#i probably should have retained other things

[pcktknife]

i greatly enjoy the trend of doing media explanations/recaps with fun lil detective style evidence boards i love a visual presentation

[dire-kumori]

Oh and i had a question about, like, logistics of the reaper au!

Assuming there's a possible ending where reaper Mike dies and young Mike manages to live... do you think it would change things? Would it matter, in the end?

Or is Evan still fated to die at Mike’s hands, is Liz still fated to die, too? Is young Mike still fated to grow up and get scooped before ultimately dying while trying to kill his younger self? (Which is just... very, very sad and horrific in so many ways)

Because if none of these things happen, it could create a paradox; where would reaper Mike have come from if Evan and Liz never die, and Mike never gets scooped?

...Very good question.

Okay, so I like to think that Reaper Mike's mission is ultimately doomed to fail. Obviously he's never going to successfully erase his past self. But after a while, it's stopped being about 'making things right' and 'protecting Evan' and more about 'hurting (kid) Mike as much as possible,' so that doesn't really matter to him. At a certain point he just kind of stops being 'Michael Afton' and just becomes 'the Reaper.'

But Reaper Mike isn't the only one who's changed by the repeated loops. Even with the memories fragmented, young Mike is living out... weeks? Months? Hell, maybe even years in this loop. He's growing up, essentially, but without aging. I mean, of course his emotional and mental maturity is skewed because - [vague gesture at the blood-soaked death parade he's trapped in] - but after a certain number of loops he isn't quite the same person who would have thoughtlessly shoved his brother's head into moving machine parts. Especially not when he still has the broken images of Evan sobbing hysterically and begging the somebody to stop hurting his brother (the Reaper turning its fury onto Evan for daring to get between him and his target, past Mike throwing himself over Evan's little body in a vain attempt to at the very least save Evan's life, if not his own) floating around in his brain.

Can you tell I'm just word vomiting at this point? I kind of lost track of the original question.

I'm not 100% what this would mean for the Reaper Mike because with past Mike growing and changing, the Reaper would inevitably change as well. I like throwing characters up against forces or circumstances beyond their control, but I don't like saying things are just fated to happen. If things play out the same way again, it's because factors leading to those events are still the same. It might actually be that so long as Reaper Mike is stuck outside of his own time, he's largely unaffected by changes made to his past aside from some ripples in his memories. He was pretty shocked when his past self made choices he was certain he never would have made, such as seeking vengeance for Evan's sake after the loop where the Reaper killed them both. So scratch what I said above, past Mike is growing, while Reaper Mike stagnates, wallowing in his self-loathing.

[phantomrose96]

When people join self-improvement or even hobbyist communities, there are some absolutely critical skills of fundamental skepticism they need when going in. I think most people who get into these communities aren't aware of these.

And just, as a fundamental few:

Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

These are absolutely rife in fitness, nutrition, and financial-advice communities and they often receive very little scrutiny except among those who already "got out." Because from the outside, seeing someone get into fitness is a good thing, good for them, glad to see it, look at that dedication, happy for them. Same on the other categories, and probably numerous others I haven't seen.

---------

Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

If the answer is yes, that does NOT mean "immediately abort", it means keep that in mind when you're interacting with their content.

This nutrition influencer has given you some great recipes for free, and now they're promoting a "really fantastic" brand that they have an affiliate link with? Their motivation isn't to be your friend and helpfully clue you in on a great product. It's to make money off you.

You really like this fitness influencer's work outs, but she gets MORE interaction and MORE viewers the skinnier she gets? She CLAIMS she's been losing weight naturally with healthy eating and exercise, and she's still full of energy, and You Can Too. This is not your friend. This is not someone who knows you. This is someone under large financial and social pressure to do everything she can to put out her best appearance and her happiest appearance, and your attention and belief in the appearance is where the money and clout come from. You really need to remember this in the same way you remember to look both ways before crossing the street. You can cross a street and you can follow a fitness account, but protect yourself when doing it.

---------

Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Communities stay strong if they retain people. There are a lot of fine and positive ways to retain people, but it's often easier to retain people by instilling them with a sense that they must be here. They should feel bad if they lapse or if their attention drifts. What they were before was inadequate. Everyone outside this community is inadequate. Do you want to go back to inadequate?

Is that financial subreddit that taught you valuable lessons about 401k's, index funds, and budgeting also quietly pressuring you to always do more? Are the top posts from extremist examples of people living in destitution so they can show the most extreme screenshot, and curate the envy of everyone else who ought to be ashamed of not doing as well as them?

Is that fitness community that got you into jogging also putting you in the mind that the truest and best people exercise 7 days a week? Never miss a metric? Never compromise on their dedication?

Is that person who "cut out all sugar and feels amazing" informing you that you should never have another cupcake in your life? And if you DO it's because you're BAD and DON'T WORRY, you'll get RIGHT back on the horse after. Shame will motivate you to come right back, and stay with the community, and never leave.

As long as you stay, the community grows. As long as you stay, the ad sponsors and the endorsed products and the influencers can benefit more and more. And sometimes, there's perhaps not even a malicious force behind it. It can happen from evolutionary pressures. The communities that survive are the ones that retain people. A community that trips accidentally into a model of pressuring people to stay is one which retains people and thrives.

-----------

Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

You joined because you wanted to learn to cook for yourself. And this community has been helpful! You know how to make some delicious things. You've tried vegetables you've never tried before. And maybe you needed some convincing that brussel sprouts can be yummy, but what do you know, turns out you like them roasted.

But what else is being said? What things are being said with more and more frequency? Is it that "humans don't actually need any sugar, and it's a poison being sold to us?" Is it that "seed oils are toxic for you"? Is it that "pasteurization is bad"? Is the raw fruitarian convincing you that cavemen lived exclusively off fruit and you can too?

They'll have sources sometimes. Check them. Are they cherry-picked? Are they from an insular echo-chamber? Why isn't the mainstream literature aware of this? And if the answer has anything to do with "because mainstream wants to TRICK YOU and you're actually BAD for ASKING" then don't engage. Disregard. Take the recipes if you must but apply your skeptical filter to all the parts that are snake oil.

Sometimes it's that another community is only a stone's throw away. That person with a great financial portfolio has only good things to say about crypto, and what they're saying is making sense (average person [not smart] [poor] [bad money skills] laughs at crypto, but you're smarter. you're on the in-track). That amazing bodybuilder is pulling the hottest dates, and he says it's about male-confidence, and he says there are good support guides on becoming a respectable masculine man, and all you need to do is reclaim your masculinity in a society that wants to steal it from you.

In any place like this, come up for air. Come up for air FREQUENTLY. Talk to regular people and engage in academic literature outside this circle. Conspiracy thinking wins if you draw all your information from the entity trying to sell you on the conspiracy.

------------

And I hope this is clear but my message is not "never join a community." My message is know danger when you see it. Recognize when you're being used or pressured. Don't fall for conspiracy thinking. Protect yourself. You can use a gas stove to cook meals but don't touch the flame and don't burn your house down. You can cross the street but recognize the signs of a car coming down the street.

And I'm making this point because so many people just don't know. ...Because getting into fitness is "good" and "self-improvement"! So is nutrition. So if financial responsibility. People walk into it and the extremism can make them feel accomplished, and admired, and like they're a part of something, and maybe even like a proper self-punishment for their own inadequacies. And people on the outside won't save you because "Wow! He spends 3 hours at the gym every day! I wish I was that dedicated." is a common attitude, and will push you deeper into what has its claws in you.

Everything I'm saying is not because I'm so much smarter and so much holier-than-thou for knowing this when others don't--I'm saying this because I was in it. I fell for it. Not all the examples above, of course. But I recognize the machine in them. It is highly appealing to run farther and fast longer and overload your class schedule when you don't feel good enough and want to prove something, and so many communities will sell you on the idea this IS an accomplishment. Then once you do, you have to do it forever. Or else you'll go back to not being good enough. And since fitness is "good", and weight-loss and good grades, no one can save you but you.

The answer was not to give up on the hobbies I was doing. I cook for myself most nights. I run and bike as regular parts of my routine. I like new recipes and I like half-marathons. But these are just positive additions to my life and they do not define my worth. If I miss a work-out it's whatever. If I order take-out it's whatever. I fundamentally do not care about the influencer with the washboard abs, and if I try a work-out from her, I have no loyalty to it. If the new recipe I try mentions "clean eating" I'll roll my eyes and just figure out if the recipe seems good. If the recipe is botching itself to avoid certain scare-words I will simply find something else.

There is absolutely a reasonable place for challenging yourself and trying things outside your comfort zone. The internet is full of resources to do so much more than you currently know how to do. And if that community is an oven, recognize it's an oven. Wear oven mitts. If it's actively on fire, leave. You're the only one protecting you. Stay safe.

[magicalmanhattanproject]

Okay, so with Quackity Studios tweeting about adding new people and the need for tolerance and patience with people who don't speak English, let's just take a second and have a chat about what that's gonna look like.

First: you will hear things or read things on the translator that hurt or offend you.

This is inevitable. Do not immediately post about it. What you need tolerance for is hearing things that hurt or offend you and what you need patience for is figuring out of malicious intent was present or if this is a hill worth dying on right now.

As an example, we're pretty sure at this point that Korean is gonna be the next language added. The second person pronoun in Korean sounds a lot like the n-word in English. The n-word in English, if you're not aware, is like the single most offensive slur we have. It's not something that you want to hear unexpectedly. But also, if we get Koreans, they're gonna be using the word for "you" and English speakers are gonna have to be able to tolerate that.

On the other side of things, Korean has a complex system of honorifics and addressing someone without an honorific would be considered very forward and intimate at least if not very rude. None of the QSMP languages have honorifics though and only French really retains formality* so no one else is going to address them with honorifics unless they specifically explain it to people and walk them through it. That will probably be weird and uncomfortable for them and they're going to have to be able to tolerate that.

*Spanish and Portuguese do technically have formal vs informal but it's disappearing quickly in both of them.

These natural cultural clashes and pain points are going to be harder to overcome since we also know that at least some of these creators won't speak English at all so they can't just switch to English to helpfully explain things to us easily in a way we understand. We're going to have to deal.

So here's the thing: just because there can be cultural miscommunications and mistranslations, that doesn't mean that people can't also be assholes. How do you distinguish between the two?

Step One: Assume good faith. Assume that everyone in a given encounter is trying to communicate respectfully and compassionately and that a failure to do so can be overcome

Step Two: Don't get involved. Especially not in Twitch Chat. Two or more people trying to communicate through a language barrier does not get easier when they're also trying to wrangle hostile viewers.

Step Three: Are you sure you heard what you thought you heard or saw what you thought you saw? Did the translator fuck up? Is it a word that just coincidentally happens to sound like another word? If this is the case, the streamers can ask for clarification or use another tool and get it cleared up. Keep watching and see if they do.

Step Four: If they did say what you thought they said, are the streamers handling it? We had a thing a while back where Bad called some friends, including Bagi and Etoiles, uncultured because they didn't get a reference he was making and Etoiles was like "bro I'm French" and Bad apologized. That should have been the end of it, but I had to see people arguing about it for weeks. The problem was solved in 10 seconds.

Step Five: If the person is doubling down, are you sure this is something you can fix by yelling about it on Twitter or Tumblr? Would it be better to let people who actually know them talk to them behind the scenes? Pierre made a few missteps in the beginning of the server, Quackity said they had a chat, Pierre hasn't misstepped since. It's just easier to sort things out in private, one on one conversation than yelling at someone in public.

In short: it's fine to take note of behavior in case patterns start to emerge in it, but yelling on social media about how so and so is the worst person possible is not constructive.

[sunderwight]

Demon Shen Jiu is such a fun idea though.

Especially if he himself doesn't know. Like imagine, Yue Qi finds this abandoned baby and the baby is REALLY OBVIOUSLY not human. But this also enables Shen Jiu to survive being abandoned at such a young age -- a human baby would die without adequate nutrition or care, but demons are a little more resilient. Baby Demon SJ has a way more forgiving digestive system and can move under his own power from a much earlier age. By the time he's a year old he's hunting his own rodents and small birds, and has to be stopped from biting and mauling anyone he doesn't like. Which is most people. Qi-ge develops amazing reflexes.

Why do the slavers tolerate a demon baby hanging around? Maybe it's really not all that uncommon. Demons come across the borderlands from time to time, and are as liable to abandon their kids or die or etc as anyone else. It's maybe an open secret among slavers that demon-blooded kids are a better investment, even, because they can survive for longer on less. The only downside is if they don't ever look human enough to pass as human, because that limits potential buyers, but that's only relevant when the slavers are trying to sell them. For the purposes of having a network of street kids stealing and grifting and spying and etc, it's fine. A lot of the slavers themselves started out as demon-blooded street kids with no other options.

But in SJ's case, he pretty quickly starts passing as human. Mostly because he's quite strong, and he's convinced that he's the same as his Qi-ge, so he makes himself the same. Makes his hands look the same and his teeth look the same and etc. It's largely subconscious, and once he starts doing it, it becomes automatic. SJ forgets that he's a demon in the way that most people don't retain their earliest childhood memories -- although he remembers that some of the slavers were demons.

Then of course there's the question of why didn't the Cang Qiong cultivators notice?

A few options. One is that whatever kind of demon SJ is, it's really good at mimicking humans. Another is that he's only part demon, and like Luo Binghe, fully capable of handling both kinds of cultivation. So once he starts learning spiritual cultivation, even from a heretic like Wu Yanzi, he doesn't seem different from any other recruit with a patchy education on the subject. Anything else odd about him could be easily attributed to his exposure to Wu Yanzi and his wicked practices.

Although full demon SJ is a fascinating idea. (Also, it could contribute to all those qi deviations -- he's trying to cultivate AND "fake" human cultivation at the same time, I doubt Qing Jing's techniques are totally compatible with everything going on there even without the psychological turmoil.) Like I'd imagine Airplane wrote that SJ was abandoned on the streets as a baby, and the system was like "hmm he probably wouldn't survive that?" and then in some nine billionth wife arc, Airplane also creates a variety of demon that can fully pass as human (for some identity conflict with a prospective wife), even to the point of fooling human cultivators and demon-detecting tools. So the system just ties these two disparate pieces of world-building together in order to patch a critical plothole (Airplane doesn't know anything about babies). Which has the side effect that Shang Qinghua doesn't even know that SJ became a demon!

And SJ himself doesn't know. The only person who knows is Yue Qi.

Obviously this wouldn't come up much in PIDW, but it could be pretty funny in the SVSSS timeline. YQY just sitting there through the whole Luo Binghe being a half-demon reveal, wondering if he should say something. Subsequently being the most absolutely chill about the whole demon reveal thing anyway. Like he's definitely not upset that Luo Binghe is a demon, or part demon, and the multiple people who try to make a point about it just run afoul of his impenetrable smile and get nowhere.

Then eventually Yue Qingyuan decides that he should probably tell Bingqiu that Shen Qingqiu is a demon. For like, safety purposes if nothing else. He's kept the secret so long also for safety purposes (even if someone put Shen Qingqiu under a truth compulsion he wouldn't be able to admit to being a demon, because he himself doesn't know!), and he's done tons of stuff to prevent anyone ever finding out (although Xiao Jiu is so talented that he didn't have to do much), but Luo Binghe is the demon emperor. That changes things. If Shen Qingqiu is going to be visiting the demon kingdoms regularly then there's a chance something could reveal the truth unexpectedly, and that would probably be worse.

So Yue Qingyuan sits down and has a very serious discussion with Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe about how Shen Qingqiu is actually a demon, was just the cutest little demon baby in fact, here he drew a picture from memory of what Xiao Jiu used to look like before he learned to look more human, and also how a lot of slave kids and slavers and people who fall through the cracks in society have demon ancestry, some more recent than others, and Shen Qingqiu always retained a certain discomfort around his own kind because of the adult slavers who sold him off, and etc etc.

[asapeveryday]

The Last Time Pt4 (FINAL)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Warnings: sex sex sex

Summary: you finally know what you want. Hopefully Paige does too.

Authors note: hello!!!! Hope this hits how I intended. I know this series was short, don’t worry!! I have many ideas for what’s next. Enjoy!

MINORS DNI AFTER CUT PLEASEEE

The stadium is loud and bustling. You managed to secure half decent seats but cursed at yourself for not thinking this through. Just showing up to her game and hoping you’d be able to talk to her? How stupid could you be? It’s not like you can just show up to her change room, her teammates would probably think you were a stalker. Paige would probably be embarrassed.

You didn’t know what to think of her now. When the two of you would meet up you felt as if you’d known her your whole life. She knew a lot about you, and you grew to learn personal things about her too. But now all of that means nothing, and you now realized there’s a decent possibility she didn’t even tell her friends about you.

