#i hope i haven't posted this snippet before

[yujeong]

"You look awful."

Despite his blurry vision, Vegas didn't - couldn't - ignore the flash of anger that crossed Pete's ghostly-pale face. The black beneath his eyes deepened. His lips grew thin and tight below his hollow cheeks.

"Whose fault is that?"

The silence that followed sat heavy on Vegas' chest. The pain lingered there; it wasn't dangerous, not like that, though he wouldn't say anything either way.

Pete lowered his head. He slipped up - a mistake his old job wouldn't allow him to escape from unscathed. Pete knew it better than anyone working for the main family. Vegas had made sure of it.

"I'm sorry," he said after he collected himself and Vegas honestly wished he'd punched him instead.

Don't, he almost yelled, but gulped it down. I'm not strong enough to bear what comes after those words.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" Pete continued and Vegas wanted to laugh and laugh and never stop.

He said nothing.

[rosieblogstuff]

☔️ and ❄️ for the ask game if you please 🤓

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Wellllll I'm inclined to never say never even though I have about seventy billionty more WIPs than I'll never have time to actually finish.

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

Giovanni’s eyes narrow but then he shrugs. “You ever heard of D. B. Cooper?”

“The hijacker?” Mac nods. Who hasn’t heard about Cooper, the mystery man who hijacked a passenger jet heading for Seattle in 1971, ransomed the passengers for $200,000 cash, then strapped on a parachute and jumped off after the plane after it departed Seattle? “No one’s ever figured out who he was, although some money was discovered near the Columbia River in–”

Giovanni cuts Mac off. “Yeah. Millions of dollars dropped from the sky over the Washington wilderness waiting to be picked up.” He flicks the map. “Get us there.”

[for-a-longlongtime]

WIP Wednesday

Holy shit, I'm actually on time on a wednesday to post a snippet?? Amazing.

I've been meaning to respond to all the lovely folks who tagged me for these WIP wednesdays/whenever lately, and I sadly haven't gotten to it - but I've got some momentum going right now so I quickly want to drop a snippet and run right back to my WIP to continue!

This is from my upcoming DBF!Joel fic:

You gasp as the orgasm ripples through you, much faster than you expected, and you bury your face into your pillow so you won’t cry his name out loud. Before the waves have subsided, you flip yourself to your stomach as you keep the buzzing toy in place, grinding down harder on your fingers as you shudder from the overstimulation. Still you keep going, because it’s what Joel would do - it’s what he would want, to make you come again and again. Crying out his name, writhing against him, until you begged him for his cock, for him to fuck you into the mattress until your head was completely empty from any thoughts. Just when you are about to come again, you suddenly hear your mom calling your name from downstairs, and you have to restrain yourself from yelling angrily at the interruption. “Coming!,” you snap loudly, hoping that she won’t be able to hear the panting in your voice. “Be right there!” ‘Good fucking girl. Such a dirty little slut for me,’ imaginary-Joel whispers at you, pounding into you, and you bite your lip as you come hard again, soaking your fingers for a second time. Fuck. FUCK. You need him, so goddamn bad.

NPT (sorry if you've already been tagged/posted, haven't read much on Tumblr yet today):

@sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @magpiepills @mountainsandmayhem

@youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @arcanefox207 @demonsandbullets @covetyou

@perotovar @milla-frenchy @inept-the-magnificent @sp00kymulderr @ghostofaboy

@ohforficsake @oliveksmoked @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @reallyrallyauthor @yopossum

@elvenmother @djarinmuse @djarins-cyare @crowandmousewritingco @lady-bess

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @avastrasposts @din-cognito @musings-of-a-rose @nerdieforpedro

@chronically-ghosted @marisferasiop @luxurychristmaspudding @penvisions @wannab-urs

@romanarose @aurorawritestoescape @morallyinept @whataperfectwasteoftime @gasolinerainbowpuddles

[elihashadenough]

Pairing: max verstappen x male reader (could be read by masc presenting people)

Summary: sometimes things go right in the moment but will they always be right? can they survive through the hardships of love? can their love hold the test of a treacherous path of love?

a/n: part 5 is here, sorry if the upload was later then i usually post, i've been a little busy with some things but here it is now. I also apologize to leo...sorry leo and yeah i hope you enjoy it :)

-> do not repost, copy or translate my works nor post them anywhere else. Read at your own risk. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated.

[series masterlist]

{that race weekend}

{snippet}

You walked into the paddock with Max behind you, pulling of your helmet and balaclava. You heard max scoffed before saying “so you are just going to walk away” you closed your eyes taking a deep breath not wanting to have a argument, your head was already aching with everything that had been happening the past week “very mature of you y/n” 

You finally turn and face him, helmet in hand voice trying to keep its composure “you wanna talk about it fine, what the fucking hell was that, max?!” Max pulled back a little, his defence mechanism coming out “I-I didn’t see you coming up on me! I was focused on the cars ahead” you shook your head “you didn’t see me…you didn’t see me my ass! At every turn you kept blocking me!” you could feel your control on your voice slipping “It was a racing incident, you know I wouldn't do that intentionally! It's racing, things happen!”  max says as he walks closer to you gesturing at the track, your voice raised as you replied “yeah, yeah things happen when someone’s being reckless and aggressive on the track! Putting their life and others lives in danger max!” 

“oh and what about you, huh? You were trying to push just hard, cutting me off like that! You knew I was there!” you hated fighting with max but he had just been getting on your nerves this whole week “I had already passed you, Max! you crashed into me cause you can’t tolerate anyone passing you, can you?!” max looked at you dead square, his hands clenched into a fist “don’t you dare!”

“don’t I dare what? Tell you the truth max!” you were getting angrier by the second “don’t you dare put this all on me y/n! you always do this blame others for your mistakes!!” you were a little taken aback, in two years he never called you by your name even if you both were arguing, it was always your nickname, y/n/n. as you looked back at him he was gone as you stood there looking at the door of his waiting room slamming shut.

i haven't proof read this so if there were any mistakes, i'm sorry. But i hope you all enjoyed this. I hope you all have a wonderful day/night ❤️

tagging: @leosxrealm, @miloformula123fan, @woozarts

[leoneliterary]

Happy belated Father’s Day to Amatus! Hope he’s doing well in his (temporary) nursing home lol

Ahh I'm late, but here is a belated Father's Day snippet from Amatus's rest home!

"And you've come all the way to the city, but haven't had the chance to request leave to see your mother?!"

Merikh could hear Amatus's distraught voice through the wall and couldn't contain his irritation. For a man that was supposed to have been at death's door, he was full of vigor. And conversation. So much conversation.

Everytime Merikh entered the study, he could hear Amatus talking to any and everyone. The servants that brought him food, the soldiers that were supposed to be guarding him. Fires of creation, even Yemoja's aunt had started visiting him!

Merikh slammed down his ink brush, knocking his chair over as he stood up. Stalking over to the hidden entrance, he stormed in.

"What is going on in here? Why do I have to remind you not to associate with-Levon are you...crying?"

In the room he saw Amatus, calm as ever, patting one of his soldiers, Levon on the back. The young soldier sat up quickly, wiping his eyes and sniffling.

"Sorry Merikh, I was just-"

"Go back to your post," Merikh said, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

After Levon left he turned his attention back to Amatus, who looked at him with a lazy stare. Like he was a cat sunning instead of a prisoner and patient.

"What game are you playing, thief?" Merikh finally asked and Amatus chuckled.

"Do you know what goes on around this time of year? In this part of Hashind people celebrate Tulath's Harvest. Legend says that Tulath and his family were so honorable that a spirit granted them a boon and created a river so that they would be able to grow food, even in the desert. Now it's a holiday that celebrates family and farming,"

"I didn't come in here for culturally enrichment. I came in here to understand what you're up to," Merikh said, barely restraining himself from yelling.

He didn't understand this man, nor your connection with him, nor the odd hold he seemed to have on people.

"Your soldier is still just a boy who misses his family around this time of year. I know you do too. I can see it underneath the anger. Maybe not on days like today, but on some days, when you look up and see the stars are in the right place, I know you think about whatever people you have. Or had,"

If Merikh didn't need this man to keep you, he would have strangled him. Now he understood why Levon was crying.

"How dare you? If you think I'll fall for your mind games-" Merikh's rage was beginning to pick up momentum before Amatus's sorrowful tone stopped him short.

"I miss my kids. I hadn't missed anyone in years. I had let everyone and everything go, and then I met those kids. I taught them how to climb, how to have the softest footsteps and the quickest hands, but they taught me to care again. Just when I had given up. My ducklings,"

Merikh suddenly didn't feel angry. A shiver of something too close to guilt clung to him.

He raised an accusatory finger at Amatus but dropped it when he saw the man wasn't even looking at him.

"Stop...talking to my men," Merikh finally settled on and turned to leave, hoping to outrun the uncomfortable feelings in the room.

