#anyways this was mostly just me fucking around with some new brushes and taking a break from animation stuff

[olsenmyolsen]

A**holes With Cameras

master list

dark master list

Actress AU (Female Reader X Actress Wanda Maximoff) I know, I know! another one??? yes!!!

Summary: As you head to your new gym, you spot your favorite actress and an annoying member of the paparazzi.

Word Count: 2.7K

Content: Fluff, paparazzi, men, flirting

You sighed as you finally parked your car after trying to parallel park on the street for about five minutes. 

It was Wednesday.

What should be the third day of your workout week was actually your first. You had been too tired to go on Monday, and honestly, yesterday, you didn't remember your promise to yourself until you were brushing your teeth after dinner.

But now here you were at the gym.

Well, technically, you were still outside of it. But this had been the closest you had been to a gym in a while.

And it's not like you were unhealthy or that you lived a terrible diet or life. It's just that you wanted to help your body before it was too late. Plus, if your Almond Mom made one more comment during your monthly FaceTime call, you would actually lose it.

So here you sat in your car on the outskirts of the city of stars outside of a gym your friend of a friend Darcy Lewis hooked you up with.

However, before you could step out, a man in an ugly shirt and fugly jeans ran up and placed his body onto the hood of your car. "What the fuck!" You yelled as the man pulled out a camera with a long lens and zoomed in on a person walking across the street at the end of the block.

An Emmy Nominated Actress and the internets Mother: Wanda Maximoff.

You found yourself stunned to see her as you looked out and to the back from your driver's side window. Your mind thinking of every piece of media and content you LOVE! While the other part of you is squealing on the inside as your stomach does flip after flip.

How the fuck was she a model in just street clothes and gym wear???

Your thoughts of Wanda came to a screeching halt when, all of a sudden, you heard this agitating male voice. "Come on, Wanda! Smile for once!" The man on the hood of your car moved off and took picture after picture of Wanda as she passed by and entered your new favorite gym.

The sight and grin of the bald man made your blood boil.

So, as he admired his pictures, you honked your horn and gave him a good scare before grabbing your phone and water bottle and exiting your car. "What the hell was that?"

The man looks you over and tilts his head. "Excuse me?"

"Excuse me?" You mock back. "Yeah, excuse you, dude! First, you climb all over my car that I'm still actively paying off! Then you just harass and take pictures of somebody??" You bark at the man as you walk onto the sidewalk.

"Chill, it's just pictures." He rolls his eyes and starts walking away from you. "Still not right, you asshole!" You yell even if you secretly love them whenever you see them on social media. But you raise your head high and watch the man walk away before you enter the gym.

The lady behind the desk looks at you with a smile. "You tell him!" She sends you a thumbs up as you smile and shake your head before scanning the special gym card Darcy had to give you.

It was metal. Like what??

Anyways. You smile and walk into the large, spacious gym. It plays quiet music as you step onto the floor. Mostly, everybody you walk past on the way to the treadmill is too busy with their music and AirPods.

Shit, you forgot yours.

You sigh, hating the thought of being alone with your own ones. Still, you set your phone and water bottle down as you hit some buttons on the treadmill. "Woah!" You jolt as the belt suddenly kicks the speed up as it slowly starts.

You chuckle nervously to yourself and look around in case anyone saw you.

No one did but one person.

But they'll show up in a second. Because right now, your eyes found the bald-ass paparazzi douche through the window waiting across the street. You let out a deep, upset sigh through your nose and gave him a glare he couldn't see before your view became obstructed.

A side profile from a face sculpted by the goddesses themselves distracts your pretty eyes as Wanda Maximoff sets up on the treadmill next to you.

She briefly glances at you before she puts in her AirPods and starts up her treadmill. You don't mean to, but you stare longer than you should before finding yourself moving down the treadmill.

You snap out of her stunning trance on you and begin your workout.

Although you'd be lying if you said it was easy to concentrate on anything other than the tremendous and beautiful Wanda Maximoff. Because your eyes kept moseying on back to her again and again, you tried to stop and be normal, but your thoughts became clouded with questions.

Should I say hi?

Do I even talk to her?

How is her garden doing?

Will she ever stop wearing that row bag?

"Excuse me?" The voice of an angel forces your eyes up and over. Wanda Maximoff removes an AirPod from her ear and looks at you before she starts speaking again. "You're the one who yelled at the paparazzi, right?"

Wanda knew it was you. She watched you yell at him before she scurried off earlier.

You nod. "Ye-yeah, that was me!" You immediately feel embarrassed by your overzealous nature before closing your eyes and sighing. You open them back up and smile at Wanda, who has the corner of her lips curled up. "Yes, that was me."

Wanda nods. "Well, thank you. It's awful to deal with them." She says as you nod. You could imagine. Her twin brother Pietro also deals with it. The Maximoffs are kind of a household name after their sister Polaris started on a show when she was a baby. "Yeah, I'm sorry you have to." You politely respond and give her a sympathetic smile before she waves you off. "I chose to become famous."

"Yeah, but that doesn't give those assholes with cameras any right." You speak, making her pull her lips in with a surprised look. "Sorry." You say after a second or two. But Wanda shakes her head. "No, you're completely right. Sorry for my face. It's just... it's just nice to have someone be so candor..."

You knew all about Wanda's ex and how they cheated on her.

You offer a smile before looking at the window. Wanda doing the same following your eye-line. "Well, it appears I didn't tell him off enough." Wanda hums and turns back to you. She looks at her AirPods. "Do you want one?"

The bald man leaves your eyesight as you look at the darling actress of your life. "I- uh, no, yeah. Yeah. Thank you." Your hands shake slightly as you take it and place it in your right ear. Wanda notices the nervousness coming from you but doesn't want to bring it up and make it worse. "Do you have anything in particular you'd like to listen to?" She asks, her voice soft after speeding up her treadmill

"No. I'm down for whatever." You answered honestly as your brain caught up to the fact that you were talking and being friendly with THE Wanda Maximoff.

Wanda hits shuffle on her Spotify before looking up to you. "Well, I hope you like The Guardians." She says as an 80's inspired synth slowly starts filling your ear before an electric guitar breaks through and a man's voice starts singing about his girlfriend. "I've never heard them!"

Wanda looks back at you. "What!?" She looks shocked. "Peter Quill, Drummer Drax, Guitarist Gamora..?" Wanda says, hoping that something would click by offering you some context of the band members.

You shake your head.

Wanda grabs her phone. "Oh my gosh. Okay. I know what we're listening to!" She queues up the band's first album, simply titled Vol. 1.

You can't help but smile.

Fuck she really was as lovely and as charming as everyone always described her.

"I've become obsessed." She says, putting her phone down. "I can tell." You joke, making her playfully roll her eyes.

Was this flirting? Oh god, am I finally doing it??

"Carol Danvers got me hooked onto them."

That name made a ding go off in your brain, and words fell from your mouth before you could stop them.

"Oh yeah, you're doing a movie together!"

You tensed up quickly after saying that. Now Wanda would know you were not just a regular fan or avid watcher. You were an 'I have updates on my phone about things you do' type of fan.

Wanda looks to you before turning down the music one or two clicks. "Oh... I didn't realize you were such a fan." She says a little coldly to her warm words from moments ago. You stumble over your words. "Yeah- no, I mean, yes, I am a fan and know who you are, but- j- just forget I said anything or ruined this nice moment." You close your eyes and feel awful before turning away to avoid her precious green eyes if they looked at you.

The music goes back up with a click.

You sigh.

And a moment passes.

"We actually finished the movie already." Wanda offers, making you look back at her. "Oh really?" She nods, and you can tell in those same green eyes that the moment between you two isn't lost. "So, a fan, huh?" You nod sheepishly as her eyes look over your face. "I would've yelled at the asshole outside regardless of if it was you or not, by the way."

Wanda likes that and chuckles a little bit. "Well, I appreciate that. Is he still there?"

You look at the window and nod. "Well, you can yell at him some more later when you walk me to my car," Wanda says without facing you. She bites back a smile. You feel your cheeks flush. "You got it." You say and focus on getting your steps in as your face reddened.

"By the way..." You look to your left. "It's okay that you're a fan, honestly. It's just sometimes nice to forget and... and to have people talk to you for you." You nod and, after a couple of quiet seconds, stick your hand out to her. "I understand. I'm Y/n."

Wanda realizes she never got your name and sends an apologetic smile. "I'm Wanda." Her soft hand shakes yours before letting go. The touch sends shivers down your sides before you smile. "Let me guess." You start. "You have the look of someone who sings for a living?" Wanda smiles and lets out a loud laugh. Shaking her head and ducking her face when people around the gym look to her. "How did you guess?" She says, making you shrug with a grand look and smile. Enjoying this second chance. Even as you two lie about her profession. "Just had a feeling."

That feeling would transform into jokes and continuous small talk as you two completed your workouts together. Well, actually, you just did whatever Wanda did, which was a struggle. Her past roles in those superhero movies really upped her body fitness.

"So, how come I've never seen you at this gym before?" Wanda asked as sweat covered the both of you while she refilled her water bottle. "Did you just move here?" Wanda asks with a glint in her eyes. You shook your head. "No, I live around." You missed a smile Wanda got for one second. "I know a friend of a friend, and they got me in." Wanda nods. "Well..." She puts the top on her bottle. "I'm glad I got to meet you."

"Me too." You say like that wasn't evident as you hide your blush. But Wanda sees it like all the other ones today. Wanda knows and shares the friendly/flirty smile you send her before she leads the two of you to the doors outside.

"Shit, I almost forgot about him," Wanda mumbles as the egghead starts to take pictures of the two of you. Wanda, putting on her sunglasses, gestures for you to follow her. You join in step with her.

"Just ignore him." She mumbles as you walk closer and closer to her car. And you do ignore him and his need for attention until you feel like he crosses a line.

He brings up Wanda's ex, and you see her cringe and tense up. "It's old news! Now come on and smile!" He shouts and treats her like a dog, sending you into a blind rage as you, without thinking, shove your phone and water bottle into Wanda's hand and turn back to the man several yards away.

"Hey, Blob!" You shout, attacking how he looks. Which you would never do but fuck he deserved it as you stepped closer and closer. The man drops the camera from his eye to around his neck as Wanda and him watch you encroach. "Leave Wanda the fuck alone before the last thing that camera sees is your ass!"

The man sneers. "Touch me or the camera, and I'll see you in court." You watch him smirk and go to lift his camera back up. "That's what I thought."

Wanda watches it all unfold as you look back at her and at the man before you lift your hand. Careful not to touch him or his stupid ass camera but instead the strap around his neck. Wanda watches as, with one simple click, the strap comes undone, and his camera slips out of his hand.

Smashing onto the floor.

The man stands shocked at the damage before he steps forward. "I didn't touch you." You say with a shit-eating grin. "You fucking wrecked my camera!?" He cries out, making you smile wider. "No, I didn't. You dropped it."

You are never one for confrontation or smug comments, but there was something about Wanda and this disgusting man that made your need to protect shoot off like a flare in the night.

Plus, maybe that feeling of justice sent you flying back to Wanda's side.

"I've thought about doing something like that a million times." She beamed to you. Through her sunglasses, you couldn't tell how her eyes glossed over your face, but watching you now, something had changed for Wanda. "Well, I'm glad to make your dreams come true."

Wanda laughed as the two of you walked back to her car. Not caring for the man crying on the sidewalk.

"I must know, will you be back at this gym? I might need more cameras smashed." You smile and chuckle. "Yeah. Same time next week?" You said with confidence coursing through you now as adrenaline picked up.

Wanda shook her head as she opened her Prius door. "How about Friday? I know a great spot for some smoothies afterward."

This sounds like a date.

You did your best to hide the overwhelming excitement, but you don't think you did an outstanding job. "That sounds great!"

Wanda loved that. "Here, put your number in." She said, handing you the same device you listened to music with earlier—her phone. You looked up and back down before putting in your number.

You were not about to wake up if this indeed was a dream.

"I'll text you my schedule for Friday. See what time works best for us." Wanda sits in her driver's seat and starts the car. Letting the A/C blow her hair back. "Maybe we'll have to skip the workout and just go straight to smoothies."

You smile. "That wouldn't be so bad."

Wanda smiled back. "I thought so." She winked. "Fan."

You shook your head and closed the door for her before she rolled down her window. "Bye, Y/n!" She playfully sang before pulling out of her spot, blasting Vol. 1.

Wanda looked back at you in the rearview mirror and smiled.

By the time Friday rolled around, Wanda knew the gym wasn't happening and wore an outfit fit for a date.

Smoothies and pizza later in the night.

Wanda made a home-cooked breakfast the next morning.

dividers by @/benkeibea

[joelscruff]

one of your girls (frankie morales x triple frontier boys) 18+

a/n it's @swiftiscruff friendship exchange time!!! i'm so beyond excited to share this piece i've been working on, dedicated to my incredible friend han @swiftispunk 🌙 we brainstormed the idea for this fic months ago and it's finally somehow become something tangible - but han, if i've learned anything from writing this fic, it's how much i depend on you when it comes to so many aspects of my writing. whether it be workshopping ideas, input on characterization & dialogue, sharing snippets, etc, you are always there to lend a hand, listen, and advise. not having that this time around (because this fic has been a secret ofc!) just further proved to me what an incredibly patient, giving, caring, kind, & beautiful friend you are. i love you so much & i'm so grateful you slid in my dms one whole year ago today 💕 summary: unpacking some of frankie's old things leads to a revelation about his past. (OR to put it simply: frankie morales x triple frontier boys circle jerk 🙌) rating: 18+ explicit warnings: circle jerk (frankie/benny/santiago/will), sub!frankie, bukkake, facials, cumplay, cum swallowing, frankie is literally a cum dumpster (and loves it), praise kink galore, pet names (good boy, baby boy), dirty talk, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cock worship, use of restraints, sexy photographs, sharing, mentions of frankie x all the boys individually (this includes tom but he's not involved in the circle jerk - sorry tom), brief mentions of anal sex (m/m), for story purposes you are frankie's current gf but it's not really the main focus...for now anyway, all of this takes place before the events of triple frontier word count: 12.2k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💙

You've been moving boxes for what feels like forever, arms aching and the sun beating hot against the back of your neck as you swipe sweat from your brow and head back into the aging, disintegrating storage unit. When Frankie had first told you about it you'd been adamant that he move his old things - locked away for almost ten years now - out of the unit and into the new house. "We don't need to be paying for storage when we have a garage", you'd said confidently, "we have a house now, Frankie. What's yours is mine."

If only you'd believed him when he'd told you it wouldn't be that easy.

"I told y-" he begins for the fourth time as you lean down to grab another box, but you snap up immediately with a finger to your lips. "Why don't I just do the rest from here?" He offers fruitlessly, "You take a break, relax in the truck for a little while."

You're already shaking your head before he's finished talking, resuming your retrieval of the large box at your feet, "No, Frankie. We do this together."

You don't have to look at him to know that he's rolling his eyes. All the same, you hear him clamoring after you with another box as he follows you from the unit and back to the truck. The sun hangs high overhead and you squint uncomfortably against it, piling the box alongside the others in the truck bed. Frankie does the same.

"I mean, what's even in all of these?" you ask exasperatedly, shoving one of the many boxes with your hand and leaning backwards against the truck, "How did you accumulate this much shit in the military? I thought minimalism was all the rage over there."

"I told you, it's not just mine," he reaches forward to brush some sweaty tendrils of hair out of your eyes, "It's the whole team's shit. Well, mostly Ben and Pope's, the others were uh-" he winches, "a little more organized, I guess."

"You guess?" you push up on your hands and seat yourself precariously on the edge of the truck bed, catching your breath. Frankie watches as you tear open the nearest box, biting down on his lip to stifle a laugh when he sees your eyes widen at what's inside.

"Paperwork?" you breathe, mouth agape, "Paperwork? That's what in all these? Fucking forms?"

"Something they don't tell you when you first join," he shrugs, "But no, that's not all that's in these. There's souvenirs, journals, photos, mission plans-" he cuts himself off and stops speaking altogether, lips clamping shut. Your brow furrows as you watch him assess the open box beside you, then the others strewn haphazardly here and there inside the truck bed, as if he's only just realized something he hadn't considered before.

"What?"

He seems to shake himself from whatever stopped him, eyes still settled on the open box as he murmurs, "Um, maybe don't open any more right now."

You raise an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"Just, uh... don't."

"Well that's not ominous in the slightest."

He laughs but something about it seems off, almost forced as he reaches forward with both hands to help you down from the truck. You follow his lead, peering up at him curiously and hoping maybe he'll elaborate, explain, but instead he turns on the spot and heads back toward the storage unit, pulling you along in tow.

You decide not to press him about it for the time being. Right now, all you can think about is finishing hauling these ridiculous boxes and devouring an iced coffee on the way home.

A week passes before you even think about the boxes again.

By that time they've been taking up residence in the garage, haphazardly placed along the concrete in unorganized disarray, exactly where you'd both left them the day you unloaded the unit. You'd been too exhausted to start unpacking and had instead collapsed on the couch, laying there with aching limbs as Frankie discarded your empty iced coffee and poured you a tall glass of water.

"Your job is done now, querida," he'd murmured softly, stroking your cheek, "I'll do the rest."

Except he hadn't. He'd pulled your feet into his lap and settled comfortably beside you on the couch, just for a moment - and then it was lights out for the both of you, boxes be damned.

Now you find yourself the following Saturday perched precariously atop your counter, fingers smeared a soft fern green as you paint the walls of your new kitchen. You only moved into this house a month ago - your first real house together; shared, owned, all that jazz. Most of that time has already been entirely dedicated to making it your own space; unpacking, decorating, furnishing, rearranging - you've been more than busy with curating this new step in both your lives.

Which is why it's not surprising that you forget about the storage unit boxes and their scatteredness in the garage, too distracted by your current ongoing tasks. You hum along to the radio as you carefully attend to the smallest crevices and spaces between the cupboards, above the stove, under the window sill. You need it to be perfect, have gone far too long living in a less than adequate apartment without much creative freedom for this house to suffer the same fate.

Of course, just as you acknowledge the desire for perfection, your hand slips. A splash of green suddenly paints the pure white window sill and your heart sinks.

"Frankie!" you call out with a groan, reaching forward to wipe the mess away and only making it worse, "Where's the white paint?"

"Should be in the garage, I think," you hear him call back from the living room, busy with his own task of painting the walls a deep maroon, "Need me to get it for you?"

"No, I got it," you slide off the counter, careful to avoid the can of green paint at your feet as you make your way to the garage. It's only when you pass the threshold off the laundry room that you finally remember the forgotten boxes, faced with them for the first time since you dropped them off.

"Dammit, Francisco," you mutter, "You said you'd take care of it."

You can't really blame him though. It really is an undertaking; you'd known that from the moment he told you about the unit to begin with. He'd wanted to keep them there, would rather continue paying the monthly fee than deal with the enormous amount of unpacking he'd have to do, but you'd pushed. Now, as you grimace at the pile of heavy boxes, you wonder if maybe he'd been right.

For now, you turn your attention to the task at hand - finding white paint. You scan the storage shelves along the walls and spot the can you're looking for on a high shelf, out of reach.

Maybe those boxes can serve a purpose today.

You shove one toward the shelf and heave another one on top, making quick work of it despite the effort. Climbing onto your makeshift stepladder, you reach for the white paint and successfully pull it to your chest, but the added weight causes your feet to dig into the box below, exposing its contents as you carefully pull yourself back down. Your eyes can't help but dart to the crushed opening, spotting what looks like a photo album peeking through.

Setting the paint down, you lower yourself onto the concrete and cross your legs, biting your lip and reaching inside the box to grab the album. It's navy blue, relatively small, lightweight. A little skim couldn't hurt.

As soon as you open the photo album you can't help but smile, met immediately with a photo of Frankie and Santiago with their arms around each other - fifteen years younger. Their eyes are alight with excitement, Frankie's cap askew and Santi's expression caught in a permanent laugh. Before, you think to yourself, this was before shit got real. You flip the page and smile wider when you see a photo of Benny and Will, caught in what must be a playful brawl with Benny's hand grabbing at Will's leg as he tries to get away. Will is grinning from ear to ear, a genuine smile you've only seen a handful of times. Yep, definitely before.

You flip through the rest of the photos with a heaviness in your heart you can't describe. You've known these boys for a handful of years, have only heard fragments of the shit they've been through together, but you know it wasn't easy, know it affected them in ways you'll never even begin to understand. Being able to see them before all that, before they became hardened and molded by pain and trauma, you can't deny the emotions that bubble in your throat.

The last page contains a group photo; Frankie is in the center, surrounded by his friends on all sides, Will and Benny turned towards him with a fond smile and a grin, Santiago with an arm around him again and his head tilted to brush against Frankie's cap, and Tom on the edge - looking a little out of place, you must admit. But then, you suppose, things haven't really changed.

You're about to close the album and return to your painting when you notice a little pocket built into the backing, hidden out of sight with a hint of white poking through. Not wanting to miss out on another good photo, you slip your finger inside and happily tug out what looks to be a polaroid, different than the others. Curiously, you flip it over.

And immediately drop it to the floor.

Suddenly you can hear Frankie's words from last week, thrumming in your mind on repeat: "Um, maybe don't open any more right now."

You hadn't understood. But now you think you do.

With slightly shaky fingers you reach down and pick up the polaroid, taking a breath before slowly flipping it over again. Lips parted, eyes wide, heart pounding, you peer down at the little photograph and try to understand what you're seeing.

A much younger Frankie - naked, save for the cap on his head and the pants around his ankles. On his knees, peering up at the camera with hooded eyes and a fucked-out expression you've become more than familiar with at this point in your relationship. But that's not what made you drop the photo, no.

His face is covered in cum. You know that's what it is, know there's nothing else it could possibly be. Thick trails of it paint his face like abstract art, dripping down his forehead and the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his chin. It's all over him, smeared along his neck and chest bloomed red with heat and arousal. His cap is askew, cheeks flushed, and - most notable of all - he's smiling. Looking up at the camera, drenched in cum, smiling.

Frankie is bisexual; you've known this since your first date, remember how shy he'd been as he'd softly murmured, "Just so you know, I like girls and guys." It hadn't bothered you at all to know that he'd been with men in the past - in fact, you'd kind of liked that about him.