What was there to tell? ‘Every week I fuck this girl, then we spill our guts to each other and then don’t talk again till the next time.’

You sigh to yourself, looking down at the navy and white jersey you had on. You hadn’t worn Paige’s jersey since the night you first met at the Halloween/Birthday party. You felt like an idiot.

When you look back onto the court, you briefly catch a good chunk of the team looking in your direction during warmups. Ignoring the flip in your stomach, you convince yourself it’s nothing to do with you.

-

“Is that her?”

“She’s wearing Paige’s jersey.”

“Has she ever been to one of our games before?”

Azzi shakes her head. “No, she hasn’t.”

“So why would she be here now?”

“She misses Paiges pussy power.” KK shrugs, then yelps when Nika hits her.

“Should we tell Paige?” Nika asks.

Azzi glances at Paige, who is clearly in her own thoughts. “No. It’ll throw her off. We can worry about this later.”

“We gonna parent trap em or what?” KK asks.

“Parent trap who?” Paige finally joins the conversation.

“Nobody!” The whole group sings. Paige just shakes her head.

-

The game is entrancing. You never cared to watch basketball, even when you started seeing Paige you never bothered to check it out. You recall her trying to drop hints of her wanting you at one of her games, but you didn’t think you could handle seeing her playing. You thought it would make you more attracted to her, and you were right.

Paige was absolutely in her element. You could see now why the internet could rave on about the smallest play for days. The game had you on the edge of your seat, Paige was a monster when she wanted to be and it was turning you on to no amend.

Your feelings become unsure as you see her on the court, running back and forth, shooting and making shots, yelling and celebrating. Chest bumps with her teammates, shared looks, laughs unheard by the crowd. It was a whole other world that you were not apart of. The reminder that this is all for her was blaring. You look around at the screaming fans, most of them girls and guys your age. Any of them could replace you, in fact you could’ve been a replacement yourself.

You suddenly have the urge to get up and leave, to call it quits and forget about your infatuation with #5. This urge only worsens when Paige approaches the stands in attempt to rile up the crowd, raising her hands to say “louder, louder!”

You watch as her eyes graze the masses, and then you watch as her expression morphs from excitement to a billion other unidentifiable emotions as her gaze touches your portion of the seats. You know then that she’s seen you, but you don’t know how she feels about that.

She retreats as if nothing has happened and she plays the rest of the game fiercely, but her face retains the same unreadable expression.

At the end of the game you once again curse yourself for not thinking this out more thoroughly. So far all you’ve done is make yourself feel sorry. You put your hand in your pocket to get the headphones, but instead feel your phone buzz.

From: Paige B

come outside of the gym rn

You oblige.

-

She’s waiting for you at the back, all ready to leave in her Huskies tracksuit. Her hair is still in her signature game day braids and ponytail, and when her eyes meet yours you feel yourself physically shudder. Paige’s eyes have always had that effect on you.

“So now you wanna come to my games?” She asks, not angry but not quite impressed either.

“Don’t get too excited.” You try to smile, taking out the headphones. “I found these in my room the other day…thought I should give them back.”

She takes them and inspects them for a second. You wonder if she remembers how they ended up on the floor of your bedroom in the first place.

“You seriously came to my game to give me headphones? That’s all you have to say?” She licks her lips, shaking her head. “I forgot how much of a pussy you can be.”

“Are you serious?” You ask her, unprepared for the reaction she gave you. “Pussy? I’m a pussy? You’re the one who ended things to ‘focus’ on the sport you’ve been focused on for like, I dunno, your whole life? You could’ve at least tried to make a decent excuse.”

“Yeah, well you can’t be offended that I dipped.” She shrugs. “Not like you were ever in much hurry to see me, right?”

You don’t respond to that in time, because she immediately retaliates.

“Why so quiet now, hm? Were you hoping I would just keep hitting you up? I have better things to do, and oh, God knows you do. Why don’t you just go home and study for some final, or do whatever it is you’d do with your time before you met me.”

Paige’s composure is calm. She seems to be trying to keep a chill ‘I don’t care’ energy, but the way she’s biting at you with such hostility is just proof to you that she cares.

“You’re such a dick, Paige.” You sigh, rubbing your face. “I don’t want to go home. I want to be with you.”

Paige is quiet.

“We don’t have to date, I- it’s not even that. I just couldn’t take it, being around you. That day when we first met I went to bed just thinking about how much I wanted to know you, and I knew I couldn’t think like that because you don’t commit to anyone, and..I-”

“Take this.” Paige interrupts.

“What?”

She hands your a pair of keys on a lanyard. “I have to go right now.” She gestures to the keys. “Go home.”

She turns to leave in an unnaturally abrupt way, almost awkwardly. You stare down at the keys, the lanyard is blue and white with the writing “Uconn Women’s Division One Basketball”.

When Paige said go home, she meant her dorm. These are her keys.

-

When you walk inside you’re immediately flooded with memories of the past five months. You’re unsure if you should go to her room or not, but just as you start to think the door opens and Paige lets herself in.

“The team is out for dinner and drinks.” She smiles to herself, taking off the zip-up leaving her in track pants and a white t-shirt. Her arms are toned and veiny. You want to talk, but seeing her in front of you like this again, proudly telling you the place is empty for the two of you, it’s all just making you crave her body.

When she approaches you she stops just centimetres away, looking down at you. Her finger finds your chin, and she nudges your face to look up at her, eyes wide.

“So you want me now? How long till that changes and you ghost me? Will you watch me like a creep at my games again then too?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I always wanted you. I just didn’t want you to think so.” You mumble.

“Well you got what you wanted.” She says, and your heart sinks because you can hear that she’s telling the truth.

She looks down at you and lets out a breath. You’re still wearing the jersey.

“I’ve seen so many people in this jersey.” Paige says, toying with the hem and releasing butterflies in your stomach. “But ion think it ever had the same effect you did. When I saw you that day, all alone, I just knew I needed you. I was so mad when I dropped you off that night cus I was already forgetting what you looked like with my name and number on you while you came.”

You can feel yourself water at that. Reaching towards her to take out her ponytail, leaving the front pieces of hair braided and letting the rest of her hair cascade down her shoulders like it did the night you met her. You toy with a lock of blonde and meet her eyes again. “I can remind you, if you want me to.”

You hear her shallowly inhale as you slowly slide your pants off, maintaining eye contact as you throw them away and stand infront of her in your underwear and her jersey.

Suddenly she picks you up, forcing you to straddle her as she holds you with her hands on your ass. Her mouth is finally on yours as she takes you to her room, not bothering to turn the lights on. You let out a gasp when she tosses you onto her bed and climbs on top of you, hurriedly taking off her shirt.

When your lips meet it’s different from any other kiss you’ve shared with her. There’s something more, you never understood what girls in movies meant by a spark when you kiss, but you got it now. The feeling of her lips on yours sends a shock throughout your body, and you know she feels it too.

There’s a change in the way your bodies move against each other, like you are perfectly in sync. It feels like Paige is inside of your head, the way she knows exactly what to do to get you wetter then you already are.

She grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand while the other starts to massage your clit through your underwear. You can’t help but let out a moan at the combination of pressure on your clit plus Paige’s kisses trailing down to your neck and collarbone.

She eyes you when her mouth moves down to your heat, letting her hand find your breast under the jersey. She gives soft kitten licks that make you gasp, the way her tongue flicks at your clit and coats your underwear with her saliva is already orgasm inducing enough, so you can’t help but moan out loud when she forces your underwear down and fully starts to eat you out.

As she laps at you with almost no mercy you can feel yourself reaching your peak. Paige seems to notice too, because she abruptly pulls away and gets up from the bed.

“Paige?” You mumble, shocked at the fact that you might cry. Your body is confused from the denial of its well anticipated orgasm and Paige herself has always made sure you finished.

You watch as she opens her closet and reaches for a specific shoebox out of the many she keeps stored there. When she opens the box there aren’t any shoes, there is however a strap on.

“Oh shit.” You whisper, and when you meet her eyes you both let out a laugh.

“Ion usually use this because it can feel so...” She says, picking it up. “I dunno…intimate? Having to be so close to you like that. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

You suck in a breath, digesting what she’s saying. Does this mean she’s accepting her intimacy with you now? By offering you her 6-inch lilac dildo?

“Let’s do it.” You say.

She relishes in the fact that you’re watching in awe as she attaches the strap to herself, and the thought of pounding into you is driving her crazy.

You’re pinned against the bed again, but this time you can feel the strap against your legs, and it send shivers down your spine. Paige kisses you so passionately, and you mewl when the tip of her teases your entrance. You can feel her smirk against your lips, dragging this out as long as she can. “Please,” you whine. “please, P. Put it in.”

When she eases herself in, you can swear there are stars on the ceiling of her bedroom. Paige takes your legs and puts them over her shoulders, slowly stretching you out and gliding her strap in and out of you. Her face is nuzzled into your neck, and you can hear her whispering about how good you’re taking her.

When you’re more adjusted to the length her speed increases, and the bed starts to squeak. You can’t help but cling to the purple blanket, or her back, just about anything you can reach.

“Paige, oh my god, P. Don’t stop.” You cry. You had never begged for her before, not like this, but there’s no worry of being embarrassed anymore. You decide she can have you at your neediest state and you trust that she’ll take you.

As she pounds into you, you feel her hand entwine with yours, holding you in position but also providing a sort of comfort. Your heart warms at the feeling of her calloused fingers against your own. It’s the first time you’ve ever held hands with her.

Paige’s breath is rugged in your ear and her hand is squeezing yours for dear life. “You look so good like this, baby.” She mutters. “Do you even know how much I want you? I can’t shake the feeling that you don’t want me.”

“Paige.” You whine. “No, Paige I want you.”

“How bad?”

“Oh” you whimper into her ear. “So bad Paigey. So, so bad. I always wanted you. I was scared.” You groan out.

“Shit.” She responds, voice wavering. The room is filled with the lewd noises of you and her together. “I want to be with you. Mmh, I couldn’t look at anyone after that night with you.” She murmurs into your ear.

Finally you cum, and you feel it through every inch of your being. Pleasure truly from head to toes, you’re in heaven. You realize you might just want to give Paige everything you have, really. Mind body and soul. The thought causes anxiety in your stomach.

Paige slumps down behind you and immediately wraps her arms around you. “I think I like the jersey so much because it makes me feel like you’re mine.” She utters. You’re lost in your own insecure thoughts, and just reply with a bland “mhm.”

At this, Paige physically turns you around so that you’re laying face to face with her. She looks beautiful, hair wild aside from her braids, cheeks flushed, eyes still bright and surprisingly alert. She licks her lips indecisively, something she often does when she’s thinking hard.

“You know, I meant what I said.”

“What?”

“When I, uh.” She trails off, suddenly unable to hold eye contact with you. “When I said I wanted to be with you. I meant it.”

“Paige.” You cover your face. “Don’t mess with me, please.” You say, hating the way your throat feels tight. The vulnerability you felt before has turned sour. Now you’re just scared that here, laying in her bed with no underwear and a tired mind, that you’ll get too excited and this’ll all be something you’ll regret.

“It’s not funny.” You say. “When I say I want you it’s not because of sex, or the way you look or anything like that. I actually want everything you have to give. And I’m willing to give you everything too.” You say.

“Fuck, I know, I know.” She says quietly. “I didn’t want to think about it at the start but, that day when I told you it would be the last time we’d meet, I knew i’d just fucked myself over.” Paige laughs almost bitterly. “I was lowkey praying I’d run into you, so I could just see your face n’ shit.”

When you just stare at her she laughs. “I’m being serious, okay? I am. I want you for real. You’ve had me since that stupid party, I jus didn’t know it.”

“Okay..okay.” You say, stifling a laugh yourself.

“I want your body.” She rubs your thigh. “I want your mind.” She takes your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her again. Her eyes are like ice, piercing through you.

“I want to know all of that complicated shit you think.” She leans in to kiss you. Not a sexual kiss, a real kiss. When it breaks she says “I want you at my games. I want you cheering me on. I want to be there when you’re out in the world making money and being a badass.”

You roll your eyes at this. “Just kiss me, Bueckers. Don’t get all corny now.”

Paige just smiles, her tongue sticking out between her teeth.

Her kisses spark fireworks in your stomach. You relish in the fact that this won’t be the last time.

There won’t be a last time ever again.

[fcthots]

i need to be cornered and told i’m a pathetic little crybaby who needs to be fucked until i’m nice and quiet and dumb

like…exams are too much. jason should shut my brain off and fuck me against a wall pls and thanks

-🍓

Jason was concerned. You've been staring at the same page of notes for 25 minutes. There was no possible way you were retaining the information. Your eyes appear shiny with unshed tears as you've been at it for hours. You refused to take a break because you were too stressed and he was worried about you, but he knew how important this was to you. He tried to help where he could, but this is where he draws the line. He will not ignore you and let you keep torturing yourself like this. He will not ignore your tears, but he knows you won't enjoy any break you take because you'll be stressed about not studying the entire time.

So he'll make sure you can't think.

"Okay. We're taking a break."

He watches your eyebrows predictably draw up together, puzzled. "What?"

"Mandatory break." You try to object, but the moment you open your mouth, he interrupts you. "Nuh uh. We're gonna let that pretty brain of yours have a break, ok?"

He smirks as you freeze, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"We don't have to do what you're thinking, but you are going to take a break regardless."

He finally looks into your eyes. Your pupils are blown wide and your eyes still contain the unshed tears from a moment ago's studying. You don't respond.

"D'you want me to turn your brain off pretty baby?" He chuckles when you nod enthusiastically, not a moment's hesitation. He pushes his weight up from the far side of the couch where he was sat and approaches you. His rough fingers gently hold onto your jaw in stark contrast to the words coming out of his mouth.

"Does my pathetic little crybaby need to be fucked until she's nice and quiet and dumb?" The pads of his thumbs trace your jawline and you're sure he can feel the heat under your skin. He laughs when you nod. "I think she does."

He removes his hand from your chin and uses both hands to move your legs together. He drags them up and sideways onto the couch, twisting you so your back rests against the arm. His hands move your thighs apart so that a moment later he can situate himself in between them. He uses his weight to his advantage in order to pin you to the sofa. One arm is used for support to hold some of his weight; the other worms its way into your hair. It tugs at the strands until your tilt your head up, exposing your neck, much to Jason's pleasure.

He adopts a rhythm. He grinds against you, works a hickey into your neck, and then teases you. It's intoxicating. "Gonna have to flip you over at some point, baby. Maybe I'll keep you worked up until you can't hold yourself up. Would you like that? Being all needy for me? Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll do all the work for you. Your pretty little brain won't have to do a thing. Probably for the best because the only thing you'll be able to think of is my name and how good you feel with me inside you. I'll take care of you. See if we can bring those tears back, yeah?"

God, you loved his mouth. That stupid fucking mouth.

[red5tars]

We should talk more about naga gaz and scientist reader who thinks her cover is good as fuck because she’s managed to get reallyyy close to his nest but nu uh. Gaz knows and he’s highly entertained watching his darling mate slowly make her way willingly into his nest and arms 🙂‍↕️

-noona 💕💕

why yes beloved noona, we should talk more about him!

just like, imagine working at some sort of research center, specializing in the study of hybrids. while some might call them monstrosities, you and your team see them as the key to the future.

unfortunately, many of them see y'all as a nuisance. especially gaz.

he's been here about a month, yet retains the hostility he has since first arriving; hissing at the doctors, curling away into the trees, and constantly breaking stuff in his enclosure. he hasn't harmed any of the researches directly, but after he snapped a log in half with ease, everyone keeps there distance.

talk about letting him back out into the wild circulates across the building, his lack of cooperation threatening any progress. and you, little junior researcher, see an opportunity. think about it, you'll be respected amongst your peers, no longer a little assistant that gets ordered around. and they'll have another test subject.

nearly everyone is gone when you enter his enclosure, the lush greens a harsh contrast to the white hallways that make up the building. it would be a serene experience if you forgot about the apex predator that inhabited this place, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"bit late to run some tests, doctor?"

a deep voice behind you makes you jump, finding gaz curled around some branch. you've only caught glimpses of him from behind the door, x-rays, and some shedded skin. none of it could compare to the beauty standing right in front of you.

his upper half is handsome, as if someone carved it from marble but what really caught your attention was his tail. the intricate pattern, shimmering despite the dim lights of the enclosure.

you almost forget that he could break your bones, too enamored by his appearance.

"i asked you a question," his comment snaps you out of it, the coldness of his words hitting you like a violent breeze.

"i-i'm not here to run any tests," you state, though gaz hardly seems convinced. if anything, he narrows his eyes, two little slits holding nothing but spite for you.

"really? then what are you here for, doctor?" it shakes you, the way he addresses your title with so much contempt. a title that isn't yours (yet), but who are you to tell him that?

