#if I���m right about this I am going to be fucking INSUFFERABLE and that is a threat

[fingertipsmp3]

Every single day I wish I was on a sitcom or something so I could look into the camera like ‘do you see this shit?’ and break the fourth wall

[that-basic-simp]

Touch Her, I Dare You

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: Blood, Loss of limbs WC: 1.1k+

I knew Mizu was protective, I just wasn't expecting her to be so protective over me. Every time we go somewhere, she is either standing very close by or literally on top of me. It was a bit awkward at first, since I would turn and she'd be right behind me or whenever I tried to talk to someone in private, she would be standing there, just watching the person.

"You don't need to protect me, you know," I said to Mizu.

"I know I don't need to. I want to."

"How noble of you," I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, either I offer protection, or you'll end up somewhere you don't want to be. So it's your choice. The former or the latter."

I let out a sigh. She was right. She was the reason I wasn't in a brothel somewhere lying with men I don't want to be with.

"Fine," I sighed.

"Besides," she pinned me to a wall, her hand trailing softly up the side of my thigh and to my hip, where she rested her hand there. Rubbing little circles against my hip, she leaned towards me.

"Wouldn't want you to get hurt. The pretty little girl that you are," she smirked at me.

"M-Mizu."

My feelings for Mizu were obvious to the point she commented about it within minutes. It was how I looked into her eyes and complimented them any chance I could get. While I heard people disgrace her eyes and tell her she was something she wasn't, I thought that she needed to hear how much I loved them. It wasn't because she needed to hear it, I wanted to tell her. It was the truth. I did love her eyes. I loved her. But whatever we had going on between us wasn't really official. I don't even think Mizu understands her own feelings. It was times like this where I questioned her feelings and her flirtatious nature only around me. Maybe she did have feelings for me, but didn't know how to act upon it. Oh this touch starved and emotionally unavailable human she was. She was insufferable, but again, I chose her.

She leaned close to me, our lips mere inches apart. Right when she was about to press her lips against mine, she pulled back. Just another graze. She was such a fucking tease and she knew it. Smirking at me, she pulled her entire body away, sitting down in the corner of the noodle shop we were in. We were sort of in the back where no one really paid attention to us. Which was Mizu's choice of course. Sighing, I sat down across from her, shooting a glare in her direction.

"What?" she asked, a smug smirk on her lips.

"You're such a fucking tease," I grumbled.

"And you aren't at times?"

"Not as much as you are, Mizu."

She shrugged and someone walked over to us, setting tea and noodles down.

"Well, aren't you a beautiful one."

Turning, a man was standing before Mizu and I. His eyes were on me and I could tell, without even looking, that Mizu was staring him down. I just flashed him a smile before turning to begin eating the noodles that were served.

"What brings a beauty such as yourself out here?"

"Beat it," Mizu said, deepening her voice. Oh I loved it when she did that.

"Was I talking to you?" he turned towards Mizu, a stifled laugh coming from him. "Can you even see through those glasses of yours? You look like a blind beggar."

"I think people need to get more clever with their insults. Every single one of them has been used."

I smiled, almost cracking into a small laugh. The man looked in between me and Mizu before stepping towards her. He grabbed Mizu by her cloak and lifted her up.

"Who do you think you are?"

"Please, we just want to eat."

"And I am trying to talk to a pretty lady. A lady who deserves better company."

He stepped towards me once more, about to place a hand on my shoulder. Mizu removed her sword from the belt, but it was still in its sheath. Placing the end of it underneath his chin, he glared her way.

"Now who do you think you are?"

"Touch her. I dare you," Mizu stared down at his hands. "With hands like yours, I'm sure noodles isn't the only thing you touch."

He smirked darkly, "You would vomit at the things these hands have touched."

"Hope you washed them before serving food."

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

That was it. I wasn't eating these noodles. Not after that.

"Seems you tarnished the lady's appetite," Mizu said.

"I can help her regain it back," he pushed Mizu's sheathed sword away from him.

Kneeling down, he reached over, about to take my kimono into his hands. Mizu, removing her sword now, placed the blade underneath his chin, forcing his head back.

"Last warning. Touch her. I dare you."

He turned his head and smirked, "Never dare someone to do anything."

He placed a firm hand on my shoulder and within a blink of an eye, his entire hand was laying on the ground. Blood poured out of the wound and he grabbed the nub with his only hand, screaming as his eyes bulged in fear.

"Want the other hand, too?" Mizu asked, placing her blade at his wrist.

He slowly turned his head to look up at Mizu, who had a dark glare in her eyes. Quickly, he stood up and grabbed his hand, running off. Sheathing her sword, she offered her hand to me. Taking it, she pulled me up and we walked out of the noodle shop. Others were watching, but I didn't really care at this point. I smiled, knowing the great lengths Mizu would do to keep me safe. It showed as her arm was around my waist, holding me close to her.

"You ok?" she asked after we were a good ways away from that village.

"I am. Thank you, Mizu."

She smiled at me. It was a rare smile only I got to see. And it wasn't her cocky smile she brandished whenever she won a fight or something. It was her genuine smile.

"Can I see your eyes?" I turned to face her.

She stopped and nodded. Pushing back the Kasa to where is sat at the back of her head, she reached up and removed the orange tinted glasses. Once her stark, ice like blue eyes were revealed, I couldn't help myself but cup her face in my hands and pull her in for a sweet and gentle kiss. Pulling away once it was finished, a soft look appeared in her eyes as her smile that was already there softened.

"Thank you, Mizu."

"No one lays a hand on you. Not ever."

"Only you," I smirked, winking at her.

Her face flushed a bright pink as I walked off, chuckling to myself.

[garoujo]

THE WAY YOU WRAP AROUND ME IS A PROB — GENSHIN IMPACT

feat : scaramouche, alhaitham, tartaglia, kazuha + diluc

♱ warnings — f!reader, premature ejaculation, creampies, m!receiving oral, choking in childe’s [m!receiving], cunninglingus, sensitive alhaitham. note / i’ve written this 4 2 fandoms because i am absolutely insane over it idc < 3 so bllk version coming soon !

・✶ ｡ﾟ SCARAMOUCHE

scaramouche couldn’t help how pretty you looked between his thighs, pressing suckled kisses up the sensitive pink glands of his cock before you’re laving your tongue across the precum gathered at the tip — tapping it onto the muscle after as he hisses between his teeth.

“is this your attempt at teasing me? p-pathetic.” he hisses, jaw clenching and it’s amusing to watch him fall apart like this despite the way he’d never admit the effect you have on him. you let your lips close around him before you suck languidly, hollowing your cheeks before you let your throat go lax and push him down deeper.

scaramouche can feel every fucking twitch of the space around him, squeezing around the shaft as you swallow and trace your tongue around the sensitive underside of his cock. he’s like fucking putty when you give him a wet look, your cheek pressing against his hip before you start your slow, wet withdrawal.

“that’s it, fuck—just keep those pretty eyes on me.” he grits, he’s already so fucking close and he can’t even begin to try and stop the desire he feels twist deep in his abdomen. every slow, pretty blink you give him only pushes him closer to the edge, feeling you suckle at the tip before you’re pushing back down.

“oh you’re really this desperate for me? go ahead. do your worst.”

you’ve barely started, but scaramouche watches the first tear of the night trail down your cheeks as you gag and splutter around him — tight tunnel of your throat twitching and squeezing around him so intoxicatingly and this image of you is what really fucking gets him. he can’t help but throw his head back as he cums, hissing through his teeth as a needy, whimper drips from his lips.

you retreat back for a proper taste of him, swallowing around the sensitive nerves as he throbs on your tongue and presses his palm to the back of your head — prolonging his orgasm as he pushes you back down to swallow around him.

“hah—i guess this is one of the few things you’re good at, don’t even think about stopping.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ ALHAITHAM

alhaitham groans as he lets his head fall back against the couch, his fingertips tightening in the flesh of your ass as he helps drag you along the length of his thick cock. you’re straddling his lap as your pussy squeezes around his shaft, the book he was reading lying forgotten by his side in favour of him being lost in you instead.

“oh, you could barely wait? is this the consequences of spoiling you so much? you become so needy.” he’s so fucking smug as a smirk twitches at the corners of his lips and it’s almost insufferable, but then you feel the blunt head slide along every one of your sweet spots perfectly and it feels like he’s igniting every nerve ending in your body.

but for a man so smart, he really should think before he speaks sometimes as you let your palms rest over al-haithams chest — teasing the flesh of his pecks before you lean forward to press kisses along his jawline.

you’d been together long enough for you to know exactly what got to him, right where his sensitive spots were despite the way he acted as if they never existed. the muscles in his thighs shake slightly beneath you when you roll his nipple between your thumb and forefinger, pulling a shakey exhale from the scribe beneath you as your walls twitch around him.

“playing dirty are we? and here i thought you were better than that.” there’s a trembling undercurrent to alhaithams teasing this time, you’re getting to him so quickly and he can already feel the mindless throb in his cock with every squeeze of your fingers against his chest — every graze of your teeth along the sensitive spots in his neck that make him pant.

his pace is unrelenting, almost animalistic as he so recklessly chases the high you’re dragging out of him so alarmingly fast, but every one of his heavy thrusts are still as intoxicating as always, almost fucking every thought out of your mind that isn’t him.

but then you squeeze and pull on alhaithams nipples and that’s what really gets to him as his abdomen tightens with his next thrust, stuttering as he chokes on his next groan before he’s pushing his load into your pussy with bated breaths. hes like fucking putty beneath you as you press your lips along his next, palming and grabbing at your body as he breathes deep.

“oh, you look pleased with yourself. but i hope you don’t think i’m already done, sweetheart.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

your thighs are pinned underneath kazuha’s forearms as he shoves his face between your thighs, lapping messily at your clit as his eyes close in bliss at the taste of you. your back arches almost painfully with how well he eats you out, and you feel your hips tremble, as do your lungs as he bathes you in mindless rolls of his tongue.

but hes just as lost in his own pleasure as you are, every pretty little cry you make for him only makes him feel drunker on you — making him moan, ragged and hungry as the vibration rumbles through your clit. the pleasure races through you as the arousal pools in your stomach, your eyes pricking with pleasured tears as your fingers twist in his hair.

“give me more, my love. i want more of you.” kazuha breathes, and the small jolt his voice pulls from your hips makes his own twitch against the bed, like an instinctive movement when he feels your warm walls flex around his tongue the second he pushes it inside of you.

his nose knocks against your clit as he pushes himself deeper, smacking lewdly at the mess he’s made between your thighs as he grinds himself against the bed — so dizzy on the idea of you cumming on his tongue that he can barely register his own movement as he chases his own orgasm.

kazuha’s panting and fucked out, and you’re already sensitive from all the attention he’s being bathing you in — the lower half of his face is soaked with a mixture of your arousal and his spit, and your thighs shake when he moves to close his lips around your clit and suck.

your fingers tighten in his roots and he trembles against the mattress with his next thrust as his eyes roll back, whimpering dreamily and high pitched as he cums against the fabric of his pants. but his movements on your pussy don’t cease, infact, they become needier, more desperate as he buries his moans into the intimate skin between your thighs.

“see.. ah! see what you do to me, my love. you are so intoxicating. let me feel you.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ CHILDE / TARTAGLIA

you’d missed ajax while he’d been away on a mission for the fatui, and it was almost immediate the way you’d found yourself tangled in him as soon as he got home. losing yourself in the thick spread of his cock as you squeeze your thighs around his hips, dragging yourself along the length of him as he sends you a drowsy look from beneath you.

“mmm, there we go. oh, did you miss me this much?” he teases as his fingers twitch in your hips, and the sweet little uh huh that pours from your lips like honey makes something carnal twist in his stomach as he throbs with the next deep kiss of his cock inside of you, adjusting his feet before he’s beginning his own pace.

your mind feels cloudy with the feeling of finally having ajax again, you’re losing yourself as he looks up at you — pink cheeked and jaw clenched while he admires the way your pretty features break into something beautiful for him.

your walls reward every wet, heavy connection of his hips with a needy squeeze around him as you try to keep yourself steady, instinctively reaching forward and not realising your palm is pressing hard against his throat. but fuck— it only makes him feel even better, he wants to ruin you if this is what it will get him, fucking into you eagerly in the hopes it’ll make you push tighter.

the dizzy spin in ajax’s mind feels fucking amazing, his hands almost curling into fists at your hips as he fucks you and he’s so lost in you he doesn’t even realise how close he is until his balls tighten, and he’s pushing his load into your pussy with every hungry thrust as he groans.

the blunt head of his cock feels like it kisses every part of you, his pelvis grinding into your puffy, sensitive clit as you blink down at him. it doesn’t take you long to notice, but the look he gives you basically begs for more as your fingers twitch at the sides of his throat — making him whimper, before he chuckles with his next trembling thrust.

“that’s it, don’t hold back on me.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ DILUC RAGNVINDR

you can barely breathe with how deep it feels like diluc reaches, the pleasurable sting making the room below you spin before you’re caught off guard with the first harsh smack of his hips between your thighs. the sudden quick pace is fitting for someone who wields his weapons like they were weightless, and you have to dig your nails into his broad back just to keep yourself grounded.

every wet withdrawal of his hips is so fucking loud and each deep thrust of his cock feels like it reaches even deeper as you a moan of his name kicks from your throat. you’ve just started but your body is crumbling under each of his thrusts, feeling desire twist in your stomach with the thick spread of him.

diluc doesn’t know what’s gotten over him tonight, maybe it was the late night at the tavern or how fucking pretty you look right now — starry eyed and spread out beneath him, your tits bouncing with every wet, heavy connection of his hips into yours.

he feels you squeeze around him, and he swears he feels his lungs quake with his next trembling exhale, his body pushing you deeper into the bed beneath you as he desperately tries to keep himself steady. but you’re so fucking warm wrapped around him and the feeling of your chest pressing so tight against his makes his pace stutter as he pushes closer.

“archons—you feel so good, i.. i’m gonna cum, sweetheart. i’m s-sorry.” diluc growls against your skin, and you can hear all his need and want for you in the way he moans your name with each exhale — grabbing at your body like he’s afraid you’ll disappear as he splits you open beneath him.

but then his pace stutters as he buries another babbled apology into your skin, a sharp, low groan falling from his lips as he pushes his load into your eager pussy — mumbling about how good you feel as he loses himself in the saccharine squeeze of your pussy around him.

his eyes are hooded when he looks at you, vermillion hair smeared along the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead as he presses deep into your body. the flush on his cheeks is deeper than usual and you’re not sure if it’s his orgasm or embarrassment when he clears his throat awkwardly — despite the way his cock still throbs with its lingering pleasure.

“i—i can go again, my apologies, sweetheart. you.. just seem to have that sort of effect on me.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Grays II

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays - Part I | Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, matchmaking elements, meddlesome mother, lots of teasing, not-quite-friends to lovers dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, oral sex (F and M receiving), protected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 8.5k

Notes: It's here - 4 months later! First of all, thank you so much for the love for Grays Part I. I still can't quite believe the reaction to Frankie and Shiv, you guys sure know how to make a writer feel special 🥰 This one was so much fun to write, and nervous as I am posting this follow-up, I'm telling myself to let go of my insecurities and just enjoy it because that's what it's all about. I hope y'all will have a good time at this wedding with the gang 😘

Francisco Morales likes to think of himself as a reasonably competent man. 

He can pilot a helicopter under intense enemy fire. He can take out a target from miles away in the tightest of spots. 

But he can’t do his fucking hair.

He glares at himself in the mirror. He can’t put his finger on it, it just doesn’t look like how you did it. He’s already washed it out and started over twice, and for a second, he considers driving to your salon. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s far too late for that now.

Leaning over the sink, he says to his reflection, ‘Focus, pendejo. You can do it.’

He’s a pilot for fuck’s sake. He’s a man of procedure, he can follow steps. He just needs to break it down.

Hair half-dry - check.

Hair mousse applied - check.

Now he just needs to dry his hair all the way and style it - but the how is where it gets hazy. 

Frankie closes his eyes and casts his mind back to your salon. He’s sitting in the chair and you’re standing behind him. He wills himself to recall what you were doing with your hands, but all he remembers is the scrape of your of your fingertips on his scalp, the ghost of your breath on the back of his neck, and then -

Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.

He scrubs a frustrated palm down his face when his cock twitches in his haphazardly ironed dress pants, not for the first time… hell, not even the fourth time since he left your salon on Wednesday afternoon.

‘Goddamnit,’ he bites out, dropping the hairdryer with a clunk and grips the porcelain sink. He needs to calm the fuck down. 

He didn’t ask for - this, whatever this is. You’re you. You’re Shiv. The loudmouth with the wild hair he’s known since fifth grade. The fourth wheel at guys’ drinks when Will can’t make it. A relentless tease on a good day, and downright insufferable when you get enough tequila in you.

And quite possibly, the only person who’s ever driven him to the brink of unconsciousness with just the touch of their bare hands.

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since he’s been with a woman. He just needs to get laid at the wedding, get this weird tension out of his system. And then hopefully, he’ll be able to go to sleep without being kept up by you telling him to go harder, deeper -

By the time he gets his head out of his ass, it’s too late for second-guessing. He rakes his fingers through his hair, sets it with hairspray, and quickly rubs the beard oil he bought in town yesterday into his whiskers. He takes a moment to look himself over while he clumsily does up the tie he borrowed from Pope.

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

He’s the designated driver tonight. By some miracle, he’s only five minutes late when he cruises into Pope’s driveway, where all three of the boys are waiting and sipping on beers.

‘Damn Fish, you look good,’ crows Santi as he climbs into the passenger seat, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You should get your hair cut at Shiv’s from now on.’

‘Only if you keep paying for it,’ retorts Frankie while he backs out of the driveway. He pauses as he changes gears, and adds in a grumble. ‘She’s making me use shampoo and conditioner.’

Pope barks in laughter, twisting in his seat to give Benny a knowing grin. ‘Someone had to, you caveman.’

The younger Miller brother ribs good-naturedly, ‘You ready for some action tonight, Fish? I brought some extra rubbers just in case.’

Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Frankie rips into him mercilessly. ‘You know your small ass condoms don’t fit me, Benjamin.’ 

The car erupts with playful jeers, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile as he palms the steering wheel.

‘That’s some fighting talk, Fish!’ goads Santi, punching him on the arm.

Will joins in the banter. ‘You better watch out, little bro. Big Dick Morales came out swinging tonight.’

Benny grins. ‘Ok, I see how it is. Let’s make it interesting, Fish. Whoever picks up a one night stand first wins a hundred bucks.’

Frankie shrugs in mock nonchalance and quips, ‘I mean, I can use the cash. Shampoo ain’t cheap.’

Benny chuckles and clasps his shoulder. ‘You’re on, man.’

It’s eight on the dot when you lock up the salon. While you did RSVP for wedding drinks - opting out of the sit-down dinner earlier in the evening - you hadn’t planned on actually going. But it seems like the whole town did, you’ve barely had two customers walk through the door all afternoon. 

So you let Ashton go home early, and after a quick snack, you take your time getting ready. Might as well have a Saturday night out - your first in many months.

The hotel is just a short Uber ride away. When you climb out of the car, you bite your bottom lip at the unfamiliar tension humming under your skin.

Nerves.

You’re nervous.

And worse, you know exactly what you’re nervous about. 

Or more precisely - who.

‘Pull it together, Shiv,’ you mutter under your breath. Steeling yourself, you stride into the hotel.

From his vantage point at the bar, Benny watches in amusement as Frankie glances towards the doors of the reception hall yet again. He doubts the pilot even knows he’s doing it, or at the very least, he doesn’t think that anyone would notice.

Grabbing his beer, Benny sidles up to his friend. ‘Looking for something, Fish?’

Frankie takes a sip of his Coke and feigns nonchalance. ‘Yeah, looking to win that hundred bucks from you.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. I don’t see you trying very hard.’

‘Biding my time, Miller. Just make sure you have enough cash to -’ 

When Frankie breaks off in the middle of his sentence, Benny doesn’t need to look to wager a guess what caught his attention.

Turning around as you approach, he flings his arms out to give you a hug, eyeing you up and down appreciatively. ‘Babe, look at you all dressed up! Doesn’t she look nice, Fish?’

In lieu of an answer, Frankie stares intently at some invisible spot over your shoulder until Benny elbows him right in his stomach, jerking him out of his trance. ‘Fish?’

Frankie clears his throat and stutters. ‘Um. I - I don’t know.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t know if I look nice?’

Benny has to stopper his mouth with beer so he doesn’t laugh out loud at the panic on Frankie’s face as he fumbles for a response. ‘I mean. Um, nice… pants?’

‘It’s a jumpsuit, Morales. Try to keep up,’ you reply and take two steps towards him, which has him backpedalling so fast that he upsets the table behind him, sending half-empty glasses spilling wine all over the white tablecloth.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he growls at you like a cornered stray.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull him upright by his tie. ‘Is he ok, Ben? He’s even jumpier than usual.’

‘Well, it’s a funny night for him. Watching his ex get married and all.’