"It's alright to be sad, young lord. It doesn't have to be anger," Amatus calls out as he closes the door. "From one bastard to another, it isn't your fault that not all fathers deserve the sons they're blessed with,"

Merikh doesn't look back as he slams the door.

[wildlife4life]

Seven (+) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by super amazing @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @glorious-spoon @wikiangela @daffi-990 @tizniz @devirnis @watchyourbuck @hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @spotsandsocks and @diazsdimples. Thank you all so much!

Alright, so I know haven't been as active since dropping the first chapter of NFL Buck. I've just been sort of down because that same day, the Super Bowl Champs had their parade and rally, and just after it ended there was a mass shooting. My younger sister was there with some friends and they got away unharmed, but when she didn't answer my message for a long 30 minutes, I truly thought the worst. I've just been so sad and angry for Kansas City, for the US really and I just couldn't get into the spirit of writing. I'm not getting into the politics of it all today and my sister is coming for a visit soon, so I'm feeling marginally better. KC Strong.

First chapter of NFL Buck has been dropped, but everything else I've posted for this fic can be found here. Here is a snippet from the Eddie Begin's arc of NFL Buck.

Hurricane Harvey was relentless for almost four days, bullying southern Texas with unforgiving wind and an exurbanite amount of rain. Houston fire department and so many others worked day and night to help those who had not evacuated.  It was absolute chaos, and it blew through Eddie’s entire life. The storms had wreaked havoc on the cell towers, which meant service was spotty to none and radios became the main source of communication for rescuers. By some miracle, though, the internet connection at the firehouse held strong. It was slow and glitched out here and there, reminding Eddie too much of his time in Afghanistan. He watched his infant son grow up through a screen, with his very upset wife barely holding on and his parents hovering nearby, souring the video calls even further. Christopher was no longer a whimpering baby in his mother’s lap but looking at his saddened son on a glitching iPad screen with a tense Maddie sitting beside him, was too familiar.  Add in the argument he had with Buck just before, and the threat of danger just outside the firehouse, Eddie was back to being a scared 19-year-old in war riddled country. “Dad, grandma said we’re not going to visit Buck anymore. That he’s too busy. And Maddie tried to call him, but he didn’t answer and…” The eight-year old’s voice trails off, his lips trembling. Eddie bites his inner cheek hard. This was on him. He gave into his mother’s worries and demands about traveling through Texas during the hurricane.  Helena was too stubborn and being his mother, she knew every damn button to push, and Eddie was tired of fighting.  So, he reluctantly agreed to cancel the visit and his mother grinned a little too sharply before stating, “I’m sure Maddie will enjoy having her brother to herself.” Another ploy to take Christopher and Eddie fucking fell for it. Then his mother took it a step further by graciously telling Buck and Maddie herself, that Christopher would no longer be joining them in Dallas and to enjoy their time together for as long as they need it. Eddie knew his mother didn’t approve of his relationship with Buck, more so than his previous one with Shannon. The only reason she kept her mouth shut was the potential back lash of upsetting Christopher. But she already succeeded in having a hand in driving away Shannon and she probably believed she could do the same with Evan.

With this fic, there are a lot of canon events with twists. The usual timeline does not exists. But I hope you all enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure): @bekkachaos @theotherbuckley @lover-of-mine @buddierights @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @aroeddiediaz @giddyupbuck @rainbow-nerdss @thewolvesof1998 @eddiescowboy @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @athenagranted @evanbegins @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @911onabc @911-on-abc @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @buck-coded @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites @gayedmundodiaz @transboybuckley @nmcggg

[sophie1973]

Seven Sentence Sunday

I was tagged by @suseagull04 today. Thank you !

Here is a snippet of my WIP 'Wait for me (To come home) which I will start posting on September 27.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Claremont-Diaz,”  “Mrs. Carter,” he greets her. Henry notices with a faint contentment that he doesn’t tell her to call him Alex. “I don’t believe we had an appointment, right? Is Jack alright?” The woman's eyes dart between Alex and Henry, poorly concealing her curiosity. "Oh yes, he’s perfectly fine," she says with a fond look at her pomeranian. “I saw you and just wanted to say hi.” She lingers a moment longer than necessary, her gaze inquisitive.

After a brief exchange about Jack’s well-being, Mrs. Carter moves on, but not before throwing one last speculative glance over her shoulder. As soon as she's out of earshot, Alex lets out a small chuckle. “That was Janet Carter,” Alex explains, a hint of amusement in his voice. "She's the town's unofficial gossip center. By tomorrow, everyone will know that Dr. Claremont-Diaz was having lunch in the square with a handsome stranger." Henry feels a blush creeping up his neck. "Oh, I... I'm sorry. I hope I haven't caused any trouble for you." Alex waves off his concern. "Don't sweat it. Small-town life, you know? People love a bit of excitement." A moment of silence settles between them, and Henry finds himself grappling with a question that's been nagging at him. Aiming for nonchalance, he ventures, "I wouldn't want to cause any trouble with a... significant other." Smooth, Fox. Real smooth. Alex's eyes lock onto Henry's, a flicker of something indefinable dancing in their depths. "Henry, I clock 65 hours a week at the clinic. I've yet to meet anyone willing to put up with that schedule," he says, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "So, no. No girlfriend or boyfriend." He punctuates this with a meaningful look that sets Henry's pulse racing. Message received, loud and clear.

Tagging with no pressure : @onthewaytosomewhere @stellarmeadow @tailsbeth-writes @firenati0n

@thighzp @14carrotghoul @taste-thewaste @bitbybitwrites

@blueeyedgrlwrites @kj-bee @wordsofhoneydew @whoevenknows-things

@porcelainmortal @caterpills @thesleepyskipper @milowren29

@priincebutt @iboatedhere @magicmelinoe @theprinceandagcd

[bibuckkinard]

Another prompt for @desert--moonchild. I decided to use the little snippet I posted a couple of weeks ago about Buck and Tommy being girl dads because I couldn't make it fit into the other ideas I have going right now. I guess you could say I repurposed it lol. I kind of twisted the prompt a little, but I really hope you like it, Moon.

49: Caring for them when they are ill

The picture comes in at 11:45 PM and Tommy thanks God that they're not on a call right now. He leans back on the couch at the station and opens the text. When he sees it, he is really glad Lucy isn't around to give him a hard time because he melts at the sight of his husband and their one-year-old daughter.

Evan has squished his face in next to Alex's, cheek to cheek. Evan's smile is bright and only Tommy would be able to see the tiredness in his husband's eyes. They're both exhausted these days, but loving every second of it. Alex has a finger in her mouth, a gummy smile on her little face, her few teeth visible and Tommy wishes he were home with them, his little family. He and Evan have worked out a complicated, convoluted schedule for being home with her in between their shifts. With the help of their friends and family, it's worked out so far, but it's times like these that he misses them so much that his heart hurts, especially now, when Alex has been fighting a cold for the last couple of days.

Uh oh. He types. Cold keeping her up?

It only takes a second for Evan to text back Sure is. We're both so tired but apparently, sleep is for the weak, Dad.

Dad. He's a dad. He has a husband and he's a dad. He still can't believe it sometimes. But right now he mostly feels guilty, because Evan's home alone with their sick baby and Tommy is stuck at work for at least a couple more hours. Looking around to make sure no one is nearby again, he clicks the 'video' button and waits for Evan to accept the call.

When he does, Tommy's breath actually catches. Even exhausted and sick, his husband and daughter are the most beautiful beings he's ever seen.

"Hi, baby," Evan says with a soft smile. "Miss us?"

"Always," Tommy answers sincerely. "Are you guys okay? Maybe I can beg off for these last couple of hours."

"We're okay," Evan assures him. "I promise. Eddie actually just left. I haven't been by myself these last 10 hours. You know our friends would never dare to do such a thing."

Tommy laughs. "If you're sure."

"I am." Evan lifts Alex's little hand and waves it. "Hi, Dad! We love you!"

Tommy shakes his head and wills his eyes not to tear up. "I love you guys too. Get some rest okay? Do you need anything? I can stop at the 24-hour place by the house?"

"Just you," Evan says, smile sweet and sincere. "Be safe."

"I will."

***

Tommy manages to get home on time, luckily. When he walks in the door, the glow of the TV illuminates the dark house. He toes off his shoes and hangs his bag up before making his way to the living room to see Evan sitting on the couch, legs propped on the coffee table, Alex asleep on his chest.

"Hey, handsome," Evan whispers. "Welcome home."

Tommy leans down to press a kiss to Evan's mouth before kissing the top of Alex's head. She doesn't feel warm anymore, thank goodness.

"Fever finally broke about an hour ago," Evan confirms. "She is still a little congested, but it's a lot better than it was this morning."

"Good," Tommy says, sitting next to them. "Have you slept?"

"No," he admits. "Eddie watched her for me and demanded I nap, but...I just couldn't. I didn't want to leave her."