"i.. i wanted to warn you. the other researchers are talking..” it's a miracle your voice stays leveled, hands trembling as you continue, "..that if you keep being uncooperative they'll throw you out."

the words hang in the air, gaz seeming to contemplate your words. rather than panic, he flashes a sharp grin, "well, that’s probably the best thing i’ve heard since i got here"

his response stuns you.

"b-but," you start, yet he already looks so disinterested, "you.. this could be bad! i mean you won't have the facilities resources or protection, and you’ve gotten so used to life here-"

"hey," he snaps, your lips closing together, "just because i'm kept in some lush prison does not make me your glorified pet," the reminder rings in your ears, embarassment warming your face.

"well, still," you say, "if they let you go it would just backtrack our research," not that anyone has managed to progress with gaz anyways, "you could advance society, lengthen lifespans, further evolution," his head perks up at that slightly.

"don't you want to be apart of that?"

his gaze hasn't softened, but at the very least his interest is piqued. you fail to realize how his eyes rove over you form, thinking about evolution.

gaz's lips curl into a grin, "well, now that you bring it up.." he begins to uncurl his tail, moving down the trunk, "you do have quite a convincing argument."

it's wrong to read it as such, but the way he glides down is nearly.. sensual. the smooth movements of his tail, his muscles flexing. as he finally makes his way to the ground, you're reminded of all the ways you two are different both in species and size.

“how about this, doctor," he's starts, moving closer towards you, "i'll be your cooperative little subject if you're the only one monitoring me." the deal makes your eyes widen. you, a simple researcher be in charge of him?

"well i-" you start, "i'm not too sure-"

"you seem a lot nicer than the others," he hums, a hand coming out to graze your face. it makes you shiver, the lack of warmth throwing you for a loop, "plus, being the sole scientist would have its perks, hm?"

a voice in your head tells you this is a bad idea, but it can hardly be heard by the applause and praise you'll get once you publish your findings, experiment with his genetics, re-define evolution.

"so what do you say, doctor?" he pulls you back in with the soft drone of his voice, deep brown eyes meeting yours, "do we have a deal?"

praise. recognition. progress.

"..yes."

——

the other researches are astounded that you, the little junior researcher they hired only months ago, managed to appeal to him. they all wonder how, but you tell them all will be revealed when you publish your studies.

if only they knew you were already conducting an experiment, the key to evolution tucked neatly into your womb.

[lynnaredfield3383]

Not my characters. Aged up 18 (3rd Years). Swearing, biting, kissing (all PG), but still warning you. Fem reader. Reader 'playfully' punches a few characters in the shoulder. You can fight me, but I think Shoto retained a lot of his sweet innocence even after the war.

Shoto, Bakugo, Denki and Kiri were all in the common room area wearing their Halloween costumes when you and Mina stepped off the elevator, bumping into Deku. The guys noticed your fairy costume before anything else. The amount of skin showing not your normal style.

Right away Denki's perverted brain began plotting and he smiled at Todoroki.

"Hey Roki, I dare you to go over and bite Y/N,” Kaminari said.

“Why would I do that?” Shoto asked.

“What the hell dunce face?” Bakugo snapped at him.

“Because you're a vampire. Also Halloween is for pranks.”

"I'm not a real vampire," Shoto cocked his head to the side wondering if Denki had shorted out somehow.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Kiri rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh come on you guys. Y/N has a thing for vampires. Remember she told us last week?" Denki reminded him.

“Yeah, but...”

"I'm not a real vampire," Shoto interrupted Kiri.

“Roki, the point of a prank is to laugh. It'll be funny because you're NOT a real vampire. Y/N will probably laugh," Denki urged him.

Shoto shrugged and headed towards you. Bakugo's expression murderous as he punched Denki's shoulder hard.

“I don't see this ending well,” Kiri spoke nervously.

“You're an idiot dunce face,” Bakugo grumbled.

“Yeah and so are you. You've liked her for how long and never made a single attempt,” Denki snapped back, dodging a second punch.

Mina and Deku noticed Shoto moving up behind you as they talked excitedly about everyone's costumes. Mina and Deku didn't warn you because they figured Shoto would give you a jump scare. Nothing too serious for a Halloween prank.

In one swift motion, Shoto cupped one side of your neck with his hand from behind while leaning in and quickly biting the other side of your neck. You gasped and turned red in surprise at the sudden sensation from the bite.

You smiled when you saw it was Shoto, but held your neck knowing he didn't realize how hard he'd actually bitten you. Thankfully he'd taken out his fake vampire teeth or he'd have broken skin.

“What're you doing?" Deku cried out surprised by his friend's actions.

“Denki says Halloween is a night for pranks...He also said you'd laugh because you like vampires,” Shoto spoke in his innocent way.

You smiled, unable to be angry with Shoto. Denki however was going to get beat later. Touching the spot where Shoto bit was sore so you moved your hand. That's when Shoto saw the red spot wasn't going away.

“Y/N...Did...Did I hurt you? It is turning into a bruise, I didn't mean...” “It's fine, Shoto. It was a fun experience so don't worry about it okay,” you reassured him by taking his hand in yours and squeezing it.

“Is there...Should I go get some ointment or maybe a band-aid?” Shoto asked worried.

“Well, you should kiss it,” Mina spoke first.

“Wha...What?” Deku asked surprised by Mina's suggestion.

“Well, it's a boo boo right? And you kiss boo boo's,” Mina explained.

Without hesitation, Shoto cupped the side of your neck without the mark and leaned in kissing where he'd bitten. When he pulled back, you saw the concern in his eyes and nearly laughed. The poor thing was so concerned and innocent.

“Did that help? Does it feel better?” Shoto asked.

“Maybe one more,” you couldn't help yourself, now that you noticed Bakugo was clenching his fists at his side.

“Oh...Okay,” Shoto agreed, kissing the spot again.

"I'll be right back," you said before walking towards Denki.

Mina and Deku followed wanting to see what you did in retaliation. Shoto followed them mostly out of habit.

Bakugo relaxed when he saw you heading their way. You stopped in front of Denki, the blond freezing up.

“Hey, hey, it was all in fun. I didn't seriously think he'd do it,” Denki defended himself.

“I tried to stop him,” Kiri chimed in.

You hit Denki hard in the arm, causing him to hold it, nearly crying.

“Ow, ow, ow, you didn't have to be so mean,” Denki whined, rubbing the spot, then stopping because it made it worse.

You hit Bakugo next and harder than you hit Denki, setting him off.

“What the HELL did I do? Jeez,” Bakugo shouted.

“You didn't try to stop him.”

Kiri flinched when you stepped in front of him and smiled.

“I wasn't very manly. I should have tried harder,” Kiri admitted.

You leaned over and kissed Kiri's cheek smiling at him and causing him to blush.

“But you tried. That was manly.”

You surprised Denki by hitting him in his other arm.

“Ow! Okay, okay. I'm sorry.”

"You should be. Don't use sweet, innocent Roki to play your nasty little pranks on," you warned Denki.

You joined Mina and Deku heading out to the party at the 3-B dorms.

Shoto turned to the three guys, his innocent expression slowly dissipating into something far more devious.

"Hey Bakugo. Y/N tastes pretty sweet," Shoto smiled before turning and walking away.

Kiri and Denki grabbed Bakugo as he lunged forward spewing curses out as he struggled.

**I really think Shoto remained that clueless, sweet boy even into his twenties. However, I like to think he also picked up a few devious/mischievous traits from Sero and Denki along the way.**

[lovrre]

Agreement prt1

Art Donaldson x Fem black reader

Warnings: cursing, infidelity(kinda), slight smut (fingering) sub ish Art. Slight he loves her more trope, needy Art and probably some other stuff

Word count: 2k

Summary: Despite being engaged to one of the top and richest tennis players in the US, you feel unfulfilled. But everything changes when you transfer schools and meet Art Donaldson, who just can’t quit you.

Author note: GUYS GUYS, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. MY WRITERS BLOCK HAS BEEN SO BAD YOU DONT UNDERSTANDDD, But I’m finishing all my requests and unfinished fics soon so stay tuned. 😚

Sitting on the bed in your brand new silk pajamas, you found yourself distracted, just like you had been the day before and the day before that. You played with The edge of the book you were attempting to read,mindlessly repeated the last sentence over and over in your head trying to retain anything. The loud television and the whirring of the ceiling fan only added to the chaos. Plus the freezing cold air conditioning of the hotel room made it impossible to concentrate.

In a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of focus, you clumsily reached for the remote, hoping to silence at least one of the distractions. your eyes falling on your fiancé who was sleeping peacefully, his dark hair all messy, in his crisp white t-shirt that matched perfectly to the expensive hotel sheets, he looked so sweet,so innocent. You thought if he slept more, maybe everything could work out

Mike slept while snuggled into your side. Like he often did when you two shared a bed, You had attempted to remove him several times but every time he ended right back at your side so you gave up, In any other scenario his action would seem romantic but they only made you feel worse than you were already feeling. In an effort to relieve some guilt you liked to reminded yourself your engagement was never out of love but business. But then again the line did blur in the beginning of your relationship. Before you left for Stanford, you and Mike got caught up in the act of pretending be in love.

After that you could never really tell real from fake with him, he didn’t like you talking to other men. He’d shower you with really expensives grift but then leave town and not answer your calls or text for days. But when no one was watching he’d try to hug and kiss you. The whole thing was confusing, You had known idea how he persived your relationship but you knew You Felt guilty, without all the technicallys, you knew that you still lied,

The people ate up the role you and Mike played. occasionally you’d have to leave campus and go out in public holding hands or sharing kisses in the rain. But it was all for show, at least on your end. Your Dad made sure to reminded you That, it was the love sick tennis player in love with his coaches daughter that sold tickets. kept the stands full of women hoping to catch the world win romances in action. Also Brought in a large number of his clientele. He promised It wouldn’t be forever unless you wanted to be. And Really how could you complain? 20 years old engaged to One of the wealthiest and most talented tennis players in the world and he wasn't bad looking either. Before all this, you weren't too keen on love anyway, so what were you really missing out on?

~~~

Ten months before

Patrick serves but Art's attention is elsewhere. The ball zooms past Art for the second time, prompting Patrick to turn around and finally see who's behind him. His gaze lands on you, playing tennis alone on a smaller court. The sun shining off your smooth, glistening skin, and your pink tennis dress gracefully flowing with each jump and run.

"Oh, I get it," Patrick chuckles, glancing back at Art. "She's hot. You should talk to her, maybe offer her a lesson. She could use it," Patrick suggests, looking back at you as you let another tennis ball from the machine fly past you . "I think I've seen her somewhere before," Patrick mutters, tapping his racket against his leg.

Still in a daze, Art jogged over to your court. "Oh, you're serious," Patrick murmured watching as he went over to you following closely behind him. "Hi," Art greets, slightly out of breath walking up to the net. "Hi?" you respond, slightly confused, giving him a small wave.

"Are you new here?"

"To the school or the court?" You ask

"Both."

"I'm new to both” you say a little breathless wiping sweat from your forehead.

“I just transferred," you explain.

"Where did you go before?"

"A small community college in Virginia."

"What about tennis?"

"You have a lot of questions," you laugh, tapping your tennis racket against your leg.

"Im just curious “Art jokes.

"I'm just doing this because my fiancé is a tennis player. I thought I'd try to learn," you reveal.

“Finance?” Art questions.

“Yep”

“ how old are you like 20?”

“ actually 19, I turn twenty in a couple months”

“And you're getting married?” Art asked clearly dumbfounded

“Yes” you laugh at his forwardness

", is he a pro or college?", Art asked, assuming the answer would be college.

“Pro," you replied, letting your curls fall freely from your hair tie. Art couldn't help but admire how beautiful you were,too young to be tied down

"Anyone we would know?" Art asks following you as you walk over to the bench with your tennis bag. "Hmm, maybe," you hum, sitting down to tie your shoe. "Mike Fitts."

"Your fiancé is Mike Fitts!" Patrick exclaims a little too loudly. "Mhmm," you confirm, starting to tie your other shoe. "If Mike Fitts is your fiancé, why are you here?"

"Are you referring to the court or the school?" you ask, looking up at both Art and Patrick.

"Both," Art and Patrick respond in unison.

You chuckled as you stuffed your tennis racket into your bag. "Well, whether I'm engaged or not, I always planned to graduate college. And Mike is too busy right now to teach me, so I'm trying to teach myself."

The two of them nod in understanding as you stand up. "It was really nice meeting both of you, but I have class," you announce, throwing your tennis bag over your shoulder. "By the way, it would be great if you guys could keep the whole fiancé thing on the down low. I'm trying to keep it as quiet as possible for now."

"Yeah, no problem," one of them replies.

"Of course," the other adds.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," you say giving them a small smile before turning around to leave the court.

just as you're about to walk away, Art calls out after you, "Wait! You said you're trying to learn, right? we could coach you if you want” Patrick gives him a look and Art ignores it waiting for your response.

You pause, considering the offer.

”the both of you?” you asked gesturing between them. Art gives you a nod. at that moment The risk didn't seem too big so you said

. "Sure," with small shrug

"How about tomorrow at 12:30?" you suggest, checking the pink Bvlgari watch Mike got you.

"Perfect," Art responds with a shit eating smile

“Ok see you guys ” you laugh walking out the court

~~~~~~

“Yeah see” Patrick says reading a newspaper. “Olympic coach, Dylan yLn, Daughter engaged to Olympics gold medalist Mike fitts” Patrick reads next to a photo of you and Mike smiling as you showed off your huge

engagement ring. “She wasn’t bull shitting”

“Let me see” Art says grabbing the newspaper. “She didn't have on her engagement ring when we saw her...” Art trails off

“You can't be serious” Patrick laughs

“What?”

“She’s engaged Art, not to anyone either,” Patrick leaned in on the table so only he could hear. “she’s engaged Mike Fitts!”

“I didn't say anything,” Art defends

“ you don't have to” Patrick says stealing a fry off Arts plate plopping it in him mouth.