‘I swear to God, Benjamin Miller, if you don’t shut the fuck up -’ 

‘Pipe down, Morales, we’re just messing with you,’ you shush him, tugging on his slightly skewed shirt collar to set it straight. ‘Can’t believe you own a tie.’

‘Borrowed it from Pope,’ he grunts without making eye contact.

Smoothing the lapels of his slightly crumpled suit jacket, you probe, ‘You’ve been using shampoo and conditioner like I asked?’

Frankie huffs a dry laugh. ‘I don’t remember you asking.’

‘Someone’s mouthy tonight,’ you tease. ‘And the beard oil?’

He concedes with a sigh. ‘Yes, Shiv.’

‘You look good, Francisco,’ you grin and reach up to push his curls back from his eyes.

He looks away as he admits, ‘Took three fucking tries.’

At least he holds still when you make small adjustments to his hair, shoulders stiff with hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You catch yourself missing the way he leaned into your touch in your salon, and you have to forcefully push that thought away as you push your fingers through the roots to boost the volume. His curls feel softer already than you remember them, with a noticeably healthier sheen. 

After a final rustle to loosen up his fringe, you wink at him. ‘Mark my words, the bride will rue the day she dumped your ass when she sees you.’

A voice from behind you interrupts. ‘It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?’

Trading a look with Frankie, who gives you a sarcastic thumbs up, you put on a smile and turn on your heels. ‘Mrs. Morales, it’s been too long!’

‘I see you haven’t dyed my son’s hair like I requested,’ she says by way of a greeting, drawing you into an embrace.

Frankie’s taunt is so quiet that you nearly miss it. ‘Told you she’d come after you.’

Without skipping a beat, you elbow him in the ribs, ignoring his pained oomph from behind you. ‘You look wonderful tonight, ma’am.’ 

‘You can’t sweet talk your way out of my question, young lady.’

You cross your arms with a sigh. ‘I didn’t dye it because he looks good with the grays.’ 

‘Well, I don’t think so.’

‘In my professional opinion, he does,’ you retort pointedly.

‘If he looks so good, why is he still single?’

Frankie throws his hands up in exasperation. ‘Gee, thanks a lot ma.’

You turn to Benny, who has been silently watching you two spar. ‘What do you think, Miller?’

He dithers, eyes darting around in desperation until he spots Santi and his older brother coming back from the bar. ‘Look! Here are the guys, let’s ask them!’

‘Ask us what?’ asks Santi, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a glass of bubbly.

‘Do you think my son looks good with the grays?’

Your eyebrow twitches when Mrs. Morales carelessly ruffles his hair to emphasise her point. To your surprise, Frankie bats her away with an irritated ma!, before hastily rearranging it.

‘Your honest opinion, if you please,’ you add.

The boys hum and haw, sipping their beers and shooting uncertain looks between you and Mrs. Morales, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Upping the heat, you narrow your eyes at them, and Will folds first. 

‘Yeah, I mean - he looks good,’ he mumbles, avoiding the Morales matriarch's glare.

‘Pope?’ you prompt.

‘Cabrón rocking those grays,’ he nods supportively.

‘Ben?’

‘Uh huh,’ he replies vaguely, but at your menacing glare, clarifies, ‘Yes, I meant - yes, ma’am.’

Mrs. Morales scoffs. ‘They’re men, what do they know! I don’t see him catching any girls’ attention.’

Ah, that’s the easy part. You look around, scanning the crowds - and bingo, you see a brunette staring openly from across the dance floor. You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. ‘Excuse me for one second.’

Frankie looks ready for the earth to swallow him whole by the time you return with the said woman in tow. Pointing straight at him, you ask, ‘Lucy, this is Frankie. Do you think he’s hot with the grays?’

To her credit, she’s a good sport, and plays along with a cheeky wink. ‘Yeah, he is. You wanna dance, handsome?’

‘Yes, he absolutely does!’ you answer quickly before he can get a word in.

‘What the fuck, Shiv?’ Frankie seethes through clenched teeth, literally digging his heels in, but to his despair, his shoes skid uselessly on the tiled surface as you push him towards the dancefloor with this complete stranger. 

Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

‘Have fun, Fish!’ calls out Pope impishly, which earns him an emphatic middle finger. 

You beam at Mrs. Morales smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘You better keep it up, young lady,’ she says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.

You raise your drink. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs M. I promise you - he’ll be leaving with his future wife tonight!’

Santi is minding his own business, sipping on his beer as he stakes out the ladies, when a hand shoots out from nowhere and snatches the bottle from him.

‘What the fuck, man?!’ he bristles indignantly.

Frankie polishes off the drink in one mouthful, before slamming it onto the table and demanding, ‘Where’s Shiv? I’m done. I’m not fucking dancing with anyone else.’

Pope jerks his thumb to the other side of the room. ‘She’s arguing with your mother.’

Frankie flops into a chair, the dress shoes that he never wears are pinching his feet and he fights the urge to kick them off. He folds his arms across his chest petulantly, one palm over his mouth as his eyes wander across the hall to you, where you’re gesturing madly at his ma, embroiled in an impassioned discussion, probably still about his damn hair.

You’re all dressed up tonight, which is new to him - he’s only ever seen you in jeans when you go out drinking with them, and he’s certainly never seen so much of you. The ‘jumpsuit’ (he learns something new every day) is black and cut low both front and back, and fuck, all he sees is soft skin and the dip of your curves and red lipstick -

Pope must have nipped to the bar while he wasn’t looking, and a fresh bottle of beer appears under his nose. Glancing up at his best friend, Frankie mutters, ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t marry her, Fish.’

He chokes violently at the casual non-sequitur, spraying beer everywhere. ‘What the fuck, Pope.’

Santi beams. ‘You got that look on your face, man. I’ve seen that look before.’

‘I don’t have a look on my face.’

He chuckles, mostly to himself. 'Damn, I really should've seen this coming.'

‘What are you even on about -’ Looking up, Frankie spots you making your way over and panics. ‘Shut the fuck up, pendejo.’

‘Why aren’t you dancing, my little debutante?’ you ask when you come within earshot.

Santi chortles and takes his leave, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, Fish.’

You sink into the empty seat next to him and he deliberately twists his body away from you, drinking deeply from his bottle to drown out Santi’s words ringing in his ears. 

‘So, I heard you have a bet going on with Benny. I want splitsies if you win.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, staring resolutely anywhere but at the swell of your cleavage. ‘No.’

‘40/60.’

‘Fuck off, Shiv.’

‘30/70?’ you counter-offer.

He sighs. ‘You’re impossible.’

Ignoring him, you jump up with a happy squeak when someone Frankie vaguely recognises as a girl who used to be in your class approaches with a shy smile. You pull her close by the crook of her arm and ask, ‘Morales, you remember Sadie?’

He tries not to scowl too openly as he too gets on his feet. ‘Sure, hi Sadie.’

Herding them towards the dancefloor, you grin, ‘Go dance, get reacquainted.’

As he passes by you, Frankie grits his teeth and curls his fingers into the meat of his palms to crush the urge to reach out and touch you. 

But it’s easier to fall into your well-rehearsed roles, to toe the line that has been drawn in the sand since you were teenagers. And easier is certainly the safer option when it comes to you.

So he throws you a deliberate glare over his shoulder, with a deadpanned, ‘I hate you.’

You blow him a kiss and grin wider.

Frankie can’t hold back a relieved sigh when the interminably long song finally ends, and the woman he’s dancing with - he won’t even pretend he remembers her name - tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket after tapping in her number. ‘Call me, gorgeous.’

He stopped counting after the eighth woman you shepherded his way. This is it. He’s not above hiding in the toilets if that’s what it takes to make this stop.

Except he’s not quick enough. He spots you out of the corner of his eye, marching straight towards him with a fresh glass of water and a look of purpose on your face.

He doesn’t exactly know what came over him. He could probably blame it on the one and a half beers that he downed, or being pushed to the end of his tether. Whatever it is, there’s something he has to say to you, and it can’t wait.

You push the glass into his grasp. ‘Here, hydrate.’

‘Shiv -’

You’ve already swivelled around, your focus somewhere else. ‘Where is she? She was literally just behind me -’

‘Shiv -’

‘Mind you, she’s a sweet girl, but clearly not the brightest tool in the -’

His patience snaps, and he barks, ‘Shiv!’

You spin around, brow furrowed in confusion, and snarl back, ‘What?’

Frankie pauses, and you blink as his warm eyes hold yours. On an exhale, he says, ‘You look nice tonight.’

You’re vaguely aware that your jaw has gone slack, but only because his eyes follow the movement, dropping to your mouth. He considers you for a moment, head tipping just slightly to the side as he watches you. Then, satisfied that he has your attention, he brings the glass of water to his lips, throwing his head back as he drinks. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow, before he leisurely swipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Except in your mind, it’s not water that he’s wiping from his mouth.

In a perfectly mirrored imitation of what transpired between you earlier in the evening, he takes two measured steps forward, prompting you to back up against the table behind you. The tinkle of glasses falling over hardly registers in the back of your mind. 

The fabric of his suit is cool on your skin, brushing your bare arm as he looms over you, so broad and warm. Though his front barely makes contact, your peripheral vision gives and all you can see is him.

‘What are you doing?’ you croak the same words back at him, hating the way your voice shakes.

Frankie smiles - really smiles at you, with no colour of the usual irony or sarcasm. Warmth settles into the creases in the corners of his eyes as he holds up the empty glass. ‘Just putting my glass away,’ he says coolly, an edge of cockiness at your tragically obvious reaction to him.

You feel your cheeks heat up as he does just that - the back of his hand bumping into your forearm as he moves, the breadth of him pinning you against the table. He doesn’t pull away, clearly basking in the way the tables have well and truly turned -

‘Hi! You must be Frankie, I’m Jan.’

Frankie squeezes his eyes shut in irritation at the voice behind him, nostrils flaring as he collects himself. A resigned smile tugs at his lips, and he tips forward, his words grazing your ear. ‘Catch you later, Shiv.’

You only let your knees buckle when he’s safely out of sight.

You’ve barely stepped back into the reception hall from a much needed bathroom break to clear your head when someone grabs you by the arm, tugging you onto the dancefloor.

‘Benny!’ You reprimand, stumbling over your feet. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Relax, Shiv. Frankie can survive on his own for a second.’

‘You’re just jealous that he’s hogging all the ladies’ attention.’

He scoffs, palms on your waist as he sways to the music. ‘He has an unfair advantage, ok? How do I compete with the bride’s ex?’

Clasping your hands around Benny’s neck, you catch Frankie’s eye over his shoulder. You wink at him casually, having somewhat recovered your bravado - it’s easier to pretend from a distance anyway. He rolls his eyes at you over Jan’s head, but he doesn’t look away, watching you with a hint of something you can’t quite make out.

Glancing up at Benny, you ask a tad bashfully, ‘I know we give Frankie a hard time about all this, but is he - ok?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

You hesitate. ‘Well, we’re not exactly that kind of friends.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, the kind who sit around having heart-to-hearts and painting their nails.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of friends are you, then?’ 

‘I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even count me as one,’ you admit. ‘He barely tolerates me on a good day.’

Benny shoots you a cryptic look, but before you can quiz him on it, he changes the subject abruptly. ‘Can I swing by the salon tomorrow morning? I have a promotional shoot at half past eleven.’

‘As long as you bring donuts and coffee.’

He twirls you around. ‘Deal.’

Frankie slinks out of the hotel, somehow managing to dodge both you and his mother on his way out, which he takes as a win.

It’s cold outside. He inhales deeply and feels it burn down his throat. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watches his breath mist in front of his face, savouring the quiet.

‘Hey.’

His shoulders stiffen. He knows he should’ve been the bigger man. Should’ve sought her out first, to congratulate her.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

When he turns around eventually, she smiles brightly at him, her engagement ring catching the lights.

Closing the space between them, he presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘Congratulations. You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you came. Your mum too - it was a long way to travel.’

His gaze falls to his shoes. ‘Yeah, well. You know she loves you.’

‘How are you?’ she presses on, always one for polite conversation. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

Frankie shrugs but doesn’t answer.

‘Just because it didn’t work between us doesn’t mean I want you to be happy.’

He nods slowly. ‘I appreciate that.’

She points behind her. ‘Well, I should go back inside.’

‘Of course. I’m happy for you,’ he says. And he means it.

The hotel doors swing open, and Frankie looks up at the sharp clack of heels on the concrete. You pause at the sight of them by the curb.

‘Are you leaving, Shiv?’ the bride laments as you walk over to give her a hug.

‘I am, I’m afraid, gotta open up shop early tomorrow,’ you pull back. ‘Come by the salon any time, my treat.’

Once the bride is out of earshot, you turn to Frankie, hands on hips. ‘Alright, no more shirking, Morales. Get your ass back in there, your mother is on my case again.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back in there without you.’

You sigh dramatically. ‘Am I the only one in this town who’s not scared of your mother?’

‘You should be,’ he snorts, then nods towards the parking lot. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

Taken aback by his offer, you hesitate. ‘Um - I thought you were the designated driver for the guys tonight.’

He brushes off your concerns with an easy shrug. ‘I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off.’ 

Typical Frankie - he walks off without even glancing back to see if you’re coming with him.

You smile to yourself and follow.

You must be drunker than you realised, because you’re staring. Again. For what must be the fifth time in the ten-minute drive.

It’s a lot of staring, even for you.

His jacket lies abandoned in the backseat, his tie jostled loose and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, sleeves bunched up to his elbows. You watch from the corner of your eye as his left hand grips the top of the steering wheel steady, fingers flexing every now and then on straight stretches of road.

As if you’re not already discreetly squeezing your thighs together, he’s also rubbing his right palm idly on his leg, the innocent rustle of fabric against skin getting you far too hot and bothered under the metaphorical collar. 

And then - your eyes trail higher - settling on the heavy bulge at the top of his spread thighs.

Fuck. You’re definitely drunk.

You mull silently to yourself that you actually prefer him in his beat-up jeans and threadbare t-shirts before catching yourself. You weren’t aware you had any preferences when it comes to Frankie Morales. And you have no business doing so.

Clearing your throat, you break the tense silence. Well, tense for you, anyway. He seems completely oblivious to your inner strife.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t win the bet.’

His lips quirk, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

‘I had another five girls lined up for you, you know.’

He scoffs. ‘No, thank you.’

You reach over to punch him on the arm playfully. ‘C’mon, you know you enjoyed the attention, Morales.’

‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ he peers at you.

You make a face of disbelief. ‘If you hated it that much, why did you go along with it?’

Cruising into your street, his truck rolls to a smooth stop outside your salon. Frankie kills the ignition, then turns towards you. His answer is simple, and hits you right between the ribs. 

‘Because you wanted me to.’

You force a chuckle in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Since when did you care about what I wanted?’

He smooths his palm over the steering wheel and holds your gaze. ‘Sometime when I wasn’t looking.’

It would be simpler to pretend you didn’t understand what he means. To brush off this pull between you as a champagne-induced episode that you could sleep off. If you did, you could still show up at Tuesday nights drinks next week as if nothing has changed, and carry on.

It would be simpler. So you ask -

‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap?’

Frankie follows two steps behind you as you grapple with the keys on the doorstep. Once inside, the salon is quiet, and you strategically turn on the lights by the backwash, the semi-darkness making it more homey than it would have been if fully lit up. 

‘I would invite you upstairs -’ you pause and add hastily, ‘I don’t mean upstairs like, upstairs in that way - it’s just that my apartment is tiny, and the backwash is the closest thing I have to a couch. Are you okay with beer?’

‘Beer’s good, thanks,’ he answers. ‘Need a hand?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Oh god, please no - it’s a disaster upstairs. I’ll be right back.’

The rickety stairs creak loudly under your heels, and once you let yourself into your studio, you fall back heavily on the door, taking a second to catch your breath.

You invited him inside. 

He said yes.

You leap into action, shoving all your dirty laundry into the already full hamper. You try not to think too hard about why you’re cleaning up, you just hope you’re not making too much of a ruckus while you’re at it - because you have a boy waiting for you downstairs. 

Francisco Morales, of all people.

Despite having been in each other’s lives since high school, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been alone with him. Not even once. There’s always a buffer with Pope on his side, Benny on yours, and Will in the middle. And while some find Frankie hard to read, you’ve always known exactly how to act around him. You have an unwritten playbook - you bait him with cheap jokes, more often than not joining forces with Benny to gang up on him. He rolls his eyes and snaps at you to shut up. It’s the longest running show in town.

But this? Alone, after his ex’s wedding, in your salon? You’re going off-script and off-piste. Dangerous enough on a good day; outright stupid after a night of drinking.

Frankie is quick to help when you reappear, armed with beer and a bag of ice, using the backwash sink as a makeshift cooler. Your shoes clatter onto the floor as you settle in the chair next to his. Hugging your knees, you hold out your bottle, which he clinks with his.

‘Did you have fun tonight?’ you ask, rather mundanely.

‘As much fun as one is expected to have at an ex’s wedding,’ he answers with a sardonic smile. Taking a sip of beer, he adds, ‘Gotta admit, you winding up my ma pretty much made up for it.’

‘That never gets old,’ you smirk. ‘Although, I promised your mother you’d leave with your future wife tonight - so that’s a bust.’

You startle when Frankie chokes on his beer, his eyes visibly watering as he thumps a fist on his chest. When you ask if he’s ok, he won’t meet your gaze, downing more of his beer.

Not thinking anything of it, you move on. ‘You know, she sent a bunch of customers my way when I first opened up the salon.’

His voice is still a bit tight from his coughing fit. ‘And I’m sure she’ll deny it till the day she dies.’

‘I can’t figure her out,’ you admit. ‘I can’t decide if she hates me or not.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand you.’

You hum, unconvinced.

He nudges your knee with his. ‘She was really proud of you when you opened the salon, you know.’

You toss him a sidelong glance. ‘You talk to your mum about me?’

He’s ambiguous in his answer. ‘She asks after you sometimes.’

‘And how would you have anything to say to her? We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’

Frankie concedes with a wry smile, ‘Benny talks.’

‘Ha!’ you laugh, echoing his words from a few days ago back at him. ‘Benjamin fucking Miller.’

He goes quiet for a second, looking around your salon as if taking stock. ‘It’s pretty amazing that you’ve built all this.’

The unexpected compliment catches you blindsided. You reply diplomatically, ‘Ashton helps me loads.’

Frankie’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. ‘Are you going humble on me now? What have you done to Shiv?’

‘Shut up,’ you grumble good-naturedly, adding, ‘Ben tells me you’re doing really well yourself.’

‘Yeah. I got promoted at work last month, and I’m saving up for a house,’ he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. ‘Things are looking up.’

‘You’re actually acknowledging your achievements?’ you gasp in mock outrage. ‘What have you done to Francisco Morales?’

With a shrug, he leans forward to put his empty beer bottle in the sink, but he doesn’t sit back. Instead, he sways even closer, one palm landing on the leather of your seat next to your knee, eyes darting to your lips. His voice is deep as he rasps, ‘Can I kiss you?’

It would be so easy to say yes, but when have you ever made things easy for yourself? 

Instead, you blurt out, ‘Why?’

Frankie looks amused, like he expected this from you. Slowly, not wanting to spook you, he gently plucks the beer that you’ve barely drunk from your grasp.

‘Because all fucking night, while you were throwing woman after woman at me, I just wanted to have a drink with you.’

He leans in close. 

You stop breathing.

‘Because since Wednesday, every time I wash my hair, I get hard thinking of you touching me.’

Closer still.

Your lungs ache.

‘And because when you told me to go harder, deeper - I nearly lost my fucking mind.’

He’s hovering over you now, and you can almost taste the bitter sweetness of the beer on his breath. He smirks at you, but there’s only warmth and mischief in it when he teases, ‘Speechless for once?’

‘Shut up, Morales,’ you breathe and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

And then you’re kissing him. You’re kissing Frankie, and he’s kissing you back.

It’s messy, and disorientating, and you clumsily fumble over each other until he’s sitting up in one of the chairs, with your thighs on either side of his narrow hips as you straddle him. He’s licking up into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, his hands gripping your sides almost painfully hard.

‘Is this really happening?’ you garble into his lips, ripping off his tie and undoing his shirt buttons as fast as your shaking fingers allow you to.

‘If you want it,’ he mumbles back, loath to pull back from you even for a second to shuck off his shirt. ‘If you want me.’

He kisses you wet and insistent, but he doesn’t push you, waiting for you to make up your mind. Reaching behind you, you tug on the tie that holds your jumpsuit together with a decisive pull, letting the fabric ripple down your bare front and pool around your waist.

Frankie bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white. ‘Fuck,’ he cusses, his grip on your hips twitching as he stares at your tits. ‘Can I, please -?’

‘Touch me, Francisco.’

Your poor second-hand Ikea bed that Benny helped set up when you moved in was not made for this.

This being the way Frankie effortlessly tosses you onto the mattress, his arms flexing with an easy strength that goes straight to your head, as you stare giddily up at him.

