tear of the wrapper containing the Pocky you had just bought was music to your ears, crinkling with every touch. Your fingers are itching to grab for the deliciously coated sticks, but you’re stopped by someone none other than Gojo Satoru himself.       “What’d you get?” he inquired, seemingly unbothered by the face you were making, he hadn’t even greeted you with a simple, “Hello.” he sat down on the bench seat right next to you, uninvited.       In his hand were many bags of various sweet treats, you could only make out some familiar ones- ramune flavored gummies, a bag of chips, vibrantly colored candy. Your lips quirk downwards, exhaling, turning to face the setting sun.       “Just some Pocky.” you flatly respond, beginning to pick the biscuit up. Contrary to Gojo’s wide choice of snacks, you only really had one favorite- Pocky. Specifically, Strawberry flavored Pocky. The sweet, yet somewhat tart aftertaste treat dominated your mind almost day and night. It wasn’t everyday that Yaga would be lenient enough to take the four of you to the local convenience store. You were waiting for Shoko and Geto to finish shopping to finally head home for a night of yummy snacking.       Gojo sighs, lazily dropping the treats right next to his side, they sat idly, limply resting on his thigh as he crossed his right leg over his left knee. His hands warmly nestled into his snowy white hair, his elbows jutting into your personal bubble.        “Not one to chat, are you? What’s the problem? You scared?” his tone is teasing, and you jerk your head to face his. Your head is tilted, like your confused, but in reality you’re just astounded how obnoxious he was.       “Why in the world would I be scared of you? You wouldn’t lay a finger on me. Yaga-Senpai would rip your limbs off one by one and fling you into the horizon! And he’s not even that far away, I could report you to him if you even get on my nerves in the slightest.” you shot back, huffing and taking your first bite on the biscuit. You instantly melt.       He flashes you a toothy smile, and you stiffen, did he ever take anything seriously? “Oh my, so riled up. Only scaredy-cats would talk about how not scared they were. Look, you’re even shaking-” he gestures to your just slightly shaking, tightened grip on your Pocky. “-I win, Y/N! Boo hoo, case closed, gimme your Pocky~”        “No, fuck you and your fat ass trying to take my Pocky, I’m not shaking from fear anyways.” you sternly retort, warmth rushing to your cheeks for whatever reason. “I’m shaking because I’m resisting the urge to duct tape your mouth shut and gouge your eyeballs out.”       He chuckles warmly as if your gruesome detailing was humorous, he probably didn’t know you meant it. He too, ripped open one of his snacks. “Calm down, Y/N. I was joking, I could buy Pocky’s whole stock and probably also buy my position up as CEO if I wanted to. I wouldn’t leech off of you, sugar.” readjusting his crooked, circular shades, he looked down at your now slack grip on the wrapper.      Unanswering, you’re grumbling instead. Under your breath, you’re curious as to how Gojo hasn’t realized how obnoxious he was, and how much longer could he survive without his head exploding from how big it was from his inflated ego?      Gojo grinned. He was all too aware of those things, but who really cared?      “Not unless you let your guard down!-” unable to finish the rest of his sentence, he yanked up the wrapper from your hands, using the extent of his long arm to dangle it high above your head. Your reflexes are far too slow to react, causing you to glare at him in a mixture of shock, hatred, and disbelief.      “Give-” you jump, arm reaching towards your snack, but he backs off, snickering and still dangling it above your head. “It-” now you’ve leapt up on the bench, grabbing at the wrapper to no avail. “Back!-” whimpering and flailing your arms out, every time you came close to retrieving your rightfully owned pack of Pocky, he’d simply throw it to his other hand so carelessly it pissed you off. All the while giggling, juggling it like a clown.      A breath of laughter escapes his lips as he looks at you, prancing around like a circus act on the bench, yelling curses and many death-wishes to his clan. Your eyebrows are knitted together, and he can’t just help but realize how adorable you were when concentrated in getting something- so stubborn.    “Okay, okay!” and as if Gojo had flipped a switch, you simmer down, looking at him with an impatient side-eye. “You want it, doggie?”     “Refer to me as doggie, and I’ll send a pack of strays to ravage you.”       Gojo exhaled out of his nose. “You’re a funny one, doggie.” did he just dismiss the conversation you two were having literally 2 seconds prior? “I’ll ask this again, do you want to get your treats back?” his eyes are glinting with amusement and child-like glee. You were almost sure that he had started calling your beloved Pocky as treats because of just how well it suited the nickname Doggie. It looked like you would be getting no where unless you paid no mind to him calling you such a.. Derogatory name.       Grumbling and studying the concrete you were currently trampling on, you exasperatedly sigh.       “Yes. I do want my Pocky back.” you grunt, averting your gaze to anywhere but Gojo’s shoes.       He perks up in approval, drawing out a long, “Hmmm?” as if he hadn’t expected you to give up so easily. “What are the magic words, Y/N?”       This was so humiliating.       “Please?” you politely say through gritted teeth. If it weren’t for the general public bustling about, you would’ve lunged for his unruly hair and tear it out of his scalp.       “Hah! You think I’m gonna do that sorta bullshit?” he crosses his arms, Pocky tucked safely under his arm. You wince, thinking about how the biscuits may potentially be snapped in half. Did you really want your snack still? It probably smelled like Gojo’s armpit sweat, death, and all the bad things in the world combined. “You’re gonna have to earn it, Y/N, in a game.”       Now convinced that Gojo was the manifestation of all the bad karma that you had avoided, you stare at him with wide eyes and fear, the irritation long gone. Games, no, scratch that, literally anything with Gojo only resulted in a small, or maybe large piece of your sanity torn away from you, lost to the infinite dark abyss. Maybe that’s why Geto seemed to slowly go insane everyday.       “On second thought, I’ll just go-”      He cuts you off, alarm now displayed on full view, his face contorting back to neutral. “Wait, no! It won’t be hard. Pinkie promise.” extending a pinkie towards you, you gently slap it away. The mood change was so instant, you were still shocked, that, and he was almost a legal adult and still believed in pinkie promises.      Still hesitant, you quirk an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’d rather spend another two dollars than play whatever game your planning, unless you tell me about it.”      “That’s a given, besides, it won’t take too long, Y/N. I think you’ll like it.” he replies cheerfully, leaning and whisper-yelling into your ear, fruitfully jolting you up. Seriously, did he have any idea what personal space was?      After just a few seconds of thinking, you roll your eyes in defeat. “Okay, what’s this game?”      His incredibly long fingers inserted themselves inside the crinkling wrapper, pulling out a slender stick. You’re almost sure your salivating, and subconsciously swallow the lump at the back of your throat. “Okay, rules of this game are... Hm, we both place our mouths at both ends of the stick. You get the pretzel part because that part sucks.” mischief flickers in his eyes briefly. “Whoever can get down the Pocky longest without being afraid of kissing and pulling back, loses and doesn’t get the Pocky. Whoever stays in their place wins. I’ll throw in some money, deal or no deal?”       “This doesn’t sound.. Fun.” you were still skeptical, but curiosity was blossoming rapidly inside of you. Could you really resist such an intriguing request? The guy was rich, and he did say he’d throw in some money. Gojo probably hated the thought of you, too. You could probably get up and close, get him to cower away from the thought of locking lips with you, and you’d be on your merry way.       “Um, actually, never mind. Let’s do this.” you chirp, the weariness had depleted completely. Besides, Gojo would pester you into doing it anyways, this would effectively save time. The expression on his face was indecipherable, silently wishing to yourself to see his eyes. You wonder if they’re wide open, in shock of your acceptance.       He gently placed the biscuit between your lips, his thumb brushing against it. Your breath hitches, now he’s up close. The shades adorning his handsome features, concealing those vivid blue eyes of his made your heart pace quicken in just seconds, maybe it was because he could see you- and you couldn’t. Your gaze shifts to the tufts of white hair hanging above his forehead. His bangs look lusciously soft, so soft you wonder what it’d be like to ruffle his unruly hair, what did it smell like? What conditioner did he use?     Your cheeks darken, but you hope he doesn’t notice it. This was what people thought of when they saw pretty people up close, it wasn’t like you had a thing for him, he was just attractive, that’s all.      “You look real stupid holding that stick between your teeth and looking at me.” he comments, charmingly smirking as you give him another death glare, unable to speak in fear of dropping the Pocky stick. You could count each individual hair strand he had on top of his head with the amount of time he was taking.      Chomp.     You take the first bite, and you can’t help but realize how much your heart is fluttering about in your chest. Eyelashes fluttering, nerves getting jittery, the exchange was strangely intimate. No kidding, of course it was- if the two of you were adamant and continued to chomp on the stick, it would only end in a kiss. There was no way around it.      He takes a bite too, his lips look curved in a dopey smile, but there’s not a single word traded between the two of you, just tiny, slight nibbles. It would be eons until someone finished, and you were growing impatient by the minute. Quicken the pace. Quicken the fucking pace.     So you did the unthinkable, you quickened the pace.     Taking a large bite, he pauses for a minute- as if to think, before taking an even larger bite. Now, 2/3′s of the original stick is gone. One more large bite, and a kiss would follow suit. Now, you’re sweating bullets, eyes bouncing from him, back down to the microscopic sized Pocky. His lips are so, so close. Soft, plush pink, so glossy you’re inclined to ask what brand of lip gloss he uses. You can hear his breathing grow heavier, why wasn’t he giving up?      The two of you don’t take a single bite, plainly avoiding the objective, the world around you had evaporated into thin air. It’s you, and Gojo Satoru.      You nibbled a little bit more, and then you make up your mind. You’re going to kiss-       Growing chatter grew closer to closer, and you realize Shoko’s monotone and Geto’s lively voice, alongside a very disgruntled Yaga.       “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. I actually liked the movie- Uh...?” the steady rhythm stopped against the concrete. Immediately, you straighten and clear your throat, spitting out the Pocky stick into the nearby grass. Gojo follows suit, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and twirling around. “Oh hey, Geto!-”       “Are we interrupting something? Something.. Important?” Shoko quizzes, struggling to stifle her giggling. A sheepish smile was displayed widely on your face for the world to see, hands behind your back like you were hiding something. Gojo, on the other hand, is facing the other direction, whistling and staring at the now setting sky.       You stutter, cheeks growing even darker. Yaga looks as disgruntled as ever, facepalming and murmuring to himself. Geto looks ecstatic.        “MY MAN!” he beams. “WERE YOU GOING TO-”       “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Shoko shushes him in response, turning her head back to the two of you. You looked like you had just seen a ghost. “We thought you hated Gojo, we’re just...” her head is cocked slightly, an understanding expression on her features. “Just surprised, is all.”       Spluttering, you try to explain yourself- but no sound comes out. Your mouth is opening and closing, struggling to find the words.       “I do hate him... I just... He.. Pocky.. He uh...”       “Sheeeeeeeesh! Poor Y/N over here is going through some shock right now!” Gojo muses aloud, he places an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in under his arm. There’s a small, coy grin on his lips. As if he didn’t try kissing you 1 minute ago. “Just ignore them, anyways, what are we having for dinner tonight? I heard there’s a really good KBBQ place down the street that just opened..”      As much as you hate Gojo, his ability to escape anything did come in handy.    Well, maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you were leading on.     You’d go as far as to say.. Maybe you enjoyed some parts of him.      