”I know you,”

~~~~~

After that day, everything seemed to blend together. Art and Patrick dedicated themselves to training you throughout the weekdays for three entire months until you got tired of it and decided on once a week. You told Mike you found a coach but never told him who. Since they were kinda the only people you knew in the entire school, the three of you grew close fast. You started going out to bars and parties together. you had your most memorable college moments with the two of them. And then, your birthday arrived. Patrick had left for some torment and it was just you and Art.

You two were just having so much fun that night. On thing led to another And before you realized it, the two of you were constantly having “fun together”. It didn't matter where - in the dorm, in the shower, or even on the floor. It was bad, but you two couldn't stop

Trying to clear your mind you Let out a sigh. you carefully remove Mike from your side sitting up to taking a sip of you're water on the nightstand. Trying to ignore the ache of your core. This is how you spent every night away from him, needy, uncomfortable. You heard a knock at the door which almost caused you to spill water on yourself. You Quickly put your drink down and run to answer it before the person could knock again careful to be quiet not to wake up Mike.

You swung the door open to find Art standing there, hair slightly damp, with huge smile on his face. "Are you out of your mind?" you whisper, stepping out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind you. You can't help but notice his thin athletic hoodie and gym shorts. Slightly wet clinging to his skin as if he just stepped out of the shower.

"It's past one ,"Art huffed out , his voice filled with urgency and desire as he leaned in for a kiss. his hand gently cradling the side of your face in the process.

When the realization of what was happening washed over you, you pulled away, but still stayed close enough to feel his breath against your skin. "Art," you breathed out, eyes darting down the hall to check if anyone saw. Your hand instinctively found its place on his strong chest, you savored the feeling and the look of your manicured nails there, not knowing when you be able to do it again.

"I like these," Art hummed, playing with the hem of your pajama shorts. He rolled the fabric between his fingers, his big hand gracing you thighs in the process. The little touch sent shivers down your spine. You somehow composed yourself pushing him away gently with your index finger, creating some distance between you two.

He looked at you with sad eyes like a rejected puppy. "Mike’s sleeping inside," you whisper, worried someone could hear. "What does that mean?"

There was a long pause as you carefully choose your next words. Art stared at you intently, trying to decipher your expression. "You slept with him?” Art asks, as if he already knew the answer.

"No, I didn't sleep with him!” You whisper yelled, “He just showered and fell asleep," you explained,

"What's bothering you then?"

"I feel guilty."

"You didn't feel guilty at Stanford."

"Mike wasn't at Stanford."

“You care about Mike's feelings now ?" Art's asks furrows his brow, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and hurt.

" I don’t know… he’s been nicer lately and were supposed to be married in three days”

“You’re actually thinking about going through with it?” Art asked the hurt now evident in his voice.

“There’s nothing I can do now, I signed contracts, this isn’t just about us anymore I’ve told you this”

“What about the private investors?”

"That's just a 'what if,' a perfect 'what if,' but we don't even know if he's seeing someone."

“ If I win tomorrow?”

“Art If you win are lose tomorrow it doesn’t change anything, my Dad expects me at the alter on Sunday regardless, nothings gonna change that”

“But you don’t love him ”

“ I could” your words come out more a question, maybe a hope. “I loved you?”

“You love me” Art corrects

"There's too much at stake now, Art. This is my father's career. We don't come from money, this is all he has."

“You honestly believe this will ruin his career?”

“It could” you reply with a small shrug your voice cracking slightly.

“It won’t” Art response

“You don’t know that”

“ Don’t do this ” Art whispered closing the small space between you. He sounded so tortured, like he was pleading with you.

you hadn't realize it but tears welled in your eyes Threatening to spill any moment. When You blinked an a tear fell down your cheek. Art tenderly brushed it away with his thumb. The stress of the last two weeks had finally caught up to you. “it wasn’t supposed to be this hard” you murmured, your voice barely audible, tears streaming down your face as Art wiped them away.

“Do you love me?” his questions sounded genuine but you knew, he already knew the answer. ”more than i’d like to” you joke, using the back of your hand to dry your eyes.

“Then let me make you feel better,” Art whispered leaning down so he was directly above your ear.

“You’re right about what you said earlier, Mike wasn’t there at Stanford”. He paused for a second moving a piece of your hair out the way, “I was,” he hummed brushing his face against yours “just me and you” he whispered leaving a trail of kisses on the outside of your earlobe down your neck. Causing Your breath catch in your throat .“We had fun right?” Art question, his voice deep and breathy causing you to instinctively press your legs together as you leaned back against the door. “Art” you mumble trying to shake the sexual haze that was swirling inside you.

“I missed you” he whispered his free hand slinking up the side of you short griping your thigh, hiking your leg up slightly. “So bad…All day”

“we can't” you manage to breathe out unconvisingly.

“I’ll beg,”

“Art” you warned

“I’ll do anything baby” he mumbles leaving slowly kisses on your neck. “Anything you want me to” he says kissing under your chin. “ I need you” he hums kissing down your neck, ”don’t you need me?” Art asked kissing below your ear. You don't respond giving small nodd biting the inside of your lip. “Can I hear it?” Art asked, the way his voice sounded so desperate, Damn near whiney had you looking for friction. ”I need you so fucking bad” you basically moan pushing your body against his.

“I love you so much you don't understand” Art said smiling against you cheek. sliding his free hand down the front of your shorts. He rubs his fingers through your folds collecting your wetness on his fingers. You throw your head back with a quiet moan, quickly biting your lip to silence yourself. “Fuck your so wet” Art groans before pulling his hand from your shorts, sucking his fingers clean like it was second nature. You clenched around nothing at the sight.

“I missed that taste” he groans returning his hand to your heat. “Can I make you cum right here” Art huffed out peeping down the hall.

"Yea,” you breathed out, nodding your head feverishly. He could have asked you to drive to the moon in that moment, and you would have said yes. Art slowly pushed two fingers inside of you creating a medium pace before bringing his thumb to rub your clit, you moan lifting your hips to meet his fingers. “Fuck I could eat you out right here” Art groaned watching you Practically fuck yourself on his fingers. “Promise me you won't ever let him see you like this” Art goans leaving kisses on your collar done. “this is mine”

”You can bearly hear a word he's saying the feeling of his thumb on your clit and finger damn near touching you cervix was too much to bear. “I’m gonna cum” you moaned out grabbing Arts shoulder hard in an effort to ground yourself. “I can feel it,” Art breathed pressing his forehead against yours. He presses down harder on your clit causing you to buck into his fingers, letting out a loud moan You cum. his movement don't falter, he continues to pump them in and out while still rubbing your clit until he feels like you've finally had enough.

he removes his fingers from your pussy returning them to his mouth. “I’ll never get tired of that” Art laughs leaning in for a kiss, you return it, taste yourself on his lips. He gently places you leg back on the floor and you stumbled slightly grading his shoulder for balance. He instantly goes to your waist holding you steady. “You ok?” Art ask slight consern on his face. You don't respond afraid of what your voice would sound like after an orgasm like that.

You nod with a smile and Art led you to the hotel room directly next to yours, pulling out a key card from his pocket with a grin.

“You didn't,” you exclaimed as he opened the door.

“I did,” he replied, motioning for you to enter.

“How did you even know our room number?” you ask, stepping inside.

“I have my ways,” he answered, closing the door behind you.

“How did you afford this?” you asked, looking around.

“Are you going to keep ask questioning or are you going to take of your clothes” Art laughs , watching as you sit on the bed.

“You first,” you countered, settling back .

“Yes ma’am,” Art chuckled, starting to undress.

~~~~

Morning arrives and you found yourself back in your original room. Mike was in the bathroom getting ready while you fix your dress in the mirror of the bedroom. As you adjust the straps, you notice a hickey you hadn't seen before, one you forgot to cover up after coming back last night. You laid your hair over it and walk towards the bathroom to retrieve your makeup bag, slightly tripping as your sore legs gave out on you. "You good?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think I'm just sore from tennis practice," you say, reaching past him to get your makeup bag.

"You know no one expects you to play," Mike laughs while drying his hair with a towel. "I'm not doing it for anyone, I want to learn," your words come out more offended than you intended. "I just mean you could spend your time doing something else."

"Like what?" You respond plainly, walking out of the bathroom back to the mirror. "Like calling your dad and asking him what time he'll be here," Mike says from the now open bathroom. "Is your phone not working?" You asked rhetorically, pulling out your concealer . "I don't want to fight today, okay," Mike Replies sternly, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. "This is a big match," he mumbles while running his toothbrush under the water.

"I thought you said it was going to be 'nothing,'" you chuckle dryly, applying the concealer as his face was turned. "It is, but from what your Dad's been saying, he's been getting good. So I'd like to be on my A-game and not have you trying to start shit."