His hair - your handiwork - has been well and truly undone, errant strands falling over his eyes as he watches you, his broad frame looming over the foot of the bed. He pulls at his belt, which falls open with a careless clink, and he makes quick work of his now crumpled trousers, kicking them off impatiently.

Your head is swimming, yet somehow, you muster the strength to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, rearranging yourself to sit on your haunches, knees folded neatly beneath you. Boldly, you reach out to slide his dark boxers down his hips, and they fall around his knees and onto the floor. His cock springs free, half-hard and heavy, and Frankie swallows thickly as you tilt your face towards him.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

His eyes close as if he’s in pain, nostrils flaring at your words. Taking advantage of his distraction, you wrap one careful hand around his length, and he jerks violently at the first velvety slide of your palm against him. 

‘Fuck, Shiv -’ he chokes, eyes flying open at the contact, pupils completely blown. He protests weakly, ‘No, stop, need to get you off first -’

You shoot him a lopsided smile, pumping him slowly, your pulse racing at the way you feel him swell in your grasp. ‘Can we not argue this one time?’

You lean forward and, holding his gaze, flatten your tongue and lick your way up the underside of his cock. His breath stutters, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his eyes wide and almost frantic as you press open-mouthed kisses on his sensitive flesh.

With an insolent grin, you tease, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you, Morales?’

He whimpers, and you know you have him.

His size is obvious by sight, but you really feel it in the pressure bearing down on the hinge of your jaw as you sink down on his cock, fighting to squeeze the girth of him into your mouth. The guttural groan from Frankie makes your pussy clench, and he tastes like he looks - clean, and all man. 

There’s no way you can take all of him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. He’s hot under your touch, muscles pulled taut with tension that you can feel thrumming under his skin as you take your time with him. Focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, you bob patiently up and down on him, slicking up his length with your spit, working him slightly deeper with every stroke - until you’re so full of him that you gag, hard.

Frankie is slack-jawed when you release him with an obscenely wet pop, spit trailing from your lips to the swollen tip of his cock, eyes wild as swipes his thumb across your puffy bottom lip. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ he declares, almost solemnly.

Slinking down his front, one hand securely around the base of his cock, you take him between your lips again, moaning at the salty taste of his precum, which makes him quake above you. As you swallow his length and pump your fist in tandem, your spit wetting your fingers, you peer up at him through your lashes - nothing could’ve prepared you for the utter wreckage that you find on his face. 

His lips are pulled back, baring his tidy teeth into a snarl as he very clearly struggles to hold himself back from fucking your mouth. You feel every bump and vein in his cock with each descent, the wet squelches filling in the gaps of his low grunts and moans. His grip in your hair stings as he starts panting in earnest above you, and somehow he gets even harder on your tongue, making it harder to breathe - 

‘Stop, stop,’ he wheezes suddenly, pulling back in a hasty retreat that has you whining at the sudden loss of him. ‘C’mere.’

He practically hauls you up against him, kissing you deeply, delving into your mouth to taste the bitterness of himself on your tongue. The world tilts on its axis when he tips you back onto the bed, and holding himself above you, he peels the jumpsuit off, leaving you in just your panties.

‘Gonna eat you out, baby,’ he drawls by your ear, trailing one palm up your body, which stops at your tits and squeezes. ‘Get you good and ready to take my big cock. How does that sound?’

‘Fuck, yes, Frankie, please,’ you beg.

There’s no shyness when he pushes your legs up and apart, and instead of taking your panties off, he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you.

‘So pretty,’ he praises you lowly. Holding your breath as he sinks onto his front, you breathe heavily in anticipation as his shoulders slot neatly underneath your legs. ‘Look at how wet you are for me. All this from sucking my cock?’

You nod frantically. ‘Frankie -’

Straight to the point as always, he ducks his dark head and drags the broad of his tongue over your clit - and you’re gone.

Admittedly, you have not had the best experiences with your exes. There was always too much gratuitous moaning and too little finesse, and afterwards, they always act like they deserve a medal for failing to get you off. But even if your past lovers had been more adequate in the field, you’re sure it still wouldn’t have prepared you for this. 

Frankie goes about it with a quiet focus that veers on reverential, the intensity in his dark eyes watching you makes your knees weak. He’s obviously picking up signs and reactions from you and adjusting his game plan accordingly, the pilot in him clearly in the driver’s seat. 

Not that he’s silent - far from it, you feel the reverberation in your core with every satisfied  hum deep in his chest, and the occasional, muttered fuck, so wet, want more in between licks and groans. But there’s nothing performative or showy about it, just a forthright competency that has you hurtling towards a toe-curling orgasm.

‘Frankie,’ you whine when you feel it about to hit. ‘Frankie Frankie Frankie -’

‘Eyes on me,’ he slurs against your sopping folds, and you listen - for once - watching him watch you fall apart on his tongue, thrashing in his hold as he grips you harder to keep you in place while he laps you up, until the burn of his patchy beard on your inner thighs makes you arch away from him from overstimulation.

Your pussy is still fluttering when he sinks two thick fingers into you, and he hisses at the way it clenches around him as he fucks you, leaving his digits slicked and slippery.

‘So tight, baby,’ he declares through gritted teeth, working you open for him. ‘Gonna feel so fucking good on my cock.’

You point towards the nightstand. ‘First drawer,’ you pant.

Needing no further prompting, Frankie yanks your panties off and flings the soaked scrap of fabric over his shoulder, then lunges at the cupboard where the condoms are. You scrape your nails over his thighs as he kneels over you, his usually steady hands visibly trembling as he tears into the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his heavy cock. He watches you with hooded eyes and settles between your legs, kissing you desperately as the swollen tip of him nudges at your entrance.

‘Ready?’ he asks, nose skimming yours sweetly.

You wind your arms around his neck, holding him close. ‘Fuck me, Frankie.’

The first push is a tight squeeze, and you can’t help the wince at the slight pinch as he sinks into you slowly. With a grunt of effort, he buries face into the slope of your neck and breathes, ‘Fuuuuck. You ok?’

‘Give me a second,’ you gasp, feeling your walls throb tightly around his length. ‘You’re so big, Frankie.’

He tangles his tongue with yours lazily in a deep kiss, before brushing his way down your throat and sucking on one nipple, making you cry out. He murmurs against your skin, ‘I know, but you’re doing so well for me, baby.’

Shifting your hips, Frankie groans when you slide him in deeper, the friction making you quiver beneath him. ‘Move, Frankie, please.’

He starts carefully, his strokes measured and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him as he draws back then sinks back in, exhaling shakily. ‘You feel so fucking good.’

‘Harder,’ you demand when you feel your pussy relax around him. ‘Fuck me harder.’

‘Shit,’ he growls and snaps his hips, drawing a squeal from you as he hits somewhere deep inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself as he drives into you again and again and again, the bedframe hitting the wall with each thrust.

‘So good, Frankie,’ you plead in between hard pants. ‘Keep going. Don’t stop -’

Looking up at him, you admire the way his hair falls over his eyes, swaying with his movement. Absent-mindedly, your fingers wander into his curls and his reaction is instant - he cries out, arching into your touch, his hips faltering as he seems to lose his rhythm. ‘Oh fuck, baby, been thinking about those hands all fucking week, just wanted to feel you touch me again -’

As wrecked as you are on his cock, you smile at his confession and slide your hands languidly in his locks, dragging your nails on his scalp, your chest swelling with pride when you watch his face - dazed and completely wrecked - fucking you so hard that you’re sure the bed is about to break.

When he finds his voice again, it’s your real name that slips past his lips. ‘Gonna cum so hard, oh fuck - I’m gonna -’

Frankie’s thrusting frantically into you, eyes screwed shut until his hips stutter and then - after one perfect moment of stillness suspended in time - shudder after shudder thunder through his body, your name a broken record as he spills into the condom, his scratchy baritone moaning into your neck as the frenzied energy bleeds out of him.

His weight pins you to the bed as he catches his breath, and you play with his curls gently, basking in the rumbling purr in his chest as you run the strands between your fingers. Eventually, gathering himself, he rolls off you to let you breathe, tying the condom neatly and tossing it into the trash can.

For a second, Frankie lies on his side, watching you quietly. You watch him back, casting your gaze over the curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his broad outline backlit by your nightstand light. Before self-consciousness can settle into the small distance between you, he cracks a smile and quips, ‘You did say I’d get laid even if it killed you.’

You laugh, which makes him grin. One strong arm reaches out to tuck you into his side, securely beneath the duvet. You hum at the tickle of his beard on the back of your neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

Right on the cusp of sleep, you sass, ‘Guess you’ll have to split the winnings with me after all.’

Any other day, you would’ve woken up if you heard someone on the stairwell. Hell, you’d hear if they were knocking on the salon door downstairs.

When you’re rudely shaken awake by frantic knocking on the studio door, you realise it’s because your hearing has been impaired by the side of a very warm body smooshed into your ear.

‘Shiv! Open up! I need to leave in fifteen minutes for my photoshoot!’

‘Shit,’ you croak, throat dry, limbs flailing as you try to sit up. ‘I forgot about Benny.’

‘Fuck him’, grouses Frankie, pulling you back into his arms, eyes still closed.

‘I can’t, I promised to help him with his hair. Fuck, do we need to hide you, or -’

‘The door’s thin, Shiv, I can hear him. And we put two and two together when you guys disappeared last night. We're pretty, but we ain't dumb!’

Frankie lets you go with a grumbled Benjamin fucking Miller under his breath, but he visibly perks up when you stumble out of bed naked.

You half-jokingly shield your boobs from his view. ‘Are you perving on me, Morales?’

He smirks, leaning back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head while he eyes you appreciatively. It’s not fair how his triceps flex deliciously with the movement. ‘Why bother covering up? I’ve seen everything already.’

Trying - and failing - to shoot him a stern scowl, you pull on a robe and yank the door open, nearly careening backwards at the sight of Benny’s grinning face right in the doorway. 

‘Since when did you bang paying customers?’ he demands in lieu of a good morning.

You roll your eyes and usher him downstairs. ‘He’s not a paying customer. He’s on Pope’s tab.’

Benny flops into his usual chair, making it squeak, one eyebrow up as he does the air quotes. ‘Well, I guess we now know what kind of friends you guys are.’

‘Shut up, Miller,’ you gripe, but your mouth twists into a grin, giving you away as you set up.

‘Damn, that good, huh?’ he laughs. ‘I mean, Fish does have a rep, but I've never had insider confirmation.’

You point your styling scissors at him menacingly. ‘Shut up, or I won’t be held responsible if my hands slip by accident.’

Benny feeds you a sugar donut while you work quickly, trimming the ends before styling it, going for a tousled bed head look. You hear the water pipes run upstairs and the carpeted floors creak when Frankie gets up. Trying to play it cool, you only briefly glance up, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror as he makes his way down the stairs in his rumpled shirt and trousers, zipping up the fly when he reaches the bottom.

‘Morning, stud,’ sing-songs Benny, which earns him a slap on the head. ‘Ow! What the fuck, Shiv!’

Frankie loiters behind you for a second, scratching the back of his neck, before pulling you to one side. Not that it affords you much privacy anyway, with Benny wriggling his eyebrows impertinently at the two of you in the mirror.

‘I - uh -,’ he starts haltingly, one hand rubbing at the silver patch in his beard sheepishly. ‘I had a really good time last night.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ you smile.

His voice dipping lower, he asks, ‘Can I take you out to dinner sometime?’

Benny, being the shithead that he is, interjects loudly. ‘Hey lovebirds, I’m kind of on the clock here, if you don’t mind -’

‘She’ll get to you when she gets to you, Benjamin,’ snaps Frankie, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a stern finger at him.

Something about him being so assertive sends heat running up and down your spine. Stepping into his space - beaming when he doesn’t back away - you smooth a palm over the front of his shirt, unintentionally catching the rabbiting of his heart underneath.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug nonchalantly. ‘Do you intend to come back as a cash-paying customer?’

His eyes flash with want, one hand closing around your hip and he leans down to let his heated words brush by your ear. ‘Not if I can keep paying in other ways.’

Reaching up, you run a hand through his curls, preening at the way he closes his eyes at your touch. ‘Alright then, take me to dinner, Francisco.’

Peering around you, Frankie barks, ‘Miller, I’m cashing in on our bet.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ he gripes, digging into his wallet reluctantly.

Swiping the bill from Benny, Frankie winks at you before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth - chaste, but charged with meaning. ‘Looks like you paid for your own dinner, Shiv.’

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and playfully push him towards the door. ‘Get outta here before I change my mind!’

‘Yeah right - as if you would now that you know what you’ll be missing.’

You’re not sure which makes your jaw drop - his cocksure declaration or the roguish confidence with which he walks out the door. In either case, Benny howls with laughter as you struggle to stay on your feet, your kneecaps having been rendered completely useless.

Just as Frankie climbs into his truck, Ashton whistles to a stop outside the salon on his wheels. Jaw dropping at the sight of the disheveled pilot nodding at him through the windscreen, he abandons his bike right on the curb and dashes into the salon, the door banging against the wall as he rushes in.

‘Excuse me - what the fuck did I just miss?’ he demands frantically.

You roll your eyes. ‘Calm down, Ashton, it’s not what it looks like -’

‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ interrupts Benny as he starts singing. ‘Shiv and Frankie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-’

He breaks off with a yelp when you stuff a donut into his mouth to shut him up, sugar flying everywhere as Ashton picks you up and spins you around, squealing like a banshee the entire time.

‘You guys are the fucking worst,’ you laugh, out of breath by the time Ashton lets you go.

Glancing outside, where Frankie is still parked watching the whole embarrassing episode, he gives you one last wink and an amused grin before he pulls away from the curb.

In an almost exact repeat of the scene from a few days ago, Ashton joins you at the window, and the two of you watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Frankie smoothly steers his truck out of your street.

‘He even drives sexy,’ sighs Ashton dreamily. Nudging you in the side, he adds slyly, ‘You’re in so much trouble, Shiv.’

You grin. You know you are - and luckily, it’s not a spot of bother that you’ll be in a hurry getting out of anytime soon.

Notes: I'm so excited to have finally completed this little two-shot. The two of them have been hanging out in my head all these months, it feels amazing to finally yeet this part into the world! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you had as much fun as I did with these two 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ❤️

Now that I've got you here, if you want more of Shiv, I wrote some silly little drabbles of her hair appointments with our handsome Pedro boys for a recent milestone celebration. There are also some fun thoughts that came out of an impromptu Grays sleepover we had last week 🤍

I'm sure we'll see more of Shiv and Frankie somewhere down the line. For now, thank you again, I love you all so much ❤️

[hellisharchive]

﹒﹒﹒i am a god, now bow

➤ Adam was an angel that you've come to hate, from his attitude to the fact that you're privy to knowing about the exterminations led by him, you never liked him. He wasn't ignorant to this hatred, and wanted you to know just how much you should be praising him instead.

➤ Adam x GN!reader

➤ 18+, degradation, blowjob (m receiving), dacryphilia, dub-con, hair pulling

Heaven was perfect, when was it not? Every second was full of happiness and joy and beauty. Well, it was when Adam wasn't around. He was the bane of your existence and made every second of him being around pure Hell. He was arrogant, cocky, and always liked making an ass out of you. Every interaction with him was insufferable. You don't make your hatred outwardly known to him- but you do act snarky on purpose and deflect his attitude right back. He needs to be put in his place.

He normally talks to you on the promenade since you actively try to avoid him everywhere else, you know he does this on purpose. He just loves talking to you every chance he gets, always here with a Lute usually slurping loudly on whatever drink he has that day. That also pissed you off. You would avoid this part of Heaven if you could, but Saint Peter was your friend so it was easier just to hang around here for when he takes breaks. He knows about your disdain for Adam and usually tries to calm you down. It usually works, but some days it doesn't. Today was that day.

"Peter, I just can't stand him! He's such an ass and I swear he always tries to makes me as pissed off as possible!" You groaned as you felt his hand gently rub your back, being careful to mind your wings, as he knew talking would just interrupt your venting.

"I don't know why he's and asshole! Like sure he's the first man ever created. Cool I guess? No reason to be so arrogant ugh! Yesterday he literally told me that-" before you could tell your friend what bullshit Adam said, the man himself made himself known.

"Told you what? That I got a big dick?" He smirked as he approached, how long was he there for? You froze and stared at him for a second before regaining your composure and taking a deep breath.

"Fuck no, go away asshole before I make you" You scoffed and looked over at Peter who looked so nervous that he wanted to fly away. You felt bad because you didn't want him to be involved with all of this. "Come on Peter, let's-" You aimed to grab his arm to pull him away, but a hand wrapped around yours first, and it wasn't Peter's. Turning, you saw Adam gripping your wirst with a smirk on his face and he started to pull you in his direction.

"Hey! Let go of me asshole!" You struggled against him, but due to his size and strength, he was successfully dragging you before opening up a portal and throwing you in. You had no time to fight back as you hit something soft, looking around in disbelief, you were on a bed. Were you in his bedroom? Looking ahead, you watched as he walked through the yellow portal and closing it once he was fully inside.

"Nah, you need to learn your place, bitch. Now start undressing, or do you want me to do it?" You just stared at him in shock, eyes wide as you quickly shuffled to the other side of the bed, hitting the headboard too soon. He ripped off his mask, revealing short brown hair, and his smirk seemed even more imposing as he snapped off his robes to be only in his underwear. You didn't want to, but if he can do that, then you might as well retain some dignity and do it yourself.

"Fine! Fine! I will" You knew he was going to fuck you, you knew how he was, but for some reason you couldn't say no. Why couldn't you? You hated him, yet you're taking this treatment. Yet you couldn't deny that some weird part of you liked this, why did you like this? Gulping, you watched as he stared at you hungerly while you took your shirt off- being careful to mind your wings- and then your pants. As soon as you were just in your underwear, he pounced on you, caging you in with nowhere to go.

"You know you can always say no, back out now and we can forget all of this, I won't be upset" He leaned close and whispered in your ear before pulling back and hovering just a few inches away from your face. Your heart beat faster and you stared at him with a bated breath. He was giving you an out? He was giving you and out.

"Fuck it" You mumbled before grabbing his neck and pulling him in for a kiss, smashing against his lips, he happily returned the passion. It didn't last last, however, as he pushed off of you and stood up.

"On your knees" Only in your underwear, you obeyed him despite the nagging feeling of embarrassement. Nobody has ever told you to do that much less you complying without argument. But you did anyways, you still hated him, you were sure. Now on your knees on the floor, almost naked, you looked up at the first man who had on his signature smirk.

"Suck my cock, Bitch" You were starting to have doubts now, seeping into your veins. Now you were thinking that this was a really bad idea. When you didn't move, Adam snarled and grabbed your hair, pulling you closer to his clothed cock. The action caused you to yelp and tears to form in your eyes.

"Fucking do it, I am your god and you should treat me like one" Taking deep breaths, you harshly pulled away from his grasp, him letting go of your hair, as you felt the conflicting emotions flicker in your mind- and body. A part of you knows you shouldn't be treated like this by someone who aren't even in a relationship with. But the other part loves the thrill and adrenaline and were getting noticeably wet. Glaring at him, you took your shaky hands and wrapped them around the waistband of his underwear. Taking the plunge- you pulled them down all in one go. It was a little bigger than average, but it was quite girthy. You said nothing as you stared.

"I am your god and this is how you earn my forgiveness. In fact, I want you to beg for my cock" You froze as his words, he wants you to beg now? You should just stand up, grab your clothes, and storm off at his treatment of you. He was disgusting. Yet- here you were, you already were on your knees for him, you already were this far. Well, if he wanted to play that game, you might as well give it your all. Swallowing your pride, you caved.

"Please Adam, let me suck your cock" Your voice was shaky, not firm at all and that caused a huff from him.

"I'm not convinced" Breathing in, you muster up all the confidence you could.

"Please Adam, I want to suck you off until you're dry and your cum is spilling all over me" Your pride completely disappeared as you stared up at him with narrowed eyes, hating the way he made you feel, hating how he could make you do such things that no other man could. But, he bent down and grabbed your face with both of his hands as his lips ghosted yours.

"That's more like it, Slut" He whispered, causing chills to go down your spine as he roughly released you, before shoving your head to his dick again. This time, you felt it rest against the side of your cheek, causing your face to ignite with heat. Pride long gone, you pushed back against his thighs and his cock suddenly became intimidating to you. You were supposed to fit that in your mouth.

"I don't have all day, Bitch" Sighing, you gently grabbed his member and started to rub back and forth lightly, testing the waters. He hitched his breath before he mumbled something you couldn't hear. Leaning closer, you gave a kitten lick to his tip and you could watch his thigh tense up slightly. Deciding to dive in- you swirled around the top of his shaft and sucked just at the head. You felt his hand hold the back of your head and push you in a bit, and you felt the sudden intrusion of his cock in your mouth. Stopping your ministrations, you sent a death glare his way and he just put on a happy innocent smile.