So this - this doesn't bother you. You're not bothered. You're... you don't know what you are, can't seem to pinpoint exactly how you're feeling right now as peer down at the polaroid that you were probably never supposed to find. You're not bothered, you're just... surprised. And confused. What is this doing here? Why is it hidden in an album of Frankie and his friends?

....Oh.

"Find it?" you suddenly hear Frankie call from the living room, and your stomach drops. You hastily stand and slip the polaroid into your back pocket, then close the album and toss it back into the box.

"Y-yeah," you call back, "I got it!"

You try not to mention it. Try, being the operative word.

But it's all you can think about. It's all you see when you reunite with Frankie in the kitchen later that afternoon, staring at the flecks of maroon paint scattered across his face and being unable to not see smears of splattered white. It's all you see that evening as you dig into your leftover Chinese food, eyes constantly flickering across the table to watch Frankie bite and chew, lips soft and wet and definitely not leaking cum at the corners.

It's all you see that night when you settle in bed and watch as he comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, water dripping down his neck and chest not unlike the thick drops of release in the photo. You watch with hooded eyes, lips parted, heart thrumming, as he tugs the towel off and walks to the dresser with his pert ass on full display. You can't help but wonder if there'd been cum there too, leaking and dripping, hidden away because of the angle of the photo.

"I can feel you staring at me," he suddenly says with a chuckle, "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer." He says it in jest but you feel your face bloom with heat, immediately averting your eyes and burying yourself beneath the sheets.

"I was not," you lie, "Get over yourself."

He laughs again and you hear him shut the dresser, probably tugging on a pair of briefs, "You've been looking at me weird all day, it's kind of freaking me out."

You want to point out that "all day" is an exaggeration, but then you'd have to admit that you have been looking at him strangely for at least a portion of it, and you really don't want to do that. Instead, you reach over and turn off the lamp on your bedside table, then nuzzle into your pillow and close your eyes, ignoring him.

"Is something wrong, baby?" you hear him ask, humor slowly dissipating from his voice, "You need to talk about anything?"

"No," you lie, your own voice betraying you immediately, "I'm fine."

You feel the bed dip beside you, feel the warmth of his palm come down to gently caress your upper arm, "You sure? Did I do something to upset you?" You can practically hear him wince as soon as he says the words, "I know, I should already know if I did. But today's been busy and-"

"You didn't do anything, Frankie," you tell him softly, "I promise."

"Then what is it?" you can hear the concern, the gentle worry as he strokes your arm up and down, "Talk to me." He sounds so kind, so tender, as always. It's so damn hard to keep anything from him. You sigh.

"I feel..." you grimace, eyes still closed, "I just feel..."

He waits for you to continue, in the meantime settling into bed beside you and tugging the sheets up over himself. You feel his warmth against your body and it immediately fills you with a sense of calm, comfort. Your heart slows a bit, breaths coming a little easier as he brings his arm down to wrap around you and pull you in close.

"How do you feel, querida?" he murmurs, "Tell me."

"Guilty," you finally breathe, and you're surprised to feel tears pricking in your eyes, "I feel guilty."

You can hear the confusion in his voice, "For what?"

"I...I saw something I shouldn't have," you admit quietly, "In one of your boxes. Something really private that you probably never ever wanted me to see and I'm so sorry." You feel his arm freeze at your side and you take a shaky breath, "And now I can't stop thinking about it even though it's absolutely none of my damn business. And I wanna ask you about it but I really have no right to, not when I wasn't even supposed to know about it in the first place, and-"

"Mierda," he groans - shit.

"I'm so sorry, Frankie" you whisper pathetically, still facing away from him, "It's all my fault and if you need me to just forget about it, I will. I promise that I will."

"Fuck," he murmurs, "No no, baby, it's not your fault, it's mine. I should have unpacked all of it myself. I knew there was shit in there you might not wanna see."

"Y-you're not mad at me?"

He buries his face in your hair, nose nuzzling against your neck, "Of course I'm not mad at you - could never be mad at you for that. What's mine is yours, remember?"

You pull away to turn and face him, expression pensive. He's looking at you with earnest eyes, no anger or betrayal to be seen, and it almost makes it worse. Because does he know? Does he realize what exactly it is that you found?

"You have um..." you bite your lip, "You have pictures, in a photo album."

He stares at you, brow furrowing. "What?"

Fuck.

"There was... there was a photo album in one of the boxes. And I figured I'd just flip through it, just to have a look at you when you were younger, you know? Thought it'd be nice, that there might be something we could frame for the house."

He's looking at you like you're speaking another language, confusion lining his features, "....So?"

"So... so I found..." you wince, the image flashing behind your lids again as you try to figure out how to word it, "I found a picture that I don't think you would have wanted me to see."

He's still staring at you, the cogs turning in his head but seemingly no closer to an answer. You picture him flipping through an invisible rolodex, trying to pinpoint exactly what picture you could be talking about. You're starting to realize that maybe when he'd told you to stop looking in the boxes he'd been talking about something else.

"Honestly baby, I thought you meant you looked at some of my paperwork," he admits. Bingo. "Saw some stuff we did for a mission or something. There's plans in those boxes, strategy stuff, and you know how intense some of those were, some of the..." he takes a beat, biting his lip, "some of the things we had to do."

You shake your head quickly, "It wasn't anything like that. It wasn't...it wasn't something serious, really. It was..." you take a deep breath, still unable to say the words. Instead, you reach over into your nightstand and grab the polaroid, sitting up in bed and waiting for him to join you.

"What is it?" he asks, gentle and kind as he sits up beside you, "You can tell me, baby. We can talk about it."

Your heart races but you figure there's no going back from it now, and you're not sure you'd want to keep it from him anyway. Up until this point you and Frankie have always made communication an important part of your relationship. It's been necessary considering what he's been through, what he still deals with, and it's something that you're proud of. You're just gonna have to grin and bear it.

With a sigh, you shakily hand him the polaroid.

He flips it.

And drops it.

"Oh," he gasps, hand coming up to cover his mouth, "Oh, fuck."

"It's not- I'm not-" you stutter, fumbling over your words, "It's not a big deal, really. Like, it's whatever. I know you're bi, I know you've probably sucked your fair share of dicks-"

"Oh god," Frankie moans, his hands coming up to cover his eyes, "Oh my god."

"Hey, hey, no," you reach up and try to pull his hands away from his face, desperation in your voice, "Do not hide from me, you did nothing wrong. You hear me? There's nothing wrong with this." He groans again, shaking his head, but you just keep on talking, "I'm not mad about it or anything, it'd be pretty fucked up for me to mad about it actually. I'm just- hey," you continue to pry at his fingers, "Francisco, look at me."

Slowly, hesitantly, he finally removes his hands from his eyes to peer at you. You can see the embarrassment there, the humiliation - and not the good kind, not the kind he likes.

"Hey," you whisper, "You don't have to talk about this. We can pretend I never even saw it if that's what you want," you bring his hands down and hold them tightly, squeeze them in your own, "I just... I just wanted you to know that I saw it. And that I was just a little curious about why it was in an album from your military days. That's it. That's all."

His eyes fall back to the flipped polaroid on the bed, the back of it facing the both of you. You watch as he slowly reaches forward to pick it up again with his index and middle finger, pulls it upwards and turns it around to see it again.

Out of respect for him, you don't look at it. You just watch his face, his expression. He looks.... thoughtful.

"Talk to me," you whisper, voice breaking, "Please."

He looks from the polaroid to you, then back to the polaroid. After taking a steadying breath, he places it back down onto the bed between the two of you, face up. Your eyes spot his cum-covered face again, frozen forever in time, and you quickly avert your gaze.

He notices, and gives you a small half smile. You return it tenfold.

"Well, it.." he starts, taking another breath, "It was just something that.. we just started-" he cuts himself off, smile turning to a frown as he formulates his words. "It started..."

"Hey," you breathe, reaching down to squeeze his hands again, "Take your time."

It started as a way to blow off steam - that's it. Simple, easy.

They'd all gotten to know one another during training, spent time shooting the shit and building friendships with each other. There had been such a sense of belonging, of fortified brotherhood, a pull toward one another that none of them could deny. So it was unsurprising when their teamwork and comradery resulted in their placement into a special task force, just the five of them against the world - or, rather, the enemy.

But it was stressful. Going from basic military training to special ops added a new layer of pressure and competence that they hadn't experienced before, and it was no walk in the park. Things got harder, more pressing, more important. And all they had, like always, was each other.

So it made sense one night, for Frankie anyway, to offer Santiago a blowjob.

He'd heard the stiff grunts from the bed beside him, the dry - too dry - slap of skin as Santi worked at himself beneath the thin sheet of his bunk. It wasn't abnormal for Frankie to overhear one of his buddies masturbating; in fact it would have been abnormal to not hear it. He'd gotten used to the different sounds they'd each make as they gripped their cocks, hidden away in the dark, and pumped themselves to completion. He had memorized the sounds of their breathing, the grunts and the whines, the soft moans of their orgasms.

But it was never something that was discussed. It was an unspoken rule, almost: what happens in the bunks stays in the bunks. So Frankie had never even considered crossing that line, especially because he was pretty sure he was the only one in the group who liked dudes - something everyone was only vaguely aware of.

There was something about the desperation in Santi's movements that night, in the sweat on his brow and the pained expression on his face. He'd gotten reprimanded earlier that day for failing a training mission, been yelled at by two commanding officers while the rest of the boys looked on with regret in their hearts. If one of them failed, they all felt as if they'd failed too. Santi hadn't spoken to anyone for the rest of the day, had eaten in silence and then retired to his bunk much too early. And now, hours later here he was, hand around his cock, trying to forget.

And Frankie wanted to help.

"Pope," he'd whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Santiago to hear. Santi had turned his head slightly, eyebrows raising when he realized he'd been caught in the act. He'd been about to say something, defend himself maybe, but Frankie had shook his head and continued, "Need some help?"

A look of confusion. "Help?"

Frankie's eyes had wandered to the shape of Santi's lower half beneath the sheet, then back up to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," he'd murmured earnestly, "Help."

Santi had stared at him for a few seconds, brow furrowed, chest heaving. His hand was frozen under the sheet, gripping firmly to his hard cock as he'd considered Frankie's offer. Someone else might have hurled hurtful words, another might have ignored him completely.

But Santi took a deep breath and leaned back, closed his eyes and breathed, "Go ahead."

Frankie had been under the sheet in minutes.

Tucked away, hidden in case any of the other guys woke up, Frankie sucked slowly on his friend's cock. He wasn't sure how much Santi wanted to see of him, figured maybe he'd have his eyes closed as he pictured someone else, maybe that girl he liked from back home, but it didn't matter to Frankie - what mattered most was helping his friend forget about the shitty day he'd had. He treated Santi's cock like something to be worshipped, swallowing and licking around the big shape of him, warm and thick in his mouth. And when Santi came, it was only moments after Frankie had started.

His hands came down to grip Frankie's curls, tugging and pulling as he'd groaned and spilled down his friend's throat. And Frankie had swallowed every drop.

"Francisco," Santi had murmured when Frankie pulled off his cock with a pop, a drop of cum leaking from the corner of his mouth as he peered up at Santi from beneath the sheet, "You've been holding out on me."

With a smile, Frankie had licked the cum away and placed a gentle, reverent kiss to the wet head of Santi's cock. Santi had watched with hooded eyes, let Frankie kiss him there a few more times, let him trail his nose along his thick shaft and inhale deeply at the base. Hands still carding through his hair, Santi had let him mouth at his cock for a few more minutes before softly telling him he should get back in his bunk.

"Just trying to savor it," Frankie had whispered, voice a little sad, a little broken.

"You'll do it again," Santi had replied, reveling in the way Frankie's eyes widened, a smile lighting up his face.

And he did do it again - the following night. He'd been a little hesitant, unsure if Santiago had really meant what he said. But after the others had fallen asleep and Frankie was still just lying there, waiting, he'd heard a soft pssst sound. He'd looked over to see Santi sitting up in bed with a smirk on his face and one hand already beneath the sheet, tugging at his dick.

He stuffed his mouth with Santi's cock every night that week. It was almost feral the way he drank him down, eyes rolling as his lips kissed Santi's pubic hair and his tongue laved the shaft of his cock up and down, up and down. Drool cascaded from his lips all over his friend's belly, and he whined softly over and over whenever his curls were tugged, his temples stroked. Santi would talk to him softly, murmur the quietest little praises that made Frankie insane with need. That's it, there you go. You take what you need, Francisco. And then he'd come down his throat, fill his stomach with it, and whisper, "Good boy."

It was filthy, but it wasn't wrong. Not one part of it felt wrong. And Santiago never once made him feel like it was a shameful secret they were keeping, like the others finding out would be the end of the world. And it's good that he'd maintained that stance, because soon enough, Benny was in on it too. They should have seen it coming, considering his bunk was directly above Santi's.

"Can you give me one, maybe?" he'd asked Frankie awkwardly one night, voice quiet and slightly nervous as he leaned over the bars of the bunk bed, "I've been... I've been listening to it every night and it's driving me fuckin' crazy that I don't know what it feels like."

"Are you saying you've never had a blowjob, Ben?"

Benny had rolled his eyes, "Of course I've had a fuckin' blowjob, idiot. I've just never had a... a you know..." he'd shrugged, "A Frankie blowjob."

"It's good," Santi had said nonchalantly, tugging off his shirt and climbing into his bunk, "He's fucking incredible, actually."

Frankie had preened at the praise, cheeks reddening. An hour later he'd climbed up into Benny's bunk and deepthroated his cock for a solid fifteen minutes. Benny was breathless, chest blooming with heat as he watched Frankie suck and drool, gagging every so often but immediately resuming his sloppy ministrations as soon as he'd caught his breath.

"Look at that," Benny had marveled softly, "Look at that."

"I told you," they'd both heard Santi whisper from below, "He's a fucking godsend."

"I'm gonna cum down your fuckin' throat, Frankie," Benny had groaned, and no sooner were the words out that he was following through, spurting slow and steady into Frankie's mouth. He gripped the back of his head, watched Frankie swallow, and then whispered, "Good boy". Oh, he really had been listening.

Sated and warm with wet and sticky briefs, Frankie had climbed back into bed with a new appreciation for Benny.

As if two wasn't enough, Will got involved shortly after that. Of course Benny had unsurprisingly spilled the beans to his brother, which lead to Frankie climbing atop his own bunk one night to join Will, who'd been a bit unsure. It was as if he thought a prank was being pulled on him, like it was all bullshit, but he didn't say no.

"Been wonderin' what you three were gettin' up to," he'd muttered, watching Frankie a bit dubiously, brow furrowed, arms crossed, "Ben says you're, uh... good."

"I'm good," Frankie had promised softly, bringing his hands down to tug at Will's boxers, "Promise."

Will had watched as Frankie brought his already hardening cock out of his underwear, kissed the tip gently and then brought it into his mouth. "Oh fuck," he'd heard Will gasp out, immediately reaching up to cup the back of Frankie's head. And then there were three.

But three stayed three. Tom did find out about it, considering every single night somebody seemed to be getting their dick sucked. Any discreetness had gone out the window, especially when two of them would jack themselves off to the sounds of Frankie slurping and sucking, groans and the heavy slap of skin echoing throughout the large room. But despite the knowledge of what his friends were doing, the leader of the group was seemingly disinterested in having a go with Frankie.

There was one disastrous evening wherein the others managed to convince Tom to give it a shot. But Frankie bobbed on his cock for a solid five minutes before realizing he just wasn't getting him hard, and Tom had pushed him away and turned in bed with a low sigh.

"It's just not for me, Fish," he'd muttered, "Pretend it never happened."

"He doesn't know what he's missing," Santi had murmured ten minutes later as he watched Frankie suckle on the leaking tip of his cock, "Huh, Francisco? Doesn't know you've got the mouth of an angel, huh?"

Frankie had continued to suck, eyes closed, breathing deeply in and out as Santi stroked his hair.

Things were easier for a while after that. The training was strenuous, oftentimes near impossible, but there was always pleasure at the end of it, always something to look forward to. Every night Frankie would take up residence in someone's bunk, usually after a quick game of rock paper scissors or a straw draw. Each of his friends were different in their own way, and Frankie took a lot of joy in being able to have those moments with them, be what they needed. It felt like he was floating, dreaming; he'd never realized how badly he wanted to be submissive like this until it actually happened. Being their shared prize, their plaything, it was fucking incredible.

Sometimes he'd have all three in one night. He'd deepthroat Benny's cock and swallow him down, then stagger to Will's bunk and do the same. With his own erection aching in his underwear he'd finally crawl in with Santi and allow his closest friend to pull down his briefs and notch the head of his cock into his ass. Santi was the only one who fucked him, the only one who held him close afterwards and sometimes fell asleep with him.

"You my good boy, Francisco?" he'd murmur in Frankie's ear as he fucked him slow and deep, fingers digging into his hips beneath the sheets, "You like feelin' that cock in your ass?"

And god, did he ever.

The first real mission was brutal.

It was tame compared to the things they'd eventually do, but for what it was, they were stressed out of their minds. They spent weeks planning, training, preparing. They'd find themselves so tired at the end of the day that their nighttime habits became a thing of the past, if not something that only happened once in a blue moon. And in its own way the lack of it had begun to affect everything else, their comradery, their abilities, their drive. The day before the mission was set to begin, Benny stood up at dinner and proclaimed, "We've gotta get our shit together."

"Sit down, our shit is together," Tom grumbled, "We're gonna be fine."

"We are not gonna be fine," Benny argued, expression genuinely fearful, "We're gonna fail the whole fuckin' thing and then we're out on our asses."

"There's truth to that, you know there is," Will pointed out as he pulled Benny back down, "There's somethin' missing here. We're not on our A game."

"What, 'cause Morales isn't getting sucked and fucked?"

Frankie's head had gone up, ears tinging pink as he looked over at Tom along with everybody else. There had been a beat of silence, and then-

"Nobody said that," Santi had stated calmly, "And don't be a dick."

"I'm not being a dick. It's fine what you all get up to in your own time, whatever. But it's not the be-all and end-all of our fucking team," he'd shrugged and looked at Santi with a frown, "I mean, come on, Pope. We're prepared, with or without the extracurriculars."

"We are," Santiago had agreed with a nod, turning to Benny, "It's gonna be fine, man. The nerves are just kicking in now but that's normal. We've trained for this, we're ready."

But Frankie could tell he wasn't being entirely truthful.

That night, despite the tiredness of the last day of training and the anxiety of what was to come - Frankie found a solution. He told Santi first, whispered it to him in his bunk and grinned at the expression on his friend's face, awestruck and aroused all at once.

"You're sure?" Santi asked him quietly.

"I'm sure. I think it'll help us de-stress."

Santi had leaned forward and tilted Frankie's cap up, pressed a firm kiss to his forehead and murmured, "Me sigues sorprendiendo, Francisco." You continue to surprise me.

A moment later he was climbing the ladder of Santi's bunk, coming face to face with Benny. "You wanna do something kinky?"

The younger man's eyebrow raised, "Kinkier than usual?"

"A blowjob is not kinky, Ben."

"Getting one from a guy is."

Frankie rolled his eyes and went to pull himself back down the ladder but Benny stopped him, reaching out to touch his wrist.

"What'd you have in mind?"

And that's how he'd ended up on his knees.

Will and Benny stood on either side of Santiago, all three men looking down at their submissive friend with unbridled arousal in their expressions, dark and anticipatory. There was silence at first, not necessarily awkward but full of a definite tension that was more than palpable.

Until-

"Tie him up," Santi murmured to Benny. Frankie's eyes went hooded almost immediately, lips parting as he peered up at his friends and felt his heart pound at the thought of what Santi was asking.

"How so?"

"His hands," Santi clarified, "There's some string in the first aid kit, tie his hands behind his back so he can't touch himself."

Benny followed his orders without question, heading toward the bathroom to grab the kit while Will gave Santiago a confused look. "Why can't he touch himself?"

Santi smiled, tilting his head a bit and peering down at Frankie's already debauched form. He walked forward and kneeled down in front of him, levelling with him as he reached for his waistband.

"'Cause he likes it," Santi murmured, "Haven't you noticed something about Frankie in all the months we've been doing this?" As he spoke he pulled down Frankie's pants to his knees, exposing his bare thighs to the room. He was already hard, the long shape of his cock protruding from his black briefs. "He doesn't touch himself," he continued softly, stroking his thumb gently against the V of Frankie's hips, "He always comes in his pants when he sucks our dicks."

Hearing the words aloud, stated so matter-of-factly, Frankie realized in that moment how fucking well Santiago had come to know him. Not once had Frankie voiced this, told him anything about what he really liked, what he craved. And yet here he was, having his desires told directly to him, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"And when he gets fucked," Santi continued, fingers trailing downward to ever so gently cup Frankie's cock, "He only lets me touch it. Ain't that right, Francisco?"

Frankie nodded slowly, a lump forming in his throat.

"Why?" Will asked again - always wanting clarification, an explanation.

"'Cause it feels good, doesn't it, Frankie?" Santi cooed, releasing Frankie's bulge and bringing his hand up to place a finger under his chin, "Feels so good to come untouched, huh? Feels good to let go when you've got a dick in your mouth, to fall asleep with your underwear all wet and your cock all sticky?"

Frankie nodded again, cheeks blooming pink. He felt someone behind him pick up his hands, start tying them together - Benny.

"Come to think of it, I've never seen his cock," Benny admitted, voice already rough with anticipation, "I mean... I guess I had other things on my mind."

"He's got a fucking great cock," Santi murmured, "Why don't you show 'em, Francisco? Let 'em see what you've been hiding under here, huh?" His finger dug into the band of Frankie's briefs, and all Frankie could do was nod again, unable to speak with the way his thoughts had begun to melt away, brain going fuzzy.

Benny finished tying his hands and walked in front of him again to stand alongside Santi, eyebrows going up when he watched Frankie's cock be freed from the confines of his underwear. It stood at attention immediately, long and hard, pink and flushed at the tip. It smacked wetly against his belly, balls hanging heavy and full as Santi pulled his briefs down entirely.

"Now look at that pretty cock," Santi breathed, almost just for Frankie alone, "Look how it's dripping."