"I know, sweetheart," Tommy says. He reaches for the baby and Evan gives her up with a soft kiss to her forehead. Alex barely stirs, as though she recognizes her other dad has her, so she's safe, as she rests her face in the crook of Tommy's neck.

"Go take a shower," he insists. "Get ready for bed. You need sleep."

"You just want some cuddles for yourself," Evan says fondly.

"Of course I do." He does, desperately. First: baby, then: husband.

Evan laughs. "Yes, boss." But he doesn't get off the couch right away. Instead, he whispers, "Tommy?"

"Yeah?"

He runs a finger down Alex's back. "I love our life."

Tommy smiles at him. "Me too, Evan. Me too."

[hushed-chorus]

Hi folks! And thank you @artsyunderstudy and @thewholelemon for the tags!

My second WIP day in a row. WTF is going on? Well, I might not be around much the next couple of weeks, so I'm throwing an offering into the ring before then.

Next week is @carryon-disability-week, and right now the first chapter of my contribution, Hope Springs Eternal, is with my beta! It's kind of a Fallout AU, but I take a lot of creative liberties (such as magic existing). No pre-existing knowledge will be needed.

Still haven't decided what day to post, but keep an eye out for it!

Here's a snippet from the first chapter.

I lean against the outer wall and ease myself to the ground, peeling paint following me down. The bare, dusty soil makes soft bedding for the seed. I make a small dent with the tip of my finger, then drip water from my flask. The water pools like the very earth can’t abide the sweetness of it. I set my violin on my lap, running fingertips across the varnished body. A pre-War instrument, host to the tiny knicks and scratches gathered over generations, it’s no longer capable of the feats it once was. While it is fully stringed (and I carry spares), they are poor quality, spun by ill-kept machines and self-taught hands. They carry a tune well enough, but lack the finesse required for nuanced spellworking.  This is a little frivolous, but I’m about to bed down for the evening and have had little need for magic today. The spell is ambitious, but I’m well-practised, and I’m eager to try with a newly-revived bow.  First, a silencing spell. I can do this with my bow and spoken words alone. Then I tuck my violin under my chin and raise the bow.  A gunshot stills my breath.

Tags below the cut!

@artsyunderstudy @facewithoutheart @captain-aralias @raenestee @cutestkilla

@ivelovedhimthroughworse @larkral @stitchyqueer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

@ileadacharmedlife @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter @whogaveyoupermission @nightimedreamersworld

@fatalfangirl @thewholelemon @onepintobean @shrekgogurt @theearlgreymage

@martsonmars @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony @valeffelees @j-nipper-95

@rimeswithpurple @wellbelesbian @imagineacoolusername @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature

@supercutedinosaurs @alexalexinii @bookish-bogwitch @cosmicalart @bazzybelle

@theotherhufflepuff @that-disabled-princess @prettygoododds @mooncello @noblecorgi

@roomwithanopenfire @emeryhall @monbons @brendughh @run-for-chamo-miles

[thatrandomidiot182]

As promised, here is a little snippet of In the Eyes of the Gods, a chapter about Reader and Aemond finally getting married.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

As you look to one another from your places next to the priest, you come to the thrilling realization that Aemond stands before you like a devotee stands before their god.

His gaze is steady, mouth crooked into a smile only your eyes could see and face softened in the happiest you've seen him since your youth. as his left hand securely held your own while the priest wrapped the intricately woven cord around your entangled wrists.

As the red leaves are carried around your head by the cool nights breeze, you spare a side glance to Helaena, who holds her place at the priests side with a gleeful smile. The faint glow of the torches surrounding you only added to the ambiance of the moment, and you smile softly at her in return.

Your attention snaps back to Aemond as the priest hands over the ceremonial knife. The sudden pain of the blade on your mouth is instantly dulled by the look in Aemonds eye.

His pupil had dilated almost completely, leaving only a tiny sliver of the original color to peak out from behind the darkness.

As his thumb caresses your lip, spreading the wine-like blood across your chin, you couldn't help the shivers that racked through your body.

He always knew how to keep your attention.

He always knew just how to keep you wanting more.

As the priest proceeds with the ceremony, Aemond leans in to whisper one final thought before sealing your union.

His lips sensually caressed your ear, breathe warming your face as he spoke,

"No turning back now. You are finally mine in the eyes of all of the gods, just as I have been yours all these years."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Idk if Aemond is ooc or not, I haven't read the books, but show Aemond is intense, obsessive, and loyal, so I feel like he'd love the same way. Next part of Velaryon! Reader is almost done, I'm literally just figuring out how to wrap it up, but it'll be posted by the weekend! Hope yall liked this in the meantime. Atp, I'm literally forcing myself to finish the main series before anything else bc I'm so hyped to start writing the side chaps lol.

[yujeong]

Fic snippet #2: BostonNick

All the previous times, Nick had been preoccupied with crying his eyes out to even entertain such a thought. This time, though. This time it was different. This time something clicked in his head as he was listening to the tape. He was calm and relaxed, just out of the shower, and when the noises started getting a little more intense, there was movement in his pants. Oh well. It wouldn't be the first time he jerked off to something that he shouldn't.

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #38: Ozai carries Azula to the physicians' wing

This has been done for A WHILE now, but I didn't post it because the past days have been chaotic and not just on a personal level. For one thing, I really wasn't eager to drop this when people were losing their shit massively over the liveaction and its recontextualization of Azula and Ozai's dynamics, I didn't look forward to releasing this just to be told that whatever I've done in my story is somehow wrong, sooooooooo... that held me back, for a few days.

Then? The AI-Tumblr deal started to be talked about and I may or may not have freaked out about that too. Sooo... this is the first glazed and nightshaded piece of my creation, as consequence. The original, clean and proper version is available in my Patreon. Is this me being a dick to Tumblr-only people? Unfortunately, it very much isn't, I'm not trying to say that if you want the best iterations of my art, you should pay me for it... this is squarely, entirely, at staff/the CEO's feet. Obviously, there's the insecure side of me that goes "what makes you think they'd steal YOUR art when there are so many better artists out there!" but ultimately? AI is about taking everything en masse. It isn't a matter of developing a criteria about who makes the better art... it's just taking EVERYTHING and trying to repurpose it in whatever twisted way it needs to. Therefore? I think my choice is more of a matter of caution than anything else. Once AI bullshit dies out (and I really hope it does), we may just return to the same level of quality across all my accounts. For now, it is what it is.

ANYWAY! Point is this artwork is very much what my Patrons happened to vote for this month, a very shocking scene where Ozai reacted in the least foreseen way to Azula being attacked. Azula's confusion/terror comes from a place of not knowing what to do and being powerless to stop her father even if she doesn't feel comfortable with his help... but for once, Ozai isn't making a dreadful choice that will only devastate his daughter. He's actually worried about her health... and feeling genuine guilt over what landed her in the situation where she was in danger in the first place. Yes. I like me my complex Ozai who finally learned actions have consequences. He bores me to death otherwise :') if anyone STILL doesn't know that this whole situation is Gladiator-specific, then I shall clarify fully: this is artwork based on my fic. It's about a story that has been developing these characters for ALMOST ELEVEN YEARS now. It has nothing to do with whatever's going on in canon or in the liveaction, the scene in question was written almost two years ago and the artwork proposed and voted for several days before the liveaction aired. Ergo: there is no connection between this and that. Nor am I saying through this piece that Ozai is a good father. He is not. He can still be an interesting character to work with on a narrative level anyway :')

Alright. With that out of the way, hope you guys like this piece! The big one I haven't posted is ALSO finished, also glazed and nightshaded, but I think I might just end up posting it on the 26th if I don't have time to do anything big for our eleventh anniversary... yep, I'm so busy I don't even have a huge project in mind this time. Also? I have a lot to write and I'm finally happily writing it, and I would like to continue doing that...

Anyway! If you would like to be part of the creative process behind this piece, as well as see it in its proper, OG, less color-bleeding clunky version? A $1 Patreon pledge gives you the chance to join in suggesting prompts, voting for them and reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before a new chapter is released!

[qveerthe0ry]

Lions Ain't the Kind - Part One

Summary: Frankie hasn't dated in years, but now he knows what he's looking for. He's just not so good at asking for what he wants, and you're willing to help him work on it. Word Count: 8,156 Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom! reader, talks about gender non-conformity, sickening fluff, Frankie is way too cute and sweet for his own good, kissing, making out, handjob (m receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), dirty talk, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader Beta: @perotovar (my angel ilysm) A/N: Sorry for talking about this for a month straight without posting it lol! The title is from the song (Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear by Elvis Presley which I admittedly haven't listened to but I saw the lyrics and knew immediately it was my Frankie. I hope you enjoy, and I'm always open to criticism and thoughts and thots!

Frankie hasn’t dated in years. He hasn’t really had the time, between his first child being born and navigating co-parenting with his ex, along with healing some very deep trauma and getting and staying clean. 