But you continued anyways- going deeper and slowly taking him all in while wrapping your tongue around him. You heard him breath out "fuck" as you started to bob your head back and forth, increasing with speed as you sucked on him, holding onto his thighs tightly. You then felt his hand on your head again as he guided you, wanting you to go faster. Tears brimmed your eyes again as your mouth was completely full and you were going so fast now. Yet, you couldn't help but feel yourself get even wetter, why? He was a terrible person.

"Fuck I'm close... You ready to swallow the first man's seed?" If you were able to roll your eyes, you would, but just as he said that, his cum spilled all in your mouth. It was somewhat salty, milky nonetheless, and thick. His cock was slowly eased out of you as you swallowed and coughed, bracing your hands on the floor as some of your mixed saliva and his cum spilled, making a small puddle. You sat and caught your breath as Adam leaned down, gripping your chin in his hand, he forced you to look up at him with tears growing in your vision, shame washing over you.

"I like it when you cry, Bitch, because you know your place. You are below me and always will be. You are a peasant, and I am your god"

[cha-melodius]

Can I request firstprince alternative first meeting in Rio for your fandom fest? Thanks! ❤️💙

(Yes, I'm still working on these! I'm guessing this isn't exactly what you had in mind when you sent in this prompt, but it fit in very well with the Olympics, and it IS a (very) alternative first meeting lol. I hope you enjoy!)

Tonight, You're Gold

(M, 6k, read it below or on AO3)

Henry wasn’t expecting the Rio Olympics to be particularly eventful, all things considered. These weren’t his first games, after all, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s not a favourite in the men’s Laser sailing fleet this year. Coming back from a knee injury has been hard, and he’s proud of what he’s achieved this season. If he can make it into the medal race, he’ll be ecstatic. Mostly, he’s been enjoying the experience. Enjoying watching the different sports. Enjoying the city of Rio. Enjoying the other athletes.

As one does.

Normally, he wouldn’t have gone out tonight, but Pez had cajoled him into it, saying even if he wasn’t going to find a hookup he could at least take his mind off his impending first-round race rather than stewing alone in his room. Henry had to admit he had a point. That was before this, though.

One minute Henry’s listening to a ridiculously gorgeous American beach volleyball player with big brown eyes and eyelashes that would be a handicap in many sports complain about how his room was the victim of catastrophic flooding thanks to a burst pipe, and the next, all of his common sense simply deserts him.

“…and Liam ended up finding a place with this diver named Spencer, but I got fucked over because the only extra bed right now is with Hunter,” the American, whose name is Alex, is saying. He pushes a mess of gorgeous dark curls back from his face, only for several of them to flop back and curve just under his ears, framing a jaw that could cut glass. “Who— I mean, you don’t know him, and you should be thankful for that because he’s insufferable. But the real problem is that he snores like a chainsaw, so how the fuck am I supposed to get a decent night’s sleep?”

“You could stay with me,” Henry says before he can properly think it through. Across from him, Alex raises his eyebrows. Christ. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Only, my roommate’s already done competing, and he’s moved out. So I have an extra bed.”

Alex laughs, his curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to just move into Team Great Britain territory.”

Henry shrugs and takes a sip of his mocktail—he’s not dumb enough to drink with a race tomorrow, even if he is dumb enough to make this suggestion. “Given the revolving doors on some of these rooms, I don’t think you’ll draw much attention.”

Henry should know, after all. He’s had more than a few overnight visitors since Basil finished on the second day of the games. It’s been incredibly convenient having a room to himself—Fabrizio the Italian gymnast had been a highlight, to say nothing of half the Dutch rowing team—and now he’s about to give that up for a mouthy American that he’s pretty sure is straight. Because he’s a bloody idiot, apparently.

“I mean, people would probably assume…” Alex trails off, the darkening of his cheeks obvious even in the low light.

“That we’re fucking?” Henry finishes bluntly, and Alex chokes on his drink. Definitely straight, then. Pity. “It's true, they might. I understand if those kinds of rumours are not something you’re willing to risk.”

For some reason, that makes Alex look slightly stricken. “No, I mean, I don’t care if a bunch of random athletes think I’m queer. That’s not, like, a problem.”

“So it’s just me that’s objectionable, then,” Henry quips.

Alex is stunning when he laughs. It’s becoming a whole problem. “Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs. “Fuck, man. I should be so lucky.”

Henry only narrowly resists suggesting that he could be. Even if he thought Alex would be interested, he’s offering a place to stay. Not a quick shag.

“I should… probably get to bed. Races start early tomorrow,” Henry says, offering a little smile. “The offer stands, if you decide you need a break from the chainsaw.”

Alex draws his full lower lip through his teeth, which is supremely distracting. “Fuck. We do have a match tomorrow. And it’s against the Italians who are fucking good this year.” He squints sceptically at Henry. “Are you sure you don’t mind? You just met me. For all you know, I could fuck up your sleep.”

It’s insane to say he almost wouldn’t mind, so he doesn’t. He thinks it, though. “I doubt you’ll be worse than my roommate at the London games. And if you are, I’ll just kick you out.”

He says the last bit with a teasing smirk, which makes Alex laugh again, and Henry knows already he has no hope of surviving this man. Perfect. Just what he needs while he’s competing on the world’s biggest stage.

~~~~~

Alex is a wonderful roommate, as it turns out, which is lovely but also terrible. He’s considerate about noise and the odd hours they all have to keep between training sessions and competitions. He’s a chaotic whirlwind, but he’s also incredibly organised—“My brain is enough of a mess,” he’d told Henry on the second day—and always knows where everything is at any given time. He always makes sure there’s hot water in the kettle for Henry’s tea whenever he makes himself yet another no-doubt-coach-unapproved coffee. He’s an excellent conversation partner whenever their schedules line up, but he seems to intuitively know when Henry needs some time to himself. Today, he woke up before Henry’s third day of opening series races to hype him up, even though he had no reason to be up that early.

That’s not even considering what he looks like when he comes out of the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his curls onto some of the most well-sculpted shoulders Henry’s ever seen.

Henry is well and truly fucked.

“Hey, do people watch you guys compete?” Alex asks as Henry goes through his pre-race morning routine. “Do you have spectators?”

Henry hums, sipping his tea. “Not really. Most of the courses are barely visible from shore. They’ll put us reasonably close in for the medal race, but it’s still not much to see.”

“That’s the 15th, right?” Alex says, looking to Henry for confirmation even though he’s clearly already pulled the schedule up on his phone. “Maybe I could swing that. Our game should be late. You know, assuming we make the quarterfinals.”

Henry doesn’t quite know what to say to that. No one comes to see him compete, primarily for the aforementioned reasons of it not being the most scintillating or comprehensible sport to watch in person. Bea, at least, watches the televised races where the cameras, graphics, and commentators make it much easier to follow and texts him about a hundred times saying things like I can’t believe that asshole crossed in front of you and that Australian fucker stole your wind, which make him laugh as he reads through them once he’s back on shore.

“You don’t have to do that,” Henry demurs. “It’s really not worth it. Plus, I might not even make the medal race.”

“You will,” Alex says confidently, even though he knows next to nothing about sailing or Henry’s capabilities. Henry’s done pretty well in his first four races, but there are still six to go. “And anyway, it’s not really about watching the race. You guys deserve to have people to support and cheer for you too.”

Henry’s throat is tight. “Right, well, one step at a time,” he mumbles. Best to change the subject. “Tell me about your match today?”

Alex smiles like he knows what Henry is doing, but he lets it go, and Henry spends the rest of the time before has to depart for the race listening to Alex go on about digs and float serves and line shots. It’s a surprisingly effective way of soothing pre-race jitters and getting out of his own head, even if it’s one he knows he shouldn’t get used to.

~~~~~

Henry’s not sure he’s ever watched a beach volleyball match before, which was clearly a significant oversight on his part. He is sweating and not only because the sun is beating relentlessly down on him as he sits in the stands. It’s certainly not helped by the USA’s uniforms, which feature shorts a full hands-breadth shorter than seemingly any other team’s and vests with deeply scooped arm holes. Alex’s teammate, Liam, is wearing a white ball cap, but Alex has eschewed a hat, instead pushing his curls back from his face with a blue elastic hair band, which is more endearing than it has any right to be.

“Christ, would you look at his arse,” Pez says appreciatively from his position at Henry’s side as Alex leans over with his hands on his knees.

“You say that like I’ve been able to look anywhere else,” Henry returns. There’s no shortage of hot people in minimal amounts of spandex at the games, yet the way those shorts cling to Alex’s arse is somehow more tantalising than all of them. “I’m convinced he was specially sculpted by the gods explicitly to torment me.”

Pez tsks and slants a sideways look at him. “Still haven’t gotten him into your bed, then?”

“I’m not his type, Pez.”

On the court, Alex spikes a ball over the net, scoring a point, then runs over to Liam to celebrate. Which involves smacking each other vigorously on the arse. They’ve been doing it all match. Once, after a particularly exceptional point scored, Alex kissed him enthusiastically on the cheek.

“You’re certain about that?” Pez asks sceptically.

“You know straight men and their homoerotic sports rituals,” Henry sighs.

“Mm,” Pez hums. “I wouldn’t mind testing that hypothesis with his partner. Those arms.”

Henry snorts. “Godspeed, my friend.”

“Never underestimate my charm, Hazza,” Pez chirps, watching as Liam dives for the ball and knocks it back over toward Alex. “They really are very good at this.”

It’s not like Alex has been modest when he’s talked about their performance, but it’s very clear that he’s still managed to undersell it. The US men are practically putting on a clinic, dominating every set of the match. Both Alex and Liam are clearly exceptional players, operating like a well-oiled machine, but Henry admittedly can’t take his eyes off Alex. The way his muscles ripple under bronzed skin as he stretches to make a save. The raw power behind his serves. The brilliance of his smiles when he turns away from the net to celebrate after each point. Of course it wasn’t enough that Alex had to be gorgeous and kind and thoughtful and funny—he had to be absurdly skilled, too, even taking into consideration that everyone here is at the top of their game.

Alex is clearly still hopped up on adrenaline when Henry catches up with him after their decisive win, talking animatedly to one of the other Team USA athletes. Henry does his best to feel nothing about the way Alex lights up when he spots Henry lurking by the sidelines, immediately ditching his conversation partner to jog over to him. He’s glistening and flushed and Henry wants to lick him.

Christ, he needs to get a bloody grip.

“Did you see that save in the second set?” Alex chirps excitedly. “When I did a fucking flip and just caught the ball, and then”—he mimes a jump—“Liam slammed it into the corner?”

“It was hard to miss,” Henry tells him indulgently, biting down on his too-wide smile at Alex’s antics. “You were incredible, Alex.”

“So how’d you like your first beach volleyball game?” Alex asks. “Think you’ll come back?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Henry admits. It’s too honest by half, but entirely worth it for the truly brilliant grin he gets from Alex in return.

~~~~~

The thing about sailing is that there are no crowds you can see, no cheering you can hear. There’s just you and the boat and the wind—and nine other guys trying to cut a tighter path on the course to shave off a few seconds.

The wind is gusty during the medal race, and Henry ends up drenched in spray within the first ten seconds of getting out on the water. He loves these conditions, though, the way they push a sailor to their limits, the way it feels like you could take off in flight at any moment. The boat is responsive under his hands, skipping across the water like a stone, and he finds good angles to the wind that send him rocketing forward right off the starting gun. His luck holds, helped by the French competitor nearly capsizing in a gust and the Italian having to do a penalty turn at the second mark, and in the end he crosses the finish line at the front of the fleet in a cluster so tight it’s impossible to tell the final rankings from the water.

It probably won’t be enough to medal, even if he managed to score in the top three—his previous finishes were just a little too far back in the fleet—but frankly, he can’t find it in himself to care. Because when he finally gets back to shore, there’s an extremely excitable American who practically launches himself into Henry’s tired arms before he can even check the scores.

“Second place, you motherfucker!” Alex yelps in his ear.

Henry blinks, pulling away to look at him properly. “Are you serious?”

“They just announced it,” Alex confirms breathlessly. “What does that mean? Do you get silver?”

“No, the final scores are cumulative. It’ll depends on how the leaders finished, can you look—”

But Alex already has his phone out, looking up the scores as Henry’s coach hurries up to them, his eyes wide.

“Burton and Sheldt were both over the line at the start,” Shaan tells him urgently. “They were disqualified. With your second place, that means—”

“Fucking bronze!” Alex shouts, like he’s just won the medal, and abruptly Henry’s knees don’t feel steady enough to hold him up anymore.

It takes several minutes before Henry’s breathing returns to something like it’s normal rate, and he finds Alex sitting next to him, chewing on his thumbnail as he reads something on his phone. A short ways away, Shaan is taking care of putting away Henry’s boat for him, leaving the two of them in their own little bubble.

“This scoring system is bonkers, I hope you know,” Alex tells him. “I can’t believe it’s cumulative over eleven races.”

“I can’t believe I won a medal,” Henry replies, staring off into the distance. He can see the women’s Radial fleet on the course already, the colourful flag-patterned spinnakers cutting across the horizon. Nothing quite seems real yet.

“Yeah you did,” Alex says, grinning as he bumps his shoulder into Henry’s. “You were right, by the way. I couldn’t see jack shit. But I’m glad I was here.”

Henry’s not going to cry. He’s not. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on the connection between their shoulders like he can draw strength from it. “I am too, Alex.”

~~~~~

“Shouldn’t you be out getting wasted?” Alex asks when Henry eases the door closed behind him.

Henry really thought Alex would be asleep at this point, given that the semifinal games are tomorrow. Instead, Alex is sitting up in bed with his iPad laying on the mattress in front of him showing a paused beach volleyball game and a notebook next to that. They’d been out with a mixed group of Brits and Americans celebrating Henry’s medal and Alex and Liam’s quarterfinal victory, but Alex had begged off early to come back to their room, leaving Henry in Pez’s clutches with too much champagne flowing.

“Maybe I’m going back out,” Henry says, more defensively than is probably warranted. He is, actually. Just not to party. He walks over to his bed and pulls his medal over his head, laying it carefully on the side table where the bronze glints softly in the low light from Alex’s lamp.

“Hm,” Alex hums doubtfully as he looks Henry up and down. “You’re up to something. I can tell.”

“It’s nothing.” Fuck. He probably should have denied that.

“Henry,” Alex says flatly, giving him a Look. “I’m not gonna judge you.”

Henry sighs and leans against the wall, letting his head thunk backward. That might have been a mistake, because everything is spinning now. “I was going to sneak back to the marina and take my boat out,” he confesses.

The room is silent, and when Henry opens his eyes again, he finds Alex frowning at him. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Best time to see the stars,” Henry says with a weak smile.

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous? And against the rules?”

“Hence the sneaking.”

Alex stares another beat, then he nods, turning off his iPad. “Ok, let’s go.”

“…What?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you go out there by yourself,” Alex says firmly. “What if you slipped and hit your head or something?”

“If we got caught, you could be kicked out of the games,” Henry argues.

“And they could take away your medal,” Alex counters, folding his arms over his chest. “Whatever this is, it must mean a lot to you if you’re risking something like that. So if you’re going, I’m going.”

Christ, but he is stubborn. “My boat isn’t exactly built for two people, Alex.”

Alex shrugs. “We’ll make it work.”

Against the odds and all good sense, they do. Sneaking into the marina is easier than expected, thanks to shockingly lax security, and they find Henry’s boat amongst the other Lasers slumbering by the waterside in their cradles. Henry is well-practised at launching it by himself, so they just have to make sure Alex doesn’t capsize it when he climbs in—a near miss that leaves Alex white-knuckling the edge of the cockpit and Henry trying to hold back his laughter as Alex glares at him. The breeze has slackened now that the sun is down, just strong enough to take them out into the bay, where Henry drops the sail again and they both cram into the tiny cockpit with their knees bent and their legs weaved together.

“So,” Alex says, once they’re settled in and staring up at the stars, “are you gonna tell me what this is really about? Because I’m guessing it’s not just stargazing. Not that they aren’t amazing out here, but still.”

There’s a reason Henry didn’t put up much of a fight about Alex coming along, and it’s not how unspeakably beautiful he is with the pale moonlight in his curls. They might have only met a week ago, but he feels safe with Alex in a way he rarely does around anyone, able to share parts of him that he usually keeps buried. He takes a deep breath, letting every point of connection between them ground him.

“My father taught me how to sail,” Henry finally begins. “When I was small, we used to go out on his boat at night—a much larger one than this, mind you—until you almost couldn’t see the shore, just so we could see the stars better.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “He died when I was eighteen. All of this—the racing, the Olympics, coming out here after regattas to look at the stars no matter where I am in the world—everything I do. It’s all for him.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the soft lap of the water against the hull of the boat, but then Henry feels Alex’s fingers against his, his hand pushing into Henry’s loose grip as he twines their fingers together and squeezes. “He’d be so fucking proud of you, H.”

“I know,” Henry whispers, not trusting his voice.

“Absolutely no pressure, but…” Another squeeze. “Do you want to talk about him?”

For the first time in a long while, Henry does.

~~~~~

“What do you think?” Alex asks as he emerges from the bathroom. He turns in a slow circle, holding his arms out to the side, to show off his outfit—absurdly tiny shorts that are practically painted on and a lacy shirt that he’s seen fit to close with only a single button just above his navel. There’s a gold Olympic rings pendant laying over his collarbones, and his dark curls are shining with whatever product he’s put in them to tame them just so.

Henry narrowly avoids swallowing his tongue. “I think you’ll be very popular,” he manages.

Alex’s nose wrinkles as if that is not entirely the point. He’s been invited to a party at some extremely exclusive club in the city hosted by the Brazilian women’s beach volleyball team, who happen to be two stunningly gorgeous women that seem to particularly enjoy flirting with Alex. Not that Henry can blame them, but that doesn’t make him feel any less grumpy about the whole situation.

“I’m not trying to be popular,” Alex says as he turns again, twisting around to look at his arse in the mirror. He frowns, and mutters, “Only one person’s eye I’m trying to catch.”

Henry isn’t sure if he’s meant to hear that, or respond to it, but he swallows against the disappointment that wells up in his chest. So Alex does have someone in mind. He should have expected it, really—there’s no way someone who looks like Alex could go the whole games and not find company eventually. Not to mention he’s going to be playing in the gold medal match in a day’s time, and is thus guaranteed no lower than a silver medal. There are always plenty of participants at the games who consider bedding an Olympic medalist the next best thing if they’re not going to win one themselves.

“Well,” Henry says, trying to appear as if he’s reading and not surreptitiously ogling his roommate, “whoever it is, they’d have to be an idiot not to notice you.”

“Ok, but I’m asking what you think,” Alex says, a little petulantly.

Henry sighs and closes his book on his thumb. “You look incredible, Alex. Truly.”

That makes Alex beam, and Henry’s stomach flips. Christ, he’s hopeless.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Alex asks, casting his eyes over Henry’s slightly ragged joggers and Team Great Britain hoodie from 2012. “I’m pretty sure they’re not going to let you into the club like that.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, Alex,” Henry says. “I’m not going to any club.”

“Uh, yeah you are. You’re coming with me,” Alex says, like it’s obvious.

Henry scoffs. “I think my invitation got lost.”

“You’re a medalist,” Alex points out with an unnecessary eye roll. “Medalists have an automatic invite to every party. I thought this wasn’t your first Olympics?”

Henry pointedly looks down at his hoodie then back up again. “I know how these things work, Alex. I’m also certain that none of them are interested in having me there.”

“Well, I want you there, so.” He cocks an eyebrow, like he’s challenging Henry to deny him.

Like he knows Henry won’t.

Henry refuses to bring his medal with him because he’s absolutely not going to risk getting mugged for it, but in the end he doesn’t need the proof; apparently, he’s somehow on the list already along with Alex. And also, perhaps unsurprisingly, Pez, who’s already inside and practically shrieks when he sees Henry.

“Hazza! It’s a miracle!” he shouts as he looks appraisingly at Henry’s sedate trousers and the button-down shirt, which Alex had insisted he leave open down to the middle of his sternum. “I thought we had big plans to sulk in our room tonight.”

Henry glares at him and ignores Alex’s curious gaze. “I wasn’t aware having a quiet night in was a crime.”

“It’s the Olympics, H!” Alex puts in, clapping his shoulder with enough force to make Henry nearly stumble. “You can have all the quiet nights you want after the games.”

“See, this man knows how it’s done,” Pez agrees, then turns his attention to Alex. “I don’t suppose your dashing court partner is going to be here tonight…?”

Alex shrugs. “He said he was coming.”

Pez claps delightedly. “Wonderful!”

Alex says he isn’t drinking tonight, given his ongoing competition, which is understandable. Henry, on the other hand, is fairly certain he’s not going to survive the night watching Alex dance with scantily-clad women without significant assistance. He starts with a gin and tonic, but Pez keeps on appearing in a whirlwind with a myriad of brightly-coloured shots, so it’s not long before he’s very much feeling the loosening effects of the alcohol thrumming through his veins. When Alex reappears some time later with a sheen of sweat on his skin and an ipê-amarelo in his hair, Henry even lets himself be dragged out onto the dance floor, pretending his heart isn’t hammering in his chest when Alex pulls their bodies close with his hands on Henry’s hips.

“Hey, that first party we met,” Alex asks, his voice low and husky in Henry’s ear, just audible over the thumping bass, “were you trying to hit on me?”

Henry can’t help it; he laughs. “Well, yes, at the start,” he admits despite himself, his lips thoroughly loosened by all those shots. “I wanted to talk to you, so I did. I figured out you weren’t interested, but…” He shakes his head. “It didn’t matter. I was happy just getting to know you. Then I heard about your room situation, so it was kind of moot.”

Alex’s hands tighten on his waist. “Right.” There’s an odd note in his voice as he pulls back to stare up at Henry with those big brown eyes, the lights of the club painting multicoloured patterns on his face. “And if I wasn’t not interested…?”

There are far too many negatives in that sentence for Henry to be able to parse in his current state. He blinks at Alex, frowning deeply. He might also be slightly cross-eyed. “What?”

“Fuck, you’re really drunk, aren’t you?” Alex says with a huff of laughter. He pushes a lock of hair back from Henry’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to the room, yeah?”

“Sensible,” Henry says through a yawn, and contentedly leans against Alex’s side as he steers them toward the exit.