"Whatever you want honey" you respond, quietly laughing in disbelief. He had resorted right back to his old ways,How could you ever agree to marry someone like him, someone so vastly different from the man you spent the night with.

~~~~

soon as you and Mike were finished getting ready, your father called you to come downstairs to join him for breakfast. You and Mike both stood in line, slightly overdressed, picking out your favorite breakfast items. Mike only getting French toast, disregarding his strict diet. Suddenly, you heard a familiar laughter and turned around to see Art chatting with your father near the entrance. Your heart sank as your father motioned for you both to come over. After dropping off your plates, you and Mike walked towards them, feeling Mike's hand slip around your waist.

"I'd like you to meet someone," your father announced with a smile, putting his arm around Art's shoulder. "This is Art Donaldson," he introduced, "the man I'm competing against today." Mike stated extending his hand for a handshake, and Art reciprocated. Your stomach churned at the sight. "This is Mike, you know him, he's also my daughter's fiancé." Your father says with a smile.

"Stressful, huh?" Art jokes. "Oh, you have no idea," your Dad replies, laughing. "You're both at the same college, right? Stanford?" your Dad asked, nodding towards you. “maybe you could try your luck at training her because I just can't get through," your dad jokes. Art's eyes rake over you, as if looking at you for the first time. "It be my pleasure" Art smiles, looking directly at you. You to discreetly warn him with your eyes but You notice Mike's grip on your waist tighten, clearly not pleased. "Actually, I've been training y/n already, she's improving every day," Mike says, planting a quick kiss on your head.

"Really?" Art inquires, trying to keep up the act to the best of his abilities. "Monday through Friday," Mike replies with a smug grin. “How do you manage with your Busy schedule?” Art asks tilting his head to the side slightly in the process.

“You find time for the people you love,” Mike says with a fake smile. You had to physically hold back your laugh. But you played it off as wiping your face. He had taken a line straight from media training. Silence filled the air as the two have a silent conversation with their eyes.

“Well I wanted to introduce all of you, as I will officially be coaching Art starting next fall,"

Your Dad says in an attempt to break the tension. But it only makes it worse, Somehow Mike's grip on you tightened even more, now you were concerned he’d leave a bruise . "When did you make this decision?" Mike asked, his face showing no emotion but you could tell he was angry. "two weeks ago, and I've been waiting for the right moment to properly introduce you two. I know the timing is awkward with the match, but it's better to do it now than later."

Mike doesn’t say anything giving an expressionless nod. There was another awkward pause before you decided to speak up. "It was nice meeting you…Art?" you trail off , purposely sounding unsure. He nodded with a knowing smile. "But our food is getting cold," you joked, trying to escape the suffocating tension. "I wouldn't want to keep the couple from their food," Art said, while a smiling again only looking directly at you. You wanted to scream, he was being so obvious and the way Mike was already acting, you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. "You two eat, I have to go handle some things, I won’t be long" your father said, gesturing for you and Mike to sit at the table before walking off with Art.

Once the two of you sit back at the table you feel caught. "I don't want you near that guy," Mike says, taking a sip of his coffee. You roll your eyes and stab at your scrambled eggs. “He was basically eye fucking you the whole time, and it doesn’t help that your dress is so tight”

“I think you forget sometimes this isn’t real,” you reply, taking a bite.

"Lower your voice," Mike warns, glancing around to see if anyone heard.

"You didn't care about it being real when you accepted the gifts," he scoffs, "or in Virginia."

"It was once, Mike. And every day, you make me regret it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You don't get to control me just because you buy me shit. Anyone can buy me shit."

“I told you i’m not doing this with you today” Mike laughs dryly standing up from the table. "I'll see you later, okay babe?" he says a bit louder, forcing a fake smile as he plants a kiss on your head before walking away. You try your best not to flinch when he touches you. Once he's gone, your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see an unsaved number. It's a text from Art.

“meet me at the restaurant next door in 20, alone.”

Author note : GUYS FEEL FREE TO COMMENT I LOVE READING COMMENTS

[fandomfuntimem]

Dp x Dc or just Dp things I (personally) want to see more of.

Just some stuff I've seen and really liked but never see enough of.

Danny is very casually a genius and/or skilled (engineering, gymnastics, really any skill you pick):

There isn't enough of it tbh. I dont think people realise just how smart and skilled he is. Being a ghost probably made him very flexible and gave him extra abilities the average human may not have. Also he comes from a family of scientists, yeah maybe up against them he doesn't seem smart, but being "smart" comes in different forms. More often than not the ability to be smart comes from your ability to pick up on things, retain information, understand information, and use that information accordingly. Danny does that, especially with his villains. He even finds outside the box ways to defeat his villains. Like tricking Freakshow into becoming a ghost.

I just think its under utilized. A lot of Teen heros are geniuses but no one ecknowledges it. Hell, you can make it that Danny doesn't even realise just how smart he is. He doubts it and often thinks he's one of the dumber people in the room. But when sleep deprived and running on a cup of coffee he can solve a problem he hasn't even seen before the konk out for an hour.

Danny has BEEF with the JL or isn't outright a fan:

In a lot of fics the JL (especially Batman) are huge hypocrites. Like they'll barge into Amity trying to solve problems that don't even effect them, screw things up more, then offer Danny more training. Hello????? You guys being there caused the problem???? Then, in other things Batman preaches about territory and Danny will get threatened or treated with suspicion for even stepping foot NEAR Gothem, but then barges into his territory like its his buisness.

Let Danny call them out. Let him point out that everything has been fine untill they showed up. Let him get MAD. This is HIS territory, HIS haunt, HIS people. These guys have done nothing for him! Why should he accept their help when their help only makes things worse? In fics where they help him because he needed it and ended up in Gotham let him be suspicious and careful. He doesn't need to be vivasected or hurt to be warry of the crime fighting furries he just met.

Mans has the experience to know you can't trust anyone untill they prove you can.

Danny should be casually overpowered and spooky:

This isn't even he has to be experienced. He is so used to his powers he doesn't realise how scary it is. He will casually stop a punch from superman, laugh, quipe, then punch back.

He accidentally breaks stuff, walks through things, glows, its so normal for him. He apologizes and does it again because he forgot. He genuinly has no idea how strong he is, he just knows he needs to be soft on humans.

Danny and Phantom are very different personalities:

I'm not saying they're two different people. They have the same mind same person. But the way they act is so different. Danny is grumpy, quiet, whimpy. Danny is a loser, and everyone knows it. Phantom, on the other hand, is confident, he jokes, smiles, makes a game out of his struggles, he's strong. Phantom is just a good guy. Everyone (minus others) loves him!

This happens because Danny is more comfortable as Phantom or Vise Versa. Sertant trates carry over, they're nerds, they're smart, they enjoy a good pun, they're sassy. But because Danny is a loser everyone sees it as lame, but with Phantom its endearing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

None of this means you need to get rid of silly nerdy Danny. You can have that but all these other things ad depth to his character. Hes smart but not confident, he's kind but not naive, he's powerful but not violent, and he finds comfort in the fact no one knows him.

Idk. I'm not a big fanfic writer so i thought i would just share and see what others do with it.

[hxrukii]

vil, malleus, and idia with child reader who is similar to Sofia the first?

❝I was a girl in a village doing alright, but then I became a princess overnight. And now... I've been transported to another world?!❞

╭・๑ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲︰ʚ Some of NRC with child!Reader who's similar to Sofia the First..‧₊˚✦

‧₊˚↷ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬)┊❝ Vil Schoenheit, Malleus Draconia, Idia Shroud. ❞ ⸜⸜*

↷︰ʚ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ‧₊˚✦ Reader and Yuu can be the same person and is a gender neutral. Sorry this took so long!! My motivation never wants to cooperate with me 😭

╰・𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) ‧₊˚꒰ Platonic (obviously). ɞ‧✦

During the Opening Ceremony, a child suddenly appears at NRC, with no way to send the child home, since according to the Dark Mirror, the child's home does not exist. Crowley decided to have the Dorm Leaders take care of the child while he slacks off looks for a way to send the child home, for he is gracious. How will some of the dorm leader's react?

At first, Vil was probably unsure of the headmage's idea of leaving the child with him.

He is a busy man after all, and he is worried that he might just not have the time to take care of the child.

And he also was worried by the fact that the child might just be too rebellious and have him grow grey hair before he even hits his forties.

To his surprise, Sofia!Reader seemed to be unusually mature and also has a high level of self-control for a child their age.

But now Vil was worried, after all, it is said that some child act more mature than others because they grew up in a toxic environment, where they were forced to grow up too fast.

He probably began to feel even more worried when he noticed they Sofie!Reader seemed to be have some trust issues. Which, mind you isn't exactly normal for a child.

Now tries his best to take care of them and making sure they feel safe.

Becomes somewhat protective of Sofia!Reader. If he will admit it or not is another thing.

But because of that, he is constantly stressed whenever he leaves Sofia!Reader alone 'cause she always seems to run into trouble one way or another.

Wasn't there during the Opening Ceremony, so he was surprised when Lilia came back to Diasomnia with a child.

What is a child doing at Night Raven College??? (Why did they name it Night Raven College when it's a high school??!

Was probably terrified of hurting or scaring Sofia!Reader, stayed as far away from them as possible.

To his surprise, and delight (somewhat) Sofia!Reader seemed to not be scared of him.

Was probably really surprise when Sofia!Reader seemed to be very good at using magic.

Took it upon himself to teach Sofia!Reader every self defense spell he could think of sho that she could protect herself.

Very overprotective.

Sofia!Reader now has one of the top 5 best mages in Twisted Wonderland as a bodyguard and also said bodyguard's retainers protecting them.

Probably really intrigued by Sofia!Reader's amulets.

Like wdym the amulets let's you talk with animals? And allowed you to transform into a mermaid, or any animals or muthinc being you see? At allows you to shrink yourself? And you can summon people when you need help??? (Nobody tell him that some of these people are related to the Great Sevens.)

Probably dying and panicking internally

I mean, I don't blame him, Crowley literally dumped a whole child onto him.

Idia is probably scared shitless of Sofia!Reader, he seems like the type to think that children are literal demons.

Thanks the Great Sevens that Sofia!Reader is actually pretty calm.

After all the panicking, I feel like Idia would probably know how to take care of Sofia!Reader, since he had to take care of Ortho before his death so he isn't really clueless about what he should do. (Fun fact: did you know that human Ortho died at age 8? Which is how old Sofia was at the beginning of the show.)

Though at the same time, Idia can barely take care of himself so also having to take care of a child would be pretty challenging.

Ortho is usually the one to take care of Sofia!Reader, because Idia was to busy with his games or something.

Idia will probably be the on introducing Sofia!Reader to technology, since they literally never even saw of phone in their entire existence (which wasn't a very long time but still.)

Would probably also be interested in their amulets and how it works, but doesn't expect to learn much from Sofia!Reader since they also don't know how the amulets work.

꒰ ◁ ꒱┊❝Back to Vil, Malleus, Idia's Masterlist❞

[luxurychristmaspudding]

You and I | On Call

part iv

summary: frankie has one last question.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, drinking. praise kink. the boys (minus tom). SMUT! fingering, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v. cum kink? creampie. frankie retains the title of pek 👑

reader is a teacher, has hair, and can be lifted by frankie (he's a big strong boy, don't worry about it) but she is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 10.8k

an: well, here we are gang. thank you for joining me and for all your sweet words. i've been so awful with reblogging your kindness on this little thing because of how busy i was when i wrote most of it, but i want you to know i appreciate it so much. i've loved sharing these two with you - it's been a privilege <3

shoutout to @jolapeno for helping me with the chapter name, and for very gently reminding me that 20k chapters probably should be split 😉 love you <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

series masterlist | main masterlist

When he wakes, it’s well past twelve. 

Nine hours which he imagines he probably needed, but really it puts him two hours behind.

He showers and dresses in a rush, running out the door to his truck, but still taking the time to register that your curtains have remained closed. It makes him smile, knowing you’re likely still tucked up in bed, your stories about the night before resting before they make their way to him.

He practically sprints around the supermarket, grabbing anything that even vaguely crosses his mind as something he might need. Meat, bread, salads of sorts, sauces, soft drinks, beers. He picks up your favourite dessert just in case, and then hauls the bags back to the truck, keeping a nervous eye on the time as his fingers tap against the steering wheel. 

Will and Benny are already there when he gets home. Grinning, leaning against Will’s car as he pulls into the driveway.

There’s a sharp pull of joy in his chest even as Will laughs out a ‘You’re late, Fish’, pounding his back as he pulls him into a hug.

‘Can’t be late to my own fuckin’ house.’ He grumbles back, pulling Benny in in the same way.

‘Can, and you are.’ The younger man laughs. 

‘Thought you might be out with your lady.’ Will teases, and Frankie flushes right to the tips of his ears. 

‘She’s still asleep.’ He says without thinking, a smile pulling at his lips. It’s comical, really, the way the two men freeze and look at each other. ‘Help me with these bags, will you?’

The brothers remain unmoving, staring at him with some degree of bewilderment.

‘Still asleep?’

Frankie sighs, a little exasperated.

‘Yeah. She was out last night.’

Will’s eyes wander to Frankie’s bedroom window just as Benny’s mouth begins to form a question. The realisation dawns quickly.

‘Not in my bed,’ he scowls, ‘Next door.’

‘Oh.’

He turns his back on them, heading to his front door, arms laden with groceries. A nervous, giddy feeling swirls in his stomach.

‘Had us going for a minute there, Fish.’ Will calls after him. Frankie bites his lip against the memories of you in your living room, the desperate kisses you’ve shared since. He feels like a teenager, on the verge of spilling secrets like he’s at a sleepover.

He hums instead, flicking a glance over his shoulder to see Benny grab more stuff from the back of the truck. He grunts and grimaces under the weight, shooting a look at Frankie.

‘What do you have in here? Are we feeding the five thousand?’

Will laughs, loading his own hands with bags, tutting at his little brother.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be the athlete here?’

Benny drops one bag just to give him the finger.

‘This is my rest day, motherfucker.’ 

He groans again as he picks the bag back up, Frankie laughing along with Will.

‘Lift with your knees, not with your back!’ He shouts.

‘Quit telling me what to do, asshole!’ Benny hollers, the older men still chuckling as he shoulders the front door open. 

Santiago arrives not too long after, setting up the last of the food - the salads out on the table, more beers in the fridge. They’ve all clocked Frankie checking his watch, checking his phone, your text that you’d be over in the next five minutes burning a fucking hole in his pocket.

He’s nervous. And they can tell.

He has the distinct impression he’s being cornered when they all turn to look at him at the same time as he fiddles with the burner on the grill. It feels ridiculous - this desire for everything to be perfect. You’ve seen him in all of his less-than-perfect moments, have never shied away. But this - today - feels different.

Pope leads the offence.

‘How’s your girl then, Fish?’

Frankie’s heart drops low in his chest before thumping hard behind his ribs, a hand coming up to try and wipe the sudden smile from his lips. He tries a gruff tone, failing miserably as soon as he speaks.

‘She’s not my girl.’

Will whistles lowly, smirking.

‘Still? We gonna have to smush you together like Barbies?’

Benny snorts, and Frankie shoots him a look which immediately makes him straighten and soften.

‘We won’t. They won’t. Scout’s honour.’

Santi takes a pull from his beer, a glint in his eye.

‘No progress at all?’ He probes.

Frankie takes a deep breath, eyes lowered to the floor before finding the deep brown of his best friend.

‘We’re… seeing each other.’ He murmurs, this time unable to hide his smile, hand scratching at the back of his head.

Silence. Quiet that puts Frankie even more on edge as he watches his friends exchange looks, as a slow smile tilts the corners of Benny’s lips.

‘Well - that’s an improvement.’ Will grins.

‘A marked improvement.’ Santi agrees.

‘So you told her how you feel?’ Benny asks, eyebrows raised.

Frankie sucks air through his teeth, clears his throat. His face grows warm, fingers twitch a little.

‘Not quite -’

Will barks a laugh. 

‘Morales, you dog.’ Followed by the deep rumbles of amusement from the other two men.

‘Oh, the tried and true manoeuvre - the Catfish Canoodle.’ Benny snickers.

‘The Morales Marathon.’ Will adds, tilting his bottle to him. Pope is next, grinning lasciviously.

‘The good old Five Finger Fish Fu-’

‘Frankie?’ You call from inside the kitchen, ‘I have beers, but there’s no room in the fridge -’

You pop your head round the backdoor, beaming immediately when you catch sight of the men in the garden.

‘Oh! Hi,’ you say brightly, emerging fully. Frankie’s heart stutters. You’re wearing that sundress he remembers - hasn’t been able to forget - from when he mowed your lawn weeks ago. Gorgeous, the way it drapes over your curves, the way it lets your skin glisten in the afternoon light. He feels his shoulders drop, his whole body relax. Feels the way he goes a little weak at the knees, knows he’ll be looking lovesick in front of the boys. And he doesn’t care.

‘Sorry I’m a little late,’ you say, hopping down the porch steps towards them, ‘I wish I had a good excuse, but I just - don’t.’ 

Benny laughs, moving with Will and Santi to greet you. Frankie just about catches the look Santiago throws him, a sweet holy shit, brother.

‘Ah, the elusive neighbour. We were starting to think he’d made you up.’ Pope says, matching your smile. You giggle, arms outstretched as he reaches you.

‘Funny,’ you smirk, ‘I was thinking of not turning up just to prove you right.’

He laughs as he releases you, Benny sweeping you into his arms and planting a kiss on your cheek.

‘Even more beautiful than he said you were,’ he says, and Frankie watches your eyebrows shoot up as you fix him with an oh, really? look. His heart drops to his stomach, neck grinding in an effort to shake his head before a shit-eating grin splits across your face. 

‘I had no idea he was so - complimentary - behind my back.’ You laugh against Will’s shoulder as he spins you around.

‘Oh, he is,’ he chuckles, placing you gently down with your back to Frankie. Frankie glowers at him half-heartedly as Will winks back, and the dark-haired man raises a finger, mouthing at him to shut - the fuck - up. ‘Feels like we’ve known you for ages.’ Will continues.

You turn, planting your hands on your hips, cocking your head at Frankie.

‘Just can’t stop talking about me, huh, Fish?’ You tease, and Frankie huffs as he pulls you in for a lingering hug, wondering if it’s too much to kiss you in front of his friends.

‘Guess not.’ He whispers into your ear.

You’re biting your lip as you pull away from him, hands lingering on his shoulders as his stall on your waist.

Will clears his throat. 

‘You gonna introduce us then, Morales?’

Frankie rolls his eyes at him as he turns you around, hands at your hips, pointing a finger at each friend.

‘William Miller,’ he says, as Will pulls a face - just Will is fine - ‘Benjamin Miller,’ - Benny, please - ‘And Santiago Garcia.’

‘I’m only Santiago when I’m in trouble,’ Which is most of the time, Benny laughs. ‘Santi is much better.’

You grin as you give them your name, and Will nudges your arm with his elbow.

‘I thought we were on Bug terms.’

You laugh, batting his arm.

‘You can call me Bug if you really want to.’

Benny shrugs, squinting his baby blues at you.

‘Maybe,’ he grins, ‘But your name suits you. It’s pretty. I like it.’

Frankie rolls his eyes again, squeezing your waist against the flicker of possessiveness that rises in his gut. It’s nothing more than teasing, kindness - something they’ve almost always extended to partners welcomed into the fold. But he’s not blind - they’re a handsome group, and he wants you to himself.

‘You gotta stop that,’ you giggle, ‘Before I wanna hang out with you guys all the time.’

Will throws a gentle arm around your shoulder, leaning back to wink at Frankie.

‘Hear that, Fish?’ He chuckles, ‘She’s in.’

He groans.

‘It’s not too late to back out,’ he murmurs lowly in your ear, ‘Though we’ve got a fuckton of food.’