[harrieatthemet]

Mustache

He has never been keen on sharing. 

And Gemma’s mere existence, as well as the small indent on her left thumb she swears is a scar (though Harry vehemently denies it is), is living proof. 

Mr Ducky was his favorite bath time companion for a good bulk of his childhood. There were even times he’d carry it around with him in the house tied to a string like a pet, one of Anne’s fondest memories and favorite stories to tell whenever she found the opportunity. 

Maybe it was Gemma’s own fault; she was only six at the time and was foolishly under the impression that the stupid rubber toy was at anyone’s disposal, which is what led her to try and situate the duck in her backpack as she geared up for school. 

It’s also what led her to tears because Harry caught her on the way out the front door, Mr Ducky in tow, and he instinctively sunk his teeth right into the side of her hand in protest. And, okay fine, he may have bit down a little harder than he should have, but the overall message he was sending came across very clear. Gemma never touched anything he owned again for a very, very, long time; and eventually went on to tell everyone in her class she had a vampire as a brother. 

“What do we think of this little number,” your hip jut, innocent as it was, just now became a permanent memory in Harry’s brain, “too much, like.. revealing?”

You like nice in red; devilish, even, and in the best way possible. There’s nothing revealing about the dress at all. Somehow, though, he finds himself perched squeamishly at the foot of your bed in complete fucking anguish. In theory, no, the dress is not too much. It’s the perfect ensemble and flatters you so well he feels like whoever made the dress conjured it up with you specifically in mind. 

And no, it’s not too much, for literally anyone else except him. How is such a modest dress enough for him to think you up the way he is right now; bent over in front of him with your hair wrapped tightly up in his palm while that dress lays in a sloppy ball by his feet. 

“Would be nice with nude shoes,” he mules, “like, those sandals y’ave, yeah?” 

The way your eyes light up, that same way they always do when your mind starts to move at light’s speed as you start assembling a million different ideas into one, is enough to tug a grin onto his mouth. 

He didn’t really want to agree to this. When you texted first to ask he ignored it, that way you’d have just carried on without him and he could blame a busy schedule or an overrun nap on his delayed response time. It’s much easier to blame a missed text for no response. Of course it’s not in your nature to send a text, and he knew that already. So it came a son surprise when he was bombarded by 4 phone calls. By the fifth one he had picked up, succumbing to you and just the flat out unfulfilled urge he had to hear your voice at the other end of the phone.

“Seriously Harry,” your voice is like fucking honey, sweet and sullen like it always is, and he’s in euphoria listening to it as you poke your earring through the lobe of your left ear, “it’s just, y’know I don’t- I’m nervous and I appreciate you helping me do something as stupid as picking a dress.” 

“S’not stupid,” he reassures, “y’know I just like spending time with yeh, since y’so busy ’n stuff.”

Which is true. That’s the only thing that got him over here; and he rescheduled a zoom call just to sit in your bedroom for all of twenty minutes. Not one part of him regretted it, either.

“I’m busy?” You tease, “coming from the A lister who’s in London, than LA, than New York, London again, oh, than LA again oh, then ‘sorry love, m’in Tokyo.’”