And it was dripping, already pulsing and bobbing against his belly button with every rise and fall of his chest. The three men watched in silence for a moment as Frankie took deep breaths, his cock twitching and stuttering in front of them without being touched, simply exposed to the cool air of the room and their interested gazes.

"I kinda wanna...." Benny started to say, but trailed off, blushing a bit as he took a step away from his brother.

"I'll stay between you," Santi offered quickly, "Pull 'em out, it's fine."

There was no more hesitation after that. Frankie watched under his lashes as his three friends reached into their pajama pants and pulled out their cocks. Will was still mostly soft, though you could tell he was starting to harden with the sudden gravity of the situation. Benny was already stiff and leaking as he fisted his own, and Santiago's hung heavy and thick between his legs as he carefully circled the head with his thumb.

"We're gonna come all over your face, Frank," Benny told him quietly as he jerked his cock slowly up and down, "You know that, right? You're sure you're cool with that?"

It was like he was underwater, still unable to speak; he hadn't said one word since he'd gotten on his knees. It was as if the submissive part of him had taken over completely, mind going blank.

"Say yes or no, Fish," Will said, voice strained as he squeezed himself gently, "Wanna hear it."

"Yes," Frankie had finally managed to whimper, knees trembling against the cold floor, "Yes, please."

Santi grinned, "Well boys, I think we got our answer," He tilted his head again to eye Frankie from where he stood, "Let's get a little closer, shall we? I think he wants us up close and personal."

Within a few seconds Frankie was suddenly face to face with three cocks - it was like fucking Christmas morning. His mouth popped open and drool immediately began to collect in the corners of his mouth, eyes trailing back and forth to look at absolutely everything he could. He stared at the weeping tips, the fat heads, the thick shafts where his friends pumped and fisted. Without any thoughts in his brain he opened his mouth and laid his tongue flat against his lower lip, staring at Benny's cock - arguably the biggest - with pleading eyes.

"Yeah, you wanna suck on it, don't you?" Benny asked, a smile in his voice, "You go ahead, Fish. Suck that cock."

He did not need telling twice. His lips wrapped around the pink mushroom head of Benny's cock and his eyes rolled back as he began to suck, tongue lapping at the tip and devouring everything it had to offer. God he loved having his mouth full, loved hearing Benny's groans as he pushed his head forward and enveloped more and more of the cock in front of him, began to slide his lips up and down the shaft and cover it in his saliva.

"So pretty with a cock in your throat, Francisco," Santi told him, voice full of praise as he watched Frankie sink down even further on Benny's cock, 'til his nose was buried in his pubic hair. "Tell him how pretty he is, Benny. He wants to hear it."

Frankie anticipated some hesitance, maybe even a sarcastic comment, but Benny did no such thing. Instead, Benny's hand came up to cup the back of Frankie's head, holding him still on his cock as he breathed, "You're so pretty, Frankie."

A high keen of a whine made it's way from Frankie's throat, vibrated around the cock in his mouth. Benny trembled a bit, tangling his fingers in his hair and helping him bob a few more times before pulling him off completely. Frankie gasped for breath, tears in his eyes as he stared up at his friends.

"Your turn," Santi murmured quietly to Will, "Stuff him full."

"He fuckin' loves being stuffed," Will replied with a low chuckle, yanking Frankie forward by his hair and shoving his now fully hard cock into his mouth. It was the kind of rough Frankie was already well acquainted with when it came to Will, and he welcomed it with gratitude. He closed his eyes and allowed Will's cock to sink into his mouth like Benny's had, then swallowed around it, tightening the walls of his throat and gagging around the large intrusion.

"Yeah, choke on it, baby," Will muttered, gripping both sides of Frankie's head with a groan, "Baby boy."

Baby boy. That was a new one, especially from Will, but Frankie certainly wasn't complaining. He swallowed around him again, feeling his own cock bob against his stomach as he continued to worship Will's dick. There was only so much of the sensation that Will could take, and before long he too was pulling out of Frankie's mouth and resuming his slow strokes, breathing heavily.

"M'your baby boy," Frankie murmured to the three of them, Will's words still echoing in his mind. His voice was already completely shot, rough and scratchy from the two large cocks that had invaded his throat.

"You are," Santiago cooed, leaning forward to gently tap the head of his own cock against Frankie's bottom lip, "You're our baby boy, Frankie. Our good, pretty, perfect boy, huh?"

Yes, Frankie wanted to whisper, it's all I am. It's all I wanna be. But his mouth was already being filled a third time, this time by Santi's cock - the thickest of the three. His vision blurred with tears as it stretched his lips, the masculine taste dripping on the back of his tongue and down his throat. He'd had Santi's cock in his mouth the most out of everyone's; had fallen asleep a few times suckling on the tip of it while Santi murmured praise, like a comfort, a constant.

He knew exactly what Santi liked, what he didn't, how to tease him, how to get him there. Immediately, Frankie curled his tongue around the wide head, dipped the tip of it into Santi's slit and carefully fucked it in and out while suctioning the rest. He kept his eyes open this time even though they burned with tears, allowing himself to meet Santiago's gaze just how he knew he liked it.

"Oh, good boy," Santi praised softly, thumbing Frankie's cheeks and letting the head of his cock sit just inside the wet heat of his mouth, "Suckin' on that cock like it's my thumb, huh? Just how you like it?"

Now that was something unbeknownst to Benny and Will. They knew Santi liked to fuck Frankie sometimes, but they didn't know much about the logistics, the positioning, the way it worked. More often than not, Frankie would suck on Santi's thumb when he was being fucked, liked the feeling of having both his holes full at the same time. It felt complete somehow, safe. God, what would it feel like now if Santi were to fuck him and let Benny or Will fuck his throat? What would it feel like to be truly filled up like that, the way he'd always imagined? His cock twitched against his belly again, still untouched, still pulsing, and he moaned around Santi's cock.

"I think our baby boy needs a little break," Santi murmured softly, "Shh, it's okay, Frankie, it's alright," he slowly pulled his cock from Frankie's lips and allowed him to catch his breath, chest heaving. He felt multiple hands petting his hair, stroking his cheeks, thumbing his temples. Someone brushed one of his nipples, pinched it ever so gently and then did the same to the other one.

"Sweet little things," Will murmured, and that answered that.

"He really is a fucking godsend, Pope," Benny breathed, disbelief and awe playing at the edge of his voice, "Softest mouth I've ever felt."

"His eyes are what get me," Santi replied, and Frankie felt him take his cap off and toss it to the side, then a pair of lips kiss his forehead, "He's got the prettiest brown eyes, look so beautiful when he's got that wet mouth all full."

The way they talked about him, like he wasn't even there, like he was just a toy, something to play with, an object - it was so much. It was too much. He leaned back on his haunches and whimpered, eyes fluttering open as he looked up at his friends, still standing in front of him with their now very wet cocks in their hands.

"Put them on my face," he begged, voice broken and haggard, "All of them, please."

"Fuck," Benny gasped out, and without hesitation he placed the entire length of his cock along Frankie's cheek and forehead, tapping it a few times and hissing, "There you go. There it is, baby boy."

"You go around the other side," Santi told Will, knowing he wouldn't want to touch Benny's cock, "Put yours upside down on his other cheek, I'll go middle."

Benny was still slapping Frankie's face gently with his cock, hissing and groaning out words of praise. Santi slapped his own down across the center of his face, along his nose and lips. His cock settled up against Benny's, and for the shortest of seconds Frankie noted that they rubbed them together without speaking, without looking at each other. Will joined them on the other side, his balls hanging low on Frankie's forehead and his tip jutting out near his chin. Three cocks, side by side, covering their friend's entire face.

"Slap him with them, he likes that," Benny said through gritted teeth, doing it again and again and reveling in the whimpers and whines Frankie was making below them, "Ohhh, he fuckin' loves that."

"I don't think I can last," Will spit, voice more strained than it had been before, "This is too much, I'm gonna blow my whole fuckin' load any minute now."

"No one's stopping you," Santi encouraged, "Doesn't matter when we come, what matters is we do it all over his face. Cover him with it."

"Oh, he's gonna be fuckin' drenched," Benny groaned, eyes closing as he stilled his slapping movements to hold back his own orgasm. His voice was wild now, desperate, "I wanna come in his mouth, I call dibs."

"You hear that, Frankie, baby?" Santi murmured with a sly smile, "Benny called dibs on filling your mouth."

Frankie wouldn't have responded even if he could, just let out another whimpering moan and dropped his jaw, lolled his tongue out so his friends could take turns tapping the heads of their cocks against it. He was covered in precum, felt it dribbling down his chin and forehead, collecting behind his teeth and dripping down the back of his throat.

"Let him suck," Will hissed, "Let him suck mine one more time." At his words, Benny and Santi moved out of the way as best they could, Santi tapping Frankie's eyelid with his cock while Benny smeared more precum into his forehead. They watched as Frankie carefully suckled Will's tip into his mouth, closed his lips around him and hummed.

"Put it in your throat, baby boy," Will told him firmly, "Swallow around it, there you go. Thaaat's a good boy."

Gurgling sounds were coming from Frankie's gag reflex but he didn't stop or pull away, kept doing exactly what he knew Will needed as he swallowed him down. It took barely any time at all for it to be too much for Will to handle, and before any of them knew it he was pulling out and pumping his cock furiously over Frankie's face. Benny and Santi stepped back - they all knew what was coming.

"Don't come in his mouth, I called dibs," Benny warned, and Frankie could have sworn he heard Santiago chuckle.

"Keep your eyes closed, Fish," Will muttered, directly in front of him now as the wet sounds of his fist slipping up and down his cock filled the room, "Gonna paint that pretty little face and those sweet little nipples."

Franke whimpered, keeping his eyes closed as he continued to listen to what was going on around him. He could hear Santi and Benny still jerking themselves a few steps away, but Will's grunts and groans were the most prominent, the most present. And only a few seconds later he felt the first splash of cum hit his face - his left cheek.

"There it is," Santi egged Will on, "There he goes."

Another rope of cum landed on his forehead, dripped down onto his eyebrow. Then another on his chin. He listened as Will let out one more groan, still pumping his cock as he aimed at Frankie's bare chest. He felt two more spurts trickle down both of his nipples, sensitive and hard, and that was it.

"Fuck," Will groaned, satisfaction plain as day in his voice, "Fuck, Frankie."

He opened his eyes and was met with Will's cock, tight in his fist. Without hesitation he leaned forward and brought the tip gently into his mouth, licking off the excess cum as Will brought his hand down to play with Frankie's curls. He sucked for a few seconds, placed a soft kiss to the tip - his favorite spot - and then looked up to meet Will's gaze, a dazed little smile playing on his lips.

"Give it one more little kiss, baby boy," Will murmured, "Just one more." Frankie did as he was told, eyelashes fluttering as he kissed the sticky tip once more, and then Will was backing up to let Santi and Benny back into their spots.

"You're a good boy, Fish," he murmured, tucking himself back into his pants. "Mind if I watch the rest?"

"Please stay," Frankie managed to breathe, and the movement of his face caused some of the cum in his eyebrow to trickle downwards, dipping into the crevice of his nose. Will smiled and nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to observe.

"Won't be much longer now, Francisco," Santi told him softly, shuffling forward to carefully fill Frankie's mouth again with his dick. He watched with fascination as Frankie slowly bobbed on it, like muscle memory as he breathed evenly through his nose. "M'close. I think Benny's close too."

"You look so fuckin' good with all that cum on your face," Benny told him, voice almost pained, "Gonna look even better with more."

Surprisingly, Frankie pulled off Santi's dick without being told to do so and peered over at Benny with hunger in his eyes, "Can you... can I..." he cut himself off, going bright red as he looked back to Santi for reassurance.

"What is it, baby?" Santi asked softly, brow furrowing, "You good? You need to take a break?"

Frankie shook his head quickly, "N-no, I just...I..." he bit his lip and hoped his sudden idea wasn't about to be shot down, "Can you put them both in at the same time?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Fuck," Benny groaned, "Fuck, that's hot." There was no doubt in Frankie's mind now that Benny had quite liked having his dick so close to Santi's, so it made him grin when Benny moved forward to stand beside his friend and jut his cock out toward Frankie's mouth.

"Open up, Fish."

Dropping his jaw once again and staring wide eyed up at his teammates, cum still fresh and sticky all over his face, Frankie allowed Benny and Santi to slide both their cocks into his waiting mouth. The feeling was insane. The taste was insane. All masculine and heady and musky and wet, the smell of sweat and raw sex invading his nostrils as they both pushed their dicks further in alongside each other. Frankie felt two hands in his hair, one of Santi's and one of Benny's, holding him still.

"Oh fuck, I need a picture of this," Benny groaned, blinking furiously as he peered down at where he and Santi's dicks jutted out from Frankie's mouth. "Will, grab Pope's camera, I'm serious. I need to remember this."

As Will made his way to the bunks, Frankie continued to blink slowly and languidly, tongue almost lazily swirling along the fat heads of the two big cocks in his mouth. They were dripping everywhere, warm and sticky, layering the back of his tongue with all of their arousal. And he was so fucking overwhelmed.

"Two cocks," Santi breathed, thumbing a bit of Will's cum that had begun to dry on Frankie's cheek, "Two fat cocks for Frankie, huh?"

"Look at how his lips stretch," Benny added, pushing his cock in the tiniest bit further to watch how Frankie's mouth adjusted to the size, "S'like he was made for it."

"He was made for it," Santi agreed softly, pushing some hair out of Frankie's face and tucking it behind his ear, "Huh, Francisco? Were you made for this?"

Another slow blink and an even slower nod, careful not to dislodge the appendages in his mouth. Benny assessed the door Will had left through and then hesitated for a moment before turning to Santi and whispering, "You feel good, Pope," under his breath.

"So do you," Santi replied with a smile, "Y'got a nice dick."

Benny seemed a bit flustered, avoiding Santiago's gaze as he muttered, "Thanks."

Will rejoined them a few seconds later, Santiago's polaroid camera in hand. Frankie watched with pleasure as Will brought the camera over his head and faced it downwards, preparing the shot.

"Chipmunk cheeks," Will murmured fondly, snapping the picture with a smile, "This'll do great for the annual Christmas card, huh boys?" It was a joke of course; they all knew that what was happening right would more than likely never leave the base, but Santi and Benny laughed nonetheless, pushing their cocks just a little bit more into Frankie's mouth.

"He's full," Benny murmured, "All filled up."

"Not entirely," Santi chuckled, "But close enough."

Their teasing words, their smiles and their laughs, it was making Frankie crazy. His untouched cock was still bobbing on its own accord, twitching and dripping as they talked about him like he wasn't even there. He was going to come soon, he just knew it, and the thought alone made him whine around his friend's dicks, his eyes rolling back.

"Shh, it's okay, Francisco," Santi reassured him softly, "Just give us one more minute to enjoy this, okay? Will's gonna take a few more pictures. You just stay still and keep suckin' on those cocks."

"You got this, Fish," Benny murmured, "You can do it, you're a good boy."

I am, Frankie thought to himself as he closed his eyes and heard the snap of another photo, I am a good boy.

Will took two more pictures with the camera so they'd each have one, tugging the polaroids out as they developed and waving them in the air. This was better than any porno magazine they'd ever be able to stow away, something real and raw, perfect spank bank material.

"I want the first one, where his eyes are open," Santi told Will when he was done, "Calling dibs."

"You got it."

Finally, Benny and Santi pulled themselves slowly out of Frankie's mouth, leaving him nothing but a drooling, lightheaded mess on his knees in front of them. He gasped for breath, head going down as he coughed and spluttered. He felt Will's hands patting his back, helping him through it as his chest heaved.

"Gonna come all over that pretty face, Fish," he heard Benny groan, "Open that mouth again, gonna fill it up."

With all the strength he could muster, Frankie tilted his head up and shakily opened his mouth again. His jaw was sore and aching but he knew he could last a little longer, knew he could give his friends what they needed before he collapsed in a heap on the floor. He watched as Benny jerked his cock in front of his face, watched the way his precum bubbled and spilled at the tip before being replaced with ropes and ropes of hot cum. If Benny was known for anything when it came to their little extracurriculars, it was certainly the ridiculous amount of spend he was able to produce.

"Right in the back of his fuckin' throat," he groaned, watching as it spurted into Frankie's open mouth, "Knew I had perfect aim." He redirected the head of his cock to further paint more of Frankie's face, covering him with thick white all over his cheeks and lips. "Don't swallow it, Fish," he managed to moan out, "Keep aaaall of it in there for me like the good boy you are."

A few more spurts along his neck and chest, one more in his mouth, and then Benny was tapping the head of his cock against Frankie's tongue again, watching as the last few drops spilled out onto it. Frankie peered up at him with heavy lids, a low moan emitting from the back of his throat.

"Yeah," Benny breathed, tapping his tongue again, "That's for you, s'all for you." He pulled his cock out and took a step back, nodding toward Santi, "Go ahead, man. I think he's spent."

"He'll be okay," Santi said softly, shuffling in front of Frankie again and pressing the sticky tip of his cock to the corner of his cum-filled mouth, "Huh, baby? Can you last a little longer? Just a few more minutes for me?" Frankie nodded and he smiled, "Open wide, baby boy."

"Come on, I don't want him to swallow it yet," Benny said a little exasperatedly as Santi slipped the head of his cock past Frankie's lips, the tiniest bit of Benny's cum dribbling from the left corner of his mouth.

"He won't swallow," Santi murmured, "He's just gonna get my dick a little wet." He looked up to share a knowing look with Benny, like a little secret between them, and Benny turned bright red.

At his words, Frankie swirled Benny's cum around the head of Santi's cock, coating it in the salty substance. He gazed up into Santi's eyes as he did it, almost like he was silently whispering to him, pleading; I'm ready now, I'm ready for you to give it to me.

"Okay, Francisco," Santi whispered, just for him, "Lo has hecho tan bien." You've done so well.

He pulled out of Frankie with a pornographic squelching sound and began to work Benny's cum and Frankie's saliva up and down the length of his cock, still staring directly into Frankie's deep brown eyes. He bit down on his bottom lip, brows furrowing as he brought himself closer and closer to the edge.

"Ask for it," he said quietly, edged with something unhinged.

"Please," Frankie breathed, voice garbled and muffled by the cum in his mouth and the ache in his throat, "Please come on me, Santi."

And that was enough.

"Mierda," Santi groaned out, stomach tensing as his thick cock twitched in his grasp. Frankie didn't close his eyes this time, kept them locked onto Santi's as cum drenched his face. It splashed along his cheek and nose in short bursts, dripped down his neck and collected in the corners of his mouth. Without being able to help it, he popped his mouth open one final time to allow Santi to add more cum to the cocktail on his tongue.

"Christ," Will muttered a few steps away, "Would ya look at that?"

"This," Benny sighed, a smile in his voice, "This is what we needed. Fuck Redfly, man."

In any other circumstance Santiago probably would have smacked Benny on the back of the head for disrespecting the team leader, but he was a little more than preoccupied at the moment. He was still staring down into Frankie's eyes, lost in a daze as Frankie tugged him back into his mouth with his tongue and sucked the last remaining spurt of cum from the tip of his cock.

"C'mere, watch him swallow," Santi gestured for the others to join him, and they all resumed their positions in front of Frankie with heavy lidded eyes as they watched him suck.

"Show us first," Benny murmured, "Come on, Fish, show us what's in your mouth, huh?"

Releasing Santi's cock with a pop, Frankie carefully opened his mouth to show his friends the pool of cum swirling on his tongue, dripping down into the soft pockets of his cheeks. Practically in awe, they all stared as he played with it, twisted his tongue back and forth and moving the thick globs of cum from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Swallow," Santi whispered, and Frankie obeyed.

It felt like heaven going down his throat, thick and warm. His eyes rolled a little, tongue darting behind his teeth to lick any that he'd missed, swallowing again and then dropping his jaw to show them his clean tongue, mouth empty.

"Good boy."

They stood there in silence for a moment, almost in reverence. Frankie was a mess, covered in three thick loads of spend and still on his knees with his cock bobbing against his stomach. He was so aroused it was almost painful, the head of his cock pulsing along with his heartbeat as he waited for an order, a command. He whined a little, waiting for someone to do something.

"Untie him," Santi finally told Benny with a smirk, "I think he's ready now."

Ready was an understatement. So much of an understatement in fact that Benny had barely brushed against Frankie's hands to untie the string when Frankie was suddenly letting out the loudest moan of the night, high and unbridled and full of pleasured desperation. Benny practically ripped the string from his hands to turn around and get a better look, watching with wide eyes as Frankie started to come with his cock completely untouched.

It was truly a sight to behold. His three friends stood frozen with their eyes glued to Frankie's cock as it bobbed and twitched of it's own accord, slapped repeatedly against his own stomach and dipped into his belly button. They watched as thick ropes of cum began to spill from his weeping tip, painting his stomach and chest, his chin, the floor. His balls shivered and tightened, more spurting out again and again as he writhed and shook on his knees, making the most pathetic little sounds as his eyes rolled.

Four loads now.

They were all in shock. They'd known he could do it, had felt him come in his pants untouched more than enough times at that point to know it was possible for him. But Christ, they'd never seen anything like it.

The room went silent as Frankie caught his breath, as he came down from his untouched orgasm and his loud outburst. They all watched as his cock continued to twitch with aftershocks, Benny letting out a soft groan when a little more cum dribbled from the tip. And then it was over.

More silence, save for Frankie's gasps and whimpers. And then Will took a step forward.

"Thank you, Fish," he told him earnestly, patting him on the shoulder and squeezing it gently, "That was... fuck. Thank you. You're fuckin' incredible."

Frankie looked up at him through fluttering lashes and nodded with a small smile, and then Will disappeared back to the bunks.

Benny was next. He got down on Frankie's level and came face to face with him, a grin on his face, "You're so pretty, Frank," he told him softly, "And you did so good. S'at what you needed?" Frankie nodded and Benny ruffled his hair a little bit, "Thanks, man. Thank you. We're gonna kill it tomorrow."

He followed his brother back to the bunks, leaving just Frankie and Santi alone together. Just like Benny had, Santi kneeled down to meet Frankie at eye level, picking up his cap along the way and carefully placing it on top of Frankie's head with a smile.

"Did I do good?" Frankie asked him softly, voice hoarse.

Santiago smiled even wider, pulled the cap down a bit further and murmured, "Si, Francisco. Perfecto."