It just hasn’t been on his mind, if he’s honest. He’s been busy finding himself, as Pope calls it. And he’s not wrong. It’s taken a long while for him to be comfortable in his own skin, to come to terms with the things he’s done and the baggage he can now store in an overhead bin, rather than carry it around with him at all times. 

But now, he’s ready. He knows himself, and as a result, he knows what he’s looking for.

Someone kind-hearted and down to earth. Someone who’s independent and established, but not just looking for a hookup. Someone with a sweet smile and a desire for enjoying the little things in life. 

Someone like you. 

He’d swiped right and left dozens of times on men and women alike, but as soon as he saw your profile on whatever dating app he’d downloaded, he was hooked.

You were gorgeous. He felt the heat from your smile through his phone screen, so happy and genuine and sweet.

You were funny, the answers to those weird icebreaker questions full of witty remarks.

You were smart, clearly, from your shoutout to your alma matter and the ‘boring’ job you mentioned in your profile.

He honestly figured he had no chance at all. His face is only getting more wrinkly, and his hair more gray, and he’s never been the sharpest or funniest guy in the room. 

So when he swiped left and you matched, he was stunned. He was even more shocked when you messaged him before he could even think of what to say to you. 

Hi cutie 🥰 

Despite the fact that he was home alone on his couch, he had the sudden urge to look behind him, as if you’d be talking to someone else. The back of his neck got so warm, and your boldness only made him more into you. 

So he messaged you back

Hi :) how are you?

I’m surprised we matched, honestly. Pleasantly surprised 😊

Same here :) Why the surprise though? I’m sure you match with everyone

Not at all, it’s hard to find people whose type I am on here. I usually use the queer dating apps but I opened this one out of boredom. What are the chances?

What are the chances, indeed, Frankie thinks, as he gives your profile another look over. Frankie doesn’t understand how you aren’t everyone’s type. He feels a little bit like he’s talking to a celebrity, looking at your pictures and just a snippet of who you are on this reductive dating app. 

I like the odds :)

——

As your conversation continues normally over the next few days, Frankie learns a lot about you. He also learns a lot about himself. 

It’s been so long since he’s played the field, so to speak, that he’s rusty as all hell and a bit awkward. He’s afraid to flirt too much, every message deleted and re-written at the risk of sounding too cheesy or too forward or too much. 

You aren’t afraid to flirt. You send ‘good morning, handsome’ and ‘sweet dreams, pretty boy’ texts every day and night. You tell him your day would be better if you could cuddle someone, you tell him when you’re taking a relaxing bath that you wished he were there to join you. 

And to say that Frankie likes it is a massive fucking understatement. 

He adores it, he thinks about you constantly, all day long while he works without access to his phone, all evening long while he waits on your replies, all night long, when you’ve bid each other goodnight out of nothing but courtesy for each other’s sleep schedules.

You lead him along like a timid puppy on a leash, showing him new things with patience and care and it drives him insane. He wants to meet up with you so bad, or even just call you on the phone to hear your voice. He thinks about it, late at night, if it’s higher or lower in register, if it’s smooth or raspy. He wants to learn everything about you. 

That being said, he’s not sure if he’s ever met someone who’s ‘non-binary/gender-fluid’ before. He doesn’t get out much, he hardly talks to anyone who he hasn’t known for years. 

So he googles. It doesn’t really help. He understands what it means, but he doesn’t know what it means to you. He wants to ask you a million questions, but is afraid to bring up even one, and ruin the moment, or sound like an idiot. 

You’re so kind though. So he bites the bullet. 

Can I ask you a question?

Your response comes almost immediately, now that it’s evening time, both finished with dinner— his takeout vs. your leftover spaghetti. 

Of course, pretty boy ❤️

He still flushes deep when you call him that, heat spreading all throughout his face and neck and chest. 

How did you know you were non-binary/ gender-fluid? 

He frets over the text a bunch before he sends it, making sure he worded it the same way you did in your profile. His heart pounds as he waits for your response. 

I’ve always just kind of known I didn’t feel like a man or a woman. I used to think everyone felt somewhere in between, and it was just normal to not feel like I checked either box, but then I realized no one else around me felt the way I did. And then I learned all the terms and whatnot, later on, and knew that’s what I am. Just kinda in between, neither and both, sometimes one and sometimes the other. If that makes sense?

His smile splits his cheeks as he reads your in-depth response, eating up every bit of information you’re willing to give him. 

That makes perfect sense to me. Thank you for sharing :) 

It doesn’t scare you off?

Frankie scoffs, as if anything about you could scare him off. At this point, you could show up on his doorstep with a dead body in a bag, and he’d throw it in his trunk, dispose of it, and then ask if he could maybe kiss you.

Not at all. Nothing about you scares me :)

——

It’s a few more days before Frankie works up the courage to ask for your phone number. You tell him you were wondering when he was going to finally ask for it. It makes him itchy to think about you waiting for him to ask, making him be the one to do it. In a good way. In a way that kind of makes him stiffen up in his briefs if he thinks about it for too long.

But now, as he settles in from a long day at work, his grin splits his face from ear to ear as he reads your text.

Can I take you out tomorrow night?

He likes it… a lot. He feels so fucking new to all this, like a fumbling newborn calf taking its first steps, and how forward you are eases him so thoroughly.

I’d love that :)

Meet me here at 5 for dinner. Casual dress, but I’m sure you’ll be handsome in anything 😘

It’s the longest 22 hours of his life, and it’s the shortest, all at the same time. Texting you, making funny jokes like his bones aren’t about to creep right out from under his skin with all the nerves buzzing his body. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, one right after the other. When he wakes in the morning it’s like he didn’t get a wink of sleep, his anxiety drumming up a million different scenarios of how it could go right and wrong. 

Calling Santi mid-morning on a Saturday when he knows he’s spending time with his family, because if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he may just float off into the ether. 

“I’m so fucking nervous, Pope, what do I do? How do I act? Can you just stake out at the bar and feed me lines through an earpiece?”

“Pendejo, fucking— grow a pair man. You’re cute and funny, you’ve got this.”

Reading your texts with pupils shaped like hearts:

I can’t wait to see you tonight, cutie ❤️

and 

I finally settled on an outfit

and

Is it weird that I’m not even nervous? I’m just excited to finally meet you

It is weird, Frankie thinks, but doesn’t dare tell you. It’s weird how he can’t even eat the plain toast he made for lunch without feeling bile rise in the back of his throat, and you’re just excited. It’s weird how he’s never, ever felt so gone over someone, and you haven’t even met yet. 

It’s not weird, it’s sweet :) I’m excited too <3

It’s not a lie, but he’s omitting the truth a bit. He’s excited but he’s nervous, picking meticulously through his closet to find something casual but not too casual, something he likes the look of himself in, something he thinks you’ll like the look of. 

It only gets worse as he stares at google maps. The restaurant is 2.6 miles away, 11 minutes from his house. It’s 4:30, and he wants to leave already, but thinks maybe it’s better to deal with the anxiety in the comfort of his home rather than the parking lot, in case you’re there early too, and you can see how much of a fucking wreck he is. 

He watches the minutes tick up in the corner of his phone screen. At 4:36, he gets up, fusses in the mirror one last time, and leaves. 

When he parks in the lot in front of the bar & grill, you’ve already texted him. 

I’m here a little early, got all green lights. Saved us a table near the back. See you soon!

It’s 4:52. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose, closes his eyes as he lets it out gently, counting just like his therapist taught him. And again. And one more time, and finally that anxious tingling in his fingertips is muted a bit and his heart rate is only slightly above normal. 

4:54.

He pulls the key from the ignition, gets out of the car, and makes his way to the door. 

He finds you instantly. 

You’re looking at him, and you’re smiling, and getting up from your chair as he approaches you. He barely even hears you greet him with all his blood rushing in his ears. 

“Hi, Frankie,” you say, and your arms stretch out to invite him in for a hug. 

He melts into your arms, his strained “hi” muffled in the crook of your neck. You squeeze him tight to you, and he hears you chuckle next to his ear. 

“Knew you’d be even cuter in person.”

He huffs out a laugh as you release him, and the tips of his ears burn. But you’re smiling so sweetly at him that it eases his nervous bones. 

“You look— can I call you handsome?” 

Fuck, he thinks, so fucking awkward. 

But your grin gets even wider. 

“Only if you mean it.” 

“I do,” he sighs, “like straight out of the cologne ads I’d rip out of my older sister’s magazines.”

He holds his breath as you react, the flutter of your eyelashes and the quivering of your lips and your laugh, bubbly and bright and soothing. 

And he isn’t lying, not even a little. You’re rugged but soft, romantic and alluring, and he can’t take his eyes off you.

Even as you take your seats across from each other, and the waiter comes to take your drink orders, and as your gorgeous eyes flit across the pages of the menu. He can’t stop looking, watching your mouth curve into a smile as you talk about your week and ask him about his. 