Also true, he knows that, which is why he’s snickering at fault in response to your harmless teasing. He wouldn’t say it now, mainly because he doesn’t want to make it weird, but regardless of where he falls on the map he somehow still finds a way to fit you in. He’s never minded doing it, either. 

Twenty minutes isn’t enough. Maybe another twenty more could be a sufficient amount. That’s almost an hour, right? Forty minutes is almost a full hour with you and he’d love to get even that much. Or twenty more hours, even, would be that much better. It’s better for him to think of getting more time with you than to let his thoughts wander and remind him of where you’re getting ready to go off to. 

A date. It’s why he was so hesitant to come here. It’s hard enough as it is being a prisoner to his own thoughts, being around you and not getting to interact with you the way he actually wants; kiss you the way he wants, touch you the way he wants, hold you and talk to you the way he wants. Adding a new element to the mix, another man getting access to you the way he wants, well that’s just mental warfare. 

You don’t know anything about though. And thank God, because if you could get a peak into his thoughts and see just a preview of what he thinks he almost knows for sure you’d ice him out in a heartbeat. He’s got a soft spot for you, nonetheless, which is why he swallowed the massive-sized lump in his throat when you told him you needed help on an outfit for a date and b lined it over to your place.

“Who’s this guy, anyways.” He chimes, following you similar to that of a lost puppy as you start heading towards the staircase, “Like, wha’s he look like ’n stuff.”

Immediately after he asks he wishes he hadn’t. The way that pesky fucking lump reappears when you wiggle your eyebrows in response, stuffing your hand into your leather purse in an attempt to fish out your phone. A simple response like ‘handsome’ or ‘he’s a nice guy’ would’ve sufficed for him. Seriously, that’s all he needed. What he didn’t need was an entire fucking slideshow of an above average looking guy. And he had a cool mustache, to boot, which really pissed Harry off for some reason. 

“Should probably shave,” he squints his eyes at the photo you’ve got propped right in front of his face, trying his hardest to act like he isn’t so fucking jealous of that mustache, “kinda looks like a squirrel on his top lip."

“If I didn’t know you so well,” you tut teasingly, “I’d think you’re a dick.”

“You know me so well and still don’t think that?” 

He likes the way your laugh sounds, and it makes him happy that he said something amusing enough to drag it out of you. And the toothy smile you pair with it practically knocks the wind right out of him. Everything you do seems to wow him, corny as it sounds. It makes him feel so at ease, and the butterflies he gets each time gets him reminiscing to the days where he was just a kid and had the worlds biggest crush on the girl who sat three rows ahead of him in grade school. He’s giddy and he doesn’t want you to leave for this date. 

For a second he thinks about doing something elaborate; breaking his foot or faking an illness so that you literally have no choice but to hang back and look after him. That’s selfish though, and honestly just crazy and super fucked up, so he opts out of that. But he doesn’t want you to go so bad he seriously considers it, especially as you start sorting through the downstairs closet to find a coat that doesn’t clash with your shoes. 

He could just be honest. He could just tell you that he doesn’t want you to go, solely because he’s absolutely infatuated with you and for every hour he’s awake and functioning you manage to consume every thought he has. He could just be an adult and tell you he’s got feelings for you that very much surpass a platonic, friendly demeanor. That might be a better way into persuading you to stay back with him than breaking his fucking foot. 

“Ok now wait a minute,” he chokes, and there’s a painful twang that strikes his gut when you frown, “gotta tell y’somethin’.” 

“What,” you groan, and he swears he would rather die right now than do anything else, “it’s the shoes, right? They make my calves look like I’m a running back don’t they?” 

He wants to laugh but he thinks if he opens his mouth he would projectile vomit everywhere. But the thought occurs to him that if he does that than it would be an excellent excuse for you to skip the date. Though, of course, he runs the risk of grossing you out and absolutely humiliating himself all in one go of it. 

So he shakes his head no. In fact he loves the shoes, and they make your ankles look slender and really compliment your legs quite nicely. Still, he’s scrambling to string together a coherent sentence because his brain is working a lot faster than the muscles in his mouth are and it feels like someone just super glued his lips shut.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” you tease, and the cheeky wink you shoot him over your shoulder just edges him even more if that’s possible at this point, “Styles.”

“I don’t want y’to go on this date, (Y/N).” 

He’s well aware that he blurted that out in a way that he really, really, wish he hadn’t. Now the air in the room is stale and heavy, dense too, like someone just sucked all the air out and left the two of you here with nothing to inhale but words and unspecified tension. 

And he’s starting to get more anxious as your playful manner dissipates. He can tell your puzzled not just be the demeanor of your face, but by the stance of your body because your letting shoulders hang the way you do when you’re a little uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” you breath, and his chest starts sinking inward, “okay, I just- well why not? Do I not.. like, do I look bad or something?”

“No,” he coos, and he feels like the worlds biggest asshole when you start to frown, “No y’don’t- Christ, (Y/N) y’look amazing. Y’always look so fuckin’ amazing. It’s just-”

“What,” you huff, “than what is it, than? Why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

He’s really done it now. The proper thing to do would’ve just been to let you go, walk out with you and watch you drive off before he headed home himself. The proper thing to do would’ve been for him to just go home and think about you on a date with someone other than himself, curled up in a ball watching a Friends episode he’s already seen four times while he felt sorry for himself. But that’s not what happened, and what he should’ve done was just broke the fucking foot like he initially thought to do. That would’ve been less agonizing than this. 

“Because,” he’s frustrated now, not with you but really just himself, “I should be taking y’out. M’absolutely in love with yeh, (Y/N), and I don’t have a cool mustache but I could take y’out on a date, ’n I want to so bad.” 

There’s still that dense energy looming in the room, and his gut now too as he feels it winding up tightly in an anxious bundle of knots and twists. You’re not saying anything and the only thing he notices is that you’re breathing is vaguely staggered and your clutching onto that purse in your hand like he’s about to snatch it and run off. God, he should’ve just broken the foot!

“Please don’t go out wit him,” and now, his voice is small, “think it might kill me.”

[kurtskrow]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗞𝗦

⠀ ⠀ ⠀> Tap for better quality

⠀ ⠀ ⠀> Episode: Hope Falls

- Like I promised in my last post. I’d say why I have a love hate relationship with this episode. So yeah.

Another thing I love about this episode is that we get to learn more about Frank, and we get to see that Scott does indeed have a heart, and that he does learn from his mistakes. For those who don't know, at the beginning of the show. Scott is supposed to be seen as a stone cold stoner who just likes getting high, and has no heart. But past episode 3, we get to learn Scott does have a heart. This episode, Hope Falls, shows us that he does have a heart, and feels bad.

When Scott learns about Franks son, and that Franks son overdosed and died. When Frank says. "I never got to say goodbye." You can see how hurt Scott is. He looks down at the ground, speechless, he feels some sort of guilt, then looks back at Frank to listen to him.

This episode shows you that even though the Cliff Hangers are fucked in the head, they still have a moral compass, they still have pride, and honor. Even though they've seen and experienced things a child should never go through, they still have some sort of direction. Even Scott, the most fucked up (mentally) he still has something, he still has his moral compass. That is something I admire.