A sleepy and sated grin lit up Frankie's cum-coated face. He could still feel everything, the thick layer of spend on his cheeks and chest, his slowly softening cock, the ache in his jaw - and he loved all of it. It felt right. So fucking right.

"Can you take a picture?" he suddenly asked, eyes alight, "Of me? Like this? I wanna... I wanna keep it. To remember it."

Santi's eyes softened even more, hand coming up to gently stroke Frankie's bare shoulder, "I can do that."

Santi grabbed the polaroid camera, held it front of his face and peered down at Frankie with a fond smile as his friend looked up at him softly, tiredly. "Show me those eyes, Francisco," he murmured, and Frankie halted the fluttering of his lashes to give the camera his ultimate fucked-out expression, a smile playing at his lips. The camera flashed and Santi pulled out the developed picture, waving it in the air as he settled back down in front of Frankie.

"Look at all this," he murmured softly, reaching up to gently thumb a bit of the cum on Frankie's face and scoop it carefully into his friend's mouth. Frankie sucked Santi's thumb with ease, sleepy and docile.

"S'yours," Frankie breathed when Santi pulled it back out.

Santi raised an eyebrow, "Mine?"

"What you just put in my mouth," Frankie clarified with a flush to his cheeks, "That was yours."

"You can tell?"

Frankie nodded with a soft chuckle, "Yeah, I can tell you all apart."

And if that wasn't the hottest thing Santiago had ever heard in his life.

Getting up from the floor was a bit of a task, but Santi helped him every step of the way. He lead Frankie to the showers where he let him lean against the wall, let him bask in the warmth of the hot water and the feeling of soap and shampoo as Santi worshipped him in a different way, a new way. Pressed kisses to his temples and his forehead, took his time lathering Frankie's arms and legs, gently cleaned his coated face and spent cock. And when he was done, Santi wrapped him in a towel and brought him back to his bunk, laid beside him and kissed him slow and deep until it felt like all that existed was just the two of them, nobody else.

He'd placed the polaroid in Frankie's bedside table and stroked his hair, murmured those familiar soft and gentle praises as he drifted to sleep.

Needless to say, their first mission was a success.

You're lying down with him now. It's well past midnight, moonlight streaming in through your bare-bones new bedroom as you peer at him quietly from under your lashes. He looks tired - he's been talking for over an hour now.

"There's more," he murmurs, eyes drooping, "More happened after that, a lot more, but I-"

"You've told me more than enough," you whisper, "You've been so honest, Frankie." Your thumb comes up to stroke his cheek, your mouth turning up slightly at the corners when his eyes start to close, "Thank you for telling me about that."

He hums, breathes deeply as sleep slowly starts to find him. You can't help but stare at him, watch his face turn peaceful, the lines in the corners of his eyes smoothing out, his full lips relaxing into a natural frown. He's so beautiful. He's so.... good.

You think of him back then, the way he probably used to be. So unsure, so new to the real world and so close to facing things he'd never anticipated. You picture him lying in his bunk with Will above him, Santi and Benny beside him, Tom somewhere else, somewhere distant - it makes sense now. It all makes sense.

And now he's lying in his own bed, in his own house, years later - with you. You, the only thing you think has really made sense to him for a long time, the only thing that's helped him overcome some of life's worst obstacles, the pain and the trauma from the shit he's dealt with throughout his life.

But despite all of this, despite the past few years you've spent together, you suddenly can't help but wonder where he'd be right now if you hadn't met.

Would he be in Santiago's bed?

You slip out from under the blankets and grab your phone from your nightstand, making sure to turn out the light before heading to the kitchen. Your nostrils are met with the smell of fresh paint and leftover chow mein as you flick on the overhead and settle yourself on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

Unsure exactly why, you unlock your phone and scroll through your contacts, biting your lip as you search for Santiago's name. When you finally find it, you tap on it, feeling something odd sink in your heart when you see the lack of messages. You've never texted him? Not even once? You lean back and try to think of the last time you even had a conversation alone with him without Frankie or the others there, just a one-on-one interaction... and you come up blank.

He'd been such a huge part of Frankie's life. And still is now - still sees him on weekends, goes to games and bars, came over to the old apartment for drinks and dinner pretty regularly. He's been there for Frankie in ways you never could have imagined or guessed, took care of him and comforted him, would probably take a bullet for him - hell, he actually might've for all you know.

You look back down at your phone and stare at the blank space where words should be, feel that guilt from earlier rise in your chest and make a home in the form of a lump in your throat.

You start typing out a message.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

New year, new me?

Nah.

New year NEW CHARACTERRRRRR BITCHESSSSS

So anyway.

Those ABC Headcanons I did for Mihawk, Shanks, Sanji, and Zoro a few months ago when I first started this Tumblr. I'm doing one for Crocodaddy now. Needed to iron them out to write him later in a fanfiction I already have in-progress, and this helps.

This also means I'll be accepting requests for him tentatively (I know I'm way behind on ask requests as is, bear with me pls).

Also excuse me while I squeal about being able to create semi-transparent banners and shit now

A through Z

NSFW Headcanons

A — Afterglow (How are they have sex?)

He'll be sitting up against the pillows and headboard of your shared bed, striking up a cigar while you're still lying alongside him gasping for air.

Glancing down at you in your utterly spent and trembling state, smirking with the cigar between his teeth and pulling you up by your shoulder to recline back against his chest.

Not at all above taunting you about how utterly ruined you are.

"Oh, what's wrong? Was it too much?"

Chuckling when you tell him to go fuck himself as he leans over to pour himself and you a small glass of bourbon.

Leaning down to brush his lips and nibble at your neck, murmur in your ear while you take a sip from your glass, praising you with that same edge of almost cruel amusement.

"Such a good little fuck toy."

This is the most relaxed you're usually going to see him, and the most inclined toward cuddling up with you he's going to be.

B — Backrubs? (Do they like them? Like giving them?)

First time you come into his office and circle around behind his chair, he's going to be suspicious, probably even standoffish about it—until your hands are rubbing his neck and his shoulders.

"The hell do you think you're—......oh. Oh, that's...mmmm..."

You won't hear one single further complaint out of him after that.

He's not going to ask you to do it again—he's more likely to demand that you do, to send for you after a particularly long day so he can just lean back and let you work your magic on his stiff muscles.

If he returns the favor at any point, you can rest assured that it's not without an ulterior motive—he won't settle for having his hand on you without getting more out of it.

C — Cuddling (Do they enjoy cuddling a lot or only at certain moments?)

He's more likely to pull you against him or onto his lap in public than he is in private—he likes showing off his trophies, after all, and you're among his most prized possessions.

Gets off on making sure that everyone around knows that you're his, tugging you onto his knee with an arm curled possessively around your waist.

In private, he's still not going to shove you away if you lay back and drape yourself across his lap.

He might not say so, but he honestly loves it. He'll probably absently stroke your hair or brush his thumb across your cheek—but he's not as likely to initiate.

D — Dance (Are they good at it? Do they enjoy it?)

He's got his share of experience—being a filthy rich business magnate doesn't come without its share of formal to-dos, after all.

He's going to spend the majority of said fraternizations discussing business and making connections—but he can't and won't ever resist any opportunity that arises to show you off, either.

Whether you ask or not, at some point he's going to wrap his arm around you and curl his hook around your waist—pull you in close by your chin to speak against your lips.

"Let's show these low-lives what they're missing."

Lowering his hand down and squeezing your ass to tug you against him.

It's definitely more of a command than a question, and he's already smirking because he knows you aren't going to protest—at least not if you know what's good for you.

E — Extravagant Gestures (Things they do to make you feel loved)

"Love" is a strong word, and one that it's going to take a hell of a long time for him to actually admit out loud or really show.

He'll mostly show his appreciation in a material manner—buying you flowers, jewelry, clothes.

Anything you desire or he thinks you deserve, he's going to give you without any hesitation. He doesn't always have much time to spend, but he has more than enough money to spend, and he's going to.

It might seem like empty gestures on the surface, but showering you with gifts is his main mode of affection.

When he does have time to spend, however, he makes sure that his sole focus is on you and you alone, either flat out ignoring anyone that dares interrupt or putting them in their place on the spot.

He intends to ensure that his lover should never have to need or want for anything.

F — Fighting (How do they handle arguments/apologies?)

He's not apologizing. Doesn't matter if he's at fault or in the wrong, he's not going to acknowledge it.

He'll typically keep a cool head about it, even if you're shouting—but if you take a stab at his pride, things are probably going to escalate until you're not on speaking terms for a bit.

Closest thing to an apology you're going to get is him conveniently forgetting about the whole thing and you suddenly being showered with even more lavish gifts than normal, likely even accompanied by little handwritten sappy notes.

He'll also probably let it go entirely if you come back and apologize, but he's going to remain bitter about it for a while.

At least until he gets you alone later to bend you over and grudge-fuck your brains out until he's satisfied you've learned your lesson.

G — Getting Hot (What do they do turn turn you on, and vice versa?)

He stays busy enough that it tends to stray from his mind that physical intimacy an important part of a healthy romantic relationship.

On the rare occasion he isn’t busy, however, he's likely to have his hands and lips all over you—even if you're busy at the time yourself, intent on distracting you from your own priorities and enjoying you at his own whim.

Pulling you back against him by your waist while you're in the middle of some important business or personal call, pushing his hand down between your thighs, his voice a low murmur in your ear, conveying in great detail what he plans to do to you.

"Hang up the phone...unless you want them to hear me ruining you."

Pushing his hook under your chin to tilt your head back, giving his lips free roam of your neck and your jaw, trailing them slowly across every inch of your exposed skin.

The quickest way to get him riled up is to subtly do the same to him in a situation where he can't do anything about it.

To cup your hands around his ear while he's in the middle of some important business or social exchange and whisper all your dirtiest fantasies, forcing him to keep up a calm and professional demeanor in spite of his carnal desire for you.

He's going to act like it's annoying him, but you know better.

You know that he's going to be tearing your clothes off the second he manages to get you alone.

H — Heartache (How would they handle it if you broke up with them?)

He's used to courting his losses, so in the surface it's going to seem like he's unbothered, and anyone that suggests otherwise is going to get their head bitten off over it.

He's going to be more cruel, more impatient with his subordinates.

He's going to be a lot more likely to fly off the handle at anything that could be taken as a slight or insult.

He's going to be unfocused in his business dealings, delegating more work than usual to those below him.

He's going to engage in a great deal of debauchery and self-destructive behavior to push you from his mind—rebound sex, heavy gambling, heavy drinking, chain smoking.

He's going to spend sleepless nights glaring uo at the ceiling and white-knuckling a bottle of liquor, beating himself up over it in silence and solitude.

He's probably going to end up drunkenly den den mushi dialing you after a few weeks, slurring about how big a mistake you made and how much better off he is...and slurring about how big a mistake he made while begging you to come back.

Emotional availability isn’t one of his strong suits.

I — Intimacy (When are they intimate with you? And how often?)

Whenever he feels like it.

He could go a week without paying you much attention at all; then revert to shoving you against a wall or pulling you onto his lap and having you every time he catches sight of you.

Depends largely on his mood, which depends largely on other aspects of his life.

Unless he's incredibly busy or frustrated from stress, he isn’t likely to turn you away if you initiate.

Whether you're circling behind him to rub his shoulders or sitting yourself on his lap, he's likely to pull you closer and breathe you in, brush his lips to your neck and jaw, enjoying some much needed peace and solace in your closeness.

But he's still going to tease and belittle you about it, making sure you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

"What's the matter? Does my little girl need some attention?"

J — Joker (How do they make you laugh)

His sense of humor is typically cruel and comes at the expense of others.

Certified master at roasting—typically with deadpan delivery, maybe with a hint of a condescending smirk as he verbally destroys whoever has dared to cross him.

There might be a playful insult battle between you and him here and there—he's not going to do it to be outright hurtful, but if you call him an arrogant prick (a slur he frankly agrees with and gladly owns), he's going to put you in your place and chuckle at whatever you manage to throw back at him.

K — Kissing (How good? How often?)

Like other brands of physical affection, he's not going to initiate it very often.

Which is a bit of a shame, because he's incredibly good at it—if more than a bit of a tease.

Slow and sensual, curling his hand around the back of your head, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip, tongue brushing against yours.

Smirking and drawing away when you moan to tease you in a low murmur.

"Oh...? Did you want more, sweetheart?"

Grasping your waist and pulling you against him aggressively to deepen the kiss, devouring your lips possessively with a low growl.

No qualms at all about doing so in public—he greatly enjoys the thrill of all those judgmental and envious eyes, of showing others what they're missing out on.

L — Lay down (How do they sleep with you? Are they a cuddler or do they prefer their space?)

His pride won't allow him to say so aloud, but he cannot sleep without you.

There's always the slightest subconscious worry, eating away at the back of his mind, that he doesn't do enough for you, that he isn’t there enough for you, a worry that really only surfaces in the minutes and hours before sleep when he has no choice but to be alone with his own thoughts.

He'll lay awake until you're there with him so he can pull you against his side, lower his head over yours and breathe in your scent, relaxing into the comfort of your warmth.

This is when he's most vulnerable, most affectionate, when he's anything even close to self-conscious.

When he might brush his lips to your temple and praise you in a low murmur without any expectation of you reciprocating.

"Mmm...so warm....."

He'll slip his arm under you, pull you against him, and refuse to release you until morning.

M — Making babies (Do they want to settle down and have kids?)

HAHAHAHAHAHA no

No, absolutely not.

This really isn’t negotiable. He has no interest in having children at all. Doesn't remotely have the patience necessary and doesn't wish to change his lifestyle to fit around parenthood.

N — Nervous? (How confident are they when it comes to romance?)

Confident really isn’t the word—the man's arrogance is unrivaled.

He's filthy rich, he has unrivaled social standing, the physique of a living god, he knows he could have damned near any woman he wants. Why the hell would he be worried?

His only concern is the matter of trust—that letting anyone get too close could be detrimental to his status. You could blackmail him, you could entice him too deeply and take him for all he's worth, so he might keep you ag arm's length for a while.

Despite his confidence, he also won't tolerate any other men hitting on you—you're his, and he doesn't share his things.

O — Oral Fixation (Giving or receiving? And how good are they?)

Far more into receiving.

Very into pulling out abruptly after fucking you relentlessly and forcing his cock down your throat while you're still gasping for air, reveling in the sight of your make-up smeared over your flushed face and the sound of you gagging on it.

"Yeah, that's it, baby—take every fucking inch—"

But he does love making you beg, and giving isn’t off the table if you satisfy him adequately and ask very nicely.

Just as much as he loves ruining you—so he's going to hold you down by your hip, isn’t going to stop until you're screaming, gasping, hyperventilating from overstimulation, limp and trembling and barely conscious in his grasp.

P — Pet Peeves (Things they don't like in a partner)

Excessive neediness is going to irritate the hell out of him.

He doesn't have the time or the patience to constantly offer his attention and reassurance, so he strongly prefers a confident and independent lover.

Absolutely can't stand you flirting with other men to make him jealous.

It might get his attention, but not in a good way.

He's already iffy about trust, and all that will do is put him on high alert and make him more likely to push you away.

Q — Quiet Time (How much alone time do they need, or do they want to be with you 24/7?)

He stays busy—whether it's running several profitable businesses around Alabasta or dealing with Cross Guild, he doesn't have much spare time, and he's pretty used to it.

That means he's also accustomed to a lot of alone time, and that it's required for his work.

He doesn't mind you being there while he's dealing with it, but only if you're quiet—if you insist on distracting him, he's not going to be pleased.

He's fine with you laying back across his lap, even against his chest with his arm stretched over your shoulders, just as long as you're not intentionally disturbing his concentration.

Though if you are intentionally disturbing him, he will bend you over and wear you out until you're too spent to bother him any further.

R — Romance (How romantic are they? Do they have to force it ir does it come natural?)

Not much of a romantic at all. He's pretty accustomed to just being able to win over women with money and status.

Dinner reservations at expensive restaurants where the waiting lists go on for months, ritzy parties and clubs, anything that allows him to throw his weight and wallet around and show you off.

He will make a point of keeping his attention in you—his arm curled around your waist, keeping you close at his side—but traditional romance is definitely not his strong suit.

S — Spending Money (How much do they like to spend on you?)

Physical touch is his love language, but it's best that yours is receiving gifts, because you're going to be getting a LOT of them.

Designer clothes, jewelry expensive enough that it could be used as collateral in purchasing a small nation, the finest perfumes, date nights that could cost a few hundred thousand berries—whatever your poison, he's providing it.

You're never going to want or need for anything. Even if something just briefly catches your eye in a shop window or a vendor stall, you're likely going to find it in your possession before the end of the day.

In a way it's an apology for not being able to spend as much time with you as he feels you deserve—he'll never say so out loud, that would injure his pride, but the implications of it are heavy.

Only the best of the best for his lady.

T — Trust (Are they trusting of you? Jealous?)

There are some definite trust issues with Croc. It's not uncommon for women to cozy up to him just for monetary and material gain, and he's well aware of it. It's going to take a lot of time for him to fully believe that this isn’t your endgame.

Even once he does trust you, may the heavens have mercy on any man whose eyes linger on you for too long, because he'll need divine intervention to save him if Crocodile catches him.

At that point it's less a matter of his trust wavering—it's more a matter of the fact that he does trust you, and doesn't want to lose that, to lose you now that you do have his trust.

U — Underwear (What kind do they wear, and what kind do they like on you?)

Tends toward tight boxers and briefs (always designer) to show off his physique.

That's his default, at least; you could pretty easily talk him into wearing something more skimpy if you want.

He's going to have a full closet of expensive lingerie for you. If it's something he wants to see you in, he's buying it.

The finest silk, the smoothest satin, the most delicate lace. If it's fit for a queen, then it's yours.

V — Vulnerable (How vulnerable are they with you? Is it easy for them to open up to you?

There's a solid steel wall separating you from his emotions and his past that is damned near impossible to break down.

He has to be able to trust you before he can be open, and again, that's going to take time. A lot of time.

He doesn't allow himself to take that kind of risk—one single mistake, being the slightest bit too open with the wrong person, and every ounce of power he's built up could come crashing down on the wings of blackmail and betrayal.

That being said, once you do manage to gain his trust, you'll be the only person he's open with.

And he'll be completely open, because it's a bit addictive, as it's not something he's accustomed to—being able to be comfortably vulnerable is a nice, relaxing change of pace.

W — Wine and Dine (Do they prefer meals at home or going out with you? Who does more of the cooking?)

Domestic endeavors definitely aren't his forte. He's had a personal chef on his staff since well before he met you.

He isn't going to prevent you from cooking if you enjoy it—though he might find it a little strange, since it's a task he considers below him.

He might even watch you out of sheer curiosity, though it's doubtful he will partake; he'll be more likely to sit back and puff on a cigar, taking the opportunity to enjoy the view and let his eyes roam over you while you work.

Overall, he would usually prefer to just go out, or let the staff handle it...but he does find something particularly enticing about seeing you working with your hands, regardless the reason.

X — X-Rated (How good are they in bed? What do they like?)

You're going to need a safe word, because he's aggressive. He desires total and absolute control, and won't settle for anything less.

You're his free use slut—if and when he wants you, you had best be ready for him.

He'll curl his hook around your neck and his hand around your waist to pull you back against him, let out a slow breath against your neck as his slips your clothes down your shoulders to lay in a pool at your feet.

Or simply rip them away from you, pressing against you to ensure you feel the hard heat of his arousal straining against his clothes, throbbing against your ass and your lower back.

Tilting his head down to ensure you both feel and hear his low, commanding growl in your ear.

"You're mine. Aren't you, my little whore?"

Whether he leads you by the edge of his hook to the privacy of your bedroom he simply bends you over his desk is entirely at his whim.

Either way, he's going to do little more than pull your panties to the side before he thrusts straight into you and fucks you relentlessly.

He's selfish, his main concern is mostly his own gratification—but he still has some concern for yours.

He does love the sound of your breathless moans, after all. Your cries of abandon are music to his ears, and there's nothing more intoxicating than the feeling of your pussy tightening up and pulsing around his cock as you fall limp beneath him in the wake of release.

Pulling you right back up by your hair before you've recovered, hearing your breath catch in your throat.

He lives for it, growling in your ear as he tightens his grip around your tender flesh, pinching and rolling one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, his lips curled into a cruel smirk.

"I didn't say I was done with you, slut."

He has no intention of stopping until he is done, until he's fully satisfied—whether that means making you cum until you pass out or cramming his cock down your throat until you're choking on his cum, it doesn't matter.

Either way, he always gets what he wants.

Y — Yearning (How long will they pursue the person they're interested in before losing interest?)

Not long, in most cases. He can just throw money and gifts at most women and get the gratification that he's after out of it.

He's going to be more interested, and honestly more likely to pursue, if you can't be bought.

If you're interested in more than what he can provide for you on a material or physical level, he's going to be intrigued. That's not something he's used to.

In that case, he very much enjoys a good game of cat and mouse. He'll want to find out exactly what makes you tick, and he's going to persist until he does find out.

He'll likely be courting and fraternizing with other women at the same time initially, but he'll push them away in a heartbeat if you engage in the game and show interest.

He'll probably still throw money and gifts at you, as that's what he's accustomed to doing—but he'll make a point of learning about you, and make the gifts more personal, more in line with your interests and passions, to ensure you know he's paying attention.

He still won't wait for too long. The whole hard-to-get shtick is fun for a time, but he will move on if it begins to seem to him like he's being strung along. If he isn’t the one in control and he feels like he's being played a fool, he'll cut his losses without a second thought.

Z — Zen (What do they do to wind down and relax? Do they prefer to do it alone or with you?

He doesn't have much time for rest and relaxation, so he values it immensely—and he absolutely requires your presence for it.

Even if he doesn't show it most of the time, you're his solace, his peace, the one thing that warms the cold and calculating persona he has to keep up almost twenty-four seven.

If he's reclining back with a glass of bourbon and a cigar, he wants you there. He needs you there.

Reclining back against his chest, his thumb brushing circles against your waist, trailing delicate patterns over your hand as he lies his head back to slowly exhale a plume of smoke.

Lowering his head back down to admire the sight of you, to brush your hair behind your shoulder and murmur in your ear.

"Get comfortable. You're not going anywhere until I say so."