It’s pathetic, really, when the waiter asks if you’re ready to order, and you ask if he knows what he wants, because he hasn’t taken a single glance at the menu himself. He just hopes to god the dim lighting of the bar hides his flushed face and tells you to order first while he skims the menu. 

He ends up ordering exactly what you got, and floundering when your hand finds his on the tabletop. He watches your fingers trace his own from his nails to his knuckles, and flips his palm up for you to rest your hand in his. 

“I’m glad you came out with me tonight,” you tell him. 

His eyes flicker up from your joined hands to your smiling face, and his nerves completely melt away from the heat of your gaze. 

“Thank you for asking me,” he says.

“Would you have asked me, if I hadn’t asked you?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, and there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. 

“Eventually,” he nods, “I mean… probably.” 

Your eyebrows turn up in question, and he realizes how that sounds, jumping to backtrack. 

“Not like that! I just mean— You know… You’re uh… well, I feel like you’re way out of my league. And so maybe I’m a little… intimidated.”

You smile, then, and sigh, and squeeze his hand as you call him a sweet boy. It makes the room feel like it’s a hundred degrees warmer, like Frankie’s clothes are suddenly two sizes too small. 

“You aren’t so good at asking for what you want, are you?” 

He laughs then, and shakes his head. 

“Not really, no.”

“We’ll have to work on that, then.”

He clears his throat, and tugs at his collar with his free hand, breaking his gaze away from your face as you chuckle. He looks to find a waiter, or maybe an HVAC guy that could crank the AC to sub-zero temps for the remainder of the date. 

No luck. 

The rest of the date goes well. Surprisingly well. Frankie was worried that he’d be so out of practice that he’d freeze up, or say something stupid, or do something stupid, like knock over a drink or get food stuck in his teeth. 

But you’re just so easy to talk to, to click with. Of course, you’re the one who facilitates the conversation, asking him about his favorites— movies, TV shows, music, time of year. 

But he likes to think that he keeps the ball rolling well enough, is aware enough to remember to ask for some of your favorites— holiday, food, cocktails. 

By the time the check comes, he hardly realizes you’ve both had empty plates in front of you for a while, talking and laughing through your meals like you’re just catching up with an old friend. 

He protests when you grab the check, because of course he does. You’ve given him this incredible night, your comfortable company, your sweet smiles, and he feels like his offerings pale in comparison. 

“I asked you out, Francisco,” you tease him, having just learned his full name a mere 20 minutes ago. 

And he can’t really protest anymore, what with the shiver that’s tingling his spine and the goosebumps he tries to hide by gripping the chair underneath him. So he lets you pay, and thanks the waiter, and feels a rush of sadness when they come back with the check to sign. He really doesn’t want this evening to end. 

The apprehension falls second to the sensation of your hand on the small of his back, leading him out to the parking lot. 

“Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there,” you say, your thumb pressing a soothing circle into the base of his spine. 

So he walks to his truck, a little self-conscious about the out-of-dateness of it, and how he didn’t think to run it through a car wash before this. But mostly he’s just nervous about ending this date on a good note. 

“This is me,” he says, barely above a whisper, stopping at his driver’s side door. 

You smile at him when he turns to you. 

“Thanks again for coming out with me. I really did have a great time.”

This makes him smile through the unease, even as your hand drops from the small of his back. 

“I did too. Would you uh… wanna hang out again soon?”

Your face lights up, and Frankie wants to capture it in a bottle and take it home with him. Keep it at his bedside to use as a nightlight.

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

He chuckles and looks down to his feet like maybe it’ll redirect the flush in his face. You grab his hand, hanging by his side, and luckily you don’t make him speak again because he doesn’t know if he’s even able. 

“I’d love to. Really.” 

He smiles when he looks back up at you, only briefly, because you drop his hand and take a half step back. 

“Call me about it.”

“Wait!”

Your brow arches at him, because you weren’t really going anywhere, but Frankie’s mind is running a thousand miles a second. He thinks back to all the times you’ve goaded him into asking for what he wants, so far, and how it hasn’t bit him in the rear yet. 

“Can we— I… Can I kiss you goodnight?”

Your smile softens, and you take that little half-step back closer to him, and he feels all the tension leak from his shoulders. 

“Yes, you can. Thank you for asking.”

He huffs, and smiles at you, and you’re reaching out to cup his jaw and grab his hip, and Frankie closes his eyes far too early, but it’s okay, because he feels your body heat and then your lips. 

He can’t hold back the hum that rumbles from deep in his chest, or the way that he goes a little boneless in your grasp. He finds your forearm and squeezes it, and your bicep too, anything to ground himself as your lips part and your tongue teases the seam of his lips. 

But then you’re pulling back, and it’s over far too quickly, and Frankie is also acutely aware of how tight his jeans feel. His face feels like it could melt right off of his skull. 

“Call me soon, Pretty Boy.”

He nods, speechless, and watches you disappear between the cars of the parking lot. On his way home, he’s already fretting over whether or not he should text you tonight, and what kind of date he should plan, and if his breath was okay when you let him kiss you. 

——

Frankie is perfect. 

You’re still not sure how you found this diamond in the rough that is Tinder. You thank every god you know the name of that you got bored and opened the app on auto-pilot that night. 

First of all, he’s so cute. He’s handsome in such a boyish way, with his dimples and unruly curls and patchy beard. 

But he’s also so kind, the way he talks to you like it’s a privilege, the way he asks careful and curious questions about you like he truly wants to know the parts of you that are deeper than what’s on the surface. 

Every simple text from him makes you smile, the way he always tries to make you laugh or cheer you up when you’re overwhelmed with the demands of life, as you often are.

And meeting him in person solidified everything you thought about him.

He seems like the textbook definition of a golden retriever boyfriend, if you ever get to call him that much. You hope you do.

In fact, it seems like it’s moving quite quickly in that direction when Frankie asks if you’d be down for a movie night. Some blockbuster he missed in theaters is finally streaming, and he thinks you’ll like it. 

You don’t tell him that you didn’t miss it in theaters, or that you thought it was just okay. 

You do tell him you’d be down to watch it, only if he came to your place, where the walls are thin and your surrounding neighbors all know you and watch out for you. Just in case he’s really good at acting  like a sweet, safe guy. 

You find yourself giddy as the weekend approaches, daydreaming at work about how the night will turn out. You tell him to come in comfy clothes, because you’ll be damned if you wear jeans in your own home, even for this sweet man. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit, that’s my favorite kind of outfit :) is his cute response. 

You get everything ready the day of; your coziest blankets hang off the arms of your sofa, your fridge is stocked with fresh fruits and your pantry with candy and microwave popcorn and chips (I’ll eat whatever you get :) his answer to your questioning of his favorite movie snacks, of course.)

And then you sit around and wait, excited nerves coaxing your body to straighten things up that have been straightened up a million times already. When Frankie texts you his ETA, you park yourself on the couch by the door and stare at it until there’s a knock on it. 

You may count to ten before you get up to open it, just to hide how eager you’ve been to see him again. 

Your throat does get a little dry when you answer it to find him in a dark blue t-shirt that hugs his arms and light gray joggers that hug… Other things. 

“Hi handsome,” you smile, pushing down all the nerves and the less-than-PG thoughts. 

“Hi. I um… I brought these. I noticed you ordered them on our uh– well, at the restaurant, and I didn’t want to show up empty handed.” 

You watch a flush break out on his face, and his neck, and wonder how far under his collar it actually spreads. 

He’s holding up a six pack of your favorite beers, and he’s smiling so shyly, and you have to crowd in closer to him to press a kiss to his heated cheek. 

“That’s so thoughtful, thank you.” 

He giggles— giggles, Jesus Christ— and you take them from his hand to let him come through the door. 

You set the beers in your fridge to let them chill as he kicks off his shoes. You watch him from the kitchen as he takes in your place with his pretty brown eyes. 

“It’s really cozy in here,” he tells you as he fiddles with his own hands. 

“Snuggle up, get comfy, I’ll bring us some snacks.”

He nods, so obedient, and hovers by the couch before settling on the seat in the middle. 

Sly move, you think, and you can’t hide your stupid grin as you gather some snacks. 

When you turn off all but one lamp and deposit the junk food on the coffee table, you notice he’s inched himself closer to the arm of the couch, like he was second-guessing himself. That just won’t do, you think, as you settle in right next to him, so close that the length of your body is pressed against his. 

He doesn’t look at you, just stares at the Roku City scrolling across your flat screen. For a second you think he might be uncomfortable, but the way his breathing is uneven clues you in on his nerves. 

You reach over him to grab the blanket in the arm of the couch, and you feel his muscles tense up when you press against him. 

“Frankie?” 

“Huh? Sorry, yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head and sighs, heavy and long, before looking at you.

“I’m so nervous.”

He smiles in spite of it, lopsided, dimples so cute that your lips quiver with the urge to kiss them. 