His heart leaps as he feels your fingers reach for his, tangling briefly before squeezing. 

‘I’m stayin’,’ you promise, as Will moves around you to turn the grill on. ‘You guys put on a hell of a spread, anyway.’

From behind, Will claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, shunting the younger man forward a little.

‘That would all be Fish. Must be a special occasion.’ He smirks, and Frankie looks up to the heavens to try and stop his wish for the ground to swallow him up.

‘Sure is,’ you smile, ‘Feelin’ pretty lucky to be meeting you guys.’

‘Pleasure's all ours, kid.’ He grins.

Frankie smiles softly at you, brown eyes filled with something warm.

‘Want a drink?’ He asks.

You smack your lips, hand grabbing at your throat.

‘Please, Fish,’ you gasp, ‘I’m parched.’

The screen door has barely shut behind you before he has you backed against his kitchen counter again, stealing kisses like you’re about to get caught.

His lips are slow, sweet, hands so lazy, so indulgent in the way they hold you you’re not sure it’s really happening, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He crowds you a little closer, licking into your mouth as he fists the skirt of your dress, palming at your ass. You barely manage to catch your breath before he’s mouthing at your neck, nipping at the skin there as you huff against him. 

‘Good time last night?’ he breathes against your shoulder. You nod, eyes shut tight.

‘Yes,’ you gasp, ‘Really good time.’

‘Good,’ he murmurs, ‘I’m glad.’

You moan softly as he grips your hips, pulling you up against his thigh. There’s a thrill to it, knowing the boys are just outside. It makes your blood run hotter. Dangerously hot - no-turning-back hot.

‘Should get back outside. Before they wonder where we’ve gone.’

‘Don’t care,’ Frankie rasps, tugging at your dress again, ‘This fucking dress drives me insane.’

You nip at his bottom lip as his mouth meets yours again.

‘You’re driving me fucking insane,’ you gasp, lips tipping upwards, ‘In your kitchen, humping your leg like a dog in heat -’

He groans against you, forehead knocking against yours as he breathes heavily.

His eyes are almost black, palms warm and rough as they cradle your cheeks.

‘Once they leave,’ he whispers, ‘We’re spending a week in my bedroom. Or yours. I don’t care which.’

A whimper slips up your throat, mouth pressed hotly against his again as you start to count how many hours until it might be acceptable to drag him away. One hand slips from your cheek to your waist, inching up until he can squeeze at your breast, running a thumb over your nipple. You shudder, whole body ignited. 

‘Fuck.’ He breathes.

‘Frankie -’

‘Hey! Lover boy,’ Pope whistles from behind the screen door. You leap apart at the sound of his footsteps on the porch. ‘Hope you’re decent in there, I’m coming in -’

Santi appears, grinning widely as he pushes his way into the kitchen. He shields the side of his face facing you with a hand. ‘I’m not looking,’ he says, ‘But we’re gonna get grilling.’

‘We’re not naked, Pope.’ Frankie says, bemused. You giggle as Santi drops his hand.

‘Thank God,’ he sighs, before fixing you with a look, ‘I’ve seen enough of this man’s ass to last me a lifetime.’

He’d hoped it would be easy, knew that they’d love you. But he’s never seen these three men take to someone the way they have you.

He smiles as you stand with Will at the grill, watches the brotherly affection develop in real time. The soft smack of your palm against the older man’s shoulder, snorts of laughter, whispered jokes and more serious stories swapped. Frankie relaxes into it more and more, gazing at you over Benny’s shoulder. 

When he brings more food over to cook, Will stays stood by his side as you take his place with Benny and Santiago. The three of you huddled around the crackling firepit, hooting with laughter. He catches his own name a few times, turns to find you watching him with shining eyes as Pope and the younger Miller brother no doubt regale you with embarrassing stories from his youth. Things he hasn’t thought to tell you, things he may well have forgotten. And you fill a chair so easily, so effortlessly, it’s like you’ve always been there.

Clinks of cheersing bottles, conspiratorial shoulder bumps, lowered heads and loud exclamations and giggles. He feels like he’s in a fucking coming of age movie.

‘She’s a keeper, brother,’ Will murmurs to him over the lip of his beer bottle. He turns to him, a little surprised, but Will looks so at ease, so content with his little smile, that he knows there’s no bullshit there. ‘Fuckin’ funny. And smart as hell.’

Frankie hums, busying himself with flipping a burger. His hands are a little shaky - even after everything that’s happened over the last week, there’s still something that’s keeping him unsteady. The rock of a world turned on its axis, the deep want of willing this to work - because he loves you. So fucking much.

‘Don’t go all shy on me now, Fish.’ Will says, turning with him so his back is to you.

‘’M not.’ Frankie says, softly. Will sucks a breath through his teeth, squinting up at the sun just over the roofline of your house.

‘Do you remember what I was like when I first met Charlotte?’

Frankie looks at him - the beard, the hair pulled back, the clear blue of his eyes. He nods.

‘And the way you wound me up? How I was always looking for her, always checking for her? And at the end of the night, you asked when I was buying the ring?’

Frankie chuckles at the memory, the comment made stood at the bar with his best friend, manifesting the future he’d have. The ring that now sits on Charlotte’s finger, the wedding planned for the end of the year.

‘I do.’

Will looks back at him, teeth exposed with his smile. Teasing, full of humour, but it’s genuine, not goading.

‘When are you buying the ring, Frankie?’

Blood rushes to his head so fast he feels dizzy, so fast he has to put the tongs down. He scoffs, the way it sounds out loud so outlandish, but something pierces deep through his chest at how clearly Will sees through him.

Because he’s thought about it.

He shakes his head, swallowing roughly. There’s nothing he can say. Anything like not even my girlfriend yet would sound like a denial. But admitting it, that secret thought, even to Will, feels insane.

He’s still grinning at him.

‘I know it when I see it, Fish,’ Will continues, ‘And I know what you’re thinking.’ He pauses, shrugs. ‘Bring her to the wedding. She might catch the bouquet.’ 

He can’t move. Can’t turn to look at you, he’s sure his cheeks are burning so brightly. Can’t even twist his head when Benny calls,

‘Are you done grilling over there? We’re starving.’

He can’t stop thinking about it. Can't stop his whirring brain as the five of you eat, passing sauces and salads. Can’t stop thinking about a future, a life with you as you sit across the table from him, meeting his eye, chatting, laughing. Can’t stop the thoughts from ploughing through him as your foot catches his under the table, can hardly swallow his burger against the words lumping in his throat. Can’t stop the pounding of his heart when he catches you gazing at him halfway through a story, chin cupped in your hand, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars - can’t stop wondering whether you’ve ever pictured the same. 

He’s barely snapped out of it when the plates are stacked and carried through to the kitchen, bits of salad and smudges of sauce halfway cleared up before you pile outside again, Will and Santi jostling over the chair free from the smoke of the firepit. You walk with him and Benny, the younger man listening to you talk with such interest, such fondness already, that Frankie wonders whether he’s too young to have a heart attack. 

He’s only pulled from the conversation by the crack of broken furniture, the three of you stopping short and quiet as Will wheezes, sprawled on the ground atop the remnants of the coveted chair. He holds a hand up in the air, craning his neck at Frankie.

‘His fault,’ he croaks, pointing at Santi, who holds his palms up in surrender. 

‘Not my fault that he’s so heavy.’

You trap a giggle between your teeth and bottom lip as Frankie and Benny start to laugh, Will scrambling to his feet with the help of Frankie’s outstretched hand. 

‘Santiago.’ Benny snickers, and your bright eyes find Frankie’s.

‘Well. Now you are in trouble.’

Frankie grins, fixing Santi with a faux stern look.

‘In so much trouble you’re gonna have to sit on the floor.’ He chuckles, and Pope pouts.

‘My knees will never recover, Fish, and you know that.’

He shrugs, settling into a chair at the same time as Benny and Will. You stay standing, warring silently with yourself before you gesture to the empty seat for Santi to take. 

‘It’s yours,’ you smile, nervous as you turn to Frankie. ‘Is this seat taken?’ You ask, looking pointedly at his lap.

His eyes blow wide for a second, breath caught in his chest. Unsure, for a moment, of your meaning, ready to give the chair up for you. You raise an eyebrow, palm lowering gently onto his shoulder.

‘No.’ He rasps, blissfully unaware of Will’s smirk.

‘Good.’ You say, lowering yourself onto his thighs, an arm around his shoulders, his around your back, hand at your hip. He swings your legs over his without thinking, and you settle, limbs tense at first, before shuffling a little to get comfortable.

To their credit, the boys don’t make it a thing. They continue the conversation as normal as the two of you join in, wrapped up together, crowing with laughter as your bodies vibrate against each other. 

You hold each other closer as the evening wears on. Head resting against his chest, nuzzled against the fabric of his t-shirt. Laundry detergent, light scent of cologne, the warmth of his skin. His hands are broad and calloused where they cradle you, so easily - never a limb falling slack, never goosebumps that go unsoothed. He rubs his thumb against your thigh in soft semi-circles, leans his cheek against the top of your head, breathing in your shampoo. 

Lets himself be warmed by the pressure of your body against his, willfully ignores his cock when it twitches hopefully as you shift. Which is hard, as you begin to shift more and more the later it gets, the hotter you burn above him. And as hard as you try, you just can’t keep still. Can’t stop trying to find relief for the ache in your core, the wetness pooling in your underwear. 

He finally grips your hips against a particularly wicked wriggle, head dipping to growl in your ear.

‘Stop, baby. Please.’ And it works for a moment - only a moment - as you’re frozen by the flashbacks of him unravelling beneath you eight days ago. Eight days too long.

As though he’s read the shift in atmosphere, Will stands and stretches.

‘I’m heading in,’ he says, rolling his head on his shoulders. ‘The spare room calls.’

You stand, reluctantly, and Frankie is quick to readjust himself as inconspicuously as possible. Will gives you a sweeping hug, kissing just before your ear as you say a muffled see you tomorrow into his shoulder. Frankie takes his outstretched hand, pulling him into a back-clapping embrace of sorts, and when he pulls away he’s surprised to see Benny and Pope also bidding you goodnight. He checks his watch. 

It’s not even eleven.

His eyes twitch from you to the boys as he works out whether you’re heading back to yours, too.

Santi catches the look, slapping a hand onto his shoulder as he whispers a do not come back into this house, pendejo. He looks over your shoulder at Benny as Will makes you giggle again, and is met with the firm waggle of a finger.

Stay, he mouths.

Fuck you, Frankie mouths back, watching their backs retreat into his house. 

The backyard falls quiet, only the snap of logs in the fire, the buzzing of insects, and the rush of blood in his ears to be heard.

You turn, facing him in the dark, half your face lit by the dying embers of the fire pit. 

‘Are you - are you tired?’ He asks softly, afraid of disturbing the hushed moment.

‘No,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly.

‘No.’

You nod, gentle smile pulling at your lips.

‘Good.’

You step towards him, slowly, like something out of a dream. Glowing in the low light, sparkling with something divine.

You cup his cheeks with both hands, press your body in a firm line against his, hoping to convey exactly what you mean through the touch. Affection, of course, love, adoration - everything you’ve been planning on giving him over the last week, but now, more pressingly - want. Pure, unadulterated want. 

You tip your head to slant your mouth against his, hot, heavy, teeth clashing at the initial meeting, breath mingling, tongues licking into each others’ mouths. You tug at the back of his neck, hand buried in the soft curls there, yanking his head back a little to open his mouth up to you. You let go. Lips suckling at his tongue, teeth nibbling at the pillow of his lower lip. Further. Pecking at the scruff of his jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Nipping, raising red on his skin, before soothing it with a tortuously slow lick of your tongue.

Your breathing is so heavy, hands so feverish, you lose the sense of where you end and he begins. Feel fingers scrabbling for purchase, bruising grips, on you and him. One scorching palm runs the length of your dress down to the top of your thigh, grabbing at the flesh there. You shift your stance, moaning into his mouth, finding that hand with your own, moving it closer to that burning place between your legs. Frankie follows your lead.

You press his hand up, and his knuckles graze along the sodden fabric of your panties, lips falling away from his as you whine and he groans. You’re soaked, wetter still as he runs the length of his fingers up and down the material clinging to your pussy, feeling the bite of your teeth as you try to muffle yourself against his collarbone. 

He shushes you, coos at you, pressing a particularly firm stroke against your cunt that makes your legs shake as he asks you -

‘You gonna let me feel it, baby?’

You gasp against his mouth, nodding feverishly. He chuckles, slowing the pace of his kiss so he can really focus on how soft, how warm and wet you are as he pulls your panties to the side with deft fingers, slicking them up before swirling them around your clit. A stuttered breath escapes you, cutting off into a loud, unabashed moan as he slowly, slowly fucks his fingers into you. He sinks right down to the bottom knuckle, kisses forgotten as he breathes raggedly against your cheek, feeling you clench and whimper around him. He curls them slightly, and your knees practically buckle, stomach contracting, hands grasping at his shirt.

‘Frankie,’ you plead, almost losing your train of thought as he plants a kiss just behind your ear. ‘Take me to bed.’

He pumps his fingers, once, runs his thumb softly over your clit before withdrawing them altogether, mouth slanted firmly against yours, stifling your whine. You stumble a little, pulling at the collar of his shirt for him to move with you before pausing briefly, watching as he brings his fingers to his lips. He slips them deep inside, groaning around them, eyelids fluttering as he takes in the taste of you. Your breathing is heavy as he slips them from his mouth, offering them to you. You take them willingly, bobbing your head to feel how thick and heavy his fingers are on your tongue, the taste of your slick diluted with his spit making your mouth water. He stares as you flick the muscle between and around his digits, brow furrowed, eyes dark, before he retracts them. You frown at him, and he licks into your mouth with such ferocity you’re quick to forget your disappointment. 

‘Yours. Now.’ He murmurs, and then you’re grinning, running. Sprinting over his lawn, hopping the fence on unsteady legs, striding towards your porch. You slam up the steps, glancing behind you only once to watch him follow you. Giddy with want, warm all over, soaking wet, you can't help but look for him.

For the first time since you moved next door, Frankie willingly hops the fence. 

He catches up to you before you can get the front door open, clutching your hip, turning the handle with the other. He backs you into the hallway, kicking the door shut behind him, shoes toed off blindly. There’s no reprieve from his lips, no other thought than his hands on your body, guiding you into your living room, hips bumping into furniture, deaf to the clatter of objects falling - not a single fuck given over what - one hand - whose, you’re not sure - flying out to flick a lamp on before he’s crushing you against the sofa. 

Calves to the furniture, you fall, and he follows you - two hands braced either side of your head before returning to their homes on your cheek, your waist, your breasts. Palming at the flesh there, kneading, thumbing over your nipples. You’re gasping, rolling your hips in hopes you’ll catch against something, because he’s everywhere, only to come up empty every time. He lowers both hands, tongue running strongly against yours. One shifts your hips, the other pressing against your panties again.

‘Let me taste you,’ he groans, voice hoarse, ‘Please, baby. I have to - let me taste you.’

You nod fiercely, tugging on his curls again, mumbling a fuck, Frankie, yes, before he pulls away. His lips are spit-slick, swollen, cheeks flushed. Breathing haggard, eyes blown, curls frayed. He looks almost how he did a week ago. 

He holds your gaze for a moment, searching again, letting the question float through the air. You nod, softly, and he begins his descent. 

His lips are wet against your skin, leaving shining marks as he presses them to your clavicles, your breastbone, closing them around your covered nipples. He mouths at them, tongue dampening the fabric of your dress, warming, cooling, the fabric sticking to you in a way that makes your back arch. He works one with his fingers while his mouth is occupied, teasing them into peaks as you whimper and buck your hips beneath him. He watches you darkly, eyes heavy lidded, eyelashes almost fanned against his cheeks. And you ache. Ache so badly, so unforgivably. You can feel how wet you are - panties soaked, dampness all the way down into the cleft of your ass, smudging along the tops of your thighs. He waits until you whine again, louder, higher pitched, nails scraping in his curls, against his scalp - please Frankie, please - before he moves lower. More kisses pressed to your covered stomach, lower, lower, large hands pushing up the hem of your skirt, tracing every bit of skin they can find. He shifts on his knees to get closer as you lift your hips so he can shove your skirt all the way up, lips parting, eyebrows furrowing in a desperate look of need as he fixes his eyes to your clothed core, as you buck again at the look in his eyes, breathing heavily. His palms come together at the very tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing along the hem of your panties either side of your pussy. You huff again, hands leaving their clutch of the sofa to bury back into his curls, tugging him forwards. 

He groans, deep in his throat, easily led. Presses his nose to your clothed cunt, inhales deeply, grinds the tip just against your throbbing clit. You whimper, tugging once more, and he nuzzles your bud again, mumbling something into your heat.

‘Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Frankie - if you don’t fuckin’ - touch me in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna cry.’

‘I am touchin’ you,’ he growls against your hip, head tilted to look up at you. His hot breath on your skin has your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. You shake your head, frustration burning behind your eyes.

‘I want - your tongue -’ you pant, ‘Want to feel your mouth, Frankie.’

He groans, thumbs digging under the waistband of your panties to rip them down your legs, eyes never leaving your core as he reveals you - glistening, messy, wet, drooling for him. He splits his fingers into a V, spreading your lips as you keen and mewl above him.

‘You want me here?’ He rasps.

‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘I fucking do.’

He finds it in himself to show you mercy.

The first stroke of his tongue is strong, wide. As though he’s trying to take as much of you in as possible in the first go - licking deep and long to taste your slick, tracing the dip of your hole, ending with a final swirl around your clit. Your chest shudders, eyes squeeze shut, hands tense in his hair.

‘Okay, baby?’ He asks, so soft.

You lick your lips.

‘Yeah.’

He pushes your at knees to spread your thighs wider apart.

‘Look at me.’ He says, and you crack your eyes open to watch as he manhandles your legs onto his shoulders, tilting his head as he considers, pushing them back towards your chest in order to find the best angle to eat you from. Fuck.

He’s not gentle, and he isn’t taking his time. 

The week you’ve waited, the months building up to this, do not mean you have the patience to make this last any longer than he’s already teased you for. He eats you like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything like the heaven between your legs. Long, firm strokes of his tongue, flicking at your swollen clit, watching as your head tilts forward, heavy, unable to tear your eyes from him. Chest heaving, something about the way you’re still wrapped in that fucking dress making him leak steadily in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper. He’s barely spared a thought for it so far, caught up in the way you look, the way you feel, smell, taste. He moves his grip from one of your knees to palm himself roughly, and you moan, watching him. 

Your lips part, and he knows, knows that you’re going to beg him to fuck you before the words even leave your mouth. And he will.

He just needs this first.

‘You’re gonna come in my mouth,’ he rumbles, stroking your clit with his thumb, levelling you with a dark, stern stare, ‘And then we can do anything you want. Just need to taste you like this first.’

He watches the pulse of your cunt, the gush of slick that escapes you at his words. Coos at you, so pretty, baby, before leaning back in.

Closing his lips around your pearl, sucking, flicking, tracing shapes - tracing the letters of his name against you - watching as you buck and cry and moan. You’re so fucking beautiful, leaking around him, wetting his chin, his lips, his cheeks. He can only taste you, only smell you. And it’s fucking divine.

Diving in as you bury your hands in his hair again, pulling his mouth closer, reeling in the soft plush of his lips, warm wet of his tongue, the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin. He lets you use him, lets you grind against his face, winding your hips against him. He holds his mouth open, tongue lapping where he can, mumbling against your skin. Blissed out, pussy drunk.

Yes, yes, fuck. Fuck, baby - use me. Use me, just like that. Take what you need, Bug. Taste so good, feel so fucking good.