[iamthecomet]

hey hey hey i will literally gift you my first born to see the dew & cumulus fleshlight fic i am setting up the ritual as we speak i am serious

Hi, yes, hello. I come barring gifts. Good news is: I do not require firstborn children. But I do take payment in baked goods. In other words:

Kinktober Day 12 - Toys/Orgasm Denial.

A little over 1.5k of mostly unedited Cumulus/Dewdrop, fleshlight usage, mean (in her own special way) Cumulus, and overconfident Dew.

tagging @miasmaghoul because I can.

Cumulus finds the toy in Dew’s bathroom. Sitting on the corner of the sink. Beads of water still clinging to the plastic folds. She looks at it. Touches the silicone. She drags her fingers over the opening. It’s vaguely vaginal in look, but feels cold, a little too stiff. There’s very little softness when she dips her fingers into the hole. Silicone clinging to her fingers. 

She thinks of the little ghoul, spread out naked on his bed. Hard already. Waiting for her. The desperate way he’d nuzzled up to her. His fingers dragging along the inside of her wrist, over her thigh. A hand slipping between them while they sat and watched the movie with the rest of the pack. Squeezing every once in a while. Solid and warm. 

She can’t help but think of him using this. Hips rabbit quick as he holds it in one hand. Sweat beading on his brow, as he fucks a silicone approximation of a cunt when he has copious options for the real thing just a handful of doors down the hall. 

She tucks some of her snowy curls behind her ear. Looks at her reflection in the mirror. Lips already kiss bitten. Nipples pebbled against the thin cotton of her worn t-shirt. She curls her fingers around the toy, and walks out of the bathroom. Back into the oppressive heat of Dew’s room. 

He’s where she left him. Sitting up against his headboard. Legs crossed. Cock half hard against his hip. Hands behind his head. Lounging in the flickering glow of the fire in his hearth. She holds the toy behind her back. Sways back and forth a little as his eyes flick over to her. 

“What’cha got?” He asks, pale eyebrow quirking up. A smirking digging at the corners of his lips. 

She climbs up onto the bed next to him before she shows him. Producing the fleshlight from behind her back with a flourish. Dew groans. Eyes closing, head thumping back against the headboard. 

“Lus, come on.” 

“Am I not good enough for you now?”

He opens his eyes to slits to peer at her. He curls an arm around her waist, glues her body to his. “You know that isn’t–”

“You sure? Looks like you just used it–”

He rolls his eyes. Eyes darting between her face and the toy. “Swiss got it for me as a joke.” 

“And you tried it anyway.” 

He deadpans. “Can you blame me?”

She can’t. Especially not with her extensive collection of dildoes and straps. She’d stick her dick in it too if she had one. But the way he’s blushing about it makes warmth pool low in her stomach. 

“How was it?” she asks. Can’t help it. She’s under his skin and she has to stay there. Wiggle deeper. She rests her head against his chest while she waits for him to talk. Takes the option away from him to look at her face. His fingers clench on her side. 

“Didn’t even cum in it.” 

“No? Why not?” 

Dew shrugs beneath her a little too quick. “Dunno. Couldn’t.” 

Cumulus is glad Dew can’t see the way her face splits into a smile. She flicks her tongue out to trace over his nipple. He hisses. She hears his head thump against the headboard again. He’s going to give himself a concussion if he doesn’t stop. 

“Show me.” 

He tenses beneath her. The hand carding up and down her spine pauses mid-stroke. She nuzzles against him when he doesn’t answer right away. She kisses him wherever she can reach. Soft lingering brushes of her lips. She circles his nipple with her tongue, sucks on it just enough to make him gasp. 

“Why?” 

She tugs on his piercingwith her teeth. He arches against her. He digs blunted nails into her back, holds her closer. She shrugs. 

“You say you can’t cum in it, prove it.” 

Dew stills again and Cumulus waits for him to say no. To back out of this. She’ll let him. She’ll toss the toy aside and slide into his lap. Sit on his face. Ride him until he gets misty-eyed. It’s easy, a game. 

So she’s surprised when he pulls the silicone from her hand. She straightens up. Moves out of the circle of his arm to sit higher on the bed, her shoulder brushing his as she settles in to watch. 

He spits on his hand, gives himself a couple of cursory stokes just to get himself wet, and then pushes in. Bringing the toy down on his straining length.  He winces as he does, looking over at her with his eyebrows raised as if he’s already won the game by not blowing it the second he pushed inside. 

“You should use more lube, it might be better.” 

Dew drags the toy up and down his length a few times. He shrugs. “It’s fine.” 

Cumulus rolls her eyes.

“Let me help.”  She reaches between her legs, dipping her fingers into her shorts to drag them through her folds. Already slick. She drags her fingers over her clit a few times. Gasping at the pressure. Dew watches her with hungry blown-out eyes. 

When she pulls her fingers free, glistening with slick, Dew gives a half-hearted protest. She ignores him.. She bats his hand away and grabs the toy, pulling it off of him just long enough for her to stick her slick fingers into it. Smearing herself over the inside of it with a few quick passes. 

She slides it back down over his cock and this time, he does groan. Maybe from the wet heat of her clinging to the plastic inside. Maybe because she’s the one with her hand wrapped around the sleeve. She doesn’t know. But the blush that rises on his cheeks after makes her stomach flip. 

“May I?” 

Dew nods. “Y–yeah. Sure.” 

Cumulus rises up on her knees. Settles in next to him and sets a pace. Slow strokes. She doesn’t squeeze too hard, makes sure he can’t feel the shape of her fingers through it, that would be cheating. But she fucks him the way she knows he likes. A nice easy build-up. Languid for a while, build up speed the more time passes. 

She keeps her eyes on his face–he watches her hand. Dew tries to keep a straight face–to pretend everything he said before was true. That he didn’t really like it. That he can’t cum inside of it. But the little rolls of his hips tell another story. He has one hand on Cumulus’ thigh, gripped tight. Dimpling into soft flesh. 

She moves a little faster, a little harder. She leans over just a little, enough so that she knows her tits bounce in her shirt with each stroke. She’s playing dirty–she doesn’t care. 

The first groan she rips from him is low and ragged. It takes him by surprised. He swears at the end of it, caught in his own lie. She raises an eyebrow. 

“Is it good?” 

“Shut up,” he bites out. Hips jerking up into the sleeve. She could stop moving it now–stop jerking him off with it. He’d fuck himself silly in it she held it still. But there’s little fun in that. He’s coming apart at the seams. Desperate to be right, and failing miserably.

“Come on, Dew. Tell me. Is it going to make you cum?”  She tips her voice towards sweet, sickly. Dew growls low, still fucking up into her hand, chasing an orgasm he promised her he couldn’t have. 

“Lus–”

“You lied to me.” 

Dew whines. He tips his head back finally breaking eye contact with her hand and his cock pistoning in and out of the toy. His cock is wet now. Slicked with his own pre mostly. Shiny and red when she pulls the toy almost all the way off. 

“This is different.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yes. Fuck, Lus.” 

Cumulus can’t stop looking at him. At the way his chest heaves. Muscles in his stomach jumping. He throws his arm over his face to hide his blush but it doesn’t work, it’s seeping down his throat. The shame painted over his features makes Cumulus throb. 

“Is it going to make you cum or not?” 

Dew’s quiet except for the harsh pants of his breathing. Finally he opens his mouth. “Yes. Fuck, are you happy? Yes it’s going to make me cum. You’re going to make me cum.” 

“When?” 

He whines. Fingers clenching. “Fuck. Soon.” 

It’s a handful of seconds later when he starts to tense up. She gives him two mores strokes. Watches the way his toes clench, the way his balls draw up. Then she pulls the toy off, away. Dew wails. Eyes snapping open wide. Body jerking as his orgasm stalls before it even starts. 

His cock kicks wildly, a spurt of precum rolls down the head.

“Fuck. Fuck. nononono.” 

Cumulus grins at him when he finally looks at her face. His eyes pulled wide, betrayal spinning through them. He pants, digging his fingers into her thigh so hard she knows she’ll bruise. 

“What the fuck, Lus.” He pants. He reaches for the toy, her hand. She pulls them out of his reach. “Let me cum. Please you gotta–”

She pushes two fingers past his lips, cutting his words off as she pets over his tongue. Smearing the lingering taste of herself over it. She grins, syrupy sweet and deadly. 

“If you cum in anything tonight, make sure it’s me.” 

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟnagi doesn’t trust anyone but his stepsister to take good care of him.

♱ warnings — f!reader, stepcest, virgin!nagi, virginity loss [nagi’s], all characters written 18+ wc: 1.3k / note. i cannot stop thinking bout this, i’m actually losing my mind rn >_< !

nagi’s relationship with you, his new step sister, had started innocently enough considering he mostly kept to himself. it was to be expected considering the weird change for him to suddenly go from being someone who was always alone (despite reo and a few others from his team) to having a new person in his space, a girl at that.

you’d came a long way considering where you are now, with your thighs draped over his while you watch tv and he sits on the couch beside you — fingers tapping at the game on his phone.

but he’s not stupid, nagi’s self aware which is why he knows he probably let you get so familiar with him because of his little crush on you. nobody had ever really paid too much attention to him when his eyes were constantly fixated on his phone, nobody except you anyway.

maybe that’s why you didn’t think twice before bending over infront of him some days when he’s much too pre-occupatied with his game — not expecting his eyes to rise from the screen like he’s seeking out the site of you.

you probably just assume he’s not looking (like a normal stepbrother), he shouldn’t be, but how could he not when his pretty little sister is giving him a front row seat to the sight of your puffy pussy behind the fabric of your panties.

not that you’d expect your lazy, but sweet step brother to be sinking into his sheets and fucking himself with his fist at the memory later.

but now you’re even closer, nagi thinks as he lets his fingertips trail up the skin of your thighs — casting you a sideways glance to admire the way your pretty features are focused on the tv, but he’s focused on you.

the cutscene from his phone is playing idly in the background and nagi knows it’s wrong when he lets his fingertips trace higher, you probably brush it off as an absentminded touch — something to keep him occupied considering his hands were always tapping away at something.

maybe it’s because you feel sorry for your brother, he’d never had many friends when he was younger and he really only went to class to sleep — thankfully he’d found football and made something of himself but his personality had remained the same throughout the years you’d known him.

he knows he shouldn’t, but why can’t nagi stop himself when he lets his fingertips trail higher — maybe it’s because he sees your eyes cast him a glance before your thighs subtly spread wider, exposing more intimate skin for him to explore as the flush on his cheeks burns even brighter.

“seishiro?” you finally break the silence between you both when you breathe, and he swears you’re even closer now than you were a few moments ago when you turn to face him. you’d probably even be able to see the twitch of his already semi-hard cock in his sweats at the sound of his given name from his little sisters lips if you looked down.

“hm?” is all nagi can manage when he lets himself look at you, the rest of his words die in his throat when he feels his fingers finally brush against the heat of your cunt through your shorts, and despite the way his fingers twitch with the first, unfamiliar, intimate touch — he doesn’t pull away.

“is this your first time?” you know it is, reo had passed comment about it before which had earned him a scowl from your stepbrother when he brushed him off. “hm, guess so.” he hums in reply, before he’s pressing his fingers deeper into your cunt, swallowing heavy at the way your thighs twitch at the touch.

“you’re not a pain to be around so.. you’ll take care of me, right? can show me.” nagi breathes again when he leans in closer, panting as you feel it fan along your features and the first, hard press of his lips against yours after is clumsy at best he thinks, a little stiff but he’s trying.

he’s so fucked, but he should’ve known his little crush on you became not so innocent when his porn searches became ‘step sister takes her brother cock’, or maybe when the first whimper of your name slipped past his lips when he came across his own torso, jerking himself off and wishing it was your hands wrapped around him instead, then maybe your pussy after that.

“we shouldn’t do this..” you’re whimpering, but making no effort to actually stop the way he’s brushing his fingers along your the damp spot that’s forming in your panties.

nagi’s movements are still a little clumsy and maybe too eager — driven by the needy throb of his cock in his sweats “ehhh.. ‘ts fine, y’re just helpin’ me out. only wanna do it with you anyway, anyone else would be boring ‘nd a pain.” that’s why he wants you.

he sends you a lazier sort of look that only seems to draw you in because you know what he’s asking, picking up on his tells after living together for so long.

he’s your stepbrother after all, so you let nagi experience the first real brush of his lips against yours, against anyone’s — even if it’s his step sister and he already knows he’s hooked, he needs more.

his movements are still messy when he pushes his tongue between your lips, groaning at the first lazy, wet swipe of the muscle along your own as he licks into your mouth.

but you let him explore you, experimenting with what makes him even harder as his huge body pushes closer to yours to loom over you — fingers losing the clumsy sort of rhythm he’d built as he rubs at your clit because fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him when you pull him closer with a short moan of his name that makes him groan.

“just gotta feel ya a lil closer.. always take good care of me, pretty thing.”

a little, was what he meant but now your thighs are thrown over his shoulders as he sinks into you — your cunt pulling moans from your step brother that break into something needier when he feels the first, delightful twitch of your walls around his cock.

he’s never felt a woman like this, had one moan for him like you do — his pretty little step sister who always treated him so kind, just as kind as your body and pussy are treating him right now. you’re making him feel so fucking good and only urging him to push in deeper as your hands twist in his hair from where his face is buried in the crook of your neck.

“feel good, sei. doing so good. so big.” your pretty sounds feel like they consume him, urging him to push more of his thick cock deeper into the blissful squeeze of your walls with shallow thrusts, while his fingers curl into the skin of your waist, twitching with every needy compression you make around him as he pants and moans softly against the shell of your ear.

“hm, yeah? f-fuck.. ‘s it always feel this good or ‘s it jus’ you, angel?” nagi can barely fucking breathe with how perfect you feel around him, like your body was fucking made to take him.. and god, he really believes you were as he lets his lips trace along your jawline just as his hips press tight and snug against your own.

the feeling of your pussy spread around him makes him feel like he might actually pass out, he’s already so fucking close — too close to creaming in his pretty little step sisters cunt, the first time he’s even felt one.

“fuck.. gimme a sec, baby. feels too good, ‘m new t’ this so be patient w’ me.” nagi knows you want him to move with the way your humping your hips into his, but he’s breathing deep against you as he lets his body cage your own against the couch beneath you both.

he’s keeping you still as his arms squeeze you tight, smearing a few kisses along your cheeks to try and soothe you, before his eyes flutter closed as his lips finally meet yours to kiss you again, followed by a low whine and another needy twitch of his cock inside of you.

“mmmn, ‘m so fucked, g-gonna make me bust my nut already, no fair.. not done feelin’ you yet.”

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

[starlightsearches]

requesting reader asking bf eddie to do his eyeliner n he says yes but only if they will sit on his lap while doing it!! if it gets spicy i absolutely dont mind!! also no rush!!!

AO3 Request: What about one where the reader is painting Eddie’s nails black for him after watching him struggle and somehow in between them drying they start making out and it turns a little NSFW and something about “Don’t, you’ll fuck the paint up.”

Looks That Kill

Thanks for the request, friends, and even more thanks for your patience!! Hope you enjoy 😚

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

Warnings: very very horny but not really smutty (18+ only please), language, Eddie is a SIMP always and forever, hints at sub! eddie, finger sucking, I know licking nail polish to smooth is out is gross but sometimes it's just what you do, okay??, mentions of impact play, some unfortunate cockblocking, and i think that's it! If I missed anything let me know uwu

"Jesus- fuck."

The eyeliner pencil slips from Eddie's fingers, again, clattering against the basin of the sink and leaving little black smudges around the porcelain before it slowly comes to a stop. He rubs the matching smudge off the corner of his eye with his thumb, smearing black down his cheek.

Normally, this is the point where he'd give up. If this were a gig at The Hideout, he wouldn't have even bothered to try with the makeup— would have rolled out of bed an hour before, still half high for another fucking show of watered-down covers.

But this is not just some show.

"You good, Eds?"

Your head pops into the shitty motel bathroom, drying your nails with pursed lips painted dark, perfectly-lined eyes meeting his own. Eddie shivers like you’ve got your hands on him, even though it's just the slow up and down trace of your eyes.

He knows what the look you give him means. You're trying to figure out what his problem is.

There's an immediate reminder of the secret he's been trying to keep from himself—that he's got more to be nervous about than this show and maybe a record deal and trying to put a little, black crayon by his eyeball.

"How do you even do this shit?" Eddie asks, holding the eyeliner in a tight fist like he's trying to choke it.

"It just takes practice."

You lean up against the door frame, unphased, because nothing ever gets to you. Not nerves, not shitty guys at shows, not late nights spent driving or hours in the van with nothing to look at but corn fields.

With Eddie, it's the opposite. Everything gets to him. Especially you.

He knew it was a bad idea, letting you take Grant’s spot when he went off for college. The guys were a second family to him, and the idea of replacing any of them always felt weird, like finding out your dad has a new girlfriend, and he wants you to call her mom.

But Corroded Coffin needed a bassist. And you could play—could play so good he’s pretty sure he’s been in love with you since that first note hit him in the chest.

It doesn't help that you're so fucking pretty, with your over the knee boots and those short, short skirts and fishnet tights that have him biting into the meat of his palm when you're not looking.

It doesn't help that Jeff and Gareth know way too much about his little problem, and still took the other room, leaving him high and dry.

"I don't have time for practice," he grumbles, mostly to himself, capping the eyeliner again and planting his hands against the counter.

It's not like anybody in the crowd would care if he had eyeliner on or not. Openers never got that much attention anyways. The record studio guy might be too high to even notice the name of the band, let alone what any of you looked like.

But Eddie cares. When he steps out on that stage, he wants to feel like he belongs there.

He catches you staring at him in the mirror, chewing pensively on your bottom lip, brushing a few hairs back behind your ear. You've got it just barely secured—like you always do before a show—knowing by the end of it you'll have all the loose strands sticking to your sweaty skin, making sure that everybody in the audience (and at least one of the guys on stage) can't think about anything else but fucking you.

There's a moment of prolonged eye contact between you that has Eddie glad the shirt he's wearing is black, so you won't see him sweat.

You push off the wall behind you, sliding up beside him at the counter. "Scoot over."

Eddie does, watching you take a little hop up onto the counter, shimmying the hem of your dress back down over your thighs, the fabric tight enough when you spread your legs he wonders if it'll pop at the seams.

Jesus.

"C'mere."

And Eddie gets what's going on—or he thinks he does—but it's like he can't get his legs to listen, stumbling toward you like a baby deer until his legs are just brushing your knees.

You roll your eyes at him. "Closer."

He lets out a little yelp when you tug at his wrist, pulling him in, widening your legs until there's enough room for his hips. There's a quiet sound, like fabric tearing, but maybe that's just leftover brain-rot from all the porn he watched in high school.

Your thighs close around his hips, and they're so fucking pillowy, molding against him. One of your ankles curls around the back of his knee. Eddie wonders if you can feel how close he is to buckling.

You're so fucking chill about it all, though, taking the eyeliner in one hand, gripping his chin in the other until you're almost nose to nose. It's just clouds of your shampoo and the smell of cherry-scented lip gloss Eddie'd snatched from the counter the second you stepped out of the room. Spread over the back of his hand, watched it shine in the light before immediately licking off. He needed to know what it tasted like.

You've got the pad of your thumb pressed into the soft skin under his eye, swiping away the evidence from one of his hundred other attempts.

"Look up," you tell him, catching his lashes gently under your finger when he obeys, "and stay still."

He's got no other choice. Eddie knows if he makes the slightest move, he'll feel your body move against his, and that'll have him popping a boner so fast he might lose consciousness.

One eye, and then the other—you swipe the pencil around his lash line so fast it would make him dizzy if he dared to look. The cap snaps back over the top of the eyeliner, and you drop it back into the bag.

"All done, rockstar," you tell him with a tap on the cheek, "check yourself out."

Eddie leans around you, trying to get a good look in the mirror, but his balance is all off. He's gonna fall on his ass, a thought almost too embarrassing to name, and he catches himself on the closest thing he can grab at.

Your thigh dents too pretty underneath his fingers, the backs of his rings snagging against one of the strings on your fishnets.

Fuck. Eddie's gotta play it off or he'll look like a tool—fucking about to faint because a girl is touching him—which means he's gotta keep his hand there, even if his vision is going dark at the edges. He can hardly see his own reflection.

"What d'you think?" he asks instead.

You're smiling, but in that way that has Eddie questioning everything you say, like it's all some fucked up riddle designed to torture him.

"It's sexy, Eds. You look great."

He just rolls his eyes. It's sexy, Eds. You're so fucking sexy, Eddie, and I need you to take me on this motel bathroom sink and fuck me for hours or I'm gonna claw my eyes out.

Yeah right. In his dreams, maybe.

But you didn't push his hand away, either. Let him cop a feel and you didn't even shrink away from him, or hurl. So maybe he's just being a mean little bitch to himself for the fun of it.

"Anything else?"

Yeah, Eddie thinks, slap me hard across the face then kiss it better.

But that's not really in the cards for tonight, so his eyes flash around the bathroom, landing on the black bottle of polish you brought in with you. Eddie raises his free hand, the one not on your thigh—which will stay there until he dies if he gets his way—spreading his fingers wide. "How 'bout a manicure?"

Your fingers grip at Eddie's hand, coating each of his nails with one clean swipe of the polish, breathing in deep and slow while the room floods with the scent of acetone.

"Blow," you command, placing his nails in front of his lips before you grab the other hand. Eddie's more than happy to do what he's told.

He watches you, watches the way your brows knit together, totally focused on perfection.

"You know," —your breath puffs against his knuckles, voice all quiet, "you don't need any of this shit, right? You're gonna blow it out of the fucking water, like you always do."

Eddie hopes his nails are dry already, because he's got no more breath in his lungs, just barely managing to gasp out a word.

"Oh."

You glance up at him through your lashes, and past your cool exterior and the twenty layers of apathetic irony bassists always seem to have, he knows you mean it.

Eddie flinches, hand slipping against yours. When you pull back, there's a big black smear across your thumb.

"Oh, damn, sorry."

He's left a dent in the polish on his middle finger, pushed some of the already-dry paint around until a sliver of his real nail was visible beneath.

"Don't worry about it."

If Eddie had a thousand years and unlimited guesses, he still wouldn't have come up with what you do next—taking his middle finger in your hand, pulling it toward your lips.