You smile back, and drape the blanket over both of you, patting his leg through it. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, Francisco.”

It gets a laugh out of him, a huff through his nose, and his shoulders lower the tiniest bit. You slowly reach up to cradle his jaw in your palm, careful not to spook this little baby deer of a man, but his face leans into your touch. 

“If it helps, I think it’s really sweet that you’re nervous.” 

“Thank you… I think?”

You laugh at him, and watch as your reaction makes his eyes brighten. You want to kiss him. You want to smooch the absolute daylights out of him, but there’s still 3 hours of a pretentious movie to watch, and there will be plenty of time, if he’s amenable. 

So you just pinch his cheek before you let go, and try not to look so smug at the heat that consumes his face as you get the movie up and running. 

Fifteen or so minutes into the film, Frankie has relaxed into the couch, though he’s stock-still beside you with his arms glued to his own sides. You just want to cuddle, at least. You’ve been thinking about it for weeks— getting his warm, solid but soft body against your own. 

You’re certain he won’t be the one to initiate it, but that’s all fine and dandy. You rearrange yourself a bit, and sling an arm over his shoulders. He looks away from the movie towards you, and you give him a smile that must be comforting. 

He sinks lower on the couch, and leans against you, his messy curls pressed against your shoulder while his arm drapes over your lap. You think you hear his satisfied hum under the dialogue of the characters, and you let your head rest against his. 

This is nice. Frankie’s so warm against you, the most comforting weight all lax against your side. Your hand creeps up from his shoulder to his head, and his hair is so silky when you finally work up the gall to run your fingers through it.

You can feel the way it affects him when he shivers and presses even closer into you. You watch the movie like that for a while, snacks untouched, fingertips stroking his scalp as his soft curls slip through your digits. Every once in a while his head tilts to look up at you, piercing brown, and each time you smile back down and ruffle his hair.

It’s just after the first big conflict of the film when you feel Frankie shift against you. His arm moves in your lap, and you watch his thick fingers grab your thigh over the blanket. 

It shocks you how such a simple gesture makes your temperature rise. You hum and let your nails scratch more firmly against his head. You can hear him gasp, and feel him move impossibly closer, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together. You glance down at him, past the curls you’ve lost yourself in, and his eyes are closed. Further, the curve of his nose and pout of his lips, his chest that’s heaving with his excited breaths, you notice a suspicious tent in the blanket, and you don’t want to assume, but the context clues are all there. 

Frankie is hard. 

You can’t blame him. You’ve been aroused since you pressed his body against yours, a slow simmering underneath the surface that’s made you feel so comfortably warm and relaxed. 

You shift, and you swear you hear a barely-there whine leave his lips. You move just enough so you can press your free hand to his chest. Under your palm, you can feel his heart beating, a pace that’s concerningly higher than appropriate for sitting and watching dialogue in a movie. 

His head turns toward you, his hair slipping through the grasp of your knuckles. He looks up at you with those puppy eyes and his pupils are so dilated that it makes you take a deep breath. He turns his body  toward you next and there it is the hard line of his cock pressed against the outside of your thigh. You see him shudder at the friction, watch his eyes grow droopy as they flicker down to glance at your lips. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

And he asks so sweetly, voice a little hoarse from the silence, that you couldn’t dream of denying him. 

“Yes, Frankie.”

His lips tremble until they meet yours, so soft and chaste, a stark contrast to his scruffy beard and mustache. His breath hitches; you can hear it and feel it. His chest shudders under your palm and pushes air out to gust against your cheeks. You feel his prick, too, twitching against your thigh as your tongue peeks out to tease his pouty bottom lip. 

He pulls back so much quicker than you want him to, but it’s also such a reward to look at him this close. His lips shiny, his cheeks flushed, his irises completely usurped by his pupils. His mouth hangs open and you can’t help yourself as you slide your hand from his chest to his jaw and pull him into you once again. 

A surprised little noise works its way out of his throat, and his hips jerk forward, and then he’s groaning as his cock throbs against the outside of your thigh. The noise makes that feeling in your gut draw deeper, lower, and you make one of your own in response. 

His hand rests dutifully still on your thigh, but you can feel his fingers twitching as your taste buds rub against his– a friction that has no right to be as delicious as it is. You want him to feel you up, to touch you all over, to give in to the desire that’s blatantly pressed against you. You want to hear these noises he seems to be holding back, the whimpers that just barely make it past his vocal chords before he cuts them off. 

You pull away this time. Pride swells in your chest as you look at what you’ve already done to him. His curls are even messier now that you’ve run your fingers through them over and over. His eyes are all glassy when he looks at you, pouty lips slick and red. 

He sits so still, aside from his heaving breaths, like he’s waiting for your command. 

“Tell me what you want, Frankie.”

His eyes widen and christ, if they get any wider they’re going to suck you in like a supermassive black hole. 

“I– I’m okay, I like this.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He nods, trying to convince you, as he not-so-subtly pulls his erection free from its trap between his body and your thigh. His eyes cast downward, but you swiftly grab his chin in your hands to bring them back to you. 

“Francisco,” you mumble, “ask for what you want.”

He gasps and bites his plush bottom lip, hard enough that there’s little indents when he opens his mouth. He shuts it again, and squirms against you, and finally opens it once more. 

“I want you to touch me.” 

His request comes out hardly above a whisper, all broken and breathy, and his gaze settles somewhere behind you. 

“Is that all?”

He nods quickly, eyes snapping back to you. 

“I swear– I just wanna feel your hands on me.” 

Your smile widens as his face gets so serious, eyebrows knitting together. 

“That’s good, that’s really good,” you mumble. 

The shudder that visibly rolls through him is like a shockwave, sending every one of your nerve endings on-edge. You huff, an amazed little breath at this fucking guy in front of you, so responsive and timid and utterly fuckable. 

“You like that? Like being good for me?”

He nods again, more apprehensive this time, but he can’t hold back his whine when his hips press against you. The possibilities of all the things you could do to this man stretch far and wide; it’s entirely overwhelming. 

“Sweet boy,” you whisper, because he is, “c’mere.”

You pull the blanket off of you both, and Frankie reaches down to adjust himself so it isn’t so obvious, like you haven’t felt his cock twitching against you this entire time. It’s so endearing you think you could cry, but you’re much too turned on for sentiment at the moment. Instead, you guide him to straddle you, hands on his slender hips until his thighs cage your own. 

For a moment you just watch as he sits patiently, obediently, waiting for your next words like his cock isn’t leaking a pretty little damp patch into his sweatpants. His chest heaves with every breath, and his tongue licks and bites at his swollen lips, and his eyes stay trained on your mouth in anticipation. 

“So pretty,” you whisper. 

His long eyelashes flutter at your compliment, and he turns his head to try and hide his reaction, but it doesn’t mask the way his prick twitches under gray fabric. Your hands find his waistband and tease the edge and you delight in the way he shivers. 

You need to feel more, so you press your hands under his shirt and hum at what you find. A soft tummy and smooth skin that makes way for a small trail of wiry hairs. It’s all revealed to you a moment later when you hike his shirt higher, reach for pecs that are more solid than you imagined, and the smallest nipples you think you’ve ever had your hands on. 

You look back up to his face for permission with a quirked brow, and he nods eagerly, grabbing the back of his collar to shed the material and bare himself and it’s so lovely. There’s so much tan skin, hardly any of it is obstructed by hair, just the errant freckle here or there. And you can’t help it, you have to lean forward and take one of his nipples into your mouth. 

He gasps your name, but one of his hands finds the back of your head to keep you in place. You hum around the little nub, so small you have trouble getting your teeth to bite down on it, but you do and then he groans, his hips jerking in your hold on them. 

“Is this how you wanted me to touch you?”

You lean your head back to look him in the eyes, to watch a pained expression flit over his face as he tries to come up with an answer he thinks you’ll like. 

“I like this too,” he nods, “but I, um… fuck–”

He cuts himself off to hide his face in his hands. He is so cute and so sexy at the same time, it’s making your brain go haywire. 

“Tell me, Frankie. Be good for me, Pretty Boy.” 

He shifts on top of you as he looks up at your ceiling. You soothe your hands up and down his flanks and wait patiently for him to find the words. 

He drops his hand from his face, fists clenching down by his sides, but he finally looks down at you and smiles, shy and sweet, just a hint of that dimple you adore rearing its head.

“Touch my cock? You got me so hard.”

You smile bright at his request, and nod, and press a kiss to his sternum. 

“Anything you want,” you mumble, “just gotta ask. Just like that.”

He looks pretty proud of himself. There’s a twinkle in his eyes as you look up at him, and you take a playful bite of his skin and savor the gasp it coaxes out of him. 

“Let’s get these off, yeah?” 

Your fingers sneak under his waistband and his skin is so hot under there, searing. You only have a few moments to bask in the warmth before he stands up to remove his pants and briefs in one bashful move. 

Jesus. 