~~~~~

The American women take bronze in beach volleyball, and Henry sweats out the rest of the alcohol in his blood as he sits in the unrelenting tropical sun at the match. Next to him, Alex is in high spirits and seemingly all too happy to add to Henry’s torment.

“Did I tell you about the time we protested the beach volleyball uniforms rule at a tournament match?

Henry squints at him behind his sunglasses. He doesn’t remember much about the  previous night, which he suspects is probably for the best. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“You know the women have these rules that they have to wear these skimpy bathing suits while the men get shorts and tank tops, right?” Alex explains. “Well, Liam and I made a deal with the women’s team to trade uniforms.”

It is frankly in Henry’s best interests not to picture such a thing, and he tries valiantly, but Alex already has his phone out and is shoving a photo in his face. In it, Alex and Liam are posing next to each other, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, wearing nothing but huge grins and matching tiny red bikinis. It’s actually absurd how well Alex’s pecs fill out the top, but the bottoms are another matter entirely. A women’s bikini contains decidedly less fabric than a men’s suit would, and the tiny scrap of fabric is stretched to its absolute limits, leaving precisely nothing to the imagination.

“The officials made us go change before we could play the match, of course,” Alex continues, oblivious to Henry’s suffering. “But it was worth it.”

“Quite,” Henry nearly whimpers.

“We still have the suits, actually. Said we’d wear them again at the medal ceremony if we won gold this year. Guess we’ll see tomorrow, huh?”

Henry has to close his eyes and breathe through his nose, and hopes desperately that Alex doesn’t notice.

~~~~~

Somehow, Alex manages to finagle Henry a seat in the front row for the final match. It’s a little awkward, sitting with Alex’s family, all of whom eye Henry with confused suspicion when he tries to explain how a British sailor ended up as a special guest of their son and brother. Apparently, Alex hadn’t bothered telling them about his altered living arrangements, a fact that has his mother—who Henry understands is some sort of American politician—pulling out her phone to have words with the US Olympic Committee and possibly the IOC as well, before her daughter tells her to cut it out and watch the match.

Alex is spectacular, of course, even when the Brazilians give them a run for their money, forcing the match into a nail-biting third set. Henry ends up with each of his hands crushed in the matching grips of Alex’s sister and her girlfriend (also Alex’s best friend), a statistician who has apparently run all the stats on this game and keeps rattling off numbers and percentages that Henry admittedly doesn’t quite follow.

It comes down to the final match point. Liam serves the ball, and they end up in a spectacular volley that seems to go on and on—the Brazilians make an incredible save that keeps it in play, somehow blocking a spike that Alex sends rocketing over the net, and Liam dives to prevent a ball from going out of bounds that Alex already touched. Finally, the Americans set up a shot, winding up like they’re going to drive it to the back of the court, but once the Brazilians have moved backwards to counter it, Alex softens his strike and the ball falls weakly into the Brazilian zone on the other side of the net.

The resulting cheers are deafening as Alex and Liam crash together in an ecstatic hug, knocking Liam’s cap off and nearly sending both of them down into the sand. Then Alex is running full-tilt toward them, barely pausing to accept an American flag from someone in the stands, which he throws over his shoulders like a cape as he gets enveloped in hugs from his family over the railing. It’s incredible, and Henry is so bloody happy for him, and—

And Alex grabs him, Henry assumes to drag him into a hug, but then Alex is pulling back and putting his hands on either side of Henry’s face and kissing him soundly on the mouth. Henry can see at least five cameras out of his peripheral vision, all crowding in to try and get the shot, but his attention is quickly torn away because Alex is kissing him, full and deep and claiming, and Henry can do nothing but cling for dear life as he kisses Alex back.

Alex presses their foreheads together when they finally part and says something, though Henry can’t quite comprehend it over the roar of the crowd. Only later will the words finally resolve themselves in his head, once Alex has been drawn away to be congratulated by others and Henry is still sitting dazed and touching his lips as people ask him questions he doesn’t know the answers to.

“I’m interested, baby.”

~~~~~

Alex and Liam do not, in fact, wear bikinis at their medal ceremony. Henry finds out later that the US Olympic committee’s emphatic directive that athletes wear their official Team USA track suit or else was, in the end, enough to spook the two men into behaving.

“That, and I’m pretty sure my mother would murder me,” Alex tells him once Henry manages to steal him away from the numerous well-wishers and endless press after the ceremony.

Henry has no clue where they’re going, having never been in the non-public parts of this stadium, so he lets Alex take over, leading them into the bowels of the training areas and locker rooms. By now it’s nearly three in the morning, and Henry is slightly delirious, though that’s less from the fatigue than the fact that he still hasn’t recovered from Alex kissing him in front of the entire world. They could have gone back to their room in the Village, except that apparently neither of them are willing to wait any longer.

“We should talk,” Henry says when Alex finally pushes him into an empty training room and closes the door behind them with a soft snick.

“Counterpoint,” Alex says, grinning wickedly as he crosses the room. There’s a swagger in his stride that really only comes when there’s a gold medal hanging around a person’s neck and, unfortunately, it’s devastatingly attractive. He backs Henry up against a wall, sliding his hands up Henry’s chest as he leans in so close their noses brush. “This now. Talking later.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Henry breathes.

“I know I do, sweetheart,” Alex says smugly, and Henry has no choice but to kiss the smirk off his face.

This kiss is nothing like the one they shared after the match. Henry takes his time, luxuriating in the slide of their lips and the cut of Alex’s teeth, licking into Alex’s mouth to feel their tongues slip against each other. He gets his hands into Alex’s hair like he’s wanted to since that first night, letting the curls twine around his fingers as he tightens his grip in a way that makes Alex moan into his mouth. Alex’s body is a firm weight against him, nothing but solid, corded muscle clenching under Henry’s palm. His hips rock forward, so subtly that Henry’s not even sure he knows he’s doing it, but the effect is unmistakable all the same.

In one smooth movement, Henry turns them, pressing Alex back against the wall and dropping to his knees, and the sight of the hard length of Alex’s cock straining in his trousers is enough to make Henry’s mouth water. He looks back up to find Alex gaping at him, his chest heaving and his knuckles going pale where his hands are clenched into fists by his side.

Henry licks his lips and slides his palms up Alex’s thighs to the elastic waistband of his trousers. “Can I blow you?”

“Fuck, please,” Alex exhales, a gratifying tremor in his voice.

Grinning, Henry hooks his fingers into the waistband and yanks downward to reveal—

“You’re a bloody demon, you know that?” Henry huffs as Alex’s cock twitches against the skimpy red spandex of the bikini bottoms.

“I said I was gonna wear it on the podium, and I keep my word,” Alex says, grinning, only to swear loudly when Henry leans in and presses his open mouth to the damp spot on the fabric.

Thank god this area is deserted at this time of night because Alex is loud as Henry shows off his not inconsiderable skill. He teases Alex through the bikini until he’s trembling all over, and when Henry finally sucks him down to the root, it takes no more than a few swirls of his tongue before Alex is coming with a shout and a fist tugging on Henry’s hair hard enough that Henry sees stars.

“Gold medal,” Alex breathes, his chest heaving and his thumb pressing at the corner of Henry’s mouth as Henry gentles him through the last aftershocks.

Henry doesn’t have the heart tell him that he’s not the first person to say that at the games. If cock sucking were an Olympic sport, Henry’s medal count would put Michael Phelps to shame. None of that matters now. Alex curls his hands in the front of Henry’s jacket and drags him back up to kiss him deeply, and the way they fit together is simply… perfect.

Alex doesn’t miss a beat in the rhythm of the kiss as his hand slides down to palm Henry’s cock through the front of his trousers, but Henry catches his wrist. “Later, love,” he murmurs against Alex’s lips. “What I want, we need to go back to the room for.”

They have two days before the end of the games, and Henry intends to make the most of it.

[heizlut]

Insufferable part 1

cw: none

tags: switch fem!reader, switch!scaramouche, oral (m!recieving)

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

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Scaramouche is so annoyed when you approach him, scowling and mentally preparing himself for whatever bullshit you might spout as you usually do when you pop in for a visit, “What the hell do you want?”

You waltz towards him with a stupid grin on your face. Why were you always so damn happy all the time? “I was bored!” you beam at him. He grimaces, “Eugh… go bother Childe instead. I don’t have time for this today.” You raise an eyebrow and look at the room around him, “But you’re not doing anything?” Scaramouche scoffs and rolls his eyes, “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t about to be busy, you pest.” You wave him off dismissively and flop down on the couch, “Scara, have you ever had a girlfriend?”

His eyes widen as he looks at you, “Excuse me? Why would I even want such a thing?” He pauses then adds, “There is nothing in human relationships for me to desire or appreciate.” You look a little amused as you meet his eyes, “Oh yeah? Well I think it’s painfully obvious that you want affection and that you’re so clearly touch-starved.”

Scaramouche’s blood begins to boil, “I do not have those weaknesses. I am a being that has risen past the superficial limitations of humanity. And if you think I'm still chained to human desires like this affection nonsense you're obsessed with, you are sorely mistaken.” You cover your mouth, trying hard to contain your laughter.

He grits his teeth and lowers his voice, “What’s so funny…” You lower your hand, having a slight smile, “It’s just.. you wouldn’t be talking like this if you were still like your old self. You used to crave being around humans and wanted to form bonds-” Scaramouche cuts you off, striking the table beside him with his hand as he raises his voice, “I am no longer Kunikuzushi! Kunikuzushi is gone. There is no part of him that remains within me whatsoever!” You rise from your seat and approach him, unfazed by his outburst, “Are you sure about that?”

He clenches his fists tightly, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to get into a physical altercation with you, "Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you." Your features light up and your lips curl into a teasing smirk, "What? You gonna kiss me to shut me up?" Scaramouche scrunches his nose, "I would never..." You carry on with your teasing, "Oh that's right... You've never kissed anyone before have you?" He blushes furiously at your words, wanting to deny it even though you weren't wrong, "I..I don't have a desire for such a thing." Scaramouche turns his head away from you only for you to place a finger under his chin and redirect him back to you. He looks into your eyes, feeling his chest tighten as you give him a little smile and lower your tone, "Are you sure about that...."

Scaramouche is lost in your gaze for a moment before he finally breaks the tense eye contact and steps away from you, "Are you done now?" You smirk and then let out an overly-dramatic sigh, "Hmm, guess I'll go to Childe instead~" That gets his attention, his gaze snapping back over to you as you slowly make your way to the door, "W-wait... Childe?" You grin at him from over your shoulder, "Uh-huh, you told me to go bother him instead, remember?~" He fumbles over himself as his mind races for his next words. You breathe out a small laugh as you notice his behavior, "Aww do you actually want me to stay?" His cheeks heat up again as his expression twists back to annoyance, "No! ...I mean..." Scaramouche releases a deep breath when you raise an eyebrow at him, looking at him expectantly, "Use your words." Your command stirs something inside of him and he relents, "Fuck... Just stay..."

You turn back to face him once more, a devious look on your face, "Ask nicely." He runs his tongue across his teeth, so fucking annoyed that you're turning him into a mental mess, "Stay here...please." Your smile grows as you saunter back to him, "See that wasn't so hard now was it?" Scaramouche glowered at you and crossed his arms, "What is your end goal here?" You tilt your head a little and give an innocent smile, "I told you I was bored. I'm just having a little fun~" He rolls eyes, "You're idea of fun is pestering and flirting with me?" You look quite entertained by his words, "Me flirt with you? You'd like that wouldn't you.." Scaramouche's expression hardens, "I most certainly would not. You think I enjoy flirtation and teasing advances? Hah!"

You look him up and down, looking devious as ever, "I'd say so since only a couple minutes ago you got flustered and your cheeks got all red." He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, "Do you ever shut up?" You give a dopey smile, "Nope!" Scaramouche narrows his eyes at you, "Just tell me what you want." "A kiss", you answer immediately, still with that same smile on your face. He blinks, taking in your boldness, "Excuse me?" Your eyes go half-lidded when you look to him, "You heard me. Besides, wouldn't it be nice to finally be kissed?" He rolls his eyes again, "That is not something I need to accomplish..." You place your hand on his chest and give him an alluring look, "Come on~ I'll teach you how." His brows drew together, "How does someone t-"

His words are interrupted by the feeling of your soft lips on his and your body caging him against the wall. His cheeks burn red when he realizes what's happening. Scaramouche was about to push you away until he felt you gently bite at his bottom lip and then swipe at the same spot with your tongue. He groans softly into the kiss, making his lips part a little more, granting your tongue access to his mouth. Your tongue smoothes against his as your lips move in a slow rhythm. Just as Scaramouche was about to pull you closer and deepen the kiss, you pull away. He leans forward, eyes half-lidded as he chases your lips. You laugh softly at the the needy look on his face and he quickly scrunched up his face, blushing heavily, "That's not fair... I wasn't done..."

"Then use your words and tell me what you want", your tone low and teasing. Scaramouche pulls you close to him, looking at you with desire and a hint of frustration, "I want you to kiss me again." "Good boy", you drawl as you press your lips to his again. His cock throbs in its confines from your praise and he kisses you back feverishly. Your lips move together with haste and passion. Your body pressed hard against him, feeling his bulge against you. You smirk against his lips and roll your hips against his, making his eyes snap open in shock. Scaramouche tries to separate from the kiss only for you to bite his lip once more. You give one more kiss before leaning back just enough that his panting breaths mingled with yours, "Someone seems to be enjoying this~"

He opens his mouth to protest only for his words to morph into a husky groan as you roll your hips against this bulge once again, "W-what're you doing..." The corners of your lips curl up as your hand trails down his body, stopping right before you reach his aching cock, "I'm just having fun..." Your palm rests on his bulge and you squeeze with just enough pressure that draws a hiss from him as his eyes shut tight. "Does your cock need some attention?", you ask with that teasing lilt in your voice that frustrated him to no end. Scaramouche felt so humiliated but so desperate for something he never experienced before, "Please..." You let out a satisfied hum as you kneel down in front of him and tug down his pants. His cock springs forward, twitching with anticipation. You look up at him, catching his lustful and dazed expression.

You wrap your fingers around his length and begin to pump it languidly, running your thumb across his slit to rub the clear pre cum around the head of his cock, "So leaky already, how cute~" Scaramouche's nose scrunches at your teasing, wanting to tell you to shut your mouth, but he can't trust what may come out of his mouth. You stick your tongue out and lick at his slit, letting the salty taste of his arousal fill your senses. HIs hands fly to your head, tangling his fingers in your hair at the overwhelming sensation, "Fuck... Please... More" You look amused as you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head and without warning, you wrap your lips around his length and begin to suck.

The pathetic whimper that comes from Scaramouche is so embarrassing. HIs cheeks burn bright red, trying to comprehend how such a noise came from him. His thoughts are interrupted when you take his full length and swallow, having your throat constrict around his cock made his grip your hair tighter. Your tongue licks the underside of his cock as you move your mouth up to his tip and suck. Another embarrassing moan falls from his lips and begins to thrust his hips forward, desperately wanting to fuck your mouth. His needy behavior amused you, so you allowed him to feel in control for this moment. Scaramouche's thrusts are sloppy as he facefucks you; no longer caring about all the whiny noises he keeps making. You hollow your cheeks whenever it's just the tip between your wet lips, making the sensation absolutely wild for him.

His hips stutter and his cock swells; you know he's about to cum. With this knowledge, you take his length as deep as you can and tighten your throat around him yet again. Scaramouche cries out, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his grip on your head. He empties his load, shooting thick ropes of cum down your throat which forces you to swallow immediately, lest you choke. HIs grip finally relaxes and you pull back off of his cock, coughing slightly and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Scaramouche looks down at you with a glassy-eyed look and one corner of his lips upturned in a lazy smirk, "Too much for you?" You bark out a laugh as you rise to your feet, "I wasn't the one making all those high-pitched noises~" He rolls his eyes, slumping back against the wall, "Whatever. I bet you make those noises too." You give a sly smile, "Only under the right circumstances.." He raises an eyebrow, straightening up, "And what circumstances would those be?" You look him up and down and then smirk, "Guess you'll have to let me bother you later and you might just find out."

Scaramouche's eyes trail you closely as you leave the room. He lets out a breath and tugs his pants back up then threads his fingers through his hair that was now damp with sweat. If he could feel like this every time your insufferable self came to annoy him, maybe he could get used to your little routine. Besides, maybe, just maybe, he could keep you for himself and give into silly delusions of affection that he swore he would never let affect him again.

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a/n: i finally caved and wrote a fic for scarapookie

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Something Full-Bodied and Red

Did a thing. Here's period smut!

It hits you right as he says, “No need to bleed by yourself, my love.” Your jaw drops. You stare at him, in his words, all agog. “You… are you saying…?” “Offering my companionship during your trying times? Yes, I believe I am. You smell delicious, Eleanor. I’ve been thinking about devouring you all day.” No mistake as his gaze slides down to the extra padding beneath your trousers. Or the way his pupils eclipse the red irises.

Or: Aunt Flo comes to visit. Astarion is delighted to make her acquaintance.

You really should a known when Gale made an—objectively-speaking and you even knew it at the time—simple statement about the best path to take. The day is hotter than Satan’s ass crack, y’all are sweating and miserable, and the rage surges up in you like goddamn Plinian eruption.

You say something along the line of, “No one asked your opinion, and yet here we are, listening to you talk anyway.”

It’s too far. You know it. Knew it before you even opened your mouth in that split second judgment call.

Gale’s face falls before he picks it back up and resettles his blasé mask.

Shit goddamn fuck.

Everyone hears it, too. Even Astarion gives you a Look.

“I’m sorry, Gale,” you say. “I really am. I’m…that was an asshole thing to say.”

His smile is still a couple shades cooler than usual. “It’s alright. The heat is getting to us all, I believe.”

An olive branch, when you’re the one who snapped.

“I mean it. Heat or not, that was rude of me. ‘Specially since you’re right.”

Cause he is. Heat melts your brains to pudding, and you were about to stomp y’all past the correct intersection to take y’all back to the inn.

His smile thaws a touch. He inclines his head.

“Now you’ve done it,” Astarion says. “He’s going to be insufferable all day.”

“Being correct is not being insufferable,” Gale says, one finger held up, the spitting image of some college professor. “Especially when it saves all of us time and effort in this truly insufferable mugginess.”

Poor man don’t know muggy. That’s when the backs of your hands sweat. Muggy is when the air’s so wet it’s almost hard to breathe. It’s one-hundred-and-thirteen goddamn degrees Fahrenheit with ninety-five percent goddamn humidity.

But you keep that shit to yourself because you fucked up and he’s owed a dunk on you.

As y’all turn up the (correct, this time) road, Astarion sidles in. Gives you a glance and the smallest line creases his brow.

“’M okay,” you say.

He nods. Bumps his hand against yours in his totally-not-a-stray-cat way of asking for attention. You thread your fingers through his gloved ones, and the both of you pretend that don’t soften his entire posture.

The inn is only half full. They got alcove beds along the walls, so you and Astarion decide to share. The two of you set up the privacy screen, and he changes into sleep pants while your back is turned.

Cazador McFuckface is dead. Astarion is a free man, and y’all have been intimate. But you still give him his modesty, always; it seems to please him beyond words. You can tell in the soft sigh as you turn away and leave him to it. In the languid movements of his limbs as he finishes and slides onto the mattress (only grumbling a little at the poor quality of the linens). In the roundness of his eyes as he stretches out and waits for you to join him.

He's still a murder hobo and a thieving, snarking, asshole gremlin. But there’s more to him, now.

You fiddle with your trousers. It really is too hot to sleep in clothes; back home, you always slept bare. It’s how you landed on an alien ship buck-ass naked.

He seems to sense this dilemma. Murmurs, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

And then gives you a saucy little wink, the dork.

So you shuck off all but your smallclothes (that he sewed for you; nothing says “You’re fine I guess” like a man sewing you some drawers) and scooch in after him. He shuffles closer to the wall while you reach up to untie the cord holding the bed curtain open.