His eyes dart from your cunt to your face - this beautiful mess you’re making, the fucked out, glassy look you watch him with. Mouth dropped open, brow scrunched in ecstasy, broken little pants and moans, cries of his name. He stretches an arm, a hand above his head, kneading at your breast, pinching your nipple, the other settling above your mound, thumb pulling back the hood of your clit. You shut your eyes quickly, your shout of fuck coming loud, a yelp.

He can taste how close you are, willing you to come with his eyes when you meet his gaze. His come, baby, is muffled, but it’s all you need. 

You break, back arching, breasts heaving, pussy fluttering and clamping around his tongue, heat blasting through your belly, a rush of bright white feeling pouring from you. Your hips freeze, jerk, twitch against him, and he closes his eyes briefly, worried that if he watches you ride the high the whole way through he’ll come in his fucking pants again. 

Your hands loosen in his hair, letting him lick and suck dazedly until he’s content. Nose pressed against you, inhaling, tasting as you whimper, thighs tightening a little around his head at the oversensitivity, and he backs away, pressing kisses to your thighs as your ragged breathing begins to ease into a more even rhythm.

He nips at your skin as you stare at him, something flooding your chest. You feel like you’re still riding that wave, feel like no one’s ever really eaten you like that, nobody’s ever really let you use them like that.

You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the glisten of you on his lips. He tilts his head into your palm, and you smile, mouth dry.

‘Where’d you learn to do that?’ You ask. It’s a dumb fucking thing to say, but you can think of nothing else that could quite explain the light-headed awe you’re feeling. He laughs, a deep rumble, real, into your thigh.

‘It’s a gift.’ He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your belly, shifting on his knees, adjusting himself. Your eyes soften, dropping to his hand.

He sees the question in your eyes again.

He leans forward, squatting, hands moving to the crease between your thighs and ass, before he stands, bringing you with him. You mouth at his neck as he stumbles to your stairs, taking them steadily, shouldering open your bedroom door through the darkness. 

He drops you where he knows the mattress, your bed will be, separating himself from you only briefly. He yanks the curtains shut as your fingers flick on a dim light - you’ll be damned if you're not watching this. 

He stops before you at the edge of the bed, between your legs. You reach out, looking up at him - sharp curve of his nose, chocolate of his curls illuminated by the light, the heat of his eyes, soft clench of his jaw, rough swallow of his throat. He reaches to stroke your hair, cupping the back of your head. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt, and he holds your hands, loosening them so he can pull it up over his head. And then he’s all golden tan, freckles. Stupidly broad shoulders, strong arms, muscle moving beneath the skin as he discards the garment on the floor. Curls of hair over his chest, down his softening stomach, down below the waistband of his jeans. The bulge straining against the denim there. You draw your hands down the lines of him, pausing only to trace the silvery mark of the scar on his abdomen. He sucks a sharp breath in at the tenderness, the intimacy, takes your fingers in his. Watches as you blink up at him, as you move to press your cheek against the heft of his cock, a kiss against his zipper. Hands making quick work of freeing him, tugging down the denim and his boxers. He steps out of them, bending only to pull his socks off, before he stills in front of you. His hard cock bobs against his stomach - you’re briefly distracted by his thighs, the delicious, smooth patches of skin where his hips meet his torso - but he is impossible to ignore. Thick, throbbing. Precum beading down the shaft, head flushed a heady, deep red, veins pulsing beneath the skin. Curved upwards, twitching beneath your gaze. You swallow thickly.

‘Holy shit.’

You don’t even realise you’d said it out loud until he laughs, a little bashful, a little proud. You look back up to him as you reach out, fingers wrapping around his base. Skin like silk, like gossamer, hot and strong. He hisses through his teeth, knees weak and hips bucking all at once. You pump once, twice, letting your breath fan over him.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, ‘Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.’

He flushes at your words, his retort dying in his throat when you wrap your lips around him, gently taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue in circles, dipping into his slit, teasing the skin on the underside. He watches, breath caught in his throat, head pounding as you dip forward, hands flat against his thighs, eyes fluttering blissfully as you take him deeper. Watches as he disappears inside your mouth, as he feels nothing but warm and wet, nothing but your tight swallow, your fluid grip at his base, the vibration of your hum, the glint in your eyes as you look up -

He retracts his hips reluctantly, sliding his cock from your throat. You try to follow, whining as you shift forward, still connected through a delicate line of spit and precum, stretching thin as he pulls you back with a firm hand in your hair. He breaks it with his fingers, letting his thumb catch the dribble of it against your chin. He offers the digit, and you obediently take it in your mouth to suck the mixture off. Your eyes are still wide, pleading. He smiles softly.

‘Not gonna last like that, baby,’ he mutters. ‘Wanna feel you this time.’

You pout, words slurred in your pleasure filled haze, eyes heavy lidded as you hold his gaze.

‘Wanna watch you come every way. Wanna make you come every way. Wanna - wanna taste it, wanna feel it, want you to cover me -’

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he grits, cock throbbing painfully at your words, head spinning. He never thought he’d hear you talk like that, cock drunk on the edge of your bed, mouth all sad without his dick in it. ‘Get this off.’ he hisses, tugging again at the hem of your dress, pulling it up as you hold up your arms. It comes easy, exposing your bare pussy, soft skin of your stomach, plush flesh of your breasts. 

There's so much blood south of his brain Frankie thinks he might pass out.

He bends to kiss you, groping at your tits again, fingers swiping fleetingly between your legs to find you still soaked.

‘Perfect,’ he growls, ‘So fucking perfect.’

You whimper, backing up across your sheets. He follows, both knees dipping onto the mattress, tongue searching for yours, pecks and nips pressed to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

Your hands find purchase wherever they can, squeezing the tops of his arms, nails grazing the skin, grasping the meat of his hips, tracing the contours of his belly, squeezing and stroking his cock. A deep groan rumbles in his chest again, and he's breaking the kisses to divert and scoot back against your pillows. You crawl to him, eye contact only broken as his eyes flick over your shoulder, and he freezes, shivers. You smile wickedly, guessing at what he can see. You pause between his legs again, lowering your head to kiss at his base, cup his balls, arching your back a little more so he can really see the angle you’re exposed at in the mirror behind you.

He doesn’t know where to look. Where your mouth and hands are, teasing at his cock again, or where he can see your glistening pussy, tilted up, shining, ready. 

He’s losing his fucking mind.

He reaches over, curling his body around yours to land a firm smack against your ass. You whimper at the contact, hot pant of air against his skin, eyes glassy again as he groans, watching the flesh ripple, watching the claim he has staked begin to form. 

You move to kneel, coming face to face, your eyes wide, wanton, desperate.

‘Fuck me, Frankie,’ you whisper, pleading. ‘Please, fuck me -’

He shakes his head, kissing your temple.

‘Gotta get you ready first, bebita,’ he breathes, pulling you closer, moving your legs. ‘Come here for me, turn around. Come closer. Like this.’ He arranges you so you’re sat, cradled between his legs, your back to his front. He spreads your legs wide, hooks them with his ankles so you can’t close them. Runs his hands down your body, your eyes tracing his movements - every squeeze, every pinch, every circle he draws. 

Your breath hitches as his hands travel lower, parting your folds again, feathering over your clit. You turn your head to speak directly into his ear.

‘Don’t tease, Morales.’ You purr. He chuckles, turning to peck at your lips.

‘I won’t, princesa.’

You cry out as he sinks two fingers inside your heat, making good on his promise. Your chin dips, but his spare hand comes up to cradle it gently, angling your head so you can watch him work you in the mirror. The two of you rendered speechless for a moment - just gasps, moans, the slick sounds of your cunt in the room. His dark eyes on yours over your shoulder, in the glass. The firm press, scissor, pulse, of his fingers inside you.

The silence is only broken by a ragged moan from you as he presses against that delicious, spongy spot tucked away inside you, and he chuckles in response.

‘Look at you, baby,’ he breathes in your ear, ‘So pretty. Been thinking about you like this all week.’

You moan as he curls his fingers at a particularly delicious angle, pressing the meat of his palm against your clit. Your hand closes around his wrist, keeping him there, pulling him away - a mix of both. The feel of him is too wonderful to be rid of, too much to take.

‘Longest fuckin’ week of my life.’ He growls, biting at your earlobe, flicking his wrist faster again, drawing a desperate cry from your lips. A pressure building, your pussy obscene in the quiet, so fucking wet, and you can hear Frankie thinking it, marvelling at how your body responds, how you leak and clench and writhe in his grip. 

There’s that pressure building again, your breath heaving in your lungs, cunt getting slicker, tighter. Frankie coos in your ear, his other arm still banded around your middle. You hiccup, moan, arch your back against him. 

‘Fuck,’ you murmur, ‘Fuck, close.’

He hums, tracing his nose along the fine skin of your neck.

‘Yeah?’ He says, voice cracking a little. ‘S’that good? Tell me. Tell me it’s good, baby.’

You whine again, thrashing your head against his shoulder, driving your hips down onto his fingers, pleading for more.

‘So good,’ you moan, ‘So fucking good, Frankie. You have no idea.’

You can feel him rutting against you - slowly - all velvet skin, wiry hair, sticky wetness. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, licking, nipping, kissing alternately, his fingers pressed deep inside you, other arm loosening around your middle, hand playing messily with your clit. His eyes in the mirror, trapping you there with him. Unashamed in their exploration of your body, greedy, watching your soaked cunt pull him in, the sopping sounds she makes as she tries to hold him there. You’re surprised at how hot it makes you feel, how wanted, how turned on. The streak of slick and sweat against your skin, Frankie's wet fingers that spread it there.

You whine again, skin burning, glistening with sweat. Tip your head back, onto his shoulder, to nip his skin impatiently between your teeth. 

‘Frankie,’ you murmur, breath sweet against his ear, ‘Wanna come on your cock.’

‘Fuck,’ he rasps, ‘Is that what you want? You want my cock?’

You moan again, louder, drunk on the feeling between your legs, his continued movement. 

‘Yes.’ You hiss, as he sucks a mark onto your neck.

‘Say it. Need to hear you say it.’

‘Want your cock. Need your cock, Francisco.’

You swear you see his eyes roll into the back of his head in the glass of the mirror, and then he’s moving fast, with precision.

He eases his fingers from your pussy, gentle, not a drop of hesitation. He pushes your hips until they rise, tilting your whole body forwards until you’re on your knees, hands pressed into the mattress. You feel like jelly, so loose and warm-limbed you’re sure you could be moulded into any shape he wished.

‘Good girl,’ he mumbles, pressing hot kisses against your shoulders, down your spine. ‘Good fucking girl.’ 

His hands are on your hips, ready to move you, but in a second, you’re turning to face him. He’s watching you, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re here, that he’s here. You place a knee on either side of his, one hand pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, titling his head back so you can slant your mouth against his, licking between his lips as you lower yourself gently, rocking your soaked folds over his sensitive cock. 

The movement knocks the air from his lungs, mouth stuttering against yours, unable to kiss you back. Feeling you on his fingers was one thing, but having you sliding against him like this is a whole nother. You giggle at him, and a whimper clears the back of his throat.

‘You okay, baby?’ You smirk, voice hoarse. He supposes it’s only fair, now you’ve got the upper hand. He lets you keep it, hands roving desperately, kneading and pulling at the flesh of your ass, mouth dipping to your nipple, letting you glide over him. Now processing how hard he is, how painfully his cock throbs. 

He’s ready to be greedy, ready to find out how he fits inside you. 

He pulls you up, closer, by the hips. Grips his cock firmly between your legs, swipes it between your folds, making sure to bump against your clit just to hear you whimper.

You brace your hands against his chest as you rest your leaking hole against him, the tip just breaching the tight ring of muscle. You whine, scratching fine lines into his skin.

He swallows - so handsome. Dark curls, dark eyes. Strong body, a body that feels like home, like someone who has always kept you safe, has always made you feel seen.

‘Look at me,’ he says, for the second time. You drag your eyes to him, stalling your movements. He waits until he knows your brain has caught up with your body. ‘Slowly.’ 

You nod, lowering yourself against the blunt head of his cock, clenching your teeth at the sweet stretch. He anchors you with one hand cupped to your cheek, the other firm at your ass, listening to your hiccuped moans, your shuddering breaths, releasing his through his teeth. You’re so warm, so wet, so tight.

And he fills you to the brim. Every inch you take a marvel, pressing against every nerve ending, every tender spot, like he was made for you. You settle when you reach his base, clit catching on the wiry hairs there, rocking slightly to feel him even better, letting your slick soak him, feeling yourself pull tight, loosen, ebb, flow.

You knock your forehead with his, finding his eyes. Bright, fiery, needy. You close the space between you, kissing him as you pant together. Feeling so full, so open, forgetting every worry, every niggling doubt. You rest your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, shaking as you lift your hips, feeling the thick glide of him, clenching, releasing, dropping back down slowly, again, listening to the squelch of him moving inside you, desperate, needy little noises leaving your mouth. It’s intoxicating - the more you move, the louder you get, the louder he gets. Deep rumbles of praise, heavy grunts, hands soothing, pinching every inch of skin they can find. You grind a little more on the downwards movement this time, keening at the scrape against that bundle of nerves again, choking on your words.

‘God.’

‘That’s it, Bu- baby.’ He groans, and a huff of amusement leaves you at the slip.

‘What, am I not Bug anymore?’

It’s breathless, your tease, not your usual gnashing comeback. He groans, teeth grazing the bud of your nipple.

‘I am not using the nickname my daughter gave you when I’m inside you.’

You giggle at the thought, body clenching a little. Frankie moans, open mouthed, eyes squeezing shut, hands grasping at you.

‘Don’t laugh,’ he gasps, ‘Holy fuck, please don’t laugh. I’ll come.’

You hum, giving in, dragging your body up and down again, smooth, slow, letting the feeling, the warmth, the pressure, the ache begin to build again. You lean back a little, one hand on his thigh, one loose on his shoulder, and the change in angle has you crying out, cursing, Frankie watching your face before his eyes fall down your body - beautiful, glistening in the orange light. The curve of your waist, the quickening bounce of your tits, and then your cunt. Watches as he disappears inside you, watches as you stretch around him, watches the glisten of your wetness down his length, where it’s tacky at the bottom, staining the two of you where you’re connected. You reach back with your other hand, moving faster, leaning back further so he can really watch you fuck yourself onto him.

Your movements grow hungrier, a little more uncoordinated; stomach tensing, mouth hanging open, cut off, broken cries of his name, feeling yourself wind tighter, spill more onto his lap. He runs a large palm down your body, thumb finding your clit, catching it, rubbing firm circles. He feels you clench for real this time, whole body shuttering at the feeling, your hand clutching his.

‘Fuck, Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Please, I’ll -’

You’re cut off as he changes his rhythm, his pressure, finding the pace that makes you moan with every breath, mouth stretching in a smile.

‘You’ll what, princesa?’

You whine, huffing, thighs burning, release so close you can almost taste it.

‘Motherfucker -’ you bite, no real venom.

‘Words, baby.’ He coos.

‘I’ll come,’ you pant, ‘Frankie - I - I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, please, gonna come, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie -’

You sob, loudly, euphoric as your orgasm shatters through you, body cramping, juddering. A gush of liquid between you, your pussy squeezing him tight, so tight -

‘Good girl, bebita, such a good fucking girl -’

And he’s flipping you, deftly, a hand protecting your skull, so you’re on your back, mind and body reeling as you continue to shudder, still calling out for him, nails carving pink half moons in his shoulders as you wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, the angle deepening, his body pressed flush to yours.

‘Fuck,’ he snarls, ‘Feel like heaven, baby, wanna watch you come every day, every hour, all the time -’ he’s babbling, he knows he is. But he’s caught up, entranced by how you look beneath him, his thrusts sloppy already, watching your eyes roll back, your chest heave, tits bounce. Lower again, where he’s fucking into you, soaked with your release. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, gently tilting your head to make you see what he’s seeing, to watch him fuck you.

You clench painfully around him, gasping - shit, Frankie, oh my God, so good, so good - your body rallying for another, senses overwhelmed, aflame with pleasure. He clutches your thigh, hitches your legs higher up his waist. Licks at your pulse point, sucks different mark there, leaning back to take you in again.

‘Look so pretty, bebita,’ he moans, ‘All fucked out on my cock like this.’

And it’s like a switch is flicked. Frankie sees it pass through your eyes, a wicked glimmer. The way the corners of your lips twitch, even as your eyelashes flutter at the sensation of him drawing his thick cock back out of you, even as your body whirs with a second orgasm.

‘Yeah, baby?’ you coo, ‘You like how I look taking your cock?’

He can’t say anything in reply, mouth only hanging open as you start to talk again.

‘Like how I look when I’m full of you? Wanna be full of you all the time, Frankie. Wanna feel you even when you’re not inside me like this. Wanna - fuck - wanna feel you dripping out of me -’

He groans roughly, almost animalistic.

‘Don’t say that.’ He grits.

You moan at his tone, fingers twisting through his hair, mind getting hazy as you flutter around him.

‘But I want it, Francisco,’ you rasp, ‘Want you to come inside me, want you to fuck me full of you -’

He bares his teeth a little, nipping at your bottom lip. Balls drawing up, heat at the base of his spine, faster, harder -

‘You want that?’

‘Please, Frankie.’

He moans again, sees stars when he closes his eyes, as your whimpers pitch higher.

‘Gonna come,’ you whisper, ‘Come, Frankie, please, come inside me -’

You’re not sure who’s first, you’re not sure who’s louder. A shout of your name, his name, ripping through the air, you clamping down around him, the jerk of him inside you as he paints your walls with his cum, fucking it into you as long as he can, the squelch, the sensitivity drawing out your highs.

He eases when it gets too much, rolling you onto your side, keeping you full until he softens enough to slip out, kissing all over your face. You share breath, teeth knocking against each other, tongues gliding along lips, whining as you feel him begin to drip out of you.

Fingers slipping against his damp skin, pulling him close, sharing whispered secrets, tugging him closer still when he starts to harden again against your thigh.

Hours slip by, the darkness behind the curtains blooming into something like daybreak. He tastes you again, fills you again, you make sure to take him in your mouth.

And when the first birds begin to sing, you are fast asleep in each others’ arms.

His fingers are tracing your shoulder, your face pressed to his chest, murmuring conversation in the light of the morning. Sun stretching through your clumsily closed curtains, rustle of the trees outside the window, cracked open for fresh air when the scent of sex was laying heavy in the room. Legs tangled together, further entwined in your sheets. 

In a moment of quiet, Frankie speaks.

‘Your picture’s fallen over.’

Twisting your head, you look to what he’s pointing out and snort, burying your face in his warm skin.

‘What?’ He asks, amusement curling the word.

You pull a face.

‘It didn’t fall over. I turned it over.’ You admit.

A beat.

‘Why?’ 

You rest your chin on his pectoral, taking in the crease of confusion between his brows. You lean to kiss it away, because you can, now. Because you never have to think about it without doing it again. 

You squeeze your lip between your teeth.

‘It’s uh - it’s a picture of me and Dad.’

He frowns again, eyes searching your face. You exhale.

‘I didn’t… I didn't want him to - see?’

He chuckles softly, pink dusting his cheeks as he swipes a hand across his jaw, thinking, remembering.

‘I didn’t see you do that -’

‘I did it before I came over.’

You cringe a little at the confession. Silly now that it’s happened, but still.

‘Before…?’

You nod. Mhm. A smile teases at his lips, eyes lighting with mischief.

‘But we didn’t - I mean - we didn’t plan it -’

‘I know,’ you groan, hiding your face again. ‘I just had a feeling.’

Frankie snorts, squeezing your hip.

‘Good feeling, baby.’

‘Asshole.’ You giggle, nipping his skin between your teeth.

He laughs again, shifting you in his arms so he can hold you properly.

‘Good job I didn’t try anything last week, then,’ he smiles, ‘Can’t have him thinking I’m not a gentleman -’

‘Frankie, you literally came in your pants -’