He’s so gorgeous, bare for you, vulnerable, excited. His foreskin is all pulled back, revealing a delicious looking string of pre-cum from his slit. You desperately want to lean forward and taste— but he didn’t ask for that, and you won’t give it to him unless he does. 

Stunned a bit silent, you pat your lap, urging him to settle back over it. Much to your delight, he does, quick and obedient. An approving hum bubbles up out of your chest, and he preens as he sits on your thighs. 

There’s a very wicked feeling in you as you stare at him, completely naked, while you haven’t shed a single layer of clothing. Control, and trust, and power. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your lungs feel too inflated for your rib cage, to know you could take advantage of it, and to know you never ever would. 

“Good boy,” you whisper, finally, testing those waters. 

Frankie’s dick twitches between you two, and you huff and smile and wonder how something so perfect and precious has literally landed right in your lap. 

He’s been more than good, and so with one hand you grab his hip to steady him, and the other takes his cock as gentle as ever. A sharp inhale inflates his chest as you stroke the smooth skin, a teasing, feather-light touch that makes his legs tense up in your lap. You watch him disappear and reappear through the loose circle of your hand, watch another clear droplet bead from his slit when you squeeze him tighter. 

“Does this feel good?”

He’s watching your hand work when you look back up to his face. He nods, a jerky movement that seems to shake his entire body, and he’s so on-edge. You feel it in the way he shifts his weight on top of you. 

“Words, Frankie,” you urge, a soft smile on your face. 

“So good.”

You hum, taking in the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the way his adam’s apple pokes out when he leans his head back. 

You reward him by speeding up your strokes. You squeeze his hip with your free hand, kneading at the soft flesh there, while you lean forward to press kisses into his virtually hairless chest. His skin is so hot it feels like it could burn you, flushed such a pretty color, just like you knew it would be. 

He whines when you gather up more pre cum with your thumb and gently massage it into his frenulum. You look up to find him staring down at you with glassy eyes, bottom lip tucked tight between his teeth. 

“Can we kiss more?”

His voice is breathy, and you nod, and a fresh wave of arousal flushed through your system when his lips eagerly meet yours. 

It’s sloppier, this time. Noisier, too, as you tighten your grip on his cock and begin to properly work your hand up and down his length. You steal his breath and his noises straight from his lungs, feel every shudder he pushes out when you twist your wrist just right or squeeze tighter. 

His hips start to meet your thrusts, rutting into your hand, such a desperate little thing on top of you, all for you. You want to encourage him to take his pleasure from you, and so you slip your hand back from his waist, find the perfectly pert globe of his ass with your palm. 

“Haa— shit.”

His words muffle into your kiss as his hips stutter in rhythm and you lean forward to smirk into the bald patch of his beard. 

“Yeah?” 

A gasp wrecks through his heaving chest as he nods. 

“Please, fuck— please.”

You hum into his jaw and squeeze his cock and his ass respectively. 

“Please what, Pretty Boy?” 

He leans back. You watch him squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head from left to right. 

“Tell me what you want, Frankie. Know you can.” 

A big gulp of air, and then he opens his eyes to look at you, then blinks them shut again as his head lolls back in his shoulders. 

“Touch me there. I— I can’t—”

“Shhh,” you take mercy on him, bringing your hand up from his backside to cradle his jaw in your palm. He tilts his head into your touch and opens his eyes.

“I got you, sweet boy,” you remind him. 

He nods in understanding, shifting to kiss the heel of your palm. You let him rest his lips there as he catches his breath, feel them quivering every other upstroke of your hand on his prick. 

But as he makes to move, you hold his jaw steady in your hand. His eyes flicker back to your face, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, if he can tell how beside yourself you really are. 

Slowly, so he can pull away if he wants, you trace the pad of your middle finger along the seam of his lips. You’re awestruck at how they instantly fall open for you, greedy, something you’re definitely looking forward to exploring more later. 

For now, you watch with hooded eyes as he takes it into his mouth, tongue curling and lapping at it. You briefly wonder if fingers are erogenous zones, beyond turned on at how warm and wet the inside of his mouth feels, how he suckles and releases, bobs his head over and over until you snap out of it. 

“Good boy. Fucking perfect,” you sigh.

He gets a cocky little goofy grin on his face at the praise, but his prick twitches against your grasp. You squeeze it for good measure, and more of his pre-cum dribbles over your knuckles. 

You lean into him again, and he leans into you, holding each other up. Your mouth finds his pebbled nipple once again as his prick drags across your shirt and saturates it. He hisses at the friction, then gasps when your hand grabs his ass cheek again. 

You pull it as best as you can with one hand. It isn’t too difficult with how it fits so perfectly round in your palm. You squeeze it, massage it, note how the littlest hint of peach fuzz feels against your clammy hand. You wonder how it would feel under your tongue, too, how it would taste, how the fatty flesh would feel between your teeth. 

His hips stutter forward when your finger, slick with his saliva, strokes the very top of his crack. And you don’t mean to tease too much, but his jerky movements and satisfied sounds when you do are like music to your ears. 

Finally you find his hole, fluttering around nothing, so little and tight, all for you. 

“Ohmygod.”

Frankie sounds pained, so much so that you look up from nuzzling his chest to watch his face. His brows are drawn tight with how his eyes are squeezed shut, and his mouth is hung open, slick with a little drool around the corners of his lips. Without context, maybe he would look pained, too, but the way his cock throbs and dribbles in your hand paints a completely different picture. 

And what a pretty picture he is, gulping for air above you, thrusting his hips back into your finger and forward through your fist, like he’s so out of his mind that he can’t even make it up. 

You apply more pressure to his impossibly tight pucker and sink your teeth into his skin at the way he whines for you. You do it again, and again, a patient little rhythm until it relaxes and the very tip of your finger slips into his warmth. 

He groans, clenching tight around you. 

“Okay, Frankie?”

He laughs, a little puff of air, and you feel it where you’re inside him. 

“Gonna make me come,” he chokes.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, don’t— fuck— please don’t stop.”

You hum into his chest, squeeze your hand tighter around his prick as you speed up your strokes. He’s groaning now, deep and low and constant, like he couldn’t hold it back if he tried. 

You wiggle your finger against his rim, tugging him open for you, toying with the elastic muscle. He’s so pliable everywhere, opening up to you, happily taking what you give him. 

In a stiff moment you think he isn’t into it, because he freezes up and goes silent. You make to slip out of him, but his warmth just drags you in.

And then his cock jumps in your grasp, and his hole clamps around your finger as he gasps your name, and he’s coming. 

He shakes with it as he soaks your shirt and drips over your hand. You stroke him through it and marvel at the way he feels in your grasp and around you, violent waves of pleasure that you can sense where you touch him. 

You look up to watch him tremble through it and he’s gorgeous. Sweat drips from his messy curls at his temple and paints a glimmer down his neck, all pulled taught as his head hangs back. His chest tastes salty under your tongue where it heaves, you can’t get enough of the flavor, or the wicked beating of his heart under your lips. 

And his noises, fucking delicious, wrung-out curses that just keep tumbling from his red lips. His stomach trembles with his shaky breaths, and he sounds so wrecked as the last bit of his orgasm tricked down the back of your hand. 

His whispered chants of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” slow to a stop just as his joints unlock and his muscles relax. You take it as a sign to loosen your grip on his spent cock and carefully slip your finger back out of him. It earns you one last whimper before he sags into you, a boneless little heap in your lap. 

You unhand him to hold him against you, wipe your hand on the discarded blanket beside you so you can stroke his back with one hand and his fuzzy little buttcheek with the other. 

You tell him how good he was for you, how pretty he is when he comes, how much you loved getting to do that to him. 

It takes a while for him to catch his breath, and his huffs tickle that sensitive spot on your neck just below your ear. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs. 

You nod, because he’s correct. Holy shit, indeed. 

His voice is a little hoarse, and you’re conflicted. You want to hold him as long as he’ll let you, but you know you should get him some water and at least a towel. 

You shift under him and he whimpers, wraps his arms tighter around your shoulders.

There goes that idea. 

You hold him closer, and smirk at the contented sigh that leaves him. 

“I think… I think I just imprinted on you.” 

It startles a laugh out of you, and he chuckles too, a tiny happy sound against your collar bone. You turn to kiss his heated cheek, and he lets you, before he turns his own head to fuse his lips to yours. 

This kiss is lazy, unhurried, and the adrenaline from making him fall apart is slowly making way for more of that sticky-sweet arousal from earlier. 

“I wanna make you come,” he mumbles against your lips. 

You shake your head, but kiss him some more, as to not give him the wrong idea. 

“Another night, Pretty Boy.”

He makes a disappointed sound, but continues to kiss you until you have to part for air. His brow is turned upward in question when you pull away. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his question. 

“Not a single thing, Frankie. Just wanted to take care of you tonight.” 