It’s only the illusion of privacy—Lae’zel murmurs to Shadowheart across the room and Karlach’s familiar snores already fill the air. But it’s a mental thing, and you turn and Astarion snuggles into you.

“God that’s nice,” you say.

One benefit of him being undead is the man don’t produce body heat. Which means he’s nice and cool against you. Which was real weird at first (something air temperature shouldn’t move or speak), but it’s him and he’s safe, so this feels like him, like safety.

He groans in response—the downside of undead is the man don’t produce his own body heat. Which means his joints get achy unless he’s fed within the last day, or he’s got a nice, large lover blasting him with her own furnace heat.

You’re tired and vaguely hurting. Astarion likes to be the little spoon, and when he’s facing you, he koala’s onto your front. Face tucked in against your neck (or your cleavage; “you make a fantastic pillow, darling”), arms wrapped around your middle, legs all tangled with yours.

But it’s so damn hot, and the walking was too damn long. Your body thrums. Bastard won’t settle. You become too aware of his habitual breath fanning your skin. Of his coolness against you. The arm slung over your ribs.

It’s easy to imagine that mouth of his opening. Tongue snaking out to lap at you, blunt front teeth nipping up and up. Until he finds your lips and—

You shift.

His crotch is right there. Ain’t nothing going on, but you know now what he feels like when he presses against you. When he ruts against you, eyes closed to slits, forgetting to breathe. His hand around yours on his cock as he shows you how to pleasure him. The salty, bitter tang as he comes in your mouth—

“Shit,” you say and shift your legs. Astarion nuzzles against your neck but otherwise says nothing.

Y’all’ve had sex in public. Had sex in an alley. In an inn. But none of those was this close to y’all’s friends. Curtains muffle sound about as well as tent fabric, but they been pitching their tents away from your shared one for some time and for a damn reason. You always thought you were quiet. Turns out, with a partner, not so much (it’s the shit he says; his pick-up lines were so over-the-top they was kinda funny, but when he means it? Who-wee).

You sigh. It’s been a long day. Y’all need to sleep.

You try to shift your hips without dislodging him, hoping to find the right angle to ease the general achiness—

“That’s going to make it more difficult for me to trance, darling,” Astarion says against your skin.

(You don’t shiver. That would be too desperate. And even if you did, he don’t mention it.)

“Sorry,” you say. “Kinda restless. You wanna sleep in separate beds?” Then he looks up and even in the curtained gloom, his eyes pick up that red shine like a monster in the woods come to lurk.

Okay, so you absolutely shiver. You feel his smile, slow and syrupy, against your collarbone.

“Who said anything about leaving?” he says.

This man. What he does to you. You try to run your fingers through your hair, but it’s dark, you’re human, and you catch his ear instead.

Now he shudders. Presses a kiss to where your neck and shoulder meet.

“Are you…?” you say, because you ain’t always good at reading people and this man in particular is real good at getting himself misread on purpose.

His cool fingers slip down your belly to tease along your smallclothes as his mouth opens to suck on your neck (it’ll bruise). His fingers trace lower, lower…

You clasp a hand over your mouth.

“Offering to help you work through whatever has you so bothered?” he says.

Heat rushes between your legs. You are so horny for him it’s ridiculous. His hand lifts so he can trace along your outer thigh. Then his knee slots between your legs.

“Be a dear and bring this up over my hip, hmm?” he says, tapping a pattern on your thigh. “Open your legs for me, my love.”

“But everybody’s so close.”

He sucks at the damn love bite. He loves leaving marks on you. You think you like him leaving marks on you.

“So long as you stay quiet,” he says, voice gone soft and lilting as his fingers tease under your smallclothes to stroke lower.

The rest on AO3.

[yourhighness6]

NATLA Debrief: Episode 3 (by yours truly)

Hi again! If any of ya'll are interested here's episodes 1 and 2. Thank you to those who have been following these deranged, unorganized posts, especially @phoebester (Just an fyi this will be hella long, just like the other two)

First of all, the way they framed the opening resistence scene was genuinely so cool because I immediately thought back to the cold open for the first episode. The streets are so similar that's where my mind went RIGHT AWAY and if that is not good set design and filming I don't know what is.

The resistance scene was so powerful for so many reasons besides those small details, too. The concept of a resistance within the FN was never addressed at all within the cartoon and I can't express how glad I am that they added this. It just makes logical sense that some people would resist, especially while so many are dying in war, and it really serves to humanize the FN people in a way that's reminiscent of book 3 ATLA. Perfect way to expand on the source material and introduce core themes earlier in the show (M Nite should be taking notes).

It was also a perfect way to introduce both Ozai and Azula's characters. Ozai is this menacing figure stepping out of the shadows (quite literally), an almost larger than life villain who seems to have every move planned and everything calculated. He's brutal and efficient and we can see that. Azula is conniving and smart, the kind of girl who can fool anyone and come out on top, but is ultimately still a weapon under her father's control. You can tell from the moment Ozai mentions Zuko that she is the underdog, but she is determined that it will not stay that way, and she seems just terrifying enough to succeed. (also idc what anyone says Elizabeth Yu has mastered Azula's look and general vibe. I feel like the whole 'miscasting' debacle was a mix of fatphobia and being shown the wrong stills before the show came out. She looked sort of sweet and innocent in those but I get absolutely none of that from this scene)

Ugh the exposition was great and then they have to give us this. What the absolute hell did they do to my Katara? Like there was a whole ass episode in the cartoon devoted to her getting mad because she wasn't progressing as fast as Aang and then in this fucking adaptation the maddest she sounds is when she emotionlessly declares, "I don't get it" to convey mild frustration. I'm sorry Kiawentiio, you're acting is great but the writers clearly have no fucking idea how to put your emotional range to good use. The same problem was present in the last episode and I just don't see them being able to fix it significantly enough at this point, even if they have a desire to. Not to undermine that, but there were a couple good points in this scene: Aang mentions something about bending being "beyond thought" which gives bending a more spiritual aspect that I like, and Katara's PTSD is brought up again in an intelligent way, but still, that doesn't matter if they're going to completely butcher her character. (side note: when is Aang going to learn waterbending? they haven't shown him training at all and I'm getting worried)

This scene was fine or whatever but what in the absolute fuck is going on with Zuko and Zhao? Are they not going to do the agni kai? Like I know there's still animosity there but they were really just sitting there (semi)-calmly enjoying a cup of tea and demonstrating only mild dislike for each other. All I have to say is if they remove the agni kai altogether I'm gonna be so fucking pissed it'll bug me forever and I'll be fucking insufferable.

Also Zuko is so mean to Luitenient Jee for no reason. I know it's because his abuse makes him see any kind of comradery as weakness so it's a good detail if that's what they're going for but ngl I also find it a bit funny. Like what did he ever do to you? And Zhao taking three tries to pass his officer exam is so perfect too like what a fucking looser lmao.

Ba Sing Se looks beautiful. There's something so mystical about it, especially in the way Aang describes it as they walk up to the gate. It's this hub of culture and science and art, but it's also incredibly militaristic and so changed due to war it's almost unrecognizable to someone who was there a hundred years ago. The adaptation of cultures during times of change is something ATLA does so well and I'm glad to see that it's continuing in the LA.

AHH Katara was so awkward during this whole scene and I loved it. For one thing Sokka's commentary was absolutely hilarious but it's also this reminder that Katara has been relatively isolated from other children her age and her brain is like "cute boy flirt how" and its so fucking funny. It might not be the same Katara as the cartoon who is effortlessly comfortable wherever she goes but this is so much more realistic and if she's going to be a bit different this is probably the best thing for them to change (now keep the awkwardness and give her back her anger Netflix I'm begging you)

I am slightly concerned because it looks to me like they're trying to condense at least four episodes into one and I'm not sure if that's going to be a cohesive plotline or a complete mess or not but if handled carefully I think they might be able to pull it off.

Ooooh the explosion was super unexpected and totally cray cray thanks for keeping me on my toes. I'm assuming it was Jet that planted the bomb although I cannot for the life of me think why. Anyways Teo was adorable I'm adopting him.

Also I am so so so happy that they gave him a little more depth beyond just 'happy glider kid' and gave a bit more nuance to his character. Of COURSE kids who grew up in war are going to be desensitized to the bloodshed OF COURSE they're going to be a little vengeful and be thinking about ways to win the war OF COURSE Aang is going to be uncomfortable with that because he didn't grow up with that militaristic mindset even if he did loose everything OF COURSE that's not going to change the fact that kids grow up hearing about death and experiencing loss as extremely young children versus Aang being suddenly thrust into this responsibility and grief because he didn't grow up like that he grew up in peacetime it just makes sense. Good job Netflix this was wonderful this was perfect I loved it.

Okay don't get me wrong I love the way Aang wears his heart on his sleeve I love how their in-the-face storytelling makes a bit more sense with how open and emotional of a person he is it's just part of his character that was improved upon by the LA in my opinion but this is also just... such a misunderstanding of the group dynamic. Like why isn't Katara seeing these people and thinking "I can help with this I have to help with this" and Aang giving this speech to Sokka jumping on the bandwagon? I would even accept them seeing the destruction together and mutually deciding that they need to help the people there (this would probably be best as it allows us to see both character's compassion) or Aang saying something about it and Katara immediately being like "ur absolutely right" but of course they can't do that all we need is a lengthy speech from the protagonist while Katara stands there like robot girl. My mistake.

STOP because her mocking face is so fucking perfect I love Elizabeth Yu she's perfect. Anyway, I think that they're kind of... adjusting her trauma a bit? I mentioned earlier how I feel like she's shown as a little more scrappy and an underdog as opposed to perfectly calculating and not a hair out of place, but after this scene I feel the need to expand on that. In the cartoon, Azula's abuse from her father centers around his unattainably high expectations for her that eventually cause her ultimate breakdown and the conclusion to her devastating character arc. But in the LA, they're portraying her as less of a prodigy and more of a hard worker. She still has incredibly high expectations, but in this version, she never meets them all the time. Her brother is almost leveraged against her in a way. Even if she feels like she is the best and has the constant need to prove she is the best to her father, there's always going to be this nagging insecurity that she won't be good enough to measure up to her brother. She's not being told she's worthless like Zuko, but she's not reaching every goal like cartoon Azula, either. This also might explain why she has arrows. In the cartoon, weapons are viewed with disdain by firebenders, making Zuko using them so controversial, but Azula definetely doesn't seem to be hiding her talent for the bow and arrow and even if it was a her-sneaking-away-to-practice sort of situation that's not very in character and I don't think she would do that. I think in this version she probably has them because she's trying to find every possible way to prove herself to her father beyond just firebending, and mastering a weapon is a way to do that. I'm not sure how I feel about these changes but she is clearly a different character in this version than in the cartoon and moving forward I'm going to treat her as such. (I've noticed this a bit with all of the characters except possibly Sokka: they're different people. I think this actually might be intentional. [even so I still don't like their characterization of Katara her trauma hasn't changed very much to my knowledge she should still have the same core drives and character traits])

As well done as Azula was, there was relatively nothing in the Ty Lee and Mai department. They're just kind of existing, watching her train. Ty Lee is vaguely cheerful (and her costume is great btw) and Mai has one line about exploring the world that gives a bit of insight into her character and has a monotone voice. They're both clearly a little scared of Azula but that's basically it. Hopefully we get more on them soon.

Back in Ba Sing Se, I noticed a bit of a parallel between Teo and Katara. The Mechanist mentions that they lost his mother due to the war, which reminded me specifically of Katara. Throughout this scene, we see that Teo remembers his mother's philosophy and adopts it into his own mindset far more than his father's. Their situation is different because while Katara is arguing for compassion Teo is arguing for fighting back, but they are both fundamentally saying the same thing. It's not enough just to accept their lot in life and try to survive or fight, it's about the big picture, and about defending the things they love. While Katara and Teo both approach this subject from a very different front, the core idea is the same. It's also telling how they are dismissed initially as idealistic for their values when they are really upholding what their mothers stood for in their eyes: for Teo, a symbol of hope in her retellings of the stories of the avatar, and for Katara, a symbol of kindness in her reminders to remain empathetic despite the horrors of war. Make of this what you will, I just thought it was a nice little parallel.

Anyway, allow me to have a few words on the whole Jet thing (in bullet points because I don't have enough brain power to do this)

I'm glad Jet got his freedom fighters outfit. I was a bit worried when I saw what he was wearing in the first scene he was in because the fit is iconic, and so are the swords

God he's so fucking dramatic "they call me Jet" while the sun glints off his swords and he turns slightly for affect it was so funny I laughed out loud

He and Kia have no on-screen chemistry I'm sorry. Like even the fight scene was so awkward and every time they speak to each other they sound so stiff. They're good actors independently but whoever was watching their chemistry check (I'm assuming they had one pre-production but judging by this crap I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't) was either asleep or it was their first day because there is NOTHING there

What the hell did they do to the Freedom Fighters? They're so cheesy and the costumes are so bad (especially Smellerbee's). Like seriously that entire fight scene was so awkward idk what the hell happened there but it was nowhere near the quality of the rest of the episode so far

Overall, I'm not a huge fan. Also where is Sokka I'm pretty sure he's supposed to be there somewhere

Okay here's Sokka finally. Are they just taking him out of the Jet shenanigans entirely? I wouldn't be surprised considering how many episodes they had to condense but still I would have liked to see that. Oh well, I guess they had to have Katara do something in this episode instead of just stand around while her brother and Aang have huge plot points. Anyway, this scene was very interesting to me. Sokka and the Mechanist bonded in the og but not to this extent, and I honestly liked that they did something a bit deeper with it considering they don't have as much screentime to establish Sokka's daddy issues (for lack of a better word). Anywho the Mechanist mentioning that there are other career paths to take besides just being a warrior was super cool and I think we can glean a lot from it about Sokka's future character arc. Maybe in this version he doesn't perfectly live up to his dad's expectations and instead finds his own way? It was nice to see Hakoda proud of him in the original but if they go down this path I definitely won't be mad. It's interesting while staying true to the character, it's just a different direction.

The scene with Aang and Teo was cute. They're both good actors who play off of each other nicely, and Teo talking about how he doesn't want to follow in his father's footsteps lends a bit of insight to the conversation the Mechanist had with Sokka. He probably mentioned Sokka's dad because he wondered if his parents were engineers too and maybe is looking for a bit of an apprentice since his son doesn't take after him as much. This is also another way Teo conflicts with the Mechanist's way of life and may be more similar to his mother.

The jetara scenes at the Freedom Fighter camp had a much better dynamic. I think the fight scene was probably just them figuring each other out as actors, it just sucks that it seeped into the final take. I confess I was a bit disappointed that the Freedom Fighters didn't live up in the trees, but I guess that would be a bit difficult to engineer. I also noticed how Jet repeated Teo's "if not us, then who?" statement, which is probably just your basic commentary on how the future generations are our hope blah blah blah. It's a major theme so I shouldn't be as disinterested as I am in it but as it stands I'm still not totally thrilled with the Jet plotline as a whole and I think that may be affecting it. I feel like Sokka should be here to add some variety and spice things up a bit it's kind of boring.

The last jetara scene was definitely the best yet. I can't get over how happy I was to hear Jet say his mother taught him to fight. So often we hear how dads or older brothers are teaching the women in their family to fight but here we have a canonically badass male character saying that an older female relative was the one who taught him. One of the major complaints I have from the cartoon was how for all its talk about women being able to fight and its supposed feminist message, there were no women of the older generation fighting at all except for Jun, who wasn't even a particularly moral character like all these older men. We do have to remember that the cartoon started production over twenty years ago so it is a product of its time, when feminist issues weren't very mainstream. Another factor that might have contributed to the lack of feminism in the original was the generational discrepancies; millennials were the first to have widely accepted equal educational opportunities in the US, and even though educational opportunities are still affected by sexism, college became the norm for both male and female students at that time. This isn't to say women older than millennials didn't go to college, but this is around the time women and men started to become relatively equal as of percentage seeking higher education. Basically, they were the first generation of women expected to have careers, and therefore the writer's minds were probably shaped alongside a similar number of female peers, but primarily by men. This could have contributed to the lack of older women, but as times changed, so to did the amount of older women in professional fields. This line is a reflection of that, and I hope we continue to see more badass older women and older warrior women and women in power as the LA continues.

Other than that, I did take my shipping goggles out during this scene at the "sunrise" bit, and it wasn't about jetara. I heard from other fans in the zutara tag that the "you rise with the moon, I rise with the sun" line was removed but I keep thinking about how Katara is legitimately drawing power from remembering the sun rising, a time when the opposite element, Zuko's element, becomes more powerful. I know I'm reaching, but while I mourn the loss of our beloved "you rise with the moon, I rise with the sun" I have to find a new version. Anyway I think we should call this sunrisegate lol

Also, the way Katara is extremely hesitant to talk about her trauma whereas Jet seems completely fine with being emotional and dumping out exactly what he was feeling may have been a device but it does remind me of something I read about how ppl with PTSD will often react very differently when sharing their trauma and the same is true for many other trauma induced disorders. It was probably unintentional but I still thought it was a nice detail.

Anyway on a less serious note Iroh and Zuko's dynamic is still top tier. I've seen a lot of people complaining about Iroh's character but I don't see anything wrong up to this point. I might be in for a shock in future episodes but I have genuinely no idea what they find so off putting. He's a great actor and the character has legitimately not changed. The line above was a bit undercut by the fact that he's standing in the middle of an enemy city with a cloth half wrapped around his face to keep part of his face from being seen, but I'm just gonna take it at face value (haha pun). I think the thing Zuko despises most is cowardice, and it affects his perception of the war in a huge way. He calls Aang a coward for escaping from prison because he was running away or whatever and I've never considered Zuko a particularly logical character but it's like... bruh he's outnumbered like fifty to one what he is gonna do? Anyway his definition of cowardice is directly tied to his honor and his perception of it in relation to his trauma and the way he held back in the agni kai and him perceiving that as cowardice maybe... Ya'll got me? This isn't fully formed because I obviously haven't seen this new rendition of the agni kai but I'm guessing the events are basically the same. Do with it what you will.

I skipped over the Azula and Zhao scene because I don't have any groundbreaking commentary except to say that I liked it. It ties Azula into the story nicely and gives Zhao something actually interesting about him (I don't hate him as much as I did in the cartoon so whenever he comes up on screen I just sort of yawn).

Anyway, it was nice to see Katara get a bit angry. I think this captured the gaang dynamic pretty well. Aang being relatively neutral/ quiet while the siblings argue and Katara gets twice as mad as Sokka. Also he may have had the last word but she had the last laugh:

Again, the sibling dynamic was really great but I didn't feel like Katara was carrying it as much as in previous episodes. Sokka actually played his part in making it interesting and realistic. I don't think this single argument is enough to redeem Katara's characterization in my eyes but at least we know now there is a little spark there.

AHH THE SCARF SCENE! Scarfgate was everything I could have asked for and more. Like why does he appear directly behind her like that unless he's trying to fight her? Why does he just let her go by like that? Why does he hold out his hand in the first place? Truly is the Watergate of our time it deserves that name. (also in the same episode as the whole sunrise thing? come on) I'm probably being baited but at least I'm enjoying it.

So I was right about the bombings! I can't believe all those cute little kids are terrorists but I couldn't believe it in the cartoon either so I guess that checks out. Either way I find the bombing far less forgivable than trying to take out the Mechanist. Innocent civilians were hurt and even though I know there was a real possibility that civilians could have been hurt in the attempted bombing for whatever reason it just seems... more brutal somehow. Like the first one was in the center of town, you know? Anyway terrorism is wrong I hope Jet finds his way.

(I was worried about how they were going to tie all the seemingly unrelated plotlines together but I think they pulled it off. Again my main problems were all concentrated around the Jet plotline but when the Mechanist was tied in it became a lot more interesting)

When I heard this I was like "son ur about to get ur ass kicked" but the funny part is he was kind of right. Like when neither of them were bending he was winning. I guess in all fairness he is a lot bigger than Aang but I don't feel like that was an accidental detail. Anyway, I think this fight scene was the most entertaining yet and so much better than jetara against the firebenders earlier. Maybe the affects for water are just worse than air and fire (it feels slower somehow) but I'm very partial to this fight. And that's saying something because I usually fast-forward through fight scenes or just kind of tune them out or barely watch, so you know it was really good.

I think the reason I liked it so much was that it was funny, honestly, not in the same way or to the same degree the cartoon was but I laughed out loud a couple times. For instance Zuko gets hit in the face three times in the span of ten seconds, once with a plate, once with a wicker basket, and once with his own little stick thing. Aang also put a basket over his head and some random ass lady started whacking him with a fan. Kudos to whoever choreographed that it was the best.

Also I liked how Sokka and Katara saved the day together. Cute sibling bonding excersize. And it ended on a cliffhanger with the characters separated! My favorite kind of cliffhanger! It definitely left me wanting more.