Your mouth is wet, and warm around his finger, and maybe Eddie moans when you suck at his skin but the roaring in his ears is too loud for him to be sure. All he knows is that he'll never need another dirty magazine or porno for the rest of his life. He's gonna be jerking off to this exact feeling forever.

Your tongue drags flat across his nail, and when you pull the digit from your mouth—all wet and shiny with your spit and stained purple with lipstick—the polish looks good as new.

"Tastes like shit, but it works," you tell him, leaning over to spit in the sink.

There's a smirk on your lips when you turn back to face him. Eddie feels like such an idiot.

All those times you'd bent over in those short skirts, gripped at his thigh while you reached for a pencil, or one of those discarded pages of lyrics on his bedroom floor and he'd sit there, staring at the ceiling and trying to name all the state's capitals so he wouldn't be sporting a boner hard enough you could see it through his jeans.

You were fucking with him this entire time.

He could have been fucking you this entire time.

"Jesus," he says, "you're a fucking tease."

You smile wider, tightening the grip of your thighs. "Maybe I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to get the fucking hint."

Eddie braces himself against the counter with both hands when he leans forward, nudging your mouth towards his with the tip of his nose and just diving in, no backup plan, no parachute. He's all in, crushing his body against yours until his hips ache against the sharp edge of the counter.

You're kissing him back, cupping your palms around his jaw, smearing that cherry lip gloss all around his mouth with the way you get into it. Breathing heavy against his cheek, slipping your tongue past his lips and tapping it against the edge of his teeth.

He grabs at your thighs—desperate and totally indifferent if you know it—pulling at you until your hips bump against his, skirt riding up again until it's sitting in the dip between your stomach and the tops of your thighs.

He slides a hand up the lattice of your tights, climbing higher and higher, so close to your cunt he can feel the heat caught up in the space between your legs.

You drop a hand from his face, press against his wrist, gasping out the words between the harsh crush of his mouth.

"Don't. You'll fuck up the paint."

Eddie shakes his head. "Don't care."

You pull back, scrunching your nose at him indignantly.

"I do."

There's a knock on the door, timing so perfect it's like you summoned it. Gareth's voice calls out through the thin walls, saying something along the lines of, "showtime, motherfuckers."

"Fuck that," Eddie lets out a hard sigh through his nose as you slide off the counter, but he makes space for you to slip out from between his arms. He watches you, leaning back against the counter while you wipe off the smeared lipstick with a washcloth, moving in close to reapply.

He couldn't give two shits about the show now.

You snap the cap back on the tube, hand him the stained rag so he can clean himself up. It turns his skin red where he rubs at the sticky stain, but he gets his first real glance at the eyeliner. It looks pretty metal.

You catch Eddie by the collar just before he's about to step out of the bathroom, two fingers sliding against his skin, pulling him close.

"Listen," —and Eddie is, feeling your lipstick brushing over the shell of his ear— "you get us this record deal, and you can do whatever you want to me tonight."

[flyingfabio]

Why have you had Pecco tag blocked? Did he pull the same media shit with Fabio? I am new just 2 months here

hello anon and welcome! ok so this is gonna be long because i want to explain and avoid people taking it the wrong way. first i have to admit it's been a long time and i don't remember exactly what event promoted me to block pecco's tag but it was probably not long after his dui in 2022. believe it or not, it had nothing to do with what pecco could have said about fabio, because i think pecco appreciates and respects him a lot and i don't remember pecco saying anything bad about fabio (in the media at least lol). 

so. i think i already spoke about it but pecco has a habit of saying things that come out as ignorant or as things a '''spoiled brat''' would say. like him and jack miller moaning about not being 'test riders' to ducati, while as a factory rider you know you have to lead developmental work and while ducati was already delegating a lot of the work to the satellite teams anyway (pramac mostly). his reponse after his dui that was half-assed and that he deleted from his socials two days after. often not taking full responsibility for his many crashes etc.

pecco is also guilty (and it's not his fault tbf) of being ducati's number one rider and by this point i think y'all know my griefs with ducati. i don't want to go into details, but it's how they manage riders and the whole way they operate that piss me off. as an example, the way they dealt with pecco's dui really rubbed me off the wrong way. basically they tried with their life to brush it off under the rug, they sent threats to a journalist on whatsapp and eventually blacklisted him from ducati events for a year after he asked about this incident in the press conference because yaknow... why should a championship contender in one of the most famous motorsports being convicted for dui be a big deal right?? also in 2022 when fabio was fighting for his life alone on his shitty yamaha, ducati sending half-veiled orders to his satellite teams to basically not race pecco didn't go well with me obviously. and it's not like it's only assumptions, zarco admitted it on tv and the way some of the ducati management looked at enea who didn't give a shit about orders and raced pecco anyway made it obvious. can you believe people were discussing the possibility of ducati riders letting pecco pass if he was lower than 7th or something and fabio was leading in the gp of the title decider to prevent fabio from winning the championship? people nowadays might not find ducati having 8 bikes that bad because they're all fighting each other but not so long ago the fight included another manufacturer and you might wonder if this situation isn't an open door for manipulations we don't want to see ever in our sport...

AND it was a period around here (the tumblrina palace) when SOME pecco fans were mmh... extreme and unsufferable to say the least. and like i know i'm a fabio extremist and i know i can piss people off (sometimes i'm annoying myself lol), but i don't go and publish fucking tumblr polls about '''whom from my most behated motorsports men should be guillotined''' with marc and fabio (obviously) listed as choices... you could understand how i didn't want to ever see this on my dash (never felt better than after blocking that person). also generally their attitude of 'pecco never does anything wrong' when he DOES do wrong is tiring at some point...

[mossy-opal]

Date Night.

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Warnings: Tooth Rotting Fluff, Read At Your Own Risk

Everything had to be perfect. There was no room for any kind of mistake, at all. The area had to be cleared well in advance, Tomura did the recon himself, making sure to keep an eye on heroes in the area and look into their patrol routes. The only person aside from Kurogiri to know about this area was Giran. He helped scout out this place for him, after all.

Once it was deemed safe, and he could be there without worry, then he would put his plan into motion.

First of all, the place needed to be cleaned up a bit, and any other person who knew about the place would either be bought off or threatened, just so they wouldn’t interfere. Not only that, it’d probably be best to get at least some food in the place…

After all, he wanted his first official date with you to go well.

You had been in the League as a medical assistant for some time now, having gone to school for years, and yet never able to complete your doctorate. You were nice to him, and he liked having you around. You two often went on trips to get things for the League; food Toga wanted, booze for Dabi, and oftentimes you’d snag a game for him, as a gift.

You talked to him, you played games with him, you helped heal his wounds and scolded him when he got too hurt…

You made him feel fuzzy inside, and he didn’t really know how to handle it. But, he wanted you to know, figured it’d only be fair if he was honest with you on how he felt about you- You seemed to reciprocate everything, so this should be fine, right?

Right?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, which was probably for the best, so that way he didn’t back out of it like he had done many times before. When he wanted to ask you to dinner, he instead asked you to go on a run to get some food. When he wanted to ask you to have some drinks with him, he instead told you to go off and find some new recruits. When he wanted to ask you anything, he was always a coward and couldn’t.

Not this time though, he had put too much effort and resources into this to back out now- It’s not like he could pawn it off as a new base of operations for everyone…

Sat at the bar, his knee bounced in irritation and anticipation at your arrival from your most recent store run… What was taking you so long anyway? It was just supposed to be a run for snacks… His anxiety calmed down when you came in through the door, huffing with some bags in your hand. You offered him a smile, and he was more than thankful for Father to hide his red face. You were just so pretty, it was unfair… Maybe he could do this some other time-

“Tomura, you said you had something to ask me after I came back?”

Fuck. It was now or never.

“This evening… We’re going out, dress casual…”

You quirked your eyebrow, “Oh? Like- on a run? Well I just got back from one, couldn’t you have asked for what you needed before-”

“No. Not on a run. Just- Just do what I asked….”

With that, he left the bar faster than he probably should’ve, his hand flexing and unflexing as he fought off the urge to scratch. Why did you have to ask questions? Couldn’t you just do what he told you with no questions? Fuck- Then again he was vague- Ugh! You made everything so difficult!

It was especially stupid to be brushing his hair out of any knots or tangles. He hated brushing his teeth and putting on deodorant too, he looked like an idiot for doing all of this stuff for you. Throwing on the nicest clothes he owned (a clean t-shirt and pants), he made his way downstairs. You were in cute civilian clothes, a face mask on to hide your identity. Smart. You were always so smart, and pretty, and- Focus!

You noticed him standing there and smiled behind your mask.

“Ready boss?”

He nodded, moving past you without a word. You followed, like the good subordinate you are. Thankfully you were mostly silent, making comments here and there- Updates on your findings for new members and places that you’ve been staking out for new supplies.

The corner he turned he spotted it, the sanctuary he had been working on just for this. He opened the door for you, ignoring your teasing remark about him being a gentleman, and as you walked in he slipped in behind you to turn on the lights.

Doing so illuminated an old arcade, some games powering on slowly as they stood there in the entry-way. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight, and Tomura could feel his stomach tighten in anxiety, one of his hands moving to scratch at his neck. Was this the wrong move? Was this a bad idea? Maybe he should’ve just made some picnic, it would’ve been easier-

“This is super cool Tomura, where did you even find this place!?”

That caught him off guard, his scratching slowed.

“Giran found it… Thought it’d be a nice place to… Hang out…”

He had to act cool, so far you liked it.

“That’s awesome, do any of the games work?”

With that, he let out a calm sigh. He showed you which games worked, showed you where you could get coins to use, showed you some of the games he’d already started playing. Your smile warmed his heart, your cute giggles ran through his entire body, swelling his heart with pride. You enjoyed it, you liked what he did for you!

… He was happy.

For the next few hours you played games with him, told him about your favourite games outside of the arcade, and you two bonded even more. You were observant though, maybe too much so for your own good. During a playthrough of a fighter, you spoke up.

“So, when will the others be allowed to come here?”

Tomura clicked his tongue, “What do you mean?”

“Well, this is a nice place to hang out, I’m sure we could have them come here too.”

He grumbled at that, immediately hating the idea.

“This place isn’t for them, it’s for-”

He had to stop himself, with that you got some hits in on the game.

“For what, Tomura?”

He stopped playing, and you noticed after getting him down to half-health.

“Tomu-”

“I don’t want anyone else here because this is our spot.”

He went back to playing the game, offering no other explanation as his character started beating yours, easily winning the round. He noticed you stopped fighting, but when he looked at you, he knew he was in for it.

You had the cheekiest look on your face, a grin so wide he was shocked it wasn’t a full smile by now. You were slightly flushed, and very clearly curious.

“Why is that, Tomura~?”

He hated the teasing tone in your voice, rolling his eyes and focussing on the game again, starting a new round.

“Doesn’t matter…”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why!?”

He started getting frustrated, and you noticed that, before you sighed.

“Sorry Tomura I just… I dunno, I thought that maybe you uh…”

You were barely playing the game, your smile fading from your face.

“Maybe you felt the same way… I mean you’re always so nice to me, we hang out more than any of the League and I… I think you’re cute… Maybe I’m just delusional, but I really do like you and your silence is not helping, I just- I-I don’t know I-”

The game was well forgotten behind them, neither of the characters moving as Tomura looked at you. You barely caught his eyes as you blinked away some anxious tears, before Tomura slowly and gently took your hand in his.

He stayed silent, unsure of how to word what was going through his mind.

What was he even supposed to say? Admit to you that he loved you and everything you did? Tell you about how often he dreamt of you? Tell you how much he hated seeing you get flirted with, how often he wanted to just grab you and kiss you in front of everyone, how badly he wanted to see you beneath him-

His hand shook a bit as he held onto yours, being sure not to keep too tight of a hold onto you. You two sat there for a few moments, your own anxiety far away now as you leaned into him silently.

You two were mostly silent for the rest of the date, and as the two of you walked back, you gently took his hand in yours again, smiling to yourself.

“This was great… Thank  you, Tomura…”

He grunted, mumbling a simple “no problem”, and you smiled even more.

When you returned to the hideout, you stopped in front of the door. Tomura stopped next to you, looking down at your intertwined hands, before looking at you. You smiled, leaning in and kissing him.

His eyes widened, his face turning a bright red.

You giggled again, winking. “Maybe next time I can take us on a date!”

He grumbled again, nodding.

“Sure…”

You smiled, going inside. He stayed outside for a short minute, taking in a deep breath before smiling ever so softly.

He did it.

Tags: @slayersins @shadowsandshapes @dabislittlemouse @dabislittlebeaniebaby @the-milk-anon @shockinglysubmissive @elias-fable @starstruck-flames @daniidil @223princess

[justagalwhowrites]

Prompt 91 babyyyyy

OMG Hi Bestie

Thank you so much for sending in this suggestion! I LOVED this prompt and @1soff also shared it.

This is starring Joel and a new FMC who you'll likely be meeting soon (probably this fall?) who Joel calls Goldie. This is going to be a no-outbreak modern AU Joel romantic dramady fic. They were best friends in high school but had a falling out at the end of their senior year and went their separate ways until Goldie moves back to Austin when they're in their early 30s. This scene isn't going to be canon for their story BUT you'll at least get a taste for Joel and Goldie!

Thank you for being here! I hope you like Joel and Goldie! Love you so much!

Pick Me

You and your high school best friend, Joel Miller, reconnect after years apart.

Based on Prompt 91: “Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (nicknamed Goldie)

Warnings: None :) No use of Y/N.

Length: 1.8K

“You’re not going to make me like this damn town,” you said, taking a drink off the flask and passing it back to Joel. Your legs were dangling over the rock toward the river below, the stars bright overhead. “Doesn’t matter how many times we try to act like teenagers breaking into the state park, it’s not going to work.” 

“I’ll wear ya down,” he said, taking a drink himself. “If you’re stuck here, may as well try to enjoy it.” 

You sighed, looking out at the Austin skyline as Joel handed the flask back to you. You took another drink. 

This stupid fucking city held what seemed like everything bad that had ever happened to you. Your father, how your mother died, Anna’s descent into addiction that you knew was at least partially your fault. 

But it also had Joel. 

The one, incredibly determined bright spot that had been here even as you tried as hard as you could to run from it. Liking Austin was dangerous. Liking JOEL was dangerous.

“How’s the school treatin’ ya?” He asked after a minute. 

“Pretty good, actually,” you nodded. “Better than Ohio did when I started there.” 

“Fuckin’ Ohio,” Joel said, glancing at you with a sly smile on his lips. You snorted. He held out his hand. “You’re bogarting the booze, Goldie.” 

“What, you think it’s yours or something?” You teased, handing the flask back. 

“Unless your last name is suddenly Miller,” he teased back, tapping the engraved side of it. He took a swig. “But they got you teachin’… fuck, whatever the interesting shit is English professors get to teach?” 

You laughed a little. 

“Yeah,” you said. “I have 18th century British Literature which is a good one for me, anyway. Literature for writers is another one I’m liking so far. Plus some workshops. It’s mostly upperclassmen so they’re all kids who are there because they care about the subject, not just to fulfill some requirements to graduate.

“I think the school is sucking up to me a bit, though,” you said. “I picked a good time to have my life completely implode and need to job hunt. I had some good name recognition from my book. They want to try to keep me around so they’re letting me teach the cool shit instead of needing to work my way up.” 

He nodded slowly and handed you the flask back. You ran your thumb over the engraving, watching his name catch the light of the moon. You took another drink. 

“You’re still too smart to be hangin’ out with me,” he smiled a little. “Not arguin’, just pointin’ out some truths for you.” 

“You’re still too cool to be hanging out with me,” you smiled back. “Think we’re even.” 

“I was never that cool,” he replied. 

“Oh I know,” you laughed. “I was just a huge fucking loser.” 

He laughed at that. You handed him the flask. 

Joel was sitting close to you, so close that your leg sometimes brushed his when it swung out over the water below. His hand brushed yours as he leaned back on the rock, his fingertips slipping into the gaps between your own. You took your hand back and lay down on the stone, looking up at the sky overhead. 

The whiskey had set in, a pleasant buzz running over you as you watched the lights from distant planes flying overhead. You wondered idly where they were going, if the people aboard were excited for vacation or traveling for business or on their way to a funeral. You always wanted to know things like that. It was your curse, that’s what your mother had called it. That you had all these questions about how the people around you moved through the world, like you wanted to crawl inside their skin and live as them for a day, just to see what it was like to occupy the same space as another person, have their heartbeat, feel the creases in their flesh as it existed to them. 

“You ever wonder what would have happened if you’d stayed here after high school?” Joel asked. You looked over at him. He took another drink. “Gone to UT and shit instead of runnin’ off to Columbia?” 

“All the time,” you replied. “But I think about a lot of different versions of myself. In some alternate universe there’s a me who went to Iowa for undergrad and never met fucking Brad…” 

“Fuckin’ Brad,” Joel echoed. You looked up at him and caught a glimpse of his smile. 

“There’s another one who moved to London and never went to college,” you said. “She’s just waiting tables and writing shitty poems in an apartment she shares with three other people. But she’s pretty happy there, so good on her I guess.” 

Joel paused before looking down at you. 

“The version who stayed?” He asked. 

You sighed. 

“I’m really not sure,” you said. “I’m sure we would have stayed friends the whole time instead of falling out of touch…” 

“We weren’t talkin’ when you left,” he said. 

“I know,” you sighed. “But I think we’d have moved past that pretty quick if we were in the same damn city.” 

“Makes sense,” he agreed after a moment. 

“I’m not sure about her beyond that, though,” you said after a moment of quiet.

He was quiet but lay down next to you on the rock, looking up at the stars. His body was warm, even from a few inches away. 

“Missed you, you know,” he said, turning his head to look at you. 

“Missed you, too,” you said, smiling a little back at him before looking back at the stars again. “You know, more than I think about staying here, I wonder what would have happened if we’d never… you know. If we’d just stayed friends.” 

“Yeah?” He said. His eyes were still on you, you could feel him watching you. “What do you think would’ve happened?” 

“I wouldn’t have married fuckin’ Brad,” you laughed. “You’d have seen right through his shit and talked me out of that one real quick.” 

He snorted. 

“I only met the guy once but he was a fuckin’ dick,” he said. 

“See?” You smiled. “I needed someone to point that out to me, I couldn’t see him for what he was. I needed someone who could.” 

“I probably wouldn’t have Sarah,” you heard him frown then. “Shit, that’s weird to think about… I doubt I’d have gone to the bar and hooked up with her mom that night if we’d still been friends.” 

“That whole ripple effect thing,” you sighed. “Change one thing and the whole world shifts. But assuming you would still have Sarah - that girl is inevitable, you cannot deny her. She’d will herself into existence if you weren’t there to help her along - what would be different for you?” 

He laughed a little and then sighed. 

“Might have actually done the community college thing,” he shrugged. “You would have been on my ass about it until I fuckin’ enrolled…” 

“Damn right I would’ve,” you replied. 

“I’d probably have just flunked out though,” he said. “Then I’d have a bunch of loans and nothin’ to show for it.” 

“Damn,” you sighed but smiled slightly, turning your head to look at him. “Who knew I’d be such a bad influence on you.” 

“Nah,” he smiled. “My mom’s never wrong about that shit and she liked you. It’d be good.” 

“Oh, well, if I had Mrs. Miller’s blessing…” you teased. 

You just lay there, looking at each other for a bit, the rock cool below you, the river drowning out the sounds of the city that lay just out of reach on the horizon. There was a knot in your stomach when you looked at Joel for too long, something that seemed to want to dig into you, something that had lingered whenever he came to mind for years. 

“Oh hey,” you said, desperate to have something else to talk about. “How did your date go the other night? The one girl you were doubling with Tommy and Maria with?” 

“Oh,” Joel paused for a moment. “It was fine, I guess, but we didn’t really… I dunno, click or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. We’re not goin’ out again.” 

“She was that bad in bed, eh?” You teased. Even in the dark you caught his frown. 

“Wouldn’t know,” he said. “Didn’t fuck her.” 

“Really?” You frowned a bit, surprised. “Well, good for you.” 

“Feel like you’re implyin’ somethin’ about my dating history, Goldie,” he smiled a little. 

“Just that you’re good at charming the pants off your dates,” you smiled back. “Which I’d think most men would take as a compliment.” 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, going quiet again. 

He was so close to you, so close it felt dangerous.

“Still talkin’ to that one guy?” Joel asked. “What’s his name?” 

“Eric?” You asked. “The guy whose texts I showed you to see if you thought he was a whack job?” 

“That’s the one,” Joel laughed a little. 

“Yeah, actually,” you smiled a bit. “We’re going out this weekend, some concert he wants to see. Who cares as long as it gets me out of my damn apartment…” 

“Don’t go on that date,” Joel cut you off. 

“Why?” You breathed, your heart pounding against your ribs. The sad, homesick longing you’d had for him for what felt like your entire life was sharp and hot inside your stomach. 

“You know why.” 

“Say it.”

“I love you, Goldie,” he said, looking at you so intently that you could feel it in your blood. “I’ve loved you since were fuckin’ 16 years old and…” 

“Don’t do this to me, Joel,” your voice broke as you said it. “Don’t treat me like one of the girls you date where you say whatever it is you say to them to get them into bed…” 

“You think that’s what this is?” He rolled onto his side so he was looking down at you, his body just inches from your own. “That any of that shit wasn’t to make up for not havin’ you when you left?” 

“That’s not…” you began but he cut you off. 

“You’re it for me,” he said. “Knew it when we were 16 years old, knew it on prom night, knew it the day you left town. 

“Don’t go out with that fuckin’ guy. He seems… fine. He does, Goldie. He seems better than fuckin’ Brad but Jesus, you deserve so much better than fine. Let me try to be somethin’ close to what you deserve. Don’t go on that date.” 

“Joel,” you breathed. 

“Don’t go on that date.”

“I won’t,” you said softly. “I’ll…” 

And, for the first time in 14 years, your best friend kissed you, his hand slipping around to the back of your head, pulling your face closer to his own as his lips met yours all soft and sweet. It left you breathless when he pulled away. 

“Good,” he said. “That’s… good."

"Yeah," you said. "I think it is."