His shoulders relax at that, but his face is still confused. It’s a cute look on him, with his pouty lips and big brown eyes. 

“You’d tell me right? If I made you uncomfortable? You can tell me. I don’t wanna upset you.” 

And christ, you feel your heart melting and oozing through your rib cage at how earnest his voice is. 

“I promise, I’ll tell you.”

That seems to quell his nerves, as he sinks back into you again with his sweaty curls pressed against your shoulder. 

You’re sticky in more ways than one, and Frankie’s only getting heavier in your lap the sleepier he gets, but a giggle bubbles up out of you when you realize you’ve never been more comfortable than you are right now. 

Frankie huffs in response, and you press him even tighter against you. 

You don’t know where one-and-a-half dates and one sickeningly hot orgasm places the two of you. And maybe it’s greedy to think about with a handsome, sweet man in your arms, but you can’t push down the overwhelming feeling of wanting more.

next part

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-Chapter Twenty Nine Teaser PT. 2

I originally had no intention of posting another cover teaser for chapter twenty-nine but circumstances changed. So enjoy these covers and the snippet below the cut!

The plane was a sort of quiet business as everyone boarded into their respective seats while I sunk deeper into mine. I hid myself underneath the rim of my hat, hoping that even with the late-night flight no one would recognize me. I didn't need it to get out online where I was going or who I was going to see.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I reached for my phone in my side bag to double-check his text, making sure I had all the details right.

I didn't have a chance to talk more about this weekend away to Noah because of the fight we had right before.

"Angel," Noah sighed while resting his hands low on his hips, the white t-shirt clinging to his broad chest. "The way you're acting isn't fair to either of us. You're letting what happened weeks ago still effect you and taking your anger out on the people you love."

I sneered my distaste at how I had been lectured yet again and crossed my arms over my chest in defiance. The large kitchen island stood as a barrier between us and Jesse and Michael watched with careful eyes from the kitchen to make sure neither of us would jump over the counter at the other.

"I already told you, I'm fucking fine Noah. I don't need you pestering me and babying me. I'm a grown woman," I reminded him through clenched teeth.

The dark circles under his eyes told the story of a man who desperately wanted his girlfriend back. But I wasn't that person anymore; the shell of who I once was destroyed by my failures.

"Dr. Poulos said-," Noah began.

"Fuck that!" I spat while throwing my hands up in the air. "We both know its psychological bullshit shit. None of what she said mattered. I'm fine, I don't need help!"

Michael sucked in a breath and Jesse froze, afraid that I would turn my wrath onto him. Noah's voice called after me as I stormed past him, slamming and locking myself into our bedroom like I had done every day for the last few weeks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be taking off in a few minutes so if you haven't yet, please get settled in your seats. Beautiful Vermont is a few hours away," the pilot's voice came on through the intercom, causing me to shake away the memories of Noah and fasten my seat belt.

Placing both air pods in my ears, I ignored the four unread text messages as I pulled up Apple Music and selected nothing, nowhere. Joe's soft voice danced in my ears, lulling my head back against the seat, nearly falling to the familiar shoulder next to me.

"Your lips were cherry red."

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 5 snippet

chapter 1: lifeless chapter 2: too far gone chapter 3: a sight to see chapter 4: headlights

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

a/n: hiya! i thought i'd leave here a sneak peek of the next chapter, "lighthouse" 👀 let me tell you, there was a lot to unpack on this one, because the w/c has reached the 6.3k mark. i would apologise, but i won't lmao. expect a lot of smut because i do not know any better haha i'm debating whether to post this on tuesday or wednesday, what do you guys think would be best? it's all written up, so just waiting a few days so you don't get too tired of this fic lol. i'd lie if i told you i haven't started writing chapter 6 already 🤠 somebody please stop me. ANYHOO, hope you enjoy! <3

warnings (not all as to not spoil anything): 18+, mdni. internal and verbal discussions of feelings, trauma and past relationships. some jealousy (if you squint very hard). again, absolutely filthy smut because i don’t know any better (sorry not sorry). oral (f and m receiving). soft!dom!joel. and many more that i won't give out just yet :D

“Are you sure you wanna do this, sweetheart?”, he asked, you could hear the uncertainty in his voice. You nodded vehemently. “Yes, please, Joel, I really need to feel you, to have you fuck me senseless”, you emphasized, short-breathed. He seemed to consider your words for longer than what was acceptable. You saw his eyes flying between yours and your lips. “Please?”, you begged. Your prayers might have been heard, because he leaned forward, brushing your mouth with his. “Then go down on your knees, darlin’”, he whispered against your lips. You silently gasped as your clit pulsed at his words. You were delighted to follow his command, and so you kneeled compliantly. When your knees touched the grass, his cock was at eye level. You couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. His dick was as big as you remembered, the memory of it filling you up still haunted you. It was so erected now that the tip touched his belly button. Joel looked so strained you thought he had to be in pain. And you were more than willing to help him alleviate it. You moved your hand forward, but before you could try to wrap your fingers around him, Joel stopped you. “No, with your mouth”, was his order.

[veronicaphoenix]

writing updates ✨

I'm aware I haven't posted anything besides a short one shot in the last few weeks. I've been busy writing my MA's thesis which is due in a couple of weeks, and trying to cope with the chaos that is summer.

I'm just popping by to leave unedited short snippets for both The Unmaking of a Warrior, and the next chapter of Zutto 😇

The Unmaking of a Warrior — Epilogue Pt. 1

I couldn't stop thinking about it since that moment. The realization lingered in my mind, and throughout the day, it haunted me like a secret I was too embarrassed to admit—even to myself.

I wanted to be a mother. I wanted Noah and I to become parents, to bring a life into this world that was a part of both of us. I imagined a little one, a perfect blend of Noah and me, running through the gardens, learning to wield a bow or defend himself with a sword, just like his father.

At lunch, a swarm of butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach, their wings beating in rhythm with the thought of Noah getting me pregnant. My hands trembled slightly as I held my chopsticks, moving them aimlessly across my plate.

"You’re very quiet today," Noah observed, his voice soft yet curious.

I glanced up at him, caught off guard. His eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and amusement, met mine. The faintest smile played at the corner of his lips, as if he knew I was hiding something.

"What’s going on in that little head of yours?" he teased gently.

"Nothing special," I replied quickly, lowering my gaze to my plate.

"Nothing special?" he repeated, not convinced by my response.

"No, nothing," I insisted, shaking my head, hoping to divert the conversation. But Noah wasn’t so easily deterred.

"This wouldn’t have anything to do with your reaction when you saw Lila in my arms, would it?" he asked, his voice laced with a knowing tone.

I felt my cheeks flush. "What? No, of course not."

"Are you sure you’re not having any thoughts about… us?" He leaned across the table, lowering his voice to a whisper, "About me… emptying myself inside of you?"

"Noah!" I hissed, glancing around quickly to ensure no one could hear. My face grew even warmer, and I looked away, mortified.

Zutto — Chapter Six

Lia brushed aside a lock of Noah's hair that threatened to fall over his eyes, and a memory from her teenage years suddenly flooded back. It was one of those weekends when Cristina had abandoned her, leaving her to spend the night at Noah's house. Back then, Noah slept like a log. At seventeen, his passion for music already coursed through his veins relentlessly, and many nights were spent working until he realized he should probably get some sleep and try to be a normal person. The nights he spent with Lia were no different—they would stay up late watching movies or talking. That particular night, she had fallen asleep before him but woke up earlier, giving her the chance to touch his hair while he slept, lightly snoring.

It felt surreal that, eleven years later, the same scene was playing out. Lia was certain he had the same expression, the same features. He still looked like a child, lost in his dreams. She was determined to protect him at all costs, just as he had done for her. It was the least she could do, beyond giving him her love.

Now, as adults, naked, their bodies were pressed together. Noah's chest rose as Lia made a futile attempt to tuck the lock of hair behind his ear. He stirred on the bed, and two more strands of hair joined the one Lia had tried to brush off his forehead, falling over his eyes and causing him to blink.

As soon as he saw Lia's wide eyes looking up at him and that smile that always cured his every ill, he couldn't help but smile back. He was fucking happy to wake up next to the girl he loved, especially with her naked under the sheets.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Morning," she replied, trying to ignore the tingling sensation at the tips of her toes and the warmth spreading between her legs at the sound of Noah's sleepy, gravelly voice. His eyes, with their distinctly Asian features, looked beautiful in the morning—smaller, like two thin slits.

"You look wide awake. How long have you been staring at me?" he asked. His playful arrogance hinted at a self-assuredness that Lia was all too familiar with.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You've got some nerve," she shot back, equally accustomed to his confident, slightly egotistical humor.

With a burst of energy, he grabbed Lia by the waist and tried to tickle her. She rolled onto her side, giggling, until they were chest to chest, both lying sideways on the bed.

"No more than ten minutes," Lia replied, calming herself as she saw his brown eyes twinkle. "How did you sleep?"