Anyway, to recap, things I didn't like:

No Zuko and Zhao agni kai

Mai and Ty Lee were just sort of there

Katara's characterization is still so-so

Jetara plot line was boring and chemistry was not the best

It was kind of a lot for one episode, even if they managed to do it well

Things I did like:

Opening scene

Azula characterization

Teo

The Mechanist plotline

Teo and Katara parallel

Katara DID actually seem a little bit more firey in this episode

SCARFGATE

Zuko and Aang fight scene

Surprisingly good handling of all those loose ends

Cliffhanger

Overall, I would give it a 9/10. That's the highest score I've given an episode so far and I'm standing by it. I know others might have a very different opinion on it since it was condensed so much and differed a lot from the cartoon, but I agreed with many of the changes they made. One thing I would urge everyone to remember is that these are different characters from the cartoon. They're going to act slightly different and have slightly different journys and that's okay. I think it is worth comparing to the original, as it is an adaptation, but we need to remember that an adaptation is not an exact replica, nor should it be. That in no way means that we should make allowances for anything we found negative or mediocre, but it is going to be different and change in it of itself isn't a bad thing. Anyway thank you guys so much for sticking with me! I'll probably have the next episode's debrief up by tomorrow.

[mggsv]

Please please please please please please post more male reader x hotch. I’m still trying to figure who I am out, and that smut you posted is officially my guilty pleasure. I want him to fuck me like that and then some. Thank you 😊

Of course my love <3

-

After Office Hours (not proof read!)

m!reader x aaron hotch hotchner

summary: you and hotch hated each other, it was obvious. he hated being wrong about certain things, you wanted to get your point across- hell, you’d spend the entire brief meeting arguing about the potential unsub you’re dealing with. How do either of you still have your job? How do you both still come to work knowing the hate was there? Spencer finds that out himself.

warnings: office sex, hair pulling, boss and employee, biting

“Kid you comin?” Morgan’s voice called out. Along with Garcia, Spencer and Morgan were going to go get something to eat before they all went home. Spencer turns back to the two of them before nodding rapidly, “Yeah- i left my keys! One sec i’m gonna go get them.”

They invited you, but you declined. You said you had overdue paperwork- they bought it. Truthfully you were waiting for the office to clear. When Spencer left you went right to his office, not even knocking. Hotch glances up at you and puts down his pen. “You were insufferable today.”

“According to Em, you were in the wrong, sir.” you scowl, walking over to lean on the front of the desk, staring right at him. The bulge in his pants was noticeable, like his tie that was folded neatly on his bag that sat in a chair nearby. You smirked, he was waiting for you too, it seemed. Sneaky bastard.

“You didn’t listen to me.” He gets up, and your eyes follow his figure making its way around the desk, slowly…he was big, you noted. He always overpowered you. God you loved it. “You were wrong and needed correcting.” You said calmly, feeling his body behind you. His strong hands outlined your waist, bulge only slightly touching your clothed ass. You felt your pants tighten.

“Oh yeah?” He asks, you could hear the shitty smirk on his face. His body looks over yours, moving your hair back to plant a kiss on your shoulder. You roll your eyes and relax into the desk. Your back curves and you adjust your ass to line up with his bulge.

“You make me sick.” you say, making Hotch stand straight. You could hear the sound of his shrugging off his jacket, no words. You sigh and sit up as well, going to take off your vest and unbutton your shirt. “And yet you’re the one who comes to me. Everytime.” He mutters.

He was on you in an instant, his body as bare as yours. Your lips crashed together, making you yelp slightly. As much as you hated him you could stop the small smile that crept upon your lips when he picked you up and carried you to the side-edge of the desk. Your hands fumbled to move the paperwork that was taking up room, trying your best not to get it on the floor. Your cock was hard against his stomach, waiting for his touch. You felt hot down there- how close you were to him made you leak. How the hot air of his breath sent shivers up your spine when he kissed your neck.. “Hotch-“ you breathed out, your hands gripping his shoulders.

You hated him, but boy did you love it when your bodies came together. How you could get off with his contact alone, how he took care of your body while he fucked you like there’s no tomorrow. A soft tug on your hair pulled you back to reality. Your eyes forcefully stared at the ceiling while his teeth bit into your shoulder. He kept the tight grip on your hair, biting and sucking on your skin while his other hand held your cock. He loved running his own against you..the whimper that trickled from your lips didn’t compare to how good it felt- how good Hotch made you feel. “Fuck..” he moans, hips thrusting while he fists your cocks.

“Stop teasing damnit.” you scoot a bit closer. Hotch let’s your hair go for you to lean back a bit, your arms still around his shoulders. “Teasing? Me?” he looks at you in the eyes. Your heart thumps.. “fuck me already.”

“Kid?” Morgan’s voice calls from nearby. Spencer fumbles with the keys in his hands as he scurried from the door, face red and flushed. “I’m coming!”

[lostinforestbound]

WIP Tag Game

Oh my goodness, I've never been part of a WIP tag game before! How exciting!!! Thank you so much @dutifullylazybread for tagging me!

As part of this game I will tag @underdark-dreams, @graysparrowao3, and @el-tur-el! Absolutely no pressure!

This is a WIP of my fic Third Time's The Charm, the first chapter. I aiming for three chapters thanks to the title; this is Rolan with a M!Tiefling!Tav, who's implied to either be a fighter or barbarian type. I have the Tiefling body 4 type in mind when writing him! I plan to write this with Rolan's POV.

Just a disclaimer, it has not been edited quite yet so it may look a little rough, and may be rewritten later!

Later in the night, he just drank wine while Cal and Lia chat with the other Tieflings partying. The wine wasn’t good, nothing compares to Arabellan Dry, but what else was there to drink? Cal seems to be looking for someone in particular but isn't finding them. He looks disappointed.

As he wonders about Cal, he didn’t even notice the brute approaching him until his giant form sat next to him with his own alcohol, the bark of the fallen tree groaning from the extra weight. He covers up how it startled him quickly, tilting his head up towards the brute with a bored expression.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m here to drink.” He says nonchalantly, sipping on the bottle. “Impressive display of magic earlier.”

His nose scrunches up, yellow eyes settling on his flaming ones with a glare. “Was that sarcasm?”

“No. Are you self-taught?”

Why is he even asking?

“I am! And a man with many talents, is going straight to Baldur’s Gate to learn from the best: The Great Lorroakan.”

He sees the imposing Tiefling roll his eyes, putting his bottle down briefly to stare out at the water surrounding the camp.

Wait wait, why did he roll his eyes?

“What?” He demands, posture straightening as he grows defensive.

“Nothing. Just heard he’s a cad is all.” He mutters, deciding to pick the bottle back up and taking a long swig.

“Common gossip and rumors! He’s the greatest wizard in all of Baldur’s Gate. I’ve never imagined he would answer my letters.” He states with a happy sigh, idly swirling the liquid in his bottle. “I will become his apprentice as soon as I arrive. I cannot be late.”

The Tiefling stares at him for a moment, seeming to be searching his face. For what, Rolan had no idea. A lie?

“All right then. Good luck to you.” Tav eventually settles on.

“…That’s it??”

“If you’re looking for someone to argue with, find someone else.”

“You-“

“You talk too much.”

He settles a death glare on Tav's form. “Prick.”

Tav slowly looks at him with his own glare, determined to play his game. “Entitled fuck.”

“Dumb oaf.”

“Prickly bastard.”

They both stare each other down, faces too close but neither of them breaking their stare. He feels Tav's hot breath ghosting over his lips, and the tension could be cut with a knife.

“You’re insufferable.” Tav huffs, suddenly gripping Rolan’s jaw and kissing him firmly.

He moans in surprise at the force but isn’t against it. In fact, his face gets incredibly red and still before he remembers he can kiss back.

It’s not like this is his first kiss. He’s given and received kisses before, he’s not some kind of reserved prude. But this is first one that’s so heavy. Hot. He’s completely out of practice.

Something about being desirable to Tav makes him throb in his pants, though it also may be the way Tav's tongue is tracing his bottom lip, seeking entry.

[didnt-hear-cold-as-you-live]

I once thought my life was a movie in the worst way. I once had main character syndrome in the most toxic iterations you could imagine it manifesting in. I watched things burn and burn and burn and I figured they would always work out because they always did, and I was me, and they had to. things happened so wildly no writer could've been genius enough to script them. each day was a new adventure. a lot of you watched it unfold. the one where she goes to Australia, the one where she fucks a guy on her friends couch, the one where somehow the fallout of this is funny, the one where she's drinking wine into her webcam and cursing them all for being mad at her and somehow it makes sense to you, the reader. the one where she drives to Florida for a hookup and winds up being paid by a prostitution ring leader laundering money on the run from the FBI (yes, this happened). The one where her roommates kick her out and it actually somehow works out for the best. the one where the toxic friend she was pretty toxic to as well got what. was coming.

the world put character armor around me, and I was its beloved Arya Stark. It stayed this way even through the worst of the pandemic. Somehow in the darkest hour of my life I found love. Somehow, in the darkest hour of my life, the gentlest soul I knew and the only guitarist I worked with who had been too decent a human being to want anything to do with me added his notch into my bedpost, too. And somehow, the girl who's broken heart had half the pieces still splintered across the Pacific Ocean, and the boy who's heart was shattered to pieces over the most insufferable woman alive, who made me borderline hate him as a result, found each other as the world crashed and burned. and we held onto each other as tight as we could as the ashes and rubble poured down around us. It was beautiful.

and then. and then, and then, and then.

this is the part that the people who followed me here don't know. this is when I stopped posting about my life. because we had started having feelings for each other. equally, simultaneously. like snow on the beach. flying in a dream. because the emotional flood gates opened a hundred deep conversations later and it was said, "I can't keep falling for you if I have to worry I'm a character for Taylor Swift fans on Tumblr to root for or turn against". and I said that made sense and it was fair.

so I held all this in. I held it all in and ultimately I think it is destroying my relationship now because it is still there bubbling under everything. because I never processed it. because I have video diaries where I watch it all fall apart. because I have a 4 hour video diary livestream of this going down that I get to sit sick to my stomach with every single time my brain wanders too far because I was in the middle of recording a video diary when it all started and the night became too dramatic as it all unfolded to hit pause, and now I have nothing but the spot where acid rain washed away the story I was the main character of, where it was always building towards something and I always got to win. where it all crumbled and died.

our quarantine pod consisted of 5 people. myself, and a boy I'd semi-illicitly been hooking up with, one tie to my old friend group - the one filled with people I'd backstabbed and hated who kind of backstabbed and probably hated me right back; E, and her 2 best friends, B (f) and N (m).

On my webcam, at home, I am smiling like a giddy schoolgirl. The world is ending and I've just been kicked out of my dream apartment and lost my then-closest friends. But instead of caring I'm nervously wondering if I said too much. Sending a text and throwing my phone across the room and covering my eyes. Reading a text aloud from him that says we're on the same page. A serendipitous bliss so deeply shielded from everything else in the lonely basement I'd moved into. Watching that same page progress into more and more real feelings as the weeks and the pandemic ran on. Burning sweet nothings I hadn't heard the likes of in my whole life into the back of my mind. Thinking I should pinch myself every waking second because how could it all seem so pure and so real when everything in the world was supposed to be so lifeless and black? I started recording video diaries so I could see in past relationships when I was being gaslighted. And I do have that. But mostly I have a fossil of the most hopeful naiveté I will ever have. This is my restaurant.

Everyone saw the chemistry between us. everyone saw the way we leaned on each other. everyone saw the sly looks we gave whenever someone made any kind of sexually suggestive joke. no one knew that I drove back and forth from Massachusetts to New York every other night to see him. No one knew I turned around and snuck into his basement after every hike we all went on together when they all got in their cars. But they knew. They knew.

And then one day, he ran into the ex I mentioned. He said he wasn't phased by this. He went through a literal New Moon Bella 4 month montage over this girl. He was me for Australia over this girl. He was phased. And then, suddenly, a talk about our feelings we were supposed to meet up and have was "accidentally" forgotten about and never brought back up.

And then it started out with a joke. We climbed a mountain one day in June. And B said, "now I have to mount ____ next". and most of us laughed. He laughed. Our other 2 friends laughed. She didn't laugh. I didn't laugh. Convincingly. And then she said it the next day. On the next hike. and the next one. and the next one. I had a panic attack and was dry heaving in our mutual friend E's house because I couldn't even drive anymore because I had so much anxiety from it. Because she was trying to fake the chemistry he and I had, like gently waking someone up by smacking them in the head with a crowbar. It was embarrassing. I later learned everyone talked about it behind her back and agreed it was embarrassing. But I never won anything and I was so deeply fucked up from so much else. I knew it'd bite me eventually. I just had to swim in the trauma induced, self-fulfilling prophecy of paranoia and non-existent self esteem until it did.

And then, on the evening of June 21, 2020, she sent a text in our group chat. "Did you guys know that self timer elevates nudes to the next level?" This was when I was in the middle of recording a video journal. Suddenly the giggles were wondering why he wasn't gripping my hand as tightly anymore. Snippets of written songs I'd soon stop writing about how everyone always leaves when they see enough of me. Blaming myself for saying too much or being too vulnerable when no one could actually ever love me. I specifically said, "if this bitch tries something and puts the final nail in this coffin I am going to backflip out this window, walk my ass back to New York, fling myself into the Hudson River, and die."

Well. She sent the self timer nudes. Right into the fucking group chat. Without anybody acknowledging her or asking for them. The entire concept of subtlety died that night.

I threw my dignity into the fucking dumpster right along with it and sent my own nudes in the group chat to remind him I still existed. I spent an hour painstakingly taking them to tear her self esteem to fucking shreds. my hands were shaking each time I clicked the shutter. I watched N awkwardly try and diffuse the obvious tension by making everyone vote for who took the better picture. He voted for me. I watched him invite her over anyway. in the group chat. I watched her say she was on her way. In the group chat. I told myself they were joking. I spent 2 hours, on video, because like I said I'd left it rolling, telling myself they were joking, believing it less and less as the minutes tick by. I've played it back twice in full since and, watching my state of mind and confidence deteriorate is the hardest thing to watch in the entire fucking world. Brilliance beyond scriptable in a different way that the glory I was used to. The way I have it on camera is a brutal, cinematic masterpiece.

As I spiraled I called the mutual friend in the pod, E. Told her everything. Completely info-dumped on her. It, in the end, ruined our friendship due to the cornucopia of bullshit that stemmed from this. Was hyperventilating on the phone to her for hours still. Until I got a text: "yes, B and I had sex. It was fun. But it wasn't..... I did it because I'm single and I wanted to see what it was like. But it wasn't the same as with you" and then going on and on to say that there weren't feelings there.

Saying you're single but then admitting it's not the same because there aren't feelings. What a filthy, August-coded, literally everything wrong with this day and age-esque thing to say. The authority to cheat on me without having the moral implications of it, really.

I got off the phone with her and I yelled at him and I yelled at the webcam and I sobbed and sobbed for hours more. He got it but I don't know if he really did. Then we went on a roadtrip to spend the rest of lockdown living out of a van with our 2 other best friends or whatever the hell, and the tensions from it and what it did to E's perception of him tore apart that friendship for both of us, and I made myself sick to my fucking stomach every waking moment he was near another girl and sort of made it E's problem but that's sort of.... what friends are for, right? I eventually kept hooking up with him because, well. Because of the same problem I had for all of 2019 and 2020, really. I liked sex and had no self esteem. And as the roadtrip went on I grew to love him.

I was writing a song about how free it felt to hold his hand driving down Santa Monica Boulevard the day before with the sun roof down eating ice cream, crafting a chorus in my head (the hook was "you're a pastel Santa Monica sky and I'm / wildfires flaring in your eyes, whatever it takes to feel alive / just here on the freeway you and I"). It's what was playing in my head when he pulled over in Big Sur. When he told me it all needed to stop because it was too much. Time stopped. I stood on the cliffs looking at the turquoise waters felt all the hope fading from me like it did from the grey clouds lingering over the sky. The salt air whipped by my face and I got the taste of tears even though I was too sad for them to even fall. He was mean as hell to me for 3 days. I cried for those 3 days. Eventually apologized and said he was subconsciously doing it to achieve distance. Then we started having sex again. We had lots of deep conversations rationalizing it all. It all made sense. He wasn't over his ex and couldn't handle this and didn't want to hurt me. But I still cried every day the rest of the trip.

When we were home the first weekend, I felt like his girlfriend. I slept curled up against him while he played video games. We made cookies. The next we didn't even kiss. I have a hundred drafted notes app docs telling him off. Trying to keep track of what was real and what wasn't so I could convince myself the 'on' of it all was my imagination over-doing it, or maybe the bad was. I never became convinced of either. Just more angry and more confused. We went on a trip to Maine and I told him I loved him and we needed to just be together. that I couldn't take it anymore. He said no. This was the first I learned he was openly sleeping with other people the whole time. I absolutely fucking lost it. I thought we were dating all but in name and it was some formalities and my anxiety. Imagine being told to your face you're being cheated on but you're technically not so you have to just say okay. I didn't. I cried for 4 fucking hours - ugly crying, right up in his face, and then was told I overreacted and believed it because I was in love and had low self esteem. He asked if I wanted to know the details. I said no and I wish I hadn't, because maybe I'd have ever felt some more resolve if I did. maybe I knew I'd have gotten SO angry I would've left, and I didn't want to have to. And then instead of having the guts to end it, I, sad and low-self esteem and in love and liking sex, tried to say forget I said anything. He had to be the one to call it off.

We got home and kept in contact and first he then tried to hook up again and I had to say no. then he ghosted me for 2 weeks because this ex hit him up. then, finally, once he got over that, I took him on a trip to stargaze to make up for what happened in Maine. And that's when he said he was ready. And he's been nearly perfect in every single way since that moment.

So, anyway. I'm angry. It's been 2 and a half years and we've spent at least 15 hours of our lives talking about it and are very much in love and yet I'm still viscerally angry if my brain touches any of it with a 10 foot pole. I feel embarrassed to be in a relationship that I'm only in because I had a complete lack of dignity even though so much about that relationship now eclipses all of that a hundred thousand suns over - or it should. I feel robbed of a fairytale ending but I still have a fairytale person. So why do I still feel resentment over this? How do I make it go the ever-loving FUCK away? I'm over it. I want to be over it. I don't want this acid raincloud over me anymore. I want back the perfect story it washed away. It was so much rage and angst and turmoil leading up to the sweetest ending at the middle of the worst of the pandemic and instead it ended in the most anticlimactic melodramatic alternate ending it possibly could've. it should feel like I rode off into the sunset with The One. Because, in the end, that's what I did. So why are we trudging along near a swamp one mile from town? Someone change my fucking perspective like the way only the people on this hellsite can because I'm fucking tired of harboring all of this and I'm tired of wondering if I'm subconsciously causing problems in our relationship because I'm stuck on all of this. I just wanted the happy ending with fireworks and the author just forgot about me and stopped writing. This is all so three dimensional and we're all 3 dimensional people but it's stained across my deeply 2 dimensional world that never got to be resolved like it was supposed to first.

[flamingfalcon3]

tbh I agree the last anon had a bad argument but here I am to prove you wrong! First of all you struggle with a basic understanding of empathy so let me break it down for you, yes being gay in the 80s was complicated! You expect mike and will to be all flirty n insufferable in front of their friends like m*leven, but they quite literally can’t! They do have a solid friendship of about 10 years at this point, they have plenty of scenes together, and separate that show their dynamic, and sure it’s not the most “flavorful” as you say, but it’s definitely interesting to a point. Half of m*leven is built off of headcanons and “what probably happened” but most bylers ship it BECAUSE of on screen chemistry. And the massive amount of hints and coding etc etc. If you’d prefer to not actually try to understand something I honestly don’t care, but giving an opinion on something you clearly don’t have the mental capacity to comprehend is just embarrassing.. I know I’ll get shot down bc that’s what y’all do but honestly don’t care ab that either <3

Jesus Christ… dude, you can not just say I lack empathy and have a low mental capacity because I find a ship boring. Actually, don’t use those things as insults at all because it reeks of ableism.

All I said was that I couldn’t see the appeal of the ship. I didn’t even tag the post as “byler” meaning you had to go into the mileven tag to find it. Say what you will about my intelligence, but at least I don’t waste my time going into the tags of ships I dislike and then throwing a tantrum when I find content criticizing a different ship. You’re damn right I’m shooting you down. I don’t debate with ableists. Fuck off.