[thebabysittertm]

@fierceathlete is back and isn't pulling her punches...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ you’re just a big manbaby who’d rather act tough than show his real feelings. ❞

ㅤShe'd taken him off-guard, admittedly, so the only saving grace in hiding his surprise was the sunglasses and the other distractions associated with the stupid party that he was surprised she was even at. Meg Thomas wasn't actually someone he'd paid much attention to before this year, mostly because she was a jock (track, but nothing he did) who didn't really spend time with any of the jocks. Her house was out basically in the woods and she'd made it pretty clear over the years that she wasn't interested in partying or the usual shit that his idiot friends were into. That he'd been into for so long.

ㅤHe'd started talking to her just a little bit after he'd started dating Nancy, like Nancy was some strange gateway that opened up to allowing him new perspective and potential interaction with people that he wouldn't have talked to before. Some of them, it would have been social suicide to hang out with, but Nancy was just nice, and like Tommy called her, kind of a princess. She could talk to whoever, and it didn't really affect her social standing, like she was above their opinions - not like Steve. He'd never felt that kind of freedom, but maybe he should have started reaching out and broadening his social circles sooner, potential fallout be damned. The problem was that he'd been so lonely for so long that if he was suddenly dropped by the social circle he was used to, then what would he do?

ㅤNow, he didn't really care about that, but he was still trapped in the mess of it anyway. He had to maintain the expectations that had been wrapped around him lest anyone realize that anything too serious had happened to him after Halloween, but the act felt old and stale even without Meg Thomas calling him out to his face - fortunately without much of a crowd to take notice. The music was loud, everyone else was drunk, and he'd made the stupid mistake of brushing Meg off when she'd asked what the fuck was up with him - a few times at gradually increasing frustration levels. It wasn't like he could tell her anything, so he didn't really see what else he could have done, but the dismissive act was gone, at least.

ㅤ"Okay, shithead, what 'real feelings' am I supposed to be showing right here in a hallway surrounded by drunk people that makes me such a manbaby?" he asked, actually torn between annoyance and laughing. He couldn't even say she was wrong about not showing his real feelings, but the fact that she'd noticed was the unexpected part. He'd been phoning it in for awhile and nobody seemed to really care as long as he played the role.

[harudnae]

The Great Draft Eradication Plan was a good idea, there were a lot of honorable deaths but at least the WIP folder is starting to look good. Today I deliver a Gaban x Reader 420-friendly one-shot!

(Fun fact: I started writing this such a long while ago that I quit smoking since... Anyway, I wrote it so I might as well post it.)

Also posted on AO3 on 2024.01.19

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Gaban x GN!Reader

Summary: You're smoking pot on the Oro Jackson's decks when Gaban invites himself in.

Content warnings : weed smoking, flirting, kissing, rated M for drugs & naughty thoughts, no smut in here, no pronouns used for Reader, no body description either

Word count: <2.5k

🌿 Zamalia

It's late at night and the party is as lively as ever on the decks of the Oro Jackson.

You're already pleasantly buzzed from the rum you looted a couple of days ago from a rival crew, but alcohol isn't the only thing you enjoy in such circumstances. You leave the rowdy crowd and lazily make your way to the prow, then you glance behind you to check that nobody followed you, and finally you lean against the railing and roll a joint. You light it up facing the endless sea, sparkling with moonlight and reflections of stars. You exhale a cloud of smoke and smile to yourself, content with your life at sea, more so as a proud Roger Pirate. You haven't been here for long, but the crew quickly grew on you and you'd never dream of being anywhere else right now. You tilt your head up and let your body relax while you smoke and observe the starry sky.

"What are you doing here?"

You stiffen a little at Gaban's voice behind you, then you turn your head around. You nod towards your half-smoked blunt, a sheepish smile on your face. "Smoking pot."

Gaban grins as he approaches you. "Ah, you don't want to get scolded by Crocus now, do you?"

You shrug. "I was avoiding the cabin boys, mostly."

"That's fair." He leans against the railing next to you. "Would you share?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Didn't know you smoked, too."

Gaban chuckles. "Sometimes. I'm just better at hiding", he winks.

You draw your tongue out as you pass him the blunt.

He offers you a sly grin in return.

You observe the way his lips wrap around the tip as he takes a first drag, and how they part as he exhales a cloud of smoke. Fuck, I never thought I'd wish to be a blunt.

"Thanks. It's good stuff, too... Where did you get that?"

"A couple of islands away. A guy at an inn..."

Gaban smiles wide as he asks, "The one in New Marla?"

You squint. "How...?" Oh, right, he smokes too. You exhale a chuckle. "Okay, never mind", you slide him a knowing glance.

"Yeah, I bought him some, too. I stashed some from Zamalia as well before you joined us, I can spare some if you want."

You open wide eyes. "Zamalia? You bet I want to try! I heard they've got the best stuff there."

Gaban chuckles. "You heard right."

"So you're a connoisseur, huh? How did you pick the habit?"

Gaban tilts his chin towards the ruckus of the partying crew. "It's hard to sleep sometimes with these ones around", he says, smiling.

You heartily laugh. "Yeah, I know..."

He hands you the blunt. "How did you?"

"It helps me relax", you explain as you grab the smoke, your fingers slightly brushing against his. "Somewhat."

Gaban removes his glasses and tucks them across the collar of his shirt, leaning a bit towards you to meet your gaze. "You nervous?"

You barely maintain eye contact for a second before glaring back at the sea. Your face feels warmer in such close proximity to Gaban, and your heart beats faster, too. How could you have known that he'd join you right now? Now you're high enough that his voice does weird things to you, not to mention you acknowledged your crush on him only a few weeks ago and his last sentence sounded like something straight out of a wet dream.

"I didn't think we were so intimidating", he continues, voice deep and slightly playful.

You exhale a soft sigh. "You aren't." Well... in a way, you are, but I'm not about to tell you that. You pointedly keep watching the glimmering sea, but you still see him tilting his head to the side, from the corner of your eye.

"Why the need to relax, then?"

You slightly grin. "It's just... a way to unwind, same as having a drink. Back in my homeland we party more often around blunts than booze, mostly because weed grows literally everywhere while alcohol is pretty expensive in comparison. I do enjoy drinking, but not as much as I like being high."

"That's fair. Do you need a refill, by the way?" He eyes your empty jug.

You nod the negative. "I had enough already, I'm going to keep to smoking now. Thanks, though."

Gaban smiles. "Hm. Wanna try some of of that Zamalia stuff, then?"

A delighted grin curve your lips and your whole face lightens. "Ooh, I'd love to!"

He exhales an acknowledging hum and nods. "Wait here", he says as he gets off the railing and puts his glasses back on, "I'll get a refill and the rest."

"Cool, thanks." Your gaze follows him as he retreats to the lower decks, and you turn your head around only once he's out of sight. You lick your lips and take a deep breath. Okay, so Gaban and I are going to get high together, that's a thing that's actually happening. Wow, holy shit, I hope I won't get awkward, or... horny. Either way I'm going to feast on eye candy for the rest of the night. You take another deep breath and lean onto the railing. Your gaze drifts across the calm sea, a giddy smile curving your lips as you contemplate your luck.

Gaban's unmistakable tread on the Adam wood interrupts your daydreaming, making your heart race at the prospect of quality time with your crush. His footsteps slow down as he gets closer, then they stop a little behind you.

You breathe a little more heavily as you feel the weight of his stare behind you, wondering what he's up to.

"The view's really nice", Gaban says.

You straighten up in alarm, suddenly very aware that you're bent over the railing and presenting your whole backside. A split second after you turn your burning face around.

Gaban doesn't move from where he stands, a couple of feet from where he stood earlier at the railing, not quite right behind you but far enough that he could see both the sea and you. He grins, chin up and moonlight shining in his glasses.

You squint, mentally cursing said glasses for concealing his eyes because you're pretty sure he wasn't staring over the railing just now. Then you reason that you're probably getting ideas because you're already a bit high and you've got a huge crush. "Indeed", you exhale after a quiet while.

Gaban turns to you, smile widening, and hands you a pouch he fetches from one of his pockets. "Do you want to roll one?"

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, sure, thank you." You breath hitches a little when the warmth of his hand briefly brushes against your fingers, and you try to stay focused on your task, instead of hoping for more than just partaking.

Thankfully, Gaban chit-chats while you roll, a pleasant distraction from your dangerous thoughts. He's always been easy-going with you, from your very first day in the crew, as well as attentive to your well-being as much as the rest of the crew's even though you came aboard later than most. Until now, he's shown nothing but kindness towards you.

You assume that, being so close to Captain Roger and Rayleigh in terms of authority over the crew, Gaban acts the same with every other new recruit. Calm down, heart, there's nothing personal.

Gaban removes his glasses and tucks them across his collar, gazing at you while you light the new blunt.

You make eye contact when you inhale the smoke, keeping it inside your lungs a bit longer than necessary. You turn back to the sea to exhale, cheeks a little warmer. "It's really good", you comment. Your eyes drift to the wisps of smoke rising from the blunt while you focus on the taste. "I can tell it's strong stuff just with one drag... It's not overwhelming, though."

"Yeah! I really liked the the lemony kind of tang, too."

You nod the affirmative. "Mh-hmm". A few puffs in and your skin is a little more sensitive, tingling where the wind blows, heating where Gaban's gaze lingers a little too long – your hand that holds the blunt, your lips when you exhale, your nape or shoulder when you look upon the calm waves under the moonlit sky. Your heart beats faster too. Being high certainly doesn't help, but you're absolutely positive that it's not the only reason... In such close proximity to Gaban you're all fuzzy inside. When did smoking become so intimate? Am I overthinking things? Or am I just hyper aware of things now that I'm high? You turn to him when he detaches his gaze from you to drink from his jug. Warmth coils inside you as you observe the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and you repress the sudden urge to plant a kiss there.

Gaban turns back to you, absentmindedly licking a stray drop off his lower lip. "So? What d'you think?"

Very hot. You blink, clear your throat, and look at the blunt. "Oh." You stumble on your words, "Um, very good. Tasty, strong stuff. Thanks for sharing." You huff an awkward laugh, unable to tell if you're talking about the weed or about him. You purse your lips and pass the joint. "I'll have to take it easy with that one", you confess, already feeling much higher than you expected with just a few drags.

"Alright", Gaban says as he takes his turn, then he laughs. "Now you know why I still have some of this after all this time", he reveals, "so don't feel pressured to smoke or anything. I only want to share if you enjoy it."

You crack a soft smile. "Thanks, I appreciate."

Gaban wraps a hand around your shoulder and gently squeezes, eyes diving into yours. "I don't want you to get sick, okay?"

Your heart misses a beat at his touch, warm and tender. Your smile widens and you look back at the sea as your cheeks heat up again. "Yeah, don't worry, I won't. It's really good, I do enjoy this", you mumble, once again unsure whether you're talking about getting high or not.

Gaban squeezes again, then his hand slides off your shoulder as he leans back onto the railing.

You fight against the urge to lean towards him and chase his body warmth. Instead, you prop your elbows on the railing and lean down to rest your head, purposefully avoiding eye contact. You exhale a small sigh.

"You wanna go to bed?"

Your shoulder tense a little at the mental images of a bed that spawn into your mind – every single one featuring you and Gaban over it in various positions – and your face heats up in embarrassment.

"I mean, I understand if it's strong enough to make you sleepy."

You shake your head to clear your mind of dangerous thoughts yet again invading it. Then you crack a smile and turn your attention back to him. "No, it's okay. I'm just... glad to be here, it's nice."

Gaban grins wide. "You like this crew, this ship?"

You eagerly nod. "A lot." Your gaze idly drifts to his hands. "But I was talking about right now, here."

"Less noise around?"

You meet his gaze again. "Yeah. It's nice to have some calmer moments, too."

He still smiles when he passes you the blunt. "More so in good company."

Your fingers brush against his slightly longer than necessary. You have no idea.

Gaban glances at you, a curious eyebrow raised.

You briskly turn your attention back to the sea as you realize that you just said that out loud. Your smile falters and your heart threatens to burst while you wait for the inevitable, terrible predicament.

"(y/n)?"

Your shoulders tense.

"Is this mutual interest I heard?"

You take a long drag from the blunt. Interest, sure. Mutual, though? Wait– You hold the smoke inside your lungs and turn back to him.

He looks at you expectantly, a small smile curving his lips when your gaze lingers there.

You exhale the smoke and finally breathe out, "Yeah."

Gaban's smile widens, turning mischievous. "Then I'm glad I saw you leave the party earlier."

"You came here on purpose?" You lean back up and turn around to face him. "Not just wandering around and finding me randomly?"

Gaban raises his hands. "Guilty as charged."

You raise an interested eyebrow. Emboldened by your recent findings, you step into his personal space and confess, "Well, you've been on my mind for a while..."

He places a hand on the small of our back, pulling you closer. "How long?", he asks as he leans in, his warm breath fanning over your lips.

"Too long", you exhale before closing the last of distance between you. You close your eyes when Gaban's lips touch yours, full and soft and warm, and you almost melt at the contact. Your hands find anchor on his hips, gently pulling him flush against you when your tongue slides against his lower lip.

Gaban's free hand wraps around your nape and tilts your head to deepen the kiss.

Fuck, he's good at this. You sigh into his mouth and answer in kind, warmth pooling in your gut while your hands mindlessly explore the broad expanse of his back.

He breaks the kiss at some point, and he softly smiles when your lips chase after his. His gaze dives into yours and he runs his fingertips around your neck, following your jawline before tilting your chin up.

Breath short, tense with anticipation, you lightly bite your lower lip.

Gaban softly sighs, then confesses, "I really want you right now..."

You crack a smile. "Me too."

"Wanna move...?" He trails out, tilting his head towards the other side of the ship.

You heartily nod.

Gaban leans in for a searing kiss, and doesn't leave you time to recover before he grabs your hand and leads the way to the lower decks.

You all too happily follow him, elated at the prospect of spending some private time with him. Your heart drums loud within your chest by the time you reach his cabin, and you're absolutely certain it's not only because of the weed you shared.

[snowblossomreads]

I’ve questions for Amiee !!!

2 (because right now I’m quite obsessed about grooming during the Victorian era and you know what ? I wished men could still be like « yeah, you’ve hair on your body and it’s normal, I’m not disgusted by it it’s lovely. Therefore, please woman DO NOT TOUCH my fucking razors, you’re not Sweeny Todd 😂)

4, 9 and 10 (does she have any lucky charm she can have with her or a building lucky charm as mine 😂😂😂)

MWAHAH thank you friend for your ask and sorry for taking so long to answer (she has just been astral projecting) They made me think and my brain these days is like what is thinking ??? Anyways on wards to answers that I had to think long and hard about.🤣

What is their grooming routine?

I bounce between it's basic and it's a ritual LOL but it's truly basic. She wakes up , brushes teeth, washes face, combs her hair and if she's feeling fancy she'll put a light touch of make up on (ie eyeliner, some lipstick/lipgloss). When she comes home and is done with everything shower/bathe, brush teeth, wash face, etc etc. She straightens her hair every few days as well bc it's wavyish (as mentioned in the first chapter). She does later just stop bc have you seen the weather in the UK?

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

She has a few scars here and there on her mostly from childhood when she and Angie would rough house around but that's about it. She doesn't like being poked by needles though so it's one of the things that keeps her from getting a tattoo. But if she gets over that fear one day, I reckon she get one (not sure of what yet it has to mean something to her of course!)

What is their favorite holiday?

Chinese New Year's hands down. It's when the most food is had. You think Sinclair can eat? well he can but so can she LOL. Also she loves the fireworks, being with family, making food, eating the food, decorating, putting on cute clothes etc etc etc. She loves it. There are no unfavorite holidays for her.

What objects do they always carry around with them?

Me: _grabbing at Amiee_ Amiee open your purse let me look in it!

Amiee: _pulling away_ whatcha doin??

Me: purse purse let's see it!!!

Amiee: o-okay?? (what??)

Bwhaha so she's usually carrying her wallet nothing fancy, something to write with and write on. it's good for work and just for her to doddle any ideas her brain comes up. a snack or something because hongry girl. she also always 'carries' this silver feng shui coin necklace around her neck that her baba and mama got for her when she started college☺ she loves it very much.

BWhaha thank u for the ask friend and I hope u found some of the answers interesting!

And thanks Amiee for letting me look in your purse ~cute picture of clair you got in your wallet~

Amiee: 😳😳😳😳

[rhaenyyras]

snippet from ch2 of my steddie fic (coming soon) where Eddie takes care of Steve’s wounds and they flirt + makeout in the RV 🙃 (bcs that should be canon!!)

Suddenly the bathroom door swings open, surprising Steve enough that he spins around too quickly and nearly loses his footing. He turns around to find Eddie standing there in the doorway, returning much sooner than Steve expected. Or has it been a while?

Steve hasn't exactly been keeping track of time. He just hoped he'd have more of a chance to pull himself together. Get a grip on his feels, stop daydreaming about Eddie, so maybe he can stop acting like an idiot around him. Shit. Too late for that. Now Eddie's back and he's smiling at Steve like he's an idiot, so at least they agree on that. And now Steve's resolve to get his shit together and stop crushing on Eddie quickly crumbles.

It's all Eddie's fault for smiling at him like that.

His brain helpfully suggests he should say something. That maybe it's not the best idea to just stand there and stare at Eddie like a deer caught in headlights. Steve should climb down, offer Eddie what's left of his cigarette, ask him what Henderson wanted help with.

For some reason, his brain short-circuits again and he goes with surprise! option four which is to stand there and not move, just stare at Eddie, and definitely don't say anything because that's totally normal and won't freak Eddie out at all.

Nice one, Harrington.

Eddie lingers somewhat awkwardly in the doorway. He mostly seems amused by the whole thing which is kinda the opposite vibe Steve was going for. Little too late to fix that now.

"Well, don't you look relaxed." Eddie says, and slowly cracks a smile. "Just how much whiskey did you have, sweetheart?"

Steve manages a laugh. "Back already?"

Eddie gets this look then, something that can only be described as weird. Steve doesn't blame the guy, he's being pretty fucking weird right now. He still hasn't moved and is now just watching Eddie as he steps into the bathroom, slides the door shut and locks it. For privacy, of course. Eddie doesn't seem to mind the smoke hanging in the air, though most of it has dissipated now that Steve finally opened the window.

"What, did you miss me already?" Eddie smirks.

"Thought Henderson would keep you busy for longer."

Eddie smiles but doesn't share what Duston needed his help with, Steve doesn't ask. He's too focused on the fact that he's still standing on the toilet lid. Before he can climb down, Eddie comes over and holds out his hand. Steve doesn't really need the help, got up there fine on his own. Steve accepts it anyway, takes Eddie's hand and slowly climbs down.

Once his feet are solidly on the ground again, Eddie pinches the cigarette right out of Steve's lips. Steals it with a smirk before Steve can protest. And why would he? When Eddie smiles at him like that, Steve gets the feeling he'd let him do anything he wants, which is both a pretty terrifying and exciting thought.

Steve takes the cigarette back when Eddie offers it. He inhales once more then stubs out what's left in the sink. Now that Eddie's back, Steve wants to get this part over with. He's never been one to put off painful things. He wants to get through this so maybe he can have another cigarette with Eddie and actually enjoy it. Eddie seems to get that. Steve settles back in his seat and Eddie quietly returns to his side.

He kneels on the tiles, grabs the water to clean the wounds, ready to start. As ready as Steve ever will be. Eddie doesn't hesitate, they've done that already. Eddie can probably see that Steve is on the edge, in pain and wanting this part to be over. So Eddie leans in and sets a hand against Steve's torso, soft fingers brushing gently against Steve's ribs. Feels different this time, Eddie's touch, like a new yet familiar spark that Steve hasn't felt burn in years.

"This is gonna hurt a lot," Eddie meets Steve's gaze, offers him a smile. "Try to think of something else?"

Steve manages a nod. He almost makes a joke about how that should be no problem, what with how much he's been thinking about Eddie today. That thought quickly dies.

Eddie pours water into the bites and Steve's vision blurs bright red. Fuck. Eddie's right, it hurts a lot. Stings so painfully that Steve actually jolts forward from the shock of how much it hurts and reaches out for something solid to hold to keep him steady and dull the pain.

Steve finds Eddie's shoulder, curls his fingers into the collar of his Hellfire t-shirt and holds on. 

~

ch1 is posted here & ch2 is coming soon! 🦇🖤

[modern-inheritance]

I’d like to make a confession.

Would you hate me if I told you I have no idea what you are talking about? The whole inheritance thing, I think it’s some sort of book series..?

I once came across your post about FMAB. And came to your blog and for some reason followed you.

And then I just liked the general vibe and your enthusiasm for this inheritance stuff and stuck around..?😅

(Please don’t hunt me down)

My dear, dear Anon. I'm sorry I let this sit for over a week.

I would never hate you. Especially considering you're hanging out here for my off the wall vibes. I wonder what my vibes are like. I'm feeling particularly unhinged lately, I kinda hope it shows. It means a lot that you stuck it out even without knowing what the hell I'm talking about.

ANYWAY. FMAB. Yes. Much love for it. If you can't tell I have a thing for war trauma and angst. *Slaps the series* This baby can fit SO MUCH WAR TRAUMA! And I LOVE IT!

Let's answer your main question though! The Inheritance Cycle is a book series by Christopher Paolini, and is frequently known as 'the Eragon books.' A basic summary of the first book and the series as a whole is that Eragon, a farm boy in a medieval setting, is hunting for his family when a blue rock that kinda looks like a giant tictac explodes into existence in front of him. Takes it home, and eventually a babby dragon is borned and headbutts his hand and he gets magic powers and a mental link to the dragon, who he eventually names Saphira and is a sassy sassy lady. Eragon is, understandably, kinda a helpless dork, and when people who want the stone/egg/tictac come to the village and murder his family he has to go on the run with the local storyteller and Saphira in a harebrained revenge plot that eventually morphs into 'oh shit uh we have to save the entire fucking country, huh?'

There's dwarves, there's elves, there's an evil king with a tortured and warped dragon, there's evil incarnate shades, MOAR dragons, sword fights, family drama (oh man. sooooooo much family drama), wise old men that are grouchy but lovable, POC and female characters in power, an entire magic system that could kinda be based in wordplay that is also influenced by intention, there's eventually political bullshit and romance(ish), there's skimmed over trauma and it was originally written when Paolini was 14 for the first book and it kinda shows but. but. it is good. and I enjoyed it. It raised me. I got a tattoo of my favorite character's tattoo and a word from the magic language.