This episode shows you that even though the Cliff Hangers are fucked in the head, they still have a moral compass, they still have pride, and honor. Even though they've seen and experienced things a child should never go through, they still have some sort of direction. Even Scott, the most fucked up (mentally) he still has something, he still has his moral compass. That is something I admire.

This episode shows you that even though the Cliff Hangers are fucked in the head, they still have a moral compass, they still have pride, and honor. Even though they've seen and experienced things a child should never go through, they still have some sort of direction. Even Scott, the most fucked up (mentally) he still has something, he still has his moral compass. That is something I admire.

We learn that everyone in Horizon at one point has problems. Even the teachers and counselors have problems. Frank, the head master, the principle, even he has problems. He couldn't save his son, and he has some sort of guilt because his son, Tommy I believe, couldn't be saved.

We learn that everyone in Horizon at one point has problems. Even the teachers and counselors have problems. Frank, the head master, the principle, even he has problems. He couldn't save his son, and he has some sort of guilt because his son, Tommy I believe, couldn't be saved.

Another thing I love about this episode. This may sound fucked up. But I love how there is this kid who OD's, and tries to off himself by overdosing. I absolutely LOVE this. Not because he tried to off himself, but rather because of how real it is. Often times when kids are sent off to a ranch, such as Horizon, so they can get better. Instead of wanting to get better, they try to off themselves. This is the most real part of Higher Ground. The fact that kids will always try to off themselves.

This kid doesn't wanna be at Horizon, not to mention he hates his home, his life, and most importantly, himself. Due to this, he tries to off himself at the ranch. A ranch where nobody knows him, a ranch he knows damn well where nobody will miss him, so he tries to off himself.

I like that, it's so realistic, I just- man, I love it so much. Not to mention the kid looks like a Chinese knock-off of Scott.

Another part I liked was when Scott at the end apologizes to the kids mother, he clearly doesn't know what to say. But, you can tell he does feel bad for her, so he apologizes to her. It's a little detail of Scott that I like. Shows you, he does have a good heart deep down.

Also the way Scott rejects Shelby is just chefs kiss.

I love how Scott chops wood at the wood station. Later in the season it’s basically established that chopping wood is something Scott just does. The guy is always chopping wood. In episode 8- it’s like 5AM, and this boy is over here finding some wood to chop. It’s great. He just owns the wood station and I love it.

Now for the stuff I didn't like:

SHELBY. I hate Shelby in this episode. I like her most of the times cause she does a great job at being a special bitchy bitch. But my GOD was she incomprehensible. She tries so hard to hook up with Scott to the point where it is just unbearable to watch.

Now I'm not a smart man myself but believe me when I say, I understand what "no, I don't wanna hook up with you." means. And for some reason, Shelby doesn't understand what, "you're a skank." means.

The most memorable thing about Shelby in this episode, is her purposefully provoking Scott because he tells her, "I quit smoking." Shelby gets pissed at Scott, because he says, "I quit smoking." And it is BEYOND retarded. She literally goes up to his face and is like. "Oh yeah? Well when I lived in the streets you took what you could."

As someone who raised in a ghetto ass area. Yes, in the streets or the hood, you would take whatever you could get, but, you had the opportunity to say no. Nobody forced me to do meth, heroin, cocaine, none of that shit when I was in California. They would offer it yeah, but they wouldn't force it upon me. When I would reject, they'd leave me alone, they wouldn't pressure me for shit. So the fact that Shelby says this, is so stupid to me, because if you say no, TRUST ME, they will leave you alone. Trainspotting is a great movie that displays this. None of the drug addicts force their non-druggie friend to do drugs. In fact, it was all his choice to do drugs. Which is exactly what happens 8 times out of 10.

People always act like most drug dealers will pressure you into taking drugs, or smoking, when the reality is, they won't. They really won't. You say no, to your druggie friends, or to a drug dealer, they will leave you alone. You know how I know this? Because every time I rejected an offer to do some sort of drug, they would leave me alone right after. So Shelby saying this, IS STUPID beyond belief.

Another thing I hate, is how Shelby doesn't understand the words, "No." because she borderline harasses Scott from episode 1-9. She never leaves him alone. She's always like. "Scott, I want your dick."

Scott goes. "Uh... no thanks."

Shelby proceeds to get mad. And it's so stupid. Yes, Scott said no, too bad. He doesn't want you, move on. BUT SHE DOESN'T. She doesn't move on, she continues and continues and continues, even though he says no multiple times. Scott even acknowledges that Shelby is no good for him, he basically tells her. "You're no good for me, Juliette is better, she's loyal, she loves me, and I love her." But Shelby pursues him, she still tries to make him cheat on Juliette.

I hate this so much. He said no. HE LITERALLY TELLS HER NO, and for some reason, she STILL tries to get him to cheat on Juliette. I hate it so much. But Scott, our loyal boyo, rejects her every time.

And so, Shelby, tries her best to make Scott doubt Juliette. What sucks is that she succeeds because she says. "Auggie was all up in Juliette's pants." This works, and Scott starts doubting his relationship with Juliette and it sucks ass, because, she was also loyal to Scott and was very healthy for him, but whatever I guess. I don't fuckin know.

Another thing I hate about this episode is Isaac's mother. Her acting is just deplorable. It's atrocious, it is genuinely hard to watch her acting. It's awful. It is downright awful. It is hard to watch, it really is. I'm not kidding. So, that is one thing I despise about this episode.

The other thing I hate, is I DON'T KNOW IF SCOTT IS DATING JULIETTE. This is the one fucking problem with Juliette and Scott. It is never established when these two officially started going out. Yes, in Episode 2, Juliette gently pecks Scott's lips, and it makes him shy, and that's it. That's literally it. You don't ACTUALLY know that's when they started going out, but that's when it's established they had a thing for each other.

Shelby talks about how Scott only has Juliette but- you're still confused if they're dating or not. You're always left assuming. "Are these two dating? Or are they actually friends with benefits?" I've watched this show 37 times now, and I STILL for the life of me, do not know when Scott and Juliette started dating. And this episode, doesn't help in the slightest.

Instead, this episode makes you assume that they started going out in the episode prior, but in the episode prior, they weren't really talking, so in this episode, you are assuming they are a thing, but you still don't know beCAUSE, IT ISN'T. FUCKING. ESTABLISHED.

Yes, Scott did fight Auggie because Auggie kissed Juliette. But if you loved a girl, and some other fuck came in, and kissed the girl you loved, you would be pissed and tell them fuck off cause you want that girl and you don't want competition.

You know when they break up but you don't know when they officially started dating, and it sucks ass cheeks.

My rating for this episode: 8/10.

8 because the plot is good. But, 1.5 is taken away due to Shelby, and the other .5 is because of all the other stuff. That's it, bye.

[lustinglilac]

Hey love! I absolutely love your OA Zidan imagines & I was wondering if you could do a full on angst to smut one maybe? Idc what the angst part is centered around maybe where he's mad at the reader? but for the smut could there be a choking kink??? Sorry if this is too detailed or you can't do it , thank u !!!