He gasps in mock offence, squeezing you tighter.

‘And so did you!’

You laugh, properly, against him, chests leaping against each other. You press your lips to his neck as he presses his to your hair.

‘Hell of a first kiss, though.’ He chuckles.

He feels you tense as your heart leaps in your ribs. 

One last secret.

He loosens his grip, watching you, a flicker of worry cooling his joy. You chew your lip, brow furrowing, eyes flicking from somewhere in the middle distance to meet his.

‘What, baby?’ He whispers. You inhale deeply.

‘How much do you remember from Pride?’

He grimaces, relieved at your answering smile.

‘After eleven? Not a lot.’

You hum, pulling yourself from his arms. He lets you go reluctantly, watching as you stand. Your gorgeous body - gorgeous curves, the places he’s gotten to know so well over the last few hours, the marks that have begun to bloom after his lips and teeth. 

You rummage around in a dresser draw, turning to face him with a single thin, glossy strip of paper in your hands. You step back towards him, eyes catching on the way he's sprawled out before you. Golden skin, broad shoulders, one hand behind his head, bicep flexed. One leg thrown out from beneath the covers, his modesty - or what’s left of it - barely hidden by your sheets. A flash of heat moves through you. You bite your lip.

‘Do you remember the photobooth?’

‘Mhm. A little.’

You nestle back down next to him, the slip of paper still clutched to your chest. Your eyes dart to his again.

‘Our first kiss wasn’t last week.’

‘What?’

His eyes are wide, mind whirring as you hold out the paper for him to take.

A series of five shots of the two of you. Laughing, close, and then with mouths pressed together, hungry. The last one messy, still locked in a searing kiss, but he can see the drunk grins peeking through.

He exhales heavily.

‘We kissed at Pride?’ He asks, bewildered.

You nod, twisting your hands in your lap.

‘We did.’

He looks back at you, still confused. A little worried, a little disappointed. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes, ‘I don’t remember -’

You laugh, knocking his shoulder with yours.

‘Neither did I, baby.’ You say, kissing his curls.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

You suck a breath in through your teeth, shrug.

‘You didn’t remember, and I - I panicked. Didn’t know if it was just a thing for you or, you know, a thing.’

‘Like last week?’

You nod, sombre.

‘Like last week.’

He shakes his head.

‘You’re my favourite idiot, you know that?’

You scoff, brightening. 

‘Dick. I had no idea -’

‘I love you.’

The simplicity of it takes your breath away. Winds you, catches you right in the chest, battering against your heart.

His eyes are shining, and the truth of it is there. Has always been there. Somehow, you just never saw it before. 

I love you.

The weeks of wanting, of worrying. Of denying, of lying awake thinking about it -

‘I love you, too.’

His eyes crease at the corners, mouth lifting, tongue peeking from between his teeth.

‘Yeah?’ He breathes.

‘Yeah.’ You whisper. He swallows.

‘Think a part of me always has.’

There’s a prickle in his throat, heat behind his eyes. He wonders when it happened for you.

Wonders whether you had him from that first glimpse from Lucia’s room, from searching for bugs in your yard. Your tenderness with his daughter, the laughter in your eyes. From those moments you curled into his side on his sofa, when he’d come home, so relieved to find you in his house.

Knows, for sure, you’d had him long before his realisation on his porch, sand still between your toes.

He clears his throat, tangling your fingers.

‘That mean I get to call you mine, now?’

You smile, eyes watery. Hey, neighbour. I’m Frankie - from across the way. His curls in the sunshine, water balloons over fences. His broad back to you as he cooked dinner, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders. His gentle hands as you cried, phone calls through kitchen windows.

‘Please.’ You whisper.

The lightness in his beam is infectious, a tear spilling over as he kisses you and kisses you. Mine. Mine. Palms skating over skin, tangled in hair, an endless moment in morning sunshine. Your heart swells impossibly, stitched together, glued together by this man in your bed. You don’t know when he did it. But he holds it now, whole, fixing something you know your Dad never wanted to break.

‘Thank you.’ You rasp against his lips, chin wobbling. He doesn't ask what for. He knows, just by the look in your eyes. He shakes his head minutely, voice thick, quiet.

‘My honour.’

He holds you close, bodies melded together. You never want to let go, the tightness in your chest easing again as he makes you laugh, as you say it again, outloud, breathless. Mine. The whispers only broken by rumbles of noise outside, voices -

Deep voices in his backyard you can hear even from here. You groan into each others’ mouths, the sound dissolving into a laugh.

‘They’ll be wanting breakfast.’ You giggle quietly.

‘They can cook,’ he mumbles against your lips, ‘I’ve got mine right here.’

He squeezes your ass, dragging your hips against his thigh. Still wet, leaking from the two of you, something heating in his chest at the thought.

You hum, not helping the case by kissing down his chest.

‘Should really say goodbye at least.’

He grunts as you nibble at his belly, neither acquiescing or disagreeing.

‘And then,’ you continue, ‘I remember something about you keeping me in bed for a week?’

You pause, looking up at him. He curls a hand around your cheek, so tender. 

‘Me too.’ He whispers. 

You grin as you clamber back up his body, planting a firm kiss against his lips.

‘Couple of hours,’ you promise yourself, ‘And then I have you all to myself.’

He chuckles against your lips, an eyebrow lifting, repeating your words from a week ago - a lifetime ago - back to you.

‘We’ve got the whole summer, Bug.’

You giggle, wiggling your eyebrows.

‘Plenty of time for a ride in the sky, then, too.’ You grin, nudging him.

He presses a long, sweet kiss to your mouth.

‘I’d take you to the moon if I could.’

[foxika]

surprised i haven’t see any fox lives aus exploring the idea of palpatine sending fox to hemlock/tantiss after getting his neck snapped Hemlock hesitates, staring through the glass window of the examination room and observing its main occupant. His medical staff fusses over their patient, a clone, as they record his vitals and situate the room for long term occupancy. "It is... Unlikely, that this clone will ever walk again, Your Majesty. The damage done to his neck is irreversible, that he even retained mobility in his torso is—" Hemlock had said. He was scrolling through a rather dire injury report. The Emperor waved his hand dismissively, black robes flowing with the motion. "I am aware, but what I require is not impossible. I will take care of the most severe damages to my commander..." My commander? Hemlock looked away from the datapad and to the immobile clone floating in the bacta tank. "...And when the time comes, I will require your facility to do the rest."

Hemlock refrained from frowning, keeping his expression neutral, albeit a bit dubious. If Emperor Palpatine wanted to waste his time with a lost cause, he wouldn't argue. Not as long as he continued to receive the necessary resources and further funding for his projects. Now, when Hemlock gazes upon that same clone all those months ago, he sits properly upright on the examination table, back straight and form perfect like a soldier. The clone turns his head, his golden eyes-a deviation from the standard brown, colour bordering unnatural in a human- meeting Hemlock's through the glass. Hemlock raises a brow in response but the clone doesn't react, only breaking eye contact when one of the medical aids calls for his attention. Folding his arms behind his back, Hemlock turns to stalk down the hall. He would never say it aloud, but he was irked that this... Chore was now his responsibility. He was a scientist! A progressive researcher and an invaluable asset to the Empire. That his facility is being forced to take on the task of physical therapy and rehabilitation, of all things, for one simple, damaged clone was insulting.

Hemlock exhales, forcing his posture to relax. His Imperial Majesty was making a mistake, clearly, but it was no matter. Hemlock would only need to check in occasionally; he could still focus his efforts where it really matters. His commander would be carefully monitored in the meantime, and maybe, Hemlock could learn how Palpatine managed to reverse what should have been a deathly injury. ♠♠♠♠

i imagine palpatine does ambiguous hand wave force healing to get fox back into tip top shape. well mostly back. fox still has a lot to work through. and then sends him off to wherever hemlock is, for reasons. he doesnt need hemlock's facility to host fox, he could easily give fox the care he needs closer to home. so maybe to have fox keep an eye on him and his progress, who knows really from there i kinda have a few paths this could take, one with omega eventually coming across fox, being mildly interested in him(he's not held in a cell like the rest of the clones, he's not a commando, why is he here?) and maybe later, nala se assigns her to him to keep her further out of the way of hemlock. all leading up to when omega and crosshair escape, she insists fox comes with them. fox doesnt want to (paranoid), crosshair doesnt want him to(also paranoid). think of the fox and rex reunion... the echo confrontation... the wolffe reunion... howzer bitching at both crosshair and fox... the drama of it all. another idea being fox meeting scorch again. since arca company barracks are stationed on coruscant, i imagine that fox has run into delta squad at least once. delta wasn't on coruscant often, and fox is busy guy. probably also doesn't care much for sobde either. (i imagine him and maze sending very petty emails to each other. fox saying "fuck you, i outrank you captain" in corporate)

and maybe when shit goes down on tantiss, he convinces scorch to dip with him. "you got your ass kicked, man. let's go."

throughout all of this fox maintains a creepy, unsettling presence on the base.

[shinesurge]

Webcomic rings run by people within the community are cool and you should support them

I've been loudly struggling a little bit with corporate webcomic Stuff lately so I want to mention something positive to balance it out: webrings run by small groups of creators earnestly trying to support each other are slowly making a comeback and I for one am delighted.

If you weren't around for them in the before times, webrings were just some folks who hang out a lot who feature each other on their websites. That's literally it lmao. There's generally no money involved and it only really functions the way it's supposed to if people have control over their own websites AND genuinely want to participate and get excited about other folks' work, which means the practice has pretty well fallen by the wayside over the years in webcomic culture given. Everything. In the rare event someone decides to do something like this it's usually in the form of a link list somewhere on their website; this doesn't usually indicate any sort of mutual support, it's just a list of what the creator is reading themselves.

A webring, though, is an official banner or hub that people gather under intentionally where each member is more or less on equal footing. It's essentially the concept of "a rising tide lifts all boats" put into practice, each creator brings their own audience to the table in a passive, opt-in sort of way that's different from working for a publisher since there isn't necessarily a Top Spot or a paycheck everyone's vying for, and individuals retain autonomy over both their own work and how (if) they promote each other. You're all at your own tables in an artist alley rather than fighting over the table in the front of the book store, essentially.

I have two rings and one collective for you today!

Webcomic Ring was brought to my attention AGES ago by Holly, one of the artists featured there, and I might have brought it up at some point but I'm doing it again lmao. This is exactly the kind of thing you ought to be looking for; a small group of enthusiastic folks having a good time making their weird little comics. You probably haven't heard of much in the catalog, that's PERFECT in the context of webcomics that's where the GOOD SHIT is. Finding something like this is A Gift go dig around in the longboxes for a while.

Then a few people have pointed me in the direction of the KNIFEBEETLE collective and that's neat too! Most of the comics there are already fairly well-known, but the vibes are excellent and I haven't seen a lot of talk about the collective /itself/ outside folks already in the know. I think it's important for this sort of thing to be more visible to folks who aren't terminally steeped in webcomic culture already so here I am telling you about it. You were probably reading several of these before I suggested it, but that's how a webring works! For it to do its job you should take those bigger creators' tacit recommendation of the less popular titles as a sign to go read something new and strange. Wild, I know these are practices held over from the old internet, but I think we should try and bring them back.

Lastly, I want to mention Spiderforest, which is a collective (slightly different from a webring) BUT still a very cool project readers starved for new stuff should pay attention to.

You've probably seen Spiderforest kicking around for a long time already; they're wonderful and have always been an overall positive force in the community in my experience. They really focus on building up a community, and especially welcoming newcomers and helping them get their feet under them. Full disclosure, I've been asked to apply by a few different folks over the years and the only reason I never did is I don't have the ability to participate in their forums and such as frequently as they want their creators to; it's a very good system (from my outside perspective) that might contribute to the community staying mostly healthy in ways that art communities usually don't and I appreciate it a lot!

ANYWAYS that's all I got for now, just trying to balance out some bad feelings I've been having by talking about some good stuff. Please go binge an archive this week.

[lokh]

laishuroweek day 7 - roleswap

in this AU laios is still the main character. so which roles did they swap exactly? here they switch the backstories heir that ran from home -> heir that stayed back (and possibly unhappy about it)

extraordinarily long notes under the cut

shuro

overwhelmed by the pressure on him to succeed his father, shuro ran away when he was younger. he intended to come back, but various things happened (stowed away on a ship, ended up far away……) and he has to tough it out for a while. maybe he gets discovered on the ship and he's put to work. but maybe after a while he begins to appreciate this freedom that hes never had before, and like that he grows up outside his family's influence doing odd jobs and physical labor. he thinks 'just a little longer, just a little longer…' and before he knows it, years have passed. ends up at the dungeon working with various parties until laios shows up.

laios

laios ended up staying back, maybe at the last moment feeling guilt for leaving falin behind. a little more withdrawn than in canon, particularly when falin leaves to go to school. is trying to put off marrying his fiance and succeeding - finally convinces his father that before he becomes responsible for the village that he should try travelling and becoming more worldly, perhaps promising that he will bring back something that will be 'worth it'. rekindling his interest in monsters, he sails to kahka brud and then to the dungeon with falin (who he still visited and she either insisted on coming or simply stowed away lmao).

differences

this is fun because i think laios will still be interested in shuro, but in this setting would be more restrained and come off colder. he would come off as more 'leader-like', more like his father (though he would not like to be told this At All). in some ways this is good (keeping boundaries from eg party members trying to marry him), but in others maybe not so (less personable, less straightforward). but in an environment where he's finally away from his father, maybe his weirder side breaks through……. this is ultimately what catches shuro's attention, because who would have guessed that one of those uppity political types (first impression of laios) would have such a fervent and sincere interest in monsters……. (that's probably the other problem. in passing laios' interest in monsters may come off more sinister, a la kabru's thoughts on his alignment with monsters)

comparatively shuro would have had to adopt more of the north's mannerisms and culture (eg clothing). hes always going to be more reserved, that's his natural personality, but he might be more open and curious, but also more straightforward, as growing up around people outside the archipelago might have him adapt to their style of communication. shrewd and plays it close to the chest. would still get along with kabru, but i wonder if there might be some friction (position as odd one out growing up, now they're a bit too similar and his status isn't as clear cut). one valuable skill he brings to parties (besides his strength) is his ability to tell apart treasure insects from real treasure. i think also while hes still pretty powerful, his technique would be less polished as a result of leaving home so early, and his style would be more of a hodgepodge of things he picked up while travelling.

from the start of the narrative

after the total party wipe that gets falin eaten, they end up on the surface and to their surprise find shuro's retainers waiting for him. because of course they were able to track him down, that's their whole deal. shuro is totally shaken despite his inward assurances that he would go back eventually. they insist that he return with them and ultimately he goes. meanwhile, laios decides to head back into the dungeon for falin. things proceed more or less as in canon.

the fight

shuro eventually agreed to return to wa, on the condition that the retainers help him find falin. so when he shows up and finds laios' party, he's still hungry and tired. i don't think he blows up initially when laios tells him what they did to falin - his countenance is more grim, and he doesn't enthusiastically go on about the monsters they ate (though he wishes to). shuro is still unhappy about it (here, his focus is less on the trouble they could get with the authorities and more that the dungeon itself is mysterious and dangerous, and who knows what meddling with it with ancient magic would do) but he doesn't threaten laios with a sword lol. they discover chimera falin and they DO get in a fight, but the reasons change

in canon, shuro berates laios for his apparent thoughtlessness after he announces his plan of going after the mad sorcerer, and laios hits him first. in this scenario, laios brings up the possibility of going after the mad sorcerer, but ultimately capitulates to the idea of returning to the surface and informing the authorities instead of pursuing falin. shuro hits him first. he berates laios for his callousness, and then his indecisiveness and cowardice - how could he make the decision to use ancient magic, and then when faced with the consequences give up so easily and try to conform to his half-hearted belief in what they 'should' do? laios fights back, pissed that he thinks it was an easy decision to make. everything they've done down to eating and sleeping was decided because it was in their best interest to do, unlike shuro who apparently made his way back on impulse and without planning.

shuro then airs his true grievances about laios' character: he's sick of laios' mixed signals. laios is just as interested in shuro as in canon, but instead of pestering him constantly with questions, he just. stares. and it's really hard to tell whether he's angry with him or not when he's just glaring silently, but then he'll do something thoughtful like offer the spot closest to the fire when he notices shuro is cold, or takes over his watch for him because he knows he has trouble staying up and going back to sleep after second watch, etc. or once in a while he'll actually ask something, and then only reply with a terse nod. what the hell? and he's like that all the time, and shuro better observes it when he acts that way with other people. why won't he just make himself clear? laios gets mad because he'd been doing that out of consideration - he knows if he'd been too much that it would have put him off, and that he maintains a distance because that's what he's supposed to do. he was just excited to make his first friend and didn't want to screw it up.

they tire themselves out and shuro comes clean about liking falin and his feelings about what's happened. laios says that shuro was right about his indecisiveness, abandoning the idea of what he's supposed to do and deciding that they would go after the mad sorcerer after all, because above all else he has a responsibility to his sister. he says that falin deserves to hear shuro's feelings straight from him - but then adds, awkwardly, that he'll put in a good word for him. shuro says, 'that's what i envy about you' (his commitment to doing what he thinks is right even when it's tough or he doesn't want to). shuro decides that he'll return to wa, if only to clear the air and come to a decision on whether he'll pursue his father's position (if that's even a possibility still), and he gives laios the bell. his return is hindered when the elves show up, and you know the rest =p

the ship

i think laios would sometimes blurt out information he thinks shuro would find interesting, or randomly hand him things, and because of the way he acts normally shuro wouldn't know why he was doing it. falin or marcille would have to tell him later because falin had done the same thing. even in this universe shuro would be unbelievably frustrated and endeared by him.

in this position, shuro liking falin is actually more dangerous because there are less obstacles between them getting together LMAO, but i think because he's less sheltered in this setting, he's not as deeply enamoured. with laios, he sees a bit of how he could have ended up, but is charmed by those weird parts that break through despite it all

laios would also see shuro and think of how he could have ended up himself, if he'd really left all those years ago - sailing for distant lands and becoming something other than what he is, a mixture of cultures. in the end, those differences are still what initially draws laios to him................

i'm not sure where they go from here to be honest. does shuro decide to stay in wa? does he choose to keep travelling? does he stay with laios???!!! maybe he makes the decision to stay in melini, and he and laios dance around each other for eternity. but well that's what i got hope you liked it <3