I kinda grew up with these characters, started reading Inheritance Cycle when I was 8. I first started writing through it around then after absolutely hating writing. But! I had some...issues. With certain things in the books. Specifically how several of the characters have some very...very obvious trauma, mostly with one character in particular but oh man it's a warzone and Eragon is like...15 when he's first dragged into it, it's been going on for a literal century, there are people who were there when it started still around, can we get some PTSD therapy over here? It's brushed over once or twice in a chapter or two, but otherwise we are left to speculate and shrug at how it really did affect them. And I wanted to explore it. So, after many years of trial, error, and false starts and not realizing I had actually, well, made it, I began writing the Modern Inheritance Cycle stories, aka MIC or Modern Inheritance. It's quite a bit different from the source material and to be honestly at this point I'm probably just borrowing character names and loose plotlines, but it's home for me.

Anyway, while the earlier books do indeed show Paolini's age at times, I would honestly recommend picking up the cycle at some point. There's a new TV show in the works, though we never get news about it, and since we're a fairly small fandom we always love new people. At least, we do here. On MIC. Am I a tv show?

I wanna say again that I really appreciate you sticking around. If you ever wanna chat one on one feel free to message me and I can gush about the series, but only if you don't mind spoilers. I mean if you actually read some of my stuff then you might have already spoiled a ton of stuff but hey. I protec the newbies. Thanks for showing interest and again, I would never hate you. This ask made my week I was smiling like a dumbass.

[masterprocrastiwriter]

I haven't been posting some new fics because these previous few weeks haven't been easy to me. I struggled taking proper time to do this one and it looked okay of how it turned out. Hope you like it.

hard to be sober.

a schlackity au.

tw // alcoholism, mental breakdown.

Quackity sits down at the couch with a big sigh off his lips, upset with a newspaper in his hand as he stares at the glaring headline of The Manberg News. Another round of rumors circulate once again with their speculations of Schlatt having a secret relationship with the vice-president, which is the half-duck himself.

And of course, it is true—but they try to keep it secret, even if it was almost one no more. It doesn't help that a week earlier, Schlatt got into a fight with someone in front of the White House, and now he gets further pinned with other ongoing issues.

And when he was about to go home after an early noon's work, he came across the half-ram in the hallway with a bottle of alcohol. It's as if he heard his heart fell broken, loud and clear.

"Please don't tell me you're drunk again," Quackity said with a frown.

"Nah, I was just, about to dispose this alcohol, you know," Schlatt said and waved in dismissal, although his drowsy eyes seem to say the opposite.

He stepped closer to the half-ram to take a whiff of his odor. He rolled his eyes, "You smell like whisky. Again."

"No, no, I ain't smelling whisky," he said and sniffed on the side of his shoulders before shaking his head. "It's just my perfume."

Quackity pinches the bridge of his nose by thinking about it. It's honestly pitiful of how Schlatt handles the shit thrown at him ever since he was elected for president. Sure, he had a reputation for being an alcoholic and throw some tantrums, and some other things he doesn't want to talk about, but the half-duck knows better. They've met much earlier before going into politics anyway, and beyond Schlatt's typical grumpiness, he discovers a mellow man with a heart of gold. He wasn't really as bad as what others thought of him to be.

Yet some people in and out of media tries to go to lengths finding anything wrong in and around him, that the other things he do to improve and prosper Manburg and its citizens were mostly brushed off—worse, some plans were stalled.

All these happened in the past few months through over a year fresh in presidential rule and Quackity can feel the sheer sadness and disappointment in Schlatt despite giving the half-duck some glances and smiles and trying to be the best he can.

But alcohol was his only way to show the truth.

Quackity snaps back to his senses when he hears the creak of a door opening, eyes dashing to the doorway to both hear the door's hit to the wall and see Schlatt enter with skewing feet. He notices the half-ram's hair looking cluttered, his body swaying like he's about to fall down at any second.

"Hey, pumpkin," he slurs in a hoarse voice before making a puking sound—he lifts a fist to the front of his lips.

"Schlatt!" He stands up with a concerned expression, immediately approaching the half-ram and holding his body as he's about to stumble.

"Ugh, your heavy," Quackity says, grunting over his hold on the burly figure. "Come on, let's get you to the toilet," he says before they rush down the bathroom.

Puking noises echo throughout the bathroom, following a flush of the toilet.

"That's it, just let it all out," the half-duck mutters while patting his back, a slight grimace in the face when he lets out another one. Schlatt pulls the flush again and at this point, he feels a little more better except the dizzy feeling on his head and the light blurriness of the surroundings.

He close his eyes, deeply exhales, and moves himself back up to sit on the floor. A long burp roars out of his mouth in a sudden, making him chuckle afterwards while Quackity does a big sigh.

"Puta, that's a lot," he says, shaking his head. "The whole bathroom even smells like shit liquor now."

"Karl's tequila. Fucking good shit." Schlatt says. "Should've gotten another bottle of it before going home."

"Well, I think you should stop drinking alcohol because look," Quackity responds in annoyance, "You're fucking drunk! I doubt you even have the strength to stand up right now. You should drink a lot of water later."

"Water's horrible, mi amor. You're no fun," he slurs, and glances up with a snarky look at the half-duck. "I'd rather feel the warm, hard rum kicking on my throat than some bland, tasteless water."

"You should drink water—didn't I tell you earlier, that water will make you hotter?" he says with a hesitant little smile, holding the half-ram's body as he prepares to lift him up. "And besides, it's better to sober up—you'll feel less shitty. Now, let's get up and go to the couch, hmm?"

"Aww, I'm shittier when sober, pumpkin, come on," the half-ram whines as Quackity carefully lifts him up, managing to get him up on his feet before putting his arm around the half-duck's shoulders.

They walk out of the bathroom and approach the couch in the living room, Quackity cautiously laying Schlatt on the cushion.

He steps back and look at the mess that is his partner, sprawling across the furniture. The light above them reflects the sweat sitting on Schlatt's face, a shadow under his eyes more apparent than usual, and the crumpled look of his polo seems like it wasn't ironed before use.

Schlatt never used to drink this hard. But ever since his presidency, the stress he gets regarding his reputation and Manberg overwhelmed him that he'd drink himself to waste—an I'm-tired-of-all-the-bullshit look across his face and a hint of I-don't-fucking-know-what-to-do in his eyes. It sickens Quackity with pity, and it's harder to bear seeing him chugging up shit just to numb the stress away.

"Do we have beer in the barrels?" the half-ram mumbles.

He sighs deeply. Not now, amor.

"We ran out." he lies. "I'mma just, go to the kitchen with a glass of water, okay?"

Schlatt doesn't say a thing, so he shrugs and leaves toward the kitchen. Right after filling a glass with water, he puts it on the countertop and glances to Schlatt, before approaching an ice barrel where the alcohols are stored.

Upon opening the lid, he sighs in relief so softly—seeing only two bottles of cheap beer inside—and pulls them out quick, sneakily placing down a shulker box to carefully store them in before hiding it in his inventory.

After a brief check on the medicine box, Quackity scoots back to Schlatt with a glass of water and a pill of regeneration. The half-ram throws a glance as he sits beside him again handing over the glass of water first.

Schlatt stares at the glass of water, so wanting to whine in protest yet he feels too tired to argue. He sighs in defeat before taking it, shifting his seat.

When he moves himself forward, a pounding sensation strikes him in the head, causing him to grunt with a crumpled face and touch his temple.

Quackity's face immediately fills with concern and hands over the pill, saying, "Here, take this," in which the half-ram grabs and throws it straight to the back of his mouth before drinking the water for it to flow down with.

A loud gulp comes following a rough sigh of relief before lying against the couch again, eyebrows creasing from the throbbing pain. He closes his eyes shut and cusses under his breath for the sudden headache ruining his peaceful high—it was worth the numbness from what just happened today.

But what just happened today? He doesn't care, fuck that. Not a single thing about it can occupy his noisy mind—a noise that may either be nothing or anything—as if he has energy to think at this moment.

He hears the soft cushion of the couch and realize Quackity's figure moving away, a few steps muffling in his ears before they stop.

The half-duck makes a deep sigh before laying his fingers onto his broad shoulders, pressing the muscles just right before he gently squeezes them. Schlatt utters a profound groan, head laying and moving forward as he feels the pain from hitting the right spots, but rewards some relief to get rid of the built-up stress from work.

Quackity then moves to the lower region of his neck, knowing where to find the pain-triggering spots to press them until they fade. "Oh, shit," he mutters under his breath, pain shooting up a little while before he draws a sigh of relief once the fingers let go of him.

"Lift your head up." The half-duck says as his head hangs low, to which he follows. A little warm smile curves across his lips before he grazes his fingertips thorough against the half-ram's scalp, moving around in circles. A mere moan escapes Schlatt's lips—the random noises of chaos in his mind silencing to the rough and easing sensations in the head from Quackity's calloused fingers along with his gentle movements.

Quackity moves his pressing fingers down the neck and back to the shoulders again, repeating the process—not a single sound but the crumpling of the fabric and relieved sighs of his beloved are to be heard. The medicine has took effect and makes Schlatt feel the sobriety surfacing to his senses.

It's all so comforting. He feels a little better now.

No one was ever this thoughtful and caring before Quackity came into his life.

How come he can withstand me? he asks in his mind.

Quackity has somehow manage to be available to him almost all the time, whether it'd be personal talks, or just plain tired, or even taking care of him whenever he's sick or wasted, just like tonight. He doesn't even scold the half-ram for the any messes and stupid shit he does—he would help him instead to figure shit out. It sometimes throws Schlatt into disbelief because he's always been used to cruel people in his life, and anyone who was sweet and kind to him would just be come-and-goers.

But not Quackity.

He is sweet, he is kind, and a person of strength, both in first impression and in truth. Throughout the whole ongoing two-year relationship, he has been patient and there for him every step of the way. Schlatt would gladly reciprocate it, but Quackity manages to always give him something seemingly bigger.

That something—are just these thoughtful, little actions. Like this.

Schlatt is pulled out of pondering by a pair of rough hands delicately touching his cheeks, gently guiding him to look up. He meets the soft gaze of the half-duck with a warm smile on his lips, before he lays his face down to poke each other's noses and kiss his forehead tender at the same time. Oh, how wonderful to melt him on the inside. Quackity is just too good.

Too good enough that it hurts him.

And the hurt is growing into shame.

And the shame becomes tears on the corners of his eyes.

His chest tenses, trying to suppress the urge to cry, but the thoughts that surface in his head poke on his inner wounds that it gets harder to breathe and harder to resist.

Quackity notices the tears as they twinkle from the lights above them, and in some sort of instinct, he comes lays his face close to the half-ram again to plant another kiss on the forehead—this time much longer and even, before it departs.

From there, Schlatt cries like a child.

A mere, high-pitched whimper escapes his lips before they turn into soft but gradually loudening sobs along with the release of tears streaming down like rivers across his face. His hand clenches before his arms wrap around his lower torso—I'm so fucking pathetic, he says in his mind—he's never been this vulnerable before.

Quackity's chest aches over empathy and his face all painted of sadness and worry that he rushes around the couch and kneels down tthe carpet, right in front of him. "Oh, Schlatt, amore mio," he says. "T-Tell me why you're crying, hmm?" He then reaches for his face until they touch his damp cheeks. "C-Come on, please, I-I can't bear seeing you cry—"

"D-Don't do this, Q-Quackity..." A faltering mumble he utters as the warmth of the half-duck's hands just...hurt. It emotionally hurts him for the thoughts to scream how he doesn't deserve a touch as precious as this. "I-I don't w-want your hands o-on my f-face, t-they're not meant f-for a man l-like me."

"Why not? Tell me, I want to know..." He brings his thumbs across to wipe the flowing tears, but by the third strokes of wiping, Schlatt grabs his wrists and takes them off his face, holding them firm enough to not hurt his beloved.

"I-I'm a horrible man, Q-Quackity." His voice cracks between his sniffles. "I'm not b-being a good m-man to you. A-And...y-you're too g-g-good for me...I-I'm not t-treating you well e-enough..."

The half-duck sucks his breath sharp, letting out a trembling sigh.

"S-Schlatt..."

He moves his wrists away from the half-ram's loosened hold, and intertwines his sets of fingers onto the other.

"You are not a horrible person." Quackity says. "You are far from that. I admit, you could be an asshole to someone, I'll give you that, and besides it's reasonable. But you're not the worst, believe me—I am the sole witness of how you show me who you are."

His right hand untangles from Schlatt's fingers, holding the hand as a whole before giving it a gentle squeeze. "And you treat me well, mi amor. You do. You really do."

"But I-I'm a fucking piece of shit, p-pumpkin." Schlatt cracks in his voice, untangling his left hand and rest his hand on his thigh. "I couldn't g-get off of alcohol. I-I don't know h-how to handle shit p-people throw a-at me. I only make things h-harder for myself, a-and, o-of course it's a-all my fault." His voice trembles, sniffling as he slowly shakes his head and lays it down until his chin touches his knee cap.

"Tell me, Quackity, h-how the fuck...h-how the f-fuck could you still love me after a-all that I am?"

Quackity remains silent. He sighs and looks to the side—once the eyelids fall shut a tear escapes across his cheek. Not too long that he notices the silence between them being deafening—all this emotional turmoil is a little too much to bear.

It's such a simple question the half-duck couldn't easily answer.

He then breathes deep, unconsciously squeezing the other's hand which causes Schlatt to look up. He turns his head at his beloved—at those eyes so sore and weary. He shifts his knees to move closer to the half-ram, and reaches for the cheeks until he can feel it in his palms—he stills, quietly asking if Schlatt doesn't want him to.

There wasn't any protest. And so, Quackity puts his thumbs onto the bridges of his nose, and moves it slow and even across, wiping the dampened cheeks clean of sweat and tears that sparkle from the light that passes through Schlatt's unkempt hair.

From there, the half-duck decides to break the silence.

"Schlatt...I love you, because...I love you."

The half-ram blinks in confusion. "W-What...what does it mean?" he whispers.

"It means I love the bad in you. I love the good in you. I love all the things about you. You're flawed, but you're precious."

Quackity moves closer, tensing up by the urge to cry, but he tries his best to resist as he meets his forehead with the other.

"I love you for all that you are, Schlatt. I love you because you are enough."

One second right after and the half-ram bursts into tears and breaking out louder sobs, falling off the couch to embrace Quackity tightly, crying over his shoulder. The half-duck hugs him just as tight, tearing up to streams not giving a fuck about holding them back. Their arms wrap around each other like their lives depended on each other.

"I'm sorry, Quackity, I'm so, so fucking sorry!" he cries between his echoing sobs. "I am s-sorry for b-being s-stupid and shit...I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, j-just forgive m-me, i-if -anything, p-please I'm b-begging you..."

"Y-You don't have t-to, Schlatt, I-I forgive you..."

"I'm s-sorry, I'm j-just—I-I c-c-can't h-help it..." he says, faltering. "I-I'm just...s-sorry, it's—it's that..." Whatever words he ought to say fall short into a sigh, holding onto the half-ram's shoulder as if he's about to fall down.

Seeing themselves like this may be the most vulnerable they ever were. It crumbles him within and warms his heart at the same time to cry together—it feels like all the exhaustion and stress they're going through in the political world they ventured themselves into were poured out of their systems through rivers of sorrow shedding out of their eyes, soaking down the fabric of their clothes to blend with the sweat.

Their sobs render as muffling sounds through the window panes, a whisper in the sea of buzzing yet soft chirping of the crickets. With the passing of time, the night eventually falls silent—and so, the sound of pouring milk rings in Quackity's ears.

The half-duck puts down the pot on top of a rectangular cabinet where a small wooden tray with two glasses of milk were sitting. The smell of fresh clothes soothes his senses from what happened—he won't have to smell the stench of sweat and tears of their polo shirts that he had to throw them off the trash before they took a shower.

He lifts the tray and turns around, approaching the nightstand where the half-ram is nearby.

Schlatt sits on a chair, facing the window to the view of an almost starless night contrasted by a piece of Manberg full of beaming lights. The place shines bright as if it's a star up close—whether far or near, its beauty never fails to awe him.

His lips slowly curve up to a smile. Although, at the slightest it is faltering—this country is now under his own hands, and it means he can implement and take action of things that can help the citizens, to prosper its sectors and watch it flourish as those who ruled it wanted to do so.

He deems it the only way to better himself from being the man who was bruised and wasted on the sidewalk from all the alcohol and fights he got into.

It was his way to leave his self off the hell he once called home.

But, the hypocrisy and scrutiny being thrown at him for these months passed were making him confront his past self once again—so how can he do things for this nation's betterment?

"Here."

Schlatt is pulled out of his thoughts and notices the glass of milk held by the half-duck in front of him. "Oh, thanks," he rasps, taking the glass that hits a sliver of surprise in him by its warmth. The half-duck, on the other hand, sits on the side of their large mattress.

He brings it to his lips and let the liquid flow down, smooth and warming up his throat—a relieving sigh escapes his lips once he brings the glass down.

Quackity takes a few gulps before silence ensues, only lasting around a minute as Schlatt decides to break it.

"Sorry."

The half-duck looks up, lifting his brows in the slightest. "For what?"

"Things I said back there." he sighs. "I was, scared of...how y-you'd feel, or what you'd say, you know..." He shakes his head, "It's—it's hard to explain..."

Quackity stands up from the bed and grabs a chair and places it beside Schlatt. He sits down and looks at him, lips forming into a soft smile.

"It's alright, mi amor. It's okay. There's nothing wrong in getting things off of your chest."

The half-ram exhales, drinking some milk again before he turns to the window. His lips flatten, resisting an expression, gradually cracking into a smile, softly illuminated by this glowing piece of Manberg called the Sootshire—its capital city.

"So...what now?" the half-ram asks. "It's about to be a mess tomorrow. I'm so stressed out, I just wanted to shut all that shit out and shove it up their asses."

"We need a day's break tomorrow, then." Quackity says.

Schlatt turns to him with slightly wide eyes. "Seriously? In the middle of the week?"

"I know, might be a bad time for it, but hear me out," he says. "Our minds are fucking exhausted from all the work—we can't even think straight in the early morning, what more if we plan to resolve shit in the last minute before the address? This is our chance to seize at least half the day to unwind from all that, then we can start planning."

He takes a deep breath, bending forward to lay his elbows on his knees, intertwining his fingers, with two thumbs pressing against each other that press against the space between his lower lip and chin.

Schlatt stares at him, milk being gulped down his throat.

"Secretary Fundy will also be included in this leave since he's such a hard-working fox boy. He'll surely be delighted to take this."

"But what about some of his duties?"

"Don't worry, I'll handle them," he says, with a brief gulp of the milk. "For now, I'm just going to inform him tonight."

When their glasses have emptied, Quackity sends his allay to Fundy's house bringing along the leave signed by the half-ram. He walks back to the bedroom to see Schlatt now tucked comfortable under the large blanket.

He pads his feet across the dusty, wooden floor, sighing in relief that not a single creak is to be heard. The half-ram's eyes open the moment he sits on the mattress.

"You okay?" he whispers.

Schlatt nods. He smiles.

Quackity lifts the thick sheet and slowly lays his whole body down the bed—the back of his head meeting the pillow sparks heavy comfort while the warmth of the blanket serves it whole.

Minutes later, they both find themselves staring at the ceiling. Then to each other.

It's all what they need now. A little bit of peace. Things have been heavy this week, and they sure expect it to be heavier. In the midst of the chaos running rampant in and out of their minds, it's in times like this where they can't help but be really grateful that they have each other.

How would we be doing if we were just strangers at these times? Quackity wonders. Would rather not think about it—he shakes his head, and moves over to Schlatt to wrap an arm around the other's torso, lay his head beside his chest.

Schlatt embraces him as well, arm resting on the half-duck's back with lips pressing sweet and light on the head, both gradually dozing off to a satisfying sleep through the sky's unhurrying glow as it approaches a new morning.

[sakumasmut]

from 🌊

i'm gonna cry because i had a whole draft already written but closed out of it on accident,, god help me. anyway what i was going to talk about is how yuzuru is a service dom in more ways than one. he really likes to use different means of pampering or serving you to lead into sex.

sometimes it's not reeeally service or pampering, more like a thinly veiled excuse to pleasure you. he's not above giving you a massage that eventually devolves into just fingering you, or offering to clean your genitals... by giving you oral, of course. if he's feeling too shy to ask directly, he might serve you pineapple juice, hoping you'll catch on and call him over. and he's embarrassed to admit it, but he has a fetish for formal wear, so from time to time he'll buy you a nice dress or suit to "try on" with the end goal of taking it off and fucking you. he'd love to fuck you while you're wearing it, but his instincts as a butler won't let him risk staining a brand new garment with cum or lube.

that said, most of the time it is about the pampering. he has a hard time being vulnerable around others, so it means a lot to him that you'd willingly put yourself in a vulnerable position in front of him. it moves pretty slowly, but in a good way, it feels nice to have someone brush your hair or do/remove your makeup for you every once in a while. he especially likes to do this before bed, so he has more courage to ask if he can make love to you to help you decompress. little do you know he really just wants some gentle, loving, vanilla sex with the person he loves muahaha (you definitely already knew.)

also, yuzuru is the type to cry during sex. i will not accept any "debate" on this subject as i am 1000% correct and there is nothing to debate (joking.) seriously though, he's a very emotional person under that serene facade. for example in the milky way story ("fall of a great star" pt3 specifically) he was moved to tears when tori gave him a shoulder rub to grant his wish of having more skinship between them. if that's all it takes to get some tears, he definitely cries at least a little during sex. being so intimate and close with someone who he cares about deeply makes him emotional, and he can't help but want to hold you afterwards. please just let him. don't tease him when he buries his face in your shoulder or the crook of your neck, don't laugh when you feel teardrops hit your skin or hear some quiet sniffles or erratic breathing. just hug him and let him be vulnerable for once </3

that was more emotional than i expected it to be uh anyway

honestly I really agree with all of this. very good yuzuru ramble, he deffo seems like the type to mostly hint at stuff rather than request it outright. and him crying because he loves you so much…ough