A/N: I had a really fun time writing this! Even though it took me forever. I really hope you enjoy & thank you for requesting 💜

Warnings: choking kink, condescending talk, angry OA (but then fluff), some arguing, NSFW under the cut, 18+ ONLY

*GIF NOT MINE*

“OA... I don’t understand what the issue is. I invited Maggie over for dinner and Nestor just so happened to be there when I did. Big deal!” She scoffed, walking to her side of the car door.

OA tries to steady his breathing, sighing harshly before pulling open the driver’s side of the door, “The point is he’s a manipulative, selfish prick who has no care about who he screws over—“

“Honestly Omar, if you could leave work at work, that would be so great.” She states matter of factly. She fastens her seatbelt, smoothing down her dress before crossing her arms over her chest, turning to stare at something, anything, out the window.

“Y’know... out of all people, I thought you’d understand that the most.” He chuckles humorlessly, “I’ll keep my opinions to myself from now on.” He turns on the engine, the noise drowning out her heart beating out of her chest as they head for their shared apartment.

Minutes later they’d arrived outside of their building, silently getting out of the car as she held back tears. God, she didn’t even know why she was so upset. Maybe at the fact that they let someone as irrelevant as Nestor get between them? She had no clue.

“I’ll be in our room if you need me.” Once inside, she steps out of her wedges, not bothering to look back at him.

Omar contemplates going after her, his anger towards Nestor really getting the best of him as he replayed the conversation in his head.

Loosening the collar of his dress shirt, he took a seat on the plush couch, leaning his head back against it with a low groan.

She willed herself not to cry, stripping out of her short dress and putting on something more comfortable for the time being. She realized the harshness to her words earlier, pinching the bridge of her nose before making the decision to go out into the kitchen for a glass of water. And secretly to see OA.

She padded quietly down the short hallway, reaching the fridge in no time, throwing a glance Omar’s way before averting her eyes.

He watches her manuever around the tiny kitchen area, an amused smirk playing on his lips as she reached up for the glasses that were usually kept on the top most shelf, a bad habit OA had yet to break.

Her stubborness taking over, not wanting to ask for help as she reached as far up as she could to no avail.

“Here— I got you.” In no time, OA had been behind her, one hand on her hip to steady himself before reaching above her and effortlessly bringing down a cup for her to use.

She huffs audibly, “I was— I had it.” Taking it from his grasp roughly before pushing past him, or at least attempting to. OA was quick to trap her against the island before she could go anywhere.

“Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were struggling.” He hums, face neutral as he looked at his partner. “Are you done having an attitude with me?”

She laughs unexpectedly at the tone of his voice, like a mother scolding a teenager for being bratty. In essence, that’s kind of what was happening here, too.

“I don’t know. Are you done acting like I can’t do shit for myself and need you to help me every two seconds?” She counters, challenging him as she felt his demeanor completely change.

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, letting it go just as quickly and leaning down leveling himself to her eyesight, “Sweetheart— I’d be careful what you say.” His eyes freely roam over her face, stopping for a moment at her lips and then down her neck towards her cleavage.

“Or what—“ Before she’d even finished that sentence, OA had crashed his lips against hers, tongue slipping into her mouth so easily as the glass nearly slipped from her grip before she set it down and kissed him back just as feverishly.

Her hands going straight for his face as he placed her down onto the island, all traces of anger and Nestor gone from their minds as he fumbled with the waistband of her shorts before ridding her of them.

She gasped as she felt the cool surface of the island beneath her bare thighs, leaning back slightly to catch their breath.

“Fuck Omar, I’m sor—“ She began breathlessly only to be cut off again by his lips before pulling back again.

He shakes his head, “I don’t wanna hear it. Not right now, okay?” OA makes sure she understands before unbuttoning his own pants and pulling himself out with a soft hiss.

She nods at him and hums softly at the stern tone he exhibits, the wetness pooling between her legs, a nice contrast to the coolness of the marble beneath her.

OA kisses her neck leaving a mark on the side of it, that she would have no choice but to cover with makeup later, as his hands grab at her tits.

“OA... fuuuck.” She gasps as she feels his hand sliding lower, slotting between her thighs, spreading them just a little to help accomodate him. He pulls away from her neck and looks at her.

“Need me to fuck that attitude right outta you?” He speaks so condescendingly that it makes her nod without hesitation.

“Yes. Please.” She whimpers quietly, thighs threatning to shut around his hand as he kept up a taunting rhythm, circling her wet clit before moving down towards her opening.

Omar smiles, knowing she was right there, right on the brink of cumming for him before he removes his fingers holding them to her mouth.

She pants, breathless, the expression on her face a frustrated one as she looks from his fingers to his amused face.

“Suck.” He presses the wet fingers against her half-open lips, groaning praises when she finally takes them into her mouth and cleans them off with a moan. With his other hand, he manages to rip her tank top down, her breasts spilling freely making her shiver at the cool air on her sensitive nipples.

As he pulls his fingers out of her mouth, he scoots her off the counter onto the ground again, bending her over roughly, tits pressed flat to the cold surface of the marble beneath her.

“So pretty like this... just for me.” He grunts, watching her wet cunt clench around nothing but his words of praise as she arches her back slightly, giving him a show.

“Just fuck me.” She mumbles, nails impatiently tapping against the counter as OA takes his time.

He rubs his cock up and down her pussy a few times making her mewl in pleasure as she tried her hardest to push back onto him, growing irritable with every swipe of his dick up and down her folds.

Her eyes roll shut as he finally pushes in all the way, leaving her no room to say anything but moan and whimper. She was speechless to say the least, until he hit that one spongy spot inside her that made her vision spot.

“Baby— ooooh fuuuck. Feels so good.” She eventually manages to pant out a few words, biting her lip as he kept up a teasing pace.

“Yeah? Right there?” OA teases, grinding his hips into her as his hand came around to cup the front of her throat, pulling her against his chest. His other hand found her clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts as her mouth fell open at the sensation.

“Omar, don’t fucking stop—“ She gasped, his thumb pressing softly on the pulse point right below her ear as she reveled in the feel of his large hand around her throat. She loved when he got pissed off, whether it was at her (rarely) or at something from work, it usually led to the best sex.

Her tits bounced with every movement as Omar sped up his thrusts, whispering about how he was gonna fuck her till she learned not to talk back to him. And she was cockdumb, loving every word he growled in her ear as he choked her. He kissed the side of her cheek softly as he brought her to her climax, her back arching slightly as he continued until he chased his own high.

They stayed like that for a minute or so, and also because she was unable to move yet, his thumb caressing the side of her cheek softly, placing kisses along her neck.

“OA... I’m sorry.” She sighs, pulling him out of her slowly, whimpering at the sensitivity and turning around to face him.

He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against her own, “It’s fine, baby.” He assures her, placing a chaste kiss to her lips before pulling back to look at her, his hands going straight to her thighs.

“You can always talk to me about anything. I don’t care— even if it’s the most boring thing in the world. I never want you to bottle up your emotions about things in your life, okay?” She nods, making sure he understood.

“Really? You’re gonna be sick of me by the end of it.” He smiles making her laugh.

“Never that.” She places her hands on his beard pulling him in for a soft kiss.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture ­– a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.  

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.  

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

 —

 As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.  

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.  

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.  

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.  