[blookmallow]

and the end of the death game 

i m laughing 

why are you like this 

is she not. aware that’s just a head. are you not concerned 

rip reko..... i guess ultimately it didn’t Really matter which sibling survived huh

i still don’t understand why the fuck this twist happened but i love Suddenly Evil Ranmaru so much. i hope there’s never an explanation and he just decided to be fucked up now actually. whats wrong with him. where did this come from. i love it 

anyways,

hi this is so fucked up 

absolutely cannot believe this worked 

ah, yes. the only logical explanation. they didn’t bother putting mai’s gloves on because they just sucked so much 

i cannot FUCKING BELIEVE “completely batshit antagonist character does some fucked up bullshit with his hands” is happening AGAIN, 

like i don’t want to accuse yttd of being a dangan ronpa ripoff because it’s generally like. clearly inspired by but not directly copying from dr. but like. really. really 

HOWEVER, i like midori intensely more than komaeda and i dont completely understand why that is myself. i think its bc midori is just fucked up. he’s not trying to be anything other than fucked up. he’s having so much fun. komaeda is an inconsistent mess of a person who sometimes wants you to step on him and make him eat dirt and other times acts like he’s better than everyone else to the point of being completely insufferable. komaeda seems like hes somehow getting off on everything you do to him no matter what. i dont know i cant explain this either but i still hate komaeda so much 

im betting his various organs are just gonna keep showing up places now. he’s gonna end up not being actually dead somehow because of some ai program or some piece left behind somewhere im calling it right now 

hes like a cockroach you can’t really get rid of him, ever 

i feel like im just completely losing track of what the fuck is going on anymore i think there’s been a few too many fakeouts and sudden twists at this point but i am kind of honestly glad q-taro ended up dying for everyone. since he was so willing to sacrifice them all and too fucking coward to take a few poison hits he knew he could survive in order to save a child’s life and. justifying letting a child die because they’re Not Useful Enough or whatever that bullshit was. i forget if that was about gin or kanna 

like im probably supposed to be sad about this but. eh

anyway ive lost track of who’s even alive at this point now i had a lot of mistakes with the drills : ) i think it’s scripted though because i tried going back and choosing a different coffin and the same results happened anyway 

im trying to catch up liveblogging after its been a minute since i finished this so i dont even remember who’s dead now i think all the dummies got shredded. mr. Not Sou got dead but i do not for one moment believe he’s actually permanently gone 

HEY EXCUSE ME I’M SORRY WHAT 

I WAS NOT INFORMED. THAT THIS WAS NOT A COMPLETED STORY. HELLO. EXCUSE ME. HELLO 

:( :( 

[theinyshlobster]

camp zero by michelle min sterling [review]

read from july 27th - august 2nd

review

first and foremost — YO I JUST MET MY 2024 READING GOAL! 60TH BOOK OF 2024 WHO CHEERED!

anyways i need to be real. this book was really confusing for my tiny little pea brain. i will admit i think i might have liked this story a bit more if i had read it at a different time. like im so serious i have no critical thinking right now. changing to a new antidepressant coupled with a cold? yeah i have about zero reading comprehension at the moment so take everything i say critiquing this book with a grain of salt. hell i might come back to this book in 6 months and give it an extra star cuz i did really enjoy this book at times! but idk i don’t think i can give this 4-stars when i was confused for a good chunk of the book 💀

most of my confusion i think comes from what the character’s motivations are and why they’re doing xyz. rose, judith, the barber, the foreman, garreth & merley or whatever the fuck his name was, none of their motivations made logical sense to me. yet again i am not one to talk about logic when i am literally noncoherent in daily conversations & my memory is of a goldfish. like gun to my head i cant figure out what the M guy’s actual goal was, or damien/damian (i’m gonna go with the ‘a’ spelling & if im wrong sue me). i am still confused by that.

i am also confused about the time period this takes place in, as well as the actual setting. yeah i know its in canada and its snowy and shit. but like do the girls live in a mall? where is gareth living? what even was the camp supposed to be?

the ending was lowkey kinda fire, i did not see those reveals coming (but tbh you could’ve given me a mystery novel where the killer literally confessed on the first page & i still would’ve been blindsided at the moment). i really loved the white alice chapters and as things slowly started to make more sense i was having the time of my life. but when those reveals only come with 20% of the book left….. i mean like i said i cant 4-star it.

the characters themselves were….. fine. rose was likeable most of the time. i really couldn’t work out her motivations or her true thoughts by the end. willow was also fine. judith was meh. the other blooms were literally non-characters. garreth was insufferable. the rest of the male characters were fine. i still don’t really get the barber’s motivations by the end regarding him & rose but 🤷 im not mad at it. same applies to M-guy what the fuck was he trying to do at the end. numbskull

the plot was… Ok! the actual story felt like it was going nowhere, but like i said i absolutely loved the white alice chapters. give me an entire book expanding on those chapters & im sold. those chapters kinda remind me of ‘i who have never known men’ and i adored that book so!

the preachy messages about the patriarchy and men sucking got tiring at times. yes i know men suck. they are opportunists and shallow and see women as objects and blah blah blah. sorry you’ve said your message to me, now do something with it. i mean the book kind of did at the end with white alice & rose but… idk more should’ve been done with that. i really liked the grimy vibe of this book. idk what more to say about that it had a real edgy vibe that i liked.

i have a feeling this review is all over the place (when are my reviews not) but anyways. i had a good time. i found this book average. probably shouldn’t have read this whilst my brain is mush. i defo want to come back to this in the future and see if i enjoy it more when i can actually think coherently. anyways off i go to increase my reading goal now that ive met it with *checks calendar* FOUR MONTHS LEFT OF 2024.

god speed

[messers-moony]

One in the Same | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Wife!Reader

Summary: Reader notices Draco going through the same pain as her ex lover and desperately wants fix her faults.

“Mr.Malfoy, can you stay after class, please?” 

“‘Course, Professor Black.”

An average day in second year. Professor Black - Y/n - taught History of Magic after Professor Binns decided his time was up. Too long of teaching sleeping students who could care less about his lessons. However, once Y/n took over the position, kid's grades improved and people were no longer sleeping. She made things fun and inventive.

After class time was up, everyone filed out of the classroom aside from the blond Slytherin boy. Draco has always been on the good side of Professor Black. She was always extremely kind to him despite his rather sour attitude at times. But Draco was always hesitant to initiate a conversation to really speak his feelings to her. But this was the first time she had him stay after class. 

Y/n pulled out the chair in front of her desk as he sat down. His white-blond hair and gleaming blue eyes. His young face, not yet defined. Y/n with her h/c hair and curious glinted e/c eyes. 

“Draco, I want to start this by saying I don’t know what your home life is like.” Y/n began, “I went to Hogwarts with your parents, though, and he wasn’t always kind. Your mother was cordial with me, though.”

“If you don’t find me intruding, what’s your home life like?” 

“I- Um- It’s good.” Stammered Draco, “Father and Mother are always kind.”

Y/n’s eyes glinted with curiosity, “Lucius tolerated me.”

“Tolerated you?”

“I married one of his best friends.” Y/n chuckled, “He didn’t have a choice.”

Draco tilted his head, “Sirius?”

“Oh heavens no!” Y/n exclaimed, “Regulus. Sirius Black's brother.” 

“My- My dead cousin?” He queried. 

She nodded, “Yes. I married Regulus right after graduation. His parents weren’t thrilled, but he loved me so, here we are.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were his parents like?”

“Horrible. The worst.” Y/n spat, “Sirius got the worst of it, but Regulus did occasionally too.”

“Walburga and Orion were awful. Using the crucio curse is not a great punishment for kids.” Draco’s eyes widened, “Both of them had scars from the curse. Sirius ran away at sixteen, and Regulus was used as their puppet. So used that at the age of eighteen, he felt like he had to prove himself. Which inevitably got him killed.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“Well, would you like my honest answer or my Professor answer?”

“Honest, please.”

“Between you and I, I still haven’t gotten over it.” Y/n shrugged, “I see something that reminds me of him, and I’m back at the start all over again. It takes time, and it’s taken plenty of time, but here I am, doing what I love. Teaching kids.”

“Anyways.” Y/n smiled, “You’re dismissed. I’m sorry I took up your time. However, if you ever feel the need to speak with me, let me know. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Draco picked up his bag, rustling as he stood up. The blond boy was still digesting all the information he gained. He couldn’t believe that his cousins got the crucio curse for a punishment. He thought his parents were bad. Theirs was way worse. Draco was about to walk out of the classroom but turned last minute to look at his Professor. 

“Professor?” 

“Yes, Draco?”

“There’s-“ He swallowed, “There’s a Quidditch match this Saturday. Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. If you have the time, I’d like you to come.”

“Of course. I’ll be there.” Y/n smiled. 

He walked out of the room without a second stop. He felt better about himself now. He had someone who genuinely seemed to care about him. Draco didn’t trust her just yet, but he wouldn’t be opposed to speaking with her as he had just now in the future. Professor Black had always been open and honest with her students. Perhaps that’s why kids liked her so much. 

Saturday arrived quicker than Y/n would’ve hoped for one reason. She, herself, didn’t own any Slytherin-colored merchandise anymore. But there was a box in her quarters that she brought with her to Hogwarts every year. Regulus’s old clothes meaning all his scarfs, ties, button-ups, pants, hats, etc. Y/n couldn’t seem to get rid of them. Frankly, she didn’t want to get rid of them either. 

Carefully she pulled the cardboard box from the top of her closet. Taking a pair of scissors and breaking the tape seal she had put on it multiple years ago. Inside laid many pieces of the evergreen and silver cloth. Y/n’s hands gravitated to the green and silver scarf. Bringing it to her nose, she was shocked. It still smelt like him. Godric, this was going to be more challenging than she initially thought. 

Nonetheless, she put it around her neck along with her button-up and tight-fit pants. Y/n put on the green gloves, much too big for her but had fit Regulus perfectly, the tie, and the scarf. It brought her a sense of nostalgia. It made Y/n feel like she was a fifth-year going out with Regulus on a date to Hogsmeade. But she wasn’t fifteen or in fifth year. Y/n was a Professor and a full-grown adult. And Regulus was dead. 

The game was going well for Slytherin at the beginning. But like most Quidditch games, things can change rather quickly. Ravenclaw was studious. That was for sure. They played skillfully. Y/n sat in the Professor stands with the rest of her colleagues. She sat between McGonagall and Flitwick. But white-blond hair caught her attention in front of her. Lucius Malfoy was here spectating his son. 

McGonagall nudged her, “Where’d you get the Slytherin gear?”

“Regulus.”

“How have you been, dear?” McGonagall questioned softly, “It’s been a whirlwind, but nothing I can do will bring him back, so ‘m still here for him. It’s what he would’ve wanted.” Y/n replied. 

Minerva placed a hand on the girl's knee, “If you need anything, let me know.”

“‘Course, Professor.”

The game ended tragically. Slytherin had just tied the game when Cho Chang had caught sight of the snitch. Sadly, she was able to grasp it before Draco. Leaving Slytherin with two-hundred and thirty points while Ravenclaw ended with three-hundred and eighty points. Lucius seemed furious with this conclusion and stormed off the stands. Y/n knew something was up, so she followed him. 

She came up in a deserted hallway in Hogwarts. Draco stood - now changed into the usual Hogwarts robes - and his father stood before him. From the view she had, Draco’s back was to her, and his father was towering over the boy. 

Lucius had a cold and icy voice, “You are insufferable!”

“You had one job, Draco! One! Catch the damn snitch.” He scolded, “Perhaps you were too daft to figure that out?”

“‘M sorry, father. I didn’t mean to. Honest.” Draco was pleading and begging for mercy; it made Y/n’s heartache at the familiar words. 

“Mum, Dad, I seriously didn’t mean to!” Regulus had cried after breaking a vase, “Excuses, excuses, they won’t get you anywhere in life, boy!” Orion shouted. 

Tears collected in his silver eyes, “‘M sorry! ‘M so sorry!”

Walburga pointed her wand at him, “Crucio.”

Lucius scoffed, “Malfoy’s don’t cry, wipe those tears.”

“Should‘ve sent you to Durmstrang. You come to Hogwarts and forget everything I’ve ever taught you.”

“Father, I really didn’t mean to! She just got there faster than me.” Draco begged. 

Y/n saw it before Draco did. Lucius raised his palm slowly, and Draco flinched. Y/n saw the pale hand rise into the air, and without a second thought, she ran in front of the young boy, taking the blow that was meant for Lucius’ son. Draco heard the sound but never felt the impact. Carefully he opened his eyes to see Professor Black standing in front of him, a hand on her cheek. 

“How dare you get in the way!” Lucius yelled, “How dare I? How dare you for trying to leave a hand on your son!” Y/n retorted her bright cheek red from impact. 

Draco was appalled, “Draco is your son! Not a toy or a puppet, and I will not stand for this!”

“You don’t have to, half breed.” Lucius seethed, “As you said, he’s my son. Not yours.”

“I could give less fucks!” Y/n exclaimed, “Draco is my student. I will not be having you lay your hands on my students.”

Lucius scoffed, “Where’s your child, mm?”

“Right, you don’t have one.” Lucius answered, “Because your blood-traitor of a husband decided to get himself killed!”

“Regulus was not a blood-traitor for trying to right his wrongs!”

“Regulus and Sirius were no different from each other.”

“Leave them out of this!”

“Oh, so it’s still a soft spot for you?”

“So help me, I’ll-“

“Petrificus Totalus.” Draco stated while holding his wand, causing his father to fall to the ground, paralyzed. 

Y/n stared at the body in shock, “Draco.”

She didn’t even have time to reprimand him before he burst into tears. Y/n turned quickly and embraced him into a much-needed hug while the boy sobbed on her shoulder. Y/n’s hands went through Draco’s white-blond hair gently while he let every emotion out. She pulled away and wiped the tears on his cheeks. 

“You’re going to be okay, I promise.” Y/n informed, and Draco nodded, “Th- Thank you, Professor.”

Y/n smiled and sent him off to the Slytherin common room, leaving her to deal with Lucius. The Professor dragged him to Madam Pomfrey to deal with. Later that night, in her quarters, while brushing her teeth, she noticed the considerable bruise covering her left cheek: Blue and purple hues mixed to create a dark blue-violet looking color, almost grey. 

Sixth year was now here. Y/n’s fourth year of teaching at Hogwarts, and she couldn’t have asked for a better job. On September 1st, she went through the floo-network to arrive in her teacher's quarters. Looking at the time, it seemed that students were just about reaching onto the grounds when a knock sounded at her door. 

“Come in!”

A blond boy, much taller, defined face, and grey eyes had just walked into her teacher's quarters, “Good evening, Professor.”

“Good evening, Draco.” Y/n greeted smiling brightly, “What's on your mind, sweetheart?”

Draco didn’t know where to begin as water collected on his lower lash line, and gently he pulled up his left sleeve. Godric, it felt like deva Vu all over again. 

“Y- Y/n.” Regulus called through his tears, “What’s wrong, baby?” Y/n asked, sitting beside him on the four-poster bed. 

Regulus couldn’t help the tears that helplessly fell down his cheeks. His eyes were silver and blurred. Cheeks flushed and hair knotted. This past summer had been a shit show for him with Sirius running away and just everything that had gone on. Regulus had never felt this hopeless before. 

“I- I need your help.”

“Of course, anything, baby.”

He swallowed, “Just know that I’ll love you forever. Okay?”

“‘Course.”

Gently, he released a breath of air and pulled up his left sleeve. The combined snake and skull only meaning one thing. Regulus was now a death eater to the Dark Lord. Tears sprung in Y/n’s eyes but not because of disappointment but because of worry. She didn’t know what she would do if Regulus were to be gone. 

“They forced me!” Regulus pleaded, “Please, please don’t leave me.” 

Regulus was weeping, and Y/n took him into her arms, “Shh, shh, I’m not disappointed. I’m just worried about you.”

“I don’t wanna- I don’t wanna do this.” Regulus whimpered, “Please help me.”

“I’m gonna help you ‘m love. Don’t worry.” 

“What happened this summer?” Y/n asked as Draco pulled back down his sleeve.

“Auntie Bella.”

Draco was trying so hard to swallow his tears as his Professor was now face to face with him, “Draco.”

How was her voice so sweet and calm, almost like she had done this before, “It’s okay to show emotion. It’s being human. Let it go, darling.”

Just like that, the dam broke, and Draco was a sobbing mess again. How was it that Professor Black had always managed to feel more like home than his actual parents? What had his mum done for him while Bellatrix was giving him the mark? She had just stood there watching pain contort on his face. Y/n felt more like a mother to him, more like family to him. 

“Shh. Shh. You’re safe here, Draco.”

“They- They want me-“ He was choking on his words, and Y/n placed her hands on his shoulders, “Take deep breaths and then explain. Okay?”

He began to inhale and exhale air at a slow pace, “They want me to-“ Draco swallowed, “They want me to kill Dumbledore.”

“Okay.” Y/n stated, letting out a breath of air, “You and I will get through this.” 

“You- You promise?” 

“I promise.”

Perhaps it was instinct now for Draco to stay after in her classroom. After every lesson, Draco would visit her in her classroom just to be in her company or to talk. What was it about Y/n that drew these people close to her? Ones with broken souls who believed that couldn’t be helped. Was it her kindness? Perhaps it was her caring nature—too many variables to pinpoint. 

The moment Y/n heard crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, she knew something was wrong. Approaching cautiously, she saw Harry Potter doing the same behind Draco, who stood facing the basin, dried tears on his cheeks. Everything happened too fast for Y/n to understand. But when Harry spoke an incantation that left Draco bleeding out on the floor, everything changed. 

She was jumping into action hastily, falling to her knees beside the blond-haired boy while Harry was almost in tears at his mistake. Y/n took her wand out and began muttering spells to heal the boy's chest. Harry was now in a heap on the floor, tears filling his glorious emerald eyes while the Professor took care of his harm. It took ten minutes before the bleeding stopped, and Y/n turned to face Harry. 

“Harry.” 

“‘M sorry. I- I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad I was here.” Y/n replied, and Harry looked like a mess, “I need you to go to the Gryffindor tower and not speak of this to anyone, okay?”

He nodded and stood up sluggishly. Harry left the bathroom, leaving Y/n with an unconscious Draco. Sighing heavily, she picked up the boy and lugged him to the hospital wing, where he was taken care of. The following day an owl was pecking at Y/n’s window, leading her to wake up and take the note from the owl’s foot. 

“Draco won’t stop calling for you.”

Y/n freshened up, brushing her teeth, hair, and a change of clothes before making her way to the Hospital Wing. It was quite a ways away from. Her section of the school, but if Draco needed her, she needed to be there even if it was six o’clock in the morning. Her shoes made a light tap along with the wood as she walked and hesitantly opened the big door to the infirmary. 

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Madam Pomfrey said with her hand over her heart, “Draco has been asking for you, my dear.”

She gave a tiny smile as Pomfrey pointed to where Draco was lying. Carefully she stripped back some of the white curtain and pulled a chair beside his bed. Y/n took his hand in his. It was cold and pale. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine holding Regulus’ hand in the same exact way after a horrible Bludger accident. 

An hour later, Draco finally woke up, “Mornin’ sweetheart.”

“Professor, you- you came.”

She smiled, “You called for me, of course, I’d come.”

Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position, his grey eyes locked on her warm e/c ones, “Sorry, I just, didn’t expect you to come.”

“How are you feeling?” 

“I feel okay. Little sore but nothing I haven’t been through.” 

Y/n smiled sadly, “I knew a boy just like you, you know?”

“You did?” Draco asked, and she nodded, “I did.”

“Could you tell me about him?”

“Well, he was strong, smart, and closed off. His home life wasn’t too great either and was forced into being what his parents were too.” Draco looked eager for more, “Eventually, he realized that this wasn’t the life he wanted. He no longer cared about his parent's approval. He just wanted to be him, but by then, it was too late.”

“Too late?”

She nodded, “He was already in too late, so he did the only thing he thought of. Betraying his parents, his family. He was so caught up in what he was doing he didn’t realize what he was doing, and now, because of that, he’s no longer with us.”

“But you aren’t too late, Draco.” Y/n stressed, tightening her grip on his hand, “Let me save you. Let me help you.”

Tears ebbed at the corners of his eyes, “Please.”

Y/n took him in her arms and rubbed his back soothingly, “You aren’t alone. I’m here for you.”

It took months, but everything was over. It felt like time had stopped. Y/n could remember the terror standing outside of Hogwarts as the death eaters stood on the other side. Narcissa was calling for him - the boy who had no choice - and Draco was panicking as Lucius began calling his name. 

Draco swallowed and shook his head. 

It was the feeling of relief that brought Y/n solace. Draco took the step that Regulus took, and she would make sure he didn’t pay for it. The relief felt like a breath of fresh air now that the war was over. Y/n had stepped into the Great Hall panicking, hoping, praying that he was okay. At that moment she saw it. 

He was crouched in the corner. People were glaring at him all around. Draco saw. He saw the Weasleys crying over Fred. He saw Harry look empty, staring at Remus Lupin and Nymphadora. The way Lavender Brown’s parents sobbed over her dead body. He saw the way Dennis Creevey was yelling and screaming in pain at seeing his deceased older brother. Draco could remember how close they were. 

Nonetheless, he stood up and ran into her arms: his solace, home, and safe place. Draco couldn’t remember what it felt like to be held this tight. He dug his nose into her neck and just remembered to breathe. She pulled away to see a small smile playing on his lips. Y/n cupped his cheeks gently. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.” Y/n smiled, “I can't explain how proud I am of you. You did it.”

Draco smiled and leaned into her hands, “Thanks, mum.”