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

[traumatisedbabygay]

for some reason youtube just recommended me a shit ton of video essays on the novel “Lolita”, and how its message has been warped through adaptation so much its doing what the og book warned against. I’d read the book years ago, but oh boy did this open up a whole lotta feelings for me...

so, being the bookworm little shit that i am, allow me to rant a while.

Lolita is a book by Vladimir Nakobov, whose protagonist is an unreliable narrator, about how he becomes infatuated with, and grooms a twelve year old girl called dolores (that he calls, Lolita). The book makes an effort to show that dolores is a kid, having her pick her nose, throw tantrums, adjusts wedgies, ect. In the book, you read as Humbert Humbert, the unreliable narrator, twists these childlike situations into something creepy and sensual, to justify his own pedophilia. 

Now, you’d think that in a book with an, I’ll repeat, UNRELIABLE narrator, any directors wanting to adapt it into film would take every written sentence with a heap of salt. Humbert Humbert is a narcissist. A predator. A disgusting old man with a obsession for his step daughter (whom he intentionally made his step daughter, so that he could groom her.)

But NO. Kubrik (the director of Lolita’s first film adaptation), made the 14 YEAR OLD actress become a “seductress”. He validates Humbert’s infatuation by placing responsibility on this CHILD, because she’s the one draped on a sun lounger in a “sexy” bikini, she’s the one placing long, exaggerated kisses to Humbert’s cheek, she’s the initiator. 

It’s turning a story about how pedophilia and grooming is disgusting, and turns it into a love story. The actress is A MINOR. The character herself is A MINOR. And whilst, granted, Kubrik aged her up to 14 so it’d be allowed a theatre film release, it doesn’t fucking matter. She’s still a child. 

By unnecessarily sexualising dolores in the film, not only did kubrik literally appeal to pedophile like Humbert Humbert, but he validated their disgusting fetish. Instead of showing us Humbert infer things this CHILD does as sexy, show us the CHILD being normal, and Humbert still being aroused by it. Show us how vile and twisted his view of her is. Show us that everything dolores “initiates” is in his head. 

Don’t show him inferring thing right!

Another adaptation was made in the 90s, which wasn’t as awful, but was still pretty fucking awful in terms of betraying the og message of the book. The actress playing dolores was still a minor, and whilst she didn’t act as exaggeratedly seductive, and did act more “child-like”, she had her moments. And those moments were pretty much as bad as the Kubrik film. In the 90s film, though, they make Humbert too sympathetic, and personally it’s done in a way that is.....iffy, to say the least.

So now, we have a novel with several stage adaptations, operas and two feature length films made from it....and most of these adaptations literally become the thing the og book sought to destroy.

Pedophiles.

It doesn’t help that (because of some choice Lana Del Ray lyrics), tumblr had a phase in like 2014 where lolita was romanticised to a point where young girls saw the story as a “romance” rather than a psychological drama. They sought out a “love story” akin to that of Humbert and Dolores’s, and envied being in that situation. The media didn’t help. More copies of the book were produced, with new covers, many of which betrayed Nakabov’s demands. He asked for no young girls to ever be on his book cover, for...obvious reasons given the books message and Nakobov’s personal stances. 

Did cover designers listen after he died? Of course they fucking didn’t. 

People got Lolita copies with teenage girls’ legs on the cover, girls suggestively sucking lollipops, girls in compromising positions....which is disgusting, misleading, and a fucking betrayal of the author. 

Nakobov one taught at a university, and when several girls dressed up as Lolita for halloween, he was horrified.

Do I blame Kubrik for most, if not all of this? Yeah, pretty much. He made the decision to romanticise the story in his adaption...the rest just followed suit because it sold and fit their model for society. It catered to the heterosexual male gaze, especially the gaze of pedophilic men, and in a patriarchal society that benefits a lot off of sexualising women (particularly YOUNG women), thats the perfect combination.

So, why, at 4:38 in the morning am I writing a fucking essay on tumblr about a book i read ages ago and almost forgot existed? 

idfk

I guess i was just super pissed at how warped the message of the book got through time. It was like a massive, 60+ year long game of (for lack of a better term) Chinese Whispers. And at the end of the game, in the 2010s, we were so far away from the original point of the novel that we may as well have been talking about a different book. 

Nakobov is probably thrashing and rolling and turning in his grave, because a cautionary tale about child grooming somehow became a “love story” idolised by a large sum of teens/young adults on the internet.

It is a betrayal of the author, a disgrace to the novel, and as a writer it’s really pissed me off. 

it’s now 4:48 exactly in the morning, and this rant has gone on for WAYYY too long already. I doubt anyone even ended up reading this whole thing, but hey, that’s what tumblr is for, right? Anonymously ranting about random subjects at ungodly hours, instead of taking ur sleep medication and lying down like a responsible person. 

That’s why this site is a breeding ground for chaos.

And honestly I’d have it no other way.

So...yeah. Nakobov deserved better.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 16 part one

(Masterpost of All the Recaps)  (Canary’s Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes

All righty, this one is going to be a laff riot...not. Let's do it.

The first half of this episode is like a beautifully executed standalone tragedy, while also threading together all sorts of themes and paying off all sorts of relationship building that's happened in the previous episodes. My hat is off to the writers, while I also shake a fist at them for making me cry an unreasonable amount.

We’re Sailing on a Strange Boat

The episode starts right off absolutely DESTROYING me with the Yunmeng brothers holding hands, fingers interlaced, in the first of many hand-touching moments that punctuate the episode.

Jiang Cheng has to be pretty far gone to accept this degree of comfort and tenderness. I think, from their positions, he is also holding Yanli's hand out of the camera's view. 

Zidian finally lets the trio go, and they immediately turn the boat around and head back to Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian gets the clever idea to turn the benches into makeshift oars but nobody gets the clever idea to use magic to push the boat like they do literally every other time they are in a boat. 

Their emotional need to go back to Lotus Pier is understandable, but they are being disobedient and irresponsible by doing it. Jiang Cheng is the future of the clan, and should not risk his life, particularly after his mother chose to sacrifice herself to protect him and after both of his parents told him to go hide with his sister and personal bodyguard brother. 

On the other hand, Jiang Fengmian, as clan leader, probably had a duty to go into hiding himself rather than go home to die romantically, so his authority is questionable at this point. Anyway, this is the Jiang Clan, they get to kind of do what they want, except when that pisses Jiang Cheng off.

Lotus Pier Massacre

Back at Lotus Pier, the Wens are kicking Jiang ass. The fight choreography is pretty good, taking full advantage of walkways, railings, pools, and other features of the environment. 

Using the set this way always makes fights feel more kinetic and real, as opposed to simply sparring in an open area. 

(more after the cut)

Yu Ziyuan is fighting adequately with a sword, having given her preferred weapon to her son.  She's clearly been at it for a while, and is tiring; the Wen soldiers are starting to land more and more sword blows but no critical hits yet.

Wen Zhuliu is kicking ass and possibly melting cores, although we don't see him do it to anybody yet. Later we'll hear from Jiang Cheng that he crushed the cores of his parents, but it's not clear when that happens.

Sixth young master replays Jiang Fengmian's entire archery lesson in his head while he waits, and waits, for Wen Zhuliu to finish strangling a dude the right moment to shoot an arrow at Wen Zhuliu. 

Homicidal tart Wang Lingjiao notices him lining up a shot, strolls over, and stabs him in the back while he's still thinking about what Jiang Fengmian said. One could wish that JFM's archery lessons weren't quite so wordy. 

Wang Linjao normally doesn't carry a sword because of her low spiritual power, but apparently can use one just fine when she's killing kids.

If you start feeling like this episode is unreasonably painful, just think of it as building up calluses so you can handle Yi City when the time comes.

Jiang Fengmian to the Rescue

Jiang Fengmian shows up very far past the nick of time, although he is not actually useful, so it's questionable whether arriving earlier would have helped. But his wife is glad to see him.

Netflix subtitles say that Jiang Fengmian calls Yu Ziyuan "My Lady!" which sounds courtly and romantic in English. His actual words are "San Niangzi" which hunxi-gullai breaks out here.  I might render this as "lady wife!" rather than "my lady" but I don't think English really has a perfect equivalent.

Jiang Fengmian sails across the courtyard, knocking down a few Wen soldiers and becoming a young, slender man in the process.

I mean, come on, that stunt double does not look like a boxy middle-aged man from any angle.

The Dying Bit

The episode splits up the big death scene for dramatic effect but I'm recapping it all together to keep things simple.

Within moments of arriving, Jiang Fengmian gets shanked by Wen Zhuliu like Scatman Crothers in The Shining (or Groundskeeper Willie in The Shinning).

Wen Zhuliu stops a Wen soldier from finishing JFM off, just so that a different Wen soldier can deliver the killing blow from the back, which is kinda harsh. With all this spin-fighting there is probably not an implication of cowardice when someone dies from a stab in the back, but still. Too rude, Wen Zhuliu.

Yu Ziyuan sees Jiang Fengmian fall, and after having a moment of sorrow and despair, she stabs herself in the heart, falls down, crawls to him and interlaces her hand with his. He revives just enough to give her hand a squeeze and say "San Niangzi" one last time before dying. 

She dies next, with a smile on her face at the end. The soundtrack plays that amazing "horribly emotional death scene" music that isn't one of the tracks available on the OST, argh. This same music appears at the end of Xue Yang's story.  

Of the many things I love about the Untamed, the complexity of all the minor characters is possibly my favorite. These two people suck at parenting, and suck at being married, and ultimately suck at protecting and leading their clan, making stupid, selfish choices at every step of the building conflict. 

And then they have this incredibly romantic death scene, in which they both face the inevitability of failure, and find comfort in failing together. Yet their death scene is totally in keeping with who we know them to be, and who they are to each other; the drama doesn't cheat by making them ideal lovers or great people at the end. But they have a great, great moment.

Jiang Yanli, waiting in the woods while her brothers are presumably running toward Lotus Pier, drops her lotus pendant, which is made of the loudest jade ever discovered, and it breaks with a crash.  

Yanli, who is a well educated young lady, knows a moment of doomy symbolism when she sees it.

Jiang Yanli: Who put a giant rock out here in the woods? What are the odds I’d drop my pendant directly on it? 

It’s all Over Except for the Crying, Running and Choking

The brothers climb up on the roof and are shocked to see nothing but Wen soldiers and piled up Jiang corpses... 

...including one child who is either about to become a zombie or who is being played by a young actor who can't control their curiosity, judging by the way this eye is sneakily opened while the camera is running.

There's a moment where Jiang Cheng is saying they must have spared his parents, they must be okay, where Wei Wuxian's face is just...wow. You can see right here the gulf in life experience between these two. 

Wen Zhuliu roams around looking troubled while searching for more people to kill. He’s an interesting villain; someone who believes his loyalty to his boss makes him a good guy, but knows his boss is a bad guy. 

Then we are treated to a hell of a camera move, where it tracks over Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian together on the floor, heroic in death and still holding hands, and then sweeps up to show their killers sitting on the lotus throne. 

The dead couple were at odds for their whole lives together, while the evil people who killed them are acting like devoted lovebirds. It's a stunning shot and a terrific thematic contrast. When Wei Wuxian eventually comes to take his vengeance, he will spend some time turning Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao against each other, before ending them. 

The camera shows us JC's reaction, then shows his mother, then WWX’s reaction, then JF; each reacting to the death of the person who loved them. Some folks may feel that Jiang Fengmian actually did love Jiang Cheng but was just bad at showing it. But Jiang Cheng doesn't think so, and I don't think it's a given that parents love their children.

Side note: Macroexpression king Wang Zhuocheng is able to open his eyes so far that a giant strip of white shows above his irises, and keep them like that, which is quite a trick. Try it yourself.

Meanwhile Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao gossip about YZY and JFM's bad marriage. Wen Chao admires YZY's beauty, and Wang Lingjiao insults her character, and announces that she's going to stab YZY's body a few extra times. Jiang Cheng briefly faints at this, taking a page from Wei Wuxian's book, and rolls off the roof. 

Run Run Away

Both young men run, and run, and run away from Lotus Pier while Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao mistreat the bodies of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan 

The stabbing happens off camera, because it's ok to stab a live child on camera, but not a dead adult. (As always, there are cultural reasons for "what's ok" in any country, and I'm not saying anybody's wrong about these choices). 

Wen Chao follows this up with pouring a cup of wine across their faces. He does this in the style of a libation for the dead, but as a desecration, combining mistreatment of bodies with profaning a ceremonial rite. In a world where ghosts are real and have sharp fingernails, this is deeply, deeply stupid.

Yu Ziyuan’s actress Zhang Jingtong is able to have liquid poured INTO HER EAR without flinching. Mad props.

The brothers eventually finish running and arrive in a field with an extreme purple photo filter on it. Which I've done my best to remove for these gifs, with variable results. 

Jiang Cheng wants to turn around and go back to Lotus Pier. He says he wants to retrieve his parents’ bodies and to take revenge, but he's devastated and it seems likely he just wants to die with everyone else.  

Wei Wuxian pleads with Jiang Cheng to calm down and stay safe, while Jiang Cheng gives himself over to anger and shock as the brothers shout at each other.

Punching and running ensues, and Wei Wuxian tries to hold his brother back, grabbing him around the shoulders him in a gesture that painfully echoes the many hugs he's given over the years. 

This time Jiang Cheng doesn't just push him off. He turns around and chokes his brother for nearly a full minute, while screaming at him and blaming him. 

Just as when Madame Yu beat him, Wei Wuxian doesn't fight back; he pulls on Jiang Cheng's wrists but doesn't hit him or try to break his hold.

Finally Jiang Cheng lets him go, and cries out for everyone he's lost, while Wei Wuxian weeps silently next to him. Eventually they fall asleep in the grass together, their bodies curled up in the form of a heart. 

Damn, this episode really brings it.

Side Note: during their argument, Wei Wuxian says, among other things, that "revenge is a dish best served cold," according to subtitles. It's a French saying from the 1800s so it's probably not precisely what Wei Wuxian is saying. More importantly, as a longtime Star Trek fan I can't help but hear James Kirk yelling "KHAN!!!!!" whenever I encounter that phrase.

There’s Got To Be A Morning After

When they wake up in the morning, Jiang Cheng is still in his feelings, but now his feelings have moved along to despair, from anger.

I feel bad for noticing how handsome they both look in this scene. Let's all feel bad about this together.

Jiang Cheng is free to have this level of emotional breakdown because Wei Wuxian is there keeping his own shit together and focusing on what matters.

When Jiang Cheng refuses to get up, Wei Wuxian reminds him, very, very gently, that they have a sister, who has waited all night to know what happened.

At this, Jiang Cheng gets up, but won't look at Wei Wuxian, continuing to blame him for everybody else's actions, as he walks onward to find Yanli.

Wei Wuxian follows, hurt and bereft, as he gets to work internalizing everything that he's being accused of. This is good practice for his future as a widely reviled bogeyman.

Part two will be slightly less awful! Coming soon!

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Do-S Kyuuketsu CD VERSUS Ⅳ Vol.1 Ayato VS Kino VS Shin [Track 3]

Original title: 嫉妬と衝動

Source: DIABOLIK LOVERS Do-S Kyuuketsu VERSUS Ⅳ Vol.1 AYATO VS Kino VS Shin [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Midorikawa Hikaru, Morikubo Shoutaro & Tomoaki Maeno

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

TRACK 3: JEALOUSY AND IMPULSE

Ayato bursts into the room. 

*THUD*

Ayato: …!! Cut it out…!!

He runs up to Shin and punches him straight in the face.

Ayato: You littleー …!

*THUD*

Shin: …!? Kuh…! …Ayato!

*Thud*

Ayato: Don’t let yourself get captured so easily! …Let’s get outta here! And don’t you dare tell me that you can’t run. 

You nod. 

Ayato: …Yeah. Let’s go!

The two of you start running towards the door. 

Shin: Wait…! …Fuck!!

*SCENE SHIFT*

Ayato: Haah, haah, haah…That guy, he’s not comin’ after us…

You come to a halt.

Ayato: …Haah, haah…God. You’re seriously such a goof, Chichinashi. I can’t believe you let that guy capture you. …Ugh. …Haah. 

He takes a look at you. 

Ayato: …Bite marks. Did he suck your blood? 

You reluctantly nod. 

Ayato: …!! Don’t let your guard down ‘round that bastard! Do you still not understand who you belong to!? Ugh…

Ayato nearly collapses. 

*Rustle*

Ayato: Don’t freak out…It’s nothing…This scent of blood…This is bad…Fuck! Let’s hurry up and look for the exit! Make sure to follow along, ‘kay? 

*TIMESKIP*

*Cling cling*

Ayato: No luck here either, huh? The front door wouldn’t open either, and all other doors and windows seem to be locked as well. …What should we do then!? 

*Rustle*

Ayato: Haah…If only I could use my magic, it’d be so easy to blast through this damn door! …Fuck!

He kicks the door.

*Thud*

Ayato: Ugh…Ow…

You ask if he’s alright.

Ayato: It’s nothin’ serious, really. …I just hurt myself a lil’ while strugglin’ to free myself from those stupid chains, that’s all. 

You try to take a look at his wounds but Ayato slaps your hands away.

*Smack*

Ayato: Don’t touch me…!! Haah, haah…Haven’t you realized…? You’ve been…Haah…Givin’ off that sugary sweet smell of blood this whole time…If you carelessly get close to me, I won’t be able to hold myself back! …I’m already pissed off by this whole ordeal as if, so what if I were to just latch onto you and suck you dry…?

You thank him for being considerate of you.

Ayato: Hell no! What makes you think I’m worried ‘bout you!? It just pisses me off knowin’ I’d be playin’ right into that Kino guy’s hand! I’m never forgivin’ that bastard! I’ll make sure to give him a good beatin’ first thing after gettin’ out of here! I don’t care ‘bout that stupid magic seal of his…I’m sure that thing doesn’t work everywhere. ーー Oi! We’re gonna walk a bit more.

The two of you start looking for an exit again.

*TIMESKIP*

*Creaaak*

Ayato: I thought this door would lead to a staircase but it’s an underground storage room…Maybe his barrier doesn’t reach all the way down here? …Okay…Haah!

Ayato tries to charge up an attack but it fails.

Ayato: Fuck…! Guess it doesn’t work? I know we’re still inside the manor, but I thought that maybe in the basement we’d have a shot. Guess we have no other choice but to head upstairs again and look for a different place…

He grows faint again.

*Rustle*

Ayato: Uu…Kuh…This scent of blood is no joke…I guess it’s ‘cause it’s stuffy down here?

You voice your concern. 

*Rustle*

Ayato: It’s nothin’...Let’s get outta here. Stayin’ here for too long could be dangerous…

He stumbles over to the door.

Ayato: Oi! Whatcha waitin’ for?

You tell Ayato that he should suck your blood. 

Ayato: Haah…? What did you say just now?

You repeat yourself.

Ayato: Che. …Are you out of your mind!? While your blood might be the way to fix these symptoms, I’m pretty sure I’ll suck you completely dry the second I get a taste. That’s just how serious this situation is. If you understand that, stop spoutin’ bullshit…!

You insist.

Ayato: Like I saidーー!

You run up to Ayato and embrace him.

*Rustle*

Ayato: …Idiot! If you cling onto me like that, I’ll…Fuck!

He finally loses control and bites you. 

Ayato: Hahn…

*Sluuurp*

*Rustle*

Ayato: It smells like blood…So sickeningly sweet…I feel like I’m going crazy…Haah…Just remember that you’re the one who asked for it…So don’t come complainin’ to me afterwards! Idiot!

He pins you down.

*Thud*

Ayato: Just stay on the floor like that. I’ll suck you as you wish, okay? …Move your hair out of the way. I’ll suck from your favorite spot.

*Rustle rustle*

Ayato: Mm…

You flinch.

Ayato: What’s wrong? Are you achin’...? Don’t worry…I don’t have the time to toy ‘round with you now…

He bites you.

Ayato: Mm…Nn…

*Sluuuurp*

Ayato: Hah…Haah…I can’t get enough…It’s so good, I’m goin’ crazy…Haah…

*Rustle*

Ayato: Ah…Does it hurt? …But you’re eagerly awaitin’ the pleasure which lies ahead, aren’t you…? I’ve taught you that plenty of times in the past after all. …Come on, keep still until it’s over. Hahn…

*Sluuuurp*

Ayato: Nn…

*Sluuuurp*

Ayato: Aah…Haah, haah…

*Sluuuurp*

Ayato: Mm…So sweet…Ugh…Are you holdin’ back your voice? Lemme hear it. I’m in the mood as well after all.

You refuse. 

Ayato: Che…You’re so stubborn. Then how about this? 

He bites you again.

*Sluuuurp*

Ayato: Nn…Hehehe…Your ears really are your weak spot, aren’t they? I know everything about you…Like how I can make you putty in my hands…or what to do to hear your moans…As well as the fact that deep down, you want it oh-so badly…

…Go ahead and beg for it some more…Tell me who you belong to, and what you want me to do.

*Sluuuurp*

Ayato: Fuck…This is seriously bad…

*Rustle*

Ayato: I want more of you…I want to steal everything, even if that means I have to completely mess you up…

*Sluuuurp*

Ayato: Damn…I seriously can’t get enough…The fuck’s goin’ on…? Aren’t I supposed to be gettin’ the antidote…? Also…For some reason…Ugh…

He suddenly loses consciousness. 

*Thud*

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー