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moonhoures · 7 months

Text

Insatiable

🕷️ kinktober — day 4: biting kink (& blood play)🕸️

pairing: sunghoon (enhypen) + reader (afab/fem)

genre: non-idol!au, vampire!au, smut

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, vampire bf!hoon, human!reader, tw! mention of blood, biting, blood drinking, oral (fem. receiving), cum eating, overstimulation (kind of, i guess?),

word count: ~2.1k

synopsis: your vampire bf suddenly becomes clingy which can only mean he’s hungry or horny . . . or both

a/n: where’s all my vampire!au lovers?!?!?!?!!?! 🧛🏻

posted: october 4, 2023

kinktober masterlist

You should’ve seen it coming when Sunghoon had stayed with you in the bed until you got up this morning. Usually, he would be up busying himself with something by the time you woke up. You should’ve seen it coming when he somehow found a reason to be in every room you were in at any given time. You were in the bedroom folding laundry? He was digging through his clothes to find ‘that one shirt he thought he lost’. You were in the living room watching TV? Suddenly he was interested in it too—though he had complained to you multiple times he didn’t like the shows you liked. You were in the bathroom? He was knocking on the door asking how long you would be because he needed to brush his teeth.

You should have confronted him during one of those instances, but you finally snapped in the kitchen. You were in the middle of making yourself a sandwich for lunch when you felt Sunghoon’s presence lingering behind you. He wasn’t touching you or hovering, but you could still feel him, mostly his gaze. It felt like he was your own shadow, following you around incessantly. The jelly-coated knife in your hand clattered onto the counter as you let out an annoyed groan.

“What’s your problem? You’ve been all over me all morning.”

“I can’t just be close to my girlfriend?” he asked, a dumb smile on his face. But you could tell there was something sinister about that smile; he had ulterior motives that he wasn’t going to give up so quickly.

“Suddenly, like this? No,” you leaned back against the counter, but there was still not even a foot of distance between you two, “So what do you want? Are you horny? Hungry? What is it?”

If he could blush, he would be doing so in that moment. His smile turned sheepish, embarrassed that you had caught on so fast. He didn’t mean to be so clingy, but he couldn’t help it. He woke up with his stomach feeling empty and his gums aching. His cock had also been basically rock hard when he woke up. His body was essentially begging him to eat and get laid, and soon. But he knew how tired you had been lately with work, so he let you sleep in. And you seemed grumpy after you woke, so he let you go about your day without bothering you too much. He suffered in silence for as long as he could until your outburst.

“Would you hate me if I said both?”

This time his smile revealed his pointed canines, longer than they usually were. You noticed the pale skin around his eyes had a dusting of rose-colored pigment, and small, faint, spindly veins branched around them. Those usually signified his hunger, and now that you thought about it, you couldn’t remember the last time he had fed.

Having a vampire as a boyfriend, while as outlandish as it sounded, was surprisingly low-maintenance. You weren’t sure if it was because of Sunghoon’s personality or if all vampires were like this—he was the only one you had ever met, to your knowledge—but he was really easy going. He held himself with great self control, only feasting when absolutely necessary.

When you had started dating him, he admitted his identity to you and assured you that he only fed on animals. For a while he had tried stealing blood from a local hospital, but he felt guilty, so he had quit. As nice as human blood was, he always felt it was morally wrong, so he stuck to an animal-exclusive diet. It wasn’t until you were almost a year into dating that you suggested he feed from you, and even then it took him a couple months to come around to the idea.

The first time he fed from you was overwhelming, to say the least, but he displayed way more self control than he thought he could. You had gone limp in his arms, which held you tight at the waist, crushing you against him while his teeth were sunk into the junction of your neck and shoulder. When you let out the smallest whisper of his name, he released you as fast as he possibly could, using his thumb to cover your puncture wounds. He had taken a bit more blood than he should’ve, but thankfully it wasn’t enough to cause you damage.

You healed up just fine after some food, water, and rest, and the next day you were good as new. But he still held off as long as possible between feedings, not wanting to take advantage of the food supply he could get from you. Though, secretly, you loved when he used you. The feedings almost felt like taking drugs. The rush you got from them was euphoric, even if it did take a large amount of energy out of you. And Sunghoon looked hot when he fed, you couldn’t deny that. The way his eyes turned that dark red (almost black) color. The way your blood stained his lips with a crimson hue. The way he became hungry for you in a way that surpassed normal lust. It was so primal. So carnal. So excruciatingly sexy. Every time you just wanted him to have his way with you, there and then.

“Okay,” you said, “but can we try something different this time?”

Sunghoon was shocked you were agreeing to a feeding right now, given your seemingly indifferent mood all morning. But he simply nodded, willing to do almost anything to get blood in his mouth soon, “Sure.”

“Do you, um, have to take blood from my neck every time?” you asked him, looking up at him with the art of seduction brewing in your eyes.

“No, I guess- I guess I could take it from your wrist or somewhere else on your arm. It’s just that the neck is the easiest access point,” he tried to explain, but admittedly he was pretty thrown off by the question. No one had ever asked him that before.

“So, you could really bite me anywhere then?”

“Y-yeah, I suppose I could. What did you have in mind?”

You simply smiled to yourself, having no doubt in your mind that you would get him to feed from you exactly how you wanted him to. Exactly like you had imagined a handful of times.

And, boy were you right. Not even five minutes later he had you thrown unceremoniously onto your bed, your shorts and underwear discarded and tossed across the room. His inhuman strength was used to grab your legs and place them over his shoulders as he wedged himself between your thighs. One tantalizing look from him and then he was committing the most sinful acts on you with his tongue. Licking and prodding and kissing and sucking your sensitive skin in all the right ways. In all the right places. He drew the most erotic, filthy noises from you, along with some moans of his name. He smirked wickedly into your pussy, his pride—and his cock—swelling.

Low growls rumbled from deep in his throat as he ate you out. His mouth moved with ardor, as if your cum was his life source instead of the red ichor that flowed in your veins. And he didn’t plan on stopping until he got both. So he hummed, holding your clit between his lips. He opened his eyes just in time to see you slipping, your eyes vaguely crossing and your lips agape, a gasp stuck in your throat.

“Hoon- Please- I need . . . Oh my God,” your words trailed off into a moan that was so pornographic you couldn’t believe it came from you. Your boyfriend was always great at eating you out, but this was on another level.

“Need what, _______? To cum? Then do it. Cum on my tongue, baby,” he pulled away to egg you on, then promptly returned to lapping at your slick lips. Your skin felt like velvet over his tongue, and your arousal tasted like juice from the sweetest fruit. But your blood would be the richest and smoothest of wines. And he wanted to get drunk off of you at any means necessary.

You wanted to answer, but you physically weren’t able to. Any words that you thought of formed in your throat and died before they could reach your lips, coming out in faint croaks or cut-off moans. His name was the only thing you could get out, and even that could only escape in choked gasps or panted breaths. It was the loudest when your orgasm finally snapped.

Your stomach felt like it was doing flips, and the area between your ribs and your thighs felt warm. Sunghoon’s grip on the outside of your thighs tightened as he tasted the first drips of your cum. His tongue collected as much of it as he could get. But he had to act quickly. While you were still in the throes of your orgasm, he pulled his lips away from your cunt, directing them to the plush of your inner thigh. He bared his fangs as much as he could before breaking your skin with them, sinking them as far as he could without seriously harming you.

A sharp gasp sounded from your mouth, and your hands fisted the sheets at your sides, tugging them into the tight grip of your knuckles. The pain was borderline insufferable, but you knew the taste of ecstasy that soon followed would make it all worth it.

In a matter of a minute, the pain was subduing and was being replaced by waves of pleasure. The warmth that was caused by your orgasm was ignited into a fiery heat, like the nozzle of a stove slowly being turned from low to high. Then, the tingling started. First in the thigh that he was feeding from, then the other one. It spread to your knees and hips. And soon after that, the numbness set in. That’s when you knew it was getting to be too much. Your body was going into a panic, but your mind was still dazed from the effects of his venom, which seeped in from the bite.

“S-“ you groaned, barely able to form a coherent thought, “Sung- . . . Sunghoo . . .”

Your boyfriend’s eyes shot open, and he immediately withdrew his mouth from your leg, “Fuck, I’m sorry, ________.”

You shook your head lazily, not entirely sure if the lack of energy was more from the orgasm or the feeding.

“You tasted so good, I couldn’t help myself,” he spoke quickly, his voice full of panic. He leaned down to lave his tongue over the puncture marks, using his saliva to heal them. It would seal them for now, keeping you from bleeding, but it would take a few hours for them to close, “Are you alright?”

In the blink of an eye, he was hovering above you, and anyone else would’ve been startled. But you were so used to his inhuman speed by now, you were unfazed. You were, however, dismayed still, and concernedly so. Sunghoon’s hand reached up to gently grab your chin, tilting your head from side to side, “________, baby, answer me. Are you okay?”

A drunken smile appeared on your lips, but your eyes remained closed, “‘m great.”

He sighed in relief, shaking his head, “Don’t do that. I was worried I drank too much.”

“A little,” you mumbled in a half-response, slurring your words, “but . . . felt s’ good.”

“Don’t black out on me,” he chuckled softly, a hint of worry still in his red-colored eyes as he peered down at you. His fingers gripped your chin a little tighter as he leaned forward and kissed the corner of your lips, “I mean it.”

“Or what?” you teased, eyes half-opening to see his handsome face inches from your own. If you weren’t so weak, you would have rolled you both over and taken the reigns then.

“Or I’ll eat you,” he mocked you, booping the tip of your nose with his before kissing you again, this time on the lips. His lips were tinged with blood still, the taste of iron present on them but not unbearable.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“You decide,” he patted your thigh affectionately, his thumb smoothing your skin and lingering near the marks he left on it. Then he got up off the bed, heading for the door, “Don’t move, I’m gonna get you a snack and some water.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedriswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @mrsdacherry @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite

#enhypen smut #enha smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen vampire au #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon vampire au #[🕷️] kinktober 23

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theelfsongbard · 4 months

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Jealous Astarion Drabbles

Cw: brief mention of breeding

Word count: 1235 words

Astarion glares daggers through the canvas of his tent in your general direction. He hated the way you made him feel weak and uneasy. Every reassurance, each offer extended to him to drink from you, the way your kindness weaves its way into little unnecessary niceties that you give your companions. He couldn’t understand why your actions threatened to make him fall for an illusion of trust. There must be a catch to all of this. There always is, he just hasn’t found it yet. You are an unexpected problem because despite his racing mind telling him otherwise, he can feel himself slipping into complacency around you. He finds himself enjoying your company beyond what is needed for a mere travelling companion and he *burns* with a feral desire that he doesn’t understand. He wants to claim you as his own, to fill you and be the only one who can know the whole of you inside and out. Every draw of blood that he takes is a battle to temper his own imaginations before he loses control of his carefully crafted facade.

He wants to act quickly and secure you to him as soon as possible, for he sees the lingering affection in the wizard’s eyes when you draw near. *Competition* is all that repeats in his mind like a resounding threat of a challenge. He doesn’t like Gale, and Gale doesn’t seem to like him, even if it’s not for the same reason. He chooses to believe it is though, only because it fuels his want for you, even in the unsteady waters of his burgeoning emotions.

For now though, he has more pressing urges to attend to and the straining in his trousers just will *not* do.

~~~

The days pass with ever increasing tension for Astarion. Despite the unusually sunny weather they were experiencing that he usually adored, Astarion was feeling absolutely wretched. Wretched and angry. And on top of that, his campmates thought he was jealous. He scoffed as he sat on the ground beside you and Gale, dressing his kill just as you instructed and taught him. Jealousy? It could not be further from the truth.

He was not jealous when he came back from his hunt with his prize only to find you dancing with Wyll. He was not jealous when he saw the way he pulled you close enough for your lips to brush and he was certainly not jealous when The Blade invited you to *practice his swordplay* later on. If he were being honest, Wyll was a man worthy of making anyone swoon, even Astarion. If only his moral compass were less of an impediment, he may have thrown himself at Wyll. But this was the hand he was dealt, and the Blade was threatening his little bid for protection from you. After all, how could he win his favour if he wasn't *The Favourite* in your eyes?

But the way Wyll’s eyes trailed after you as you sauntered over to assess his kill and the way he had put his hands around your waist just moments before made him want to rend the monster hunter to pieces and to announce to him that you were *his* territory. When you weren't looking, he made sure to send what he hoped was a frightening enough message to the warlock, baring his fangs for good measure.

Now, sandwiched between the idle conversation you shared with Gale, he couldn't see how his life could get any worse. His list of competitors was growing and given your warm reception to both, it would only be a matter of time before someone initiated a romantic relationship with you. Astarion was a seducer and had no idea what to do to romance someone. But clearly, it was time for him to start learning if he wanted to make things work. Either that, or it was high time that he started disposing of some of his less savoury companions. The sound of your laughter, genuine and untamed as Gale recounts his shenanigans with his cat is enough to convince him of it.

As his hands work mindlessly, his thoughts drift to something more fun. The smell of you sitting so close beside him sends a pang of familiarity down to his gut and at the same time fills him with arousal and passionate imagination. He thinks of how you might look stretched around his manhood, keening with pleasure as he thrusts into you, filling you full until you're overflowing, over and over until your mess becomes the proof to the entire camp that you are spoken for.

He imagines you below him and on top and all the delicious ways he might have you, wants to nuzzle into your breasts and drink from you as he loses himself in the pleasures of your flesh. And for the first time in an eternity, he even wants to lie with you, holding you close to him your back to his chest, keeping your safe and tucked against him for all eternity. Something stirs in him and he isn't sure if he likes it. This is too tender, too vulnerable and another weakness that he doesn't need.

He's only doing this for protection. Nothing more and nothing less. These are just part of his plans to seduce you, he’s only sorting out the details to make sure everything is perfect.

Mildly, he’s aware of the twitching in his trousers and the slight wetness dribbling from within. Excusing himself rapidly, he stalks off to the forest, away from prying eyes to indulge himself a little. All these thoughts are so distracting and it would do him no good if his campmates saw him in such an unbecoming state.

He needs to be alone for a little while. Yes, he just needs to clear his head because he doesn't need to be thinking about you when he has Cazador, a tadpole and his protection to contend with. But trying times call for trying measures and when he makes sure that he’s far away enough to not be heard or seen, he loosens the ties of his trousers just enough to slip himself free. Already, he knows that he’s going to need a trip down to the river to wash his undergarments, soaked with his arousal as it is. But he can't seem to find himself annoyed by his predicament.

Leaning against a tree, he closes his eyes, wrapping his hand around his length and stroking himself to the thought of you. Imagines you taking him in hand or into your mouth. But his hand is corpse cold, so void of the flush of life you have in you that it brings him back to reality with a growl of frustration. This is nothing compared to how you would feel around him.

And so with increasing vigour he rubs one out, alone and cold in the forest, watching as his seed dribbles and spurts out, landing in the dirt. Wasted. How he would love to stuff you full with it, right up to the brim, keeping it inside you until your belly starts to swell with the evidence of what he has done to you.

If only you knew what kind of effect you had on him. Maybe you would take pity and indulge him.

#astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion smut #astarion x reader

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letoasai · 11 months

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DP- Father Time

What if…. Clockwork was around far longer than Danny knew….

Life was a parade, and Clockwork had the best view. He was the master of time, he knew all of what was and what wasn’t. He saw the threads of every timeline, and took the best each had to offer for the most people.

He had pride in his work, and an annoying habit of always being right. How could he be wrong when he knew the future. He knew every future. This was one of the major reasons he was irritated when someone, namely the Observants, decided to tell him how to do his job.

They saw what was laid out in front of them. They saw what he laid out in front of them. They were spectators that clung too tightly to their oaths to merely watch, while cheating at the motion in the same breath. They acted so haughty but thought nothing of turning around and demanding Clockwork do this or that for them.

Clockwork would generally avoid having to deal with them by agreeing ‘something’ needed to be ‘done’ and then go back to doing what he wanted in the first place. Observers they might be, ancient even, but they did not have the power to watch his every move. He directed things in the right direction, the way he always had with or without their say so.

The future he had been keeping an eye on was swiftly on its way to becoming the present. The thrill of it put a smile on his face. Frankly it had been a while since he’d been so eager for anything.

He’d be busy, but time was such a controllable thing for him.

Making a portal to the moral plane, Clockwork floated through, remaining invisible. The house was the cozy sort, and deceiving normal though he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The hideous space like craft structure wasn’t yet protruding from the roof like an unwanted appendage. The glowing Fenton Works sign wasn’t out front yet either.

The contamination was present however. It was still in low, nearly unnoticeable amounts, but that was still double what was generally found in nature. At least in normal places that weren’t consecrated grounds or otherwise filled with abnormal levels of death.

This really was no place for children.

Unseen by the two small occupants in the room, he observed as a small boy was seated at the kitchen table, watching nervously while his older sister knelt on a chair at the counter, carefully pouring juice into a sippy cup. It was a small task, but not one such small children should have been dealing with unsupervised.

“Almost done, Danny.” Jazz said, turning to look at him with a smile. She only just barely noticed the way the chair wobbled, and didn’t notice how it stilled right after, Clockwork holding out an unseen hand to steady it with his telekinesis. It might have been a small thing, but it was unnecessary to have a timeline where the small girl fell off her chair and cracked her head on the counter. She would end up fine, and with seventeen stitches. Her younger brother, terrified of climbing on the kitchen chairs for the following five years.

It could be skipped.

It might have been meddling, but after the burden these two would end up growing up with, he saw no reason not to show them occasional good fortune.

Jazz climbed down from the counter, a sippy cup and small plastic cup in each hand. She set them on the table before running back to the counter to grab the peanut butter sandwiches she’d set on a paper towel.

It was lunch for two, and both were so young they didn’t see anything wrong with this scenario. It was perhaps wrong to interfere, but Clockwork saw a future that depended on both of them. Young Danny was going to be immensely important, and he would always cling to his sisters unwavering support.

There were too many futures where accidents harmed these children before the proper timeline could come into effect. Some where one or both children died before puberty even. That could not be allowed to happen, not if he wanted the most ideal time line.

The problem with that was that there wasn’t always someone present to protect them. Meddling be damned, he was not going to have the future suffer for such a small reason.

“I found extra new books in my closet!” Jazz said, as she climbed onto her chair at the table. “I’ll read to you after we eat!”

Danny was small, and possibly should have still been in some kind of booster seat at the table. Instead, he sat on a phone book, and even then was too small to do much more than see over the table. He didn’t talk much. Whether he was too small, or delayed in his milestones, Clockwork wasn’t sure.

For all his infinite knowledge, child care wasn’t something he would have put on a resume of his skills. Leaving a few books around for the children was easy enough, but care was something rather different.

Danny ate silently, his feet kicking to show his good mood. Neither child seemed worried about the fact that their parents were locked away in the basement, oblivious to how much time was really passing.

As the keeper of time he could understand that, but he didn’t think it an excuse to not have proper priorities in place.

“You can pick the book, okay? One of them has planets on it.”

Danny’s smile grew, eyes nearly shining with excitement.

“We’ll start with that one.” Jazz promised.

Clockwork hovered, deciding he could leave them for the time being. It was a shame that little Jasmine had to be so responsible but the accident had been avoided. Today was a success for the timeline.

At least they didn’t have to worry about the food from the fridge attacking them just yet. That was a set period of time that Clockwork was not actively looking forward to. The Fenton Parents were quite the extraordinary inventors, but they were rather lacking as parents. It was a shame that even in the best timeline possible so far, the pair had never really realized it.

While some might have called it interference, Clockwork didn’t see it that way. Since he didn’t need to ask permission of anyone to do his job, he used his judgment, as always.

At best he could visit the Fenton children every couple of weeks to check in or prevent something terrible from happening. At worst, he was there often. The record so far was needing to show up eight days in a row to either prevent a stressful near future, or to just plain take care of the children in some other way.

The tasks he could do invisibly and unobtrusively were the easiest to handle. The ones were he couldn’t avoid being seen where… questionable.

The one night he slid into Danny’s room, even the ticking of his own clock stuttered at the sight of the small boy crying into his pillow after a nightmare. He was going to have a few stern words for Nocturn.

He lifted the child up into his arms, cradling him against his shoulder and maintaining his adult form for this venture. The last thing he needed was to shift into his child form while holding a child.

For Danny’s part, he didn’t bat an eye, just continued to cry softly. He was still small enough that he didn’t care about the stranger in his bedroom. He only cared about the comfort he was getting and the rocking back and forth motion.

This interaction would cost him nothing. Tonight, Danny would be soothed and as he grew older, he would forget this moment ever happened. It would fade into dream-like memories.

“Those scary things can’t hurt you, little King to be.” Clockwork muttered, wiping at the tears falling down Danny’s face.

Blue eyes looked up at him owlishly, lips still wobbling from his fright.

“You just need a distraction.” Clockwork whispered, not wanting to wake anyone in the house. It likely would have only been Jazz though. The Fenton parents were either in the basement or out attempting to hunt what wasn’t yet a problem in Amity Park. He hadn’t bothered to look, he only knew enough to know he wouldn’t be seen or interrupted.

“Nn..” Danny reached up to tug on the hem of his hood.

“Yes.” Clockwork said, ectoplasm filling his palm. The glowing ball snatched Danny’s attention away in an instant, the child reaching for it only to be pulled away. “Not yet. Touching it isn’t safe for you yet.”

Danny stretched again, sniffing back tears as he attempted to reach for it a second time. Instead, the ectoplasm split apart into a dozen little pieces. Each floated up towards the ceiling, rearranging themselves into rough star shapes.

“St-!” Danny pointed up at them, a smile slowly spreading across his little face.

“How about you keep these for the night?” Clockwork asked, “They’ll keep the bad dreams away.”

The toddler was enthralled, head tilted back.

Clockwork laid Danny back down in bed, tucking him in and kneeling at the edge of his bed. “These will watch over you, okay?”

“Nhnn.” Danny’s smile remained, he only spared Clockwork another peaceful look before he looked back up at the ectoplasm stars. Normally, the exposure probably would have been unhealthy but the children were exposed enough. This little bit wouldn’t do any harm. He’d checked.

For several long minutes Clockwork watched him, the child’s eyes blinking slowly. Sleep was tugging at him, but his desire to look at the stars was strong.

“There are scary things out there, little King to be.” Clockwork said softly. “But there are plenty of good things out there too if you look.”

Danny pointed up at the ectoplasm again, the green light spread across the room.

“Goodnight, Danny.” Clockwork said, knowing it would only be minutes before the child’s eyes closed for a much more peaceful bout of sleeping.

Not for the first time, Clockwork found himself surprised by the very future he had already predicted. Knowing the future and living through it in the present were incomparable. Emotions were vast, every ghost knew that in particular. Emotions overflowed for them, and while Clockwork knew he would care about the children, feeling that affection first hand was overwhelming.

The disdain he felt for the ghost hunting Fentons grew as their lack of positive parenting became evident. It wasn’t just their ghost hunting focus that was getting on his nerves, though it hadn’t happened yet, but their poor interactions with their own children.

It shouldn’t have been up to Jazz to take care of her little brother. She went as far as to drop him off at daycare by herself before walking to school alone. Once or twice Clockwork would appear, invisibly hovering beside her to make sure she got to both places safely. Once he’d pulled her and her brother out of the way from being clipped by a car, and twice since then he stopped time momentarily to hold the red lights and let Jazz cross the street on her little legs.

It was frankly outrageous that no one seemed to notice the dangers these kids were constantly in, or the neglect they suffered. All the same, even he could only meddle so much, and he was far more than he realized he’d need to.

As much as he tried to stay out of sight, some occasions were impossible. When he needed to apply baid-aids to both of Danny’s knees when he fell on the concrete steps outside of the house, or when he appeared behind Jazz as a spectral terror to scare away a young man who was following the little girl to the corner store with awful intentions in mind.

The last one had almost been a disaster when Jazz turned around and looked up at him, then at the young man running away as fear gripped his heart.

“Thank you.” Jazz said, though she didn’t quite understand what she was thanking him for. She turned around, marching right back to the corner store with dollar bills in her change purse.

“You’re welcome, Jazz.” He muttered before fading away from sight. Even while being among his predictions of possible outcomes, it was a strange reaction from the little girl who’s parents ranted about ghosts. The blanket acceptance for receiving help.

He didn’t know where her kindness came from, but it was imperative that she passed it on to her brother. She was small, but she was smart. She was reading at a second grade level already, and wrote on the wall calendar what days the bills were due. She was responsible beyond her years, not out of want but necessity.

If Clockwork helped distract Danny for a while so she was able to read or make sandwiches for them, that was their collective business, just the three of them.

“Mr. Ghost.” Jazz blinked up at him one afternoon. She was fidgeting and ended up dropping her gaze to her feet. “Can you help me lift the bottle?”

“The…bottle?” He stared at her. Danny ran towards them, running through Clockwork and falling onto his hands and knees with a laugh. The small boy kept trying to grab Clockwork's ghost tail and was endlessly thrilled by not being able to touch it.

“Yeah, for the dirty clothes. I read the directions but i can’t lift the bottle. It’s heavy.” Jazz said, holding out a hand for Danny to help regain his balance.

“Yes. I can help you.” Clockwork said. It was easy to be proud of these children, and quietly infuriating that it was necessary.

It wasn’t just that Jazz had learned to be so self sufficient, it was that Danny knew to stay by his sister. While Jazz tossed their clothes into the washing machine, and Clockwork helped Jazz measure out the detergent, Danny sat on the floor nearby playing with a spaceship that Jazz had made for him out of paper plates, duct tape, and plastic straws.

These kids were growing up with only occasional visits from their parents while living in the same house.

“Thank you.” Jazz said when they had finished.

“You’re quite welcome, Jazz.”

It was almost sad how the Fentons had no idea there was a ghost in their home. Until they did, or until they suspected something was strange.

Danny was little, and didn’t know who he was supposed to share things with, or what he was supposed to keep secret. When he started to talk about his flying friend, his see-through friend, the Fentons over reacted.

Clockwork might have had to stay out of the house for a few weeks, but he still watched carefully as Jack and Maddie searched the house, Danny’s room in particular. Ghost hunting was their obsession and they took a toddler at his word.

When he finally started crying over his parents too loud, nearly volatile search, Jazz lost her temper.

“He just has an imaginary friend! It’s not real! Not everything is a ghost! Ghosts aren’t real!”

“Now, Jazz.” Maddie tried to soothe her. “If he says he saw-”

“He’s a baby! All you talk about is ghosts. Of course his imaginary friend would look like a ghost, but you aren’t finding anything, are you?! Ghosts aren’t real!” She took Danny’s hand and stomped off to her own room where they could play in peace, away from the whirling alarms of ghost gadgets.

It was the stance the small girl would take for years. Ghosts did not exist, while she knew very well that they did. She chose to protect Clockwork over letting her parents know that there had been a ghost in the house.

It was however, a reminder to Clockwork that he was becoming a little too complacent. He was being seen a little too often. Danny couldn’t know about him until the time was right, but Jazz was more than capable of keeping quiet.

He continued to tuck Danny in after a nightmare and a night of glowing ectoplasm stars on the ceiling. He also continued to help Jazz when something was just a little out of her means, but otherwise did better to stay hidden.

Even invisible, Jazz often knew when he was around. It had Clockwork smiling at the future where she would be in full control of her liminality. The kids were growing to be quite capable.

In theory, Clockwork had been looking forward to the day where Danny became a halfa. It was the start of so much, the next checkpoint of the most favorable future. It was a sure thing now, but Clockwork’s own emotions were wavering the day in question. Watching Danny head down into the lab with his two friends trailing behind him had him feeling sick. Yes, Danny would become a halfa, and someday he would become king, but now, this day, Danny was going to die.

Had there been another way, Clockwork would have considered it. Instead, all he could do was be present, watching invisibly as the child he’d helped raise was killed and born anew in the same breath. It was the most terrible thing he’d seen in recent memory.

It was difficult not to immediately rush to his side. To offer to teach him how to use the new abilities he’d just gain. He saw the fear on Danny’s face, and saw the cold air puff between his lips. Danny didn’t yet know what his ghost sense was. He didn’t know Clockwork was in the very same room with him. This was the start, and like always, Clockwork would be watching. He would do what he was able to keep the boy safe, and winced at the months it would take before Jazz caught on to what was happening.

Her brother becoming a halfa was not in the realm of possibilities that she was expecting but she would be his support, well versed by that point that their were both good and bad ghosts.

Someday, Clockwork might tell Danny how long he’d been in his life. Someday, Danny might forgive him for his rough half ghost beginning and letting things fall where they were meant to. He didn’t revel in Danny’s struggles, but those struggles were what would make him a fitting king.

Soon he’d get to introduce himself to Danny, and his first task for the boy would be a harrowing one, but he knew what Danny could do when he tried. Until then, Clockwork would watch the parade from above, his pride in the Fenton children immeasurable.

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #Jazz Fenton #Clockwork #bad fenton parents #Clockwork Dad #ghost dad

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callsign-rogueone · 21 days

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study season

fourth wing characters (Aaric, Bodhi, Brennan, Dain, Garrick, Imogen, Liam, Mira, Rhiannon, Ridoc, Sawyer, Sloane, Violet, and Xaden) x reader the ways our faves help you study for exams. words: ~900 🏷: no book spoilers, no triggers. gender neutral. and I included the girls this time!! some of these can be read as platonic and others mention kisses / cuddles, implying you’re a couple. idk, I just work here. I’m really liking this format lately, and it’s (fairly) quick and easy so you can expect more of these in the future while I procrastinate all the girlfriendverse chapters and smut I have to write lol

First, the more studious of the bunch:

Brennan is all-in, no hesitation, pulling up a chair next to you and learning this with you for moral support, but also for fun (can you believe this guy?) though you suppose it’s easier to enjoy this if it doesn’t count for a grade. Either way, he’s a very nice study partner, and he encourages you to take breaks every hour / chapter / etc. Brings snacks, too.

Violet somehow already knows all of the material, and explains it better than the textbook or the professor. Walks things back if you don’t get it and gets into the why and how, which so many teachers skip over, even though it helps explain the what (pet peeve of mine showing here lol).

Aaric’s study skills are unmatched -- years of the best private tutors money can buy really paid off. Teaches you new strategies that you’ve never heard of in your life, and when you ask, he admits a bit shyly that he came up with it himself, but it works, and you get it done in half the time you would have before. (work smarter, not harder, baby)

Rhiannon gives you the pep talk of your life (we all need a Rhiannon in our lives) and convinces you that you’ve got this. Packs you a little snack for the day of your exam with a little note reminding you that you know this, just breathe and think.

Xaden sees you struggling and forces you to take a break. During said break, he’s reading the book himself and figuring out what exactly has you so stressed and exhausted. Breaks down the tasks into smaller, more manageable steps and guides you through it -- “find three reasons why XYZ happened.” done with that? “Now make them into paragraphs.” etc etc, and an hour later, you have a passable essay.

Dain is taking this more seriously than you are, and his discipline is like no other; you’re not stopping until the work is done, or until midnight, whichever comes first (because sleep is important for the brain, or whatever. Definitely not just because he misses you and wants to cuddle).

Garrick may have no idea what you’re talking about, but he suffers through it with you, offering to let you explain things to him, because teaching is a good way to test if you understand something. Though you get what you pay for -- he’s a total smartass about it, asking questions about the littlest details even if they’re common knowledge -- he’s gotta be thorough, right?

Ridoc may be the class clown type, but he’s smarter than a lot of people think. He comes up with a bunch of jokes that actually help you remember things. Somehow manages to relate the most complex topic in your book to a sandwich, and it actually works. He’s incredibly smug about this for the rest of the week, especially when you get the highest score in the class (he’ll take payment in kisses, thank you.)

Bodhi makes flashcards with you, quizzing you and giving you a kiss if you get it right (this definitely is not a distraction, and things definitely don’t escalate from here, nope.) He’s also really good at proofreading essays, and gives excellent feedback regarding the structure and the order of the information.

Liam sits there with you all the while, completely silent, working on one of his wood carvings at the other end of the table, but you know he’s there and he’s watching -- and that provides a healthy amount of peer pressure and keeps you on task. He’s an incredibly observant person, and he can see the stress building; he knows when to intervene and suggest that you take a break.

Sloane is the best person to commiserate with. She doesn’t want to be doing this either, but she’s also incredibly stubborn, and she doesn’t give up; after a healthy amount of complaining, she’s forcing you both to keep trying until it works / until it’s done, and then you’re treating yourselves to something for getting it over with, because you deserve it.

Sawyer is gentle and supportive, having a heart-to-heart conversation with you and reminding you that yes, this is important, but the world will not stop turning if you fail one exam. He knows how it feels to be compared to his peers, especially in how long it takes you to accomplish something (poor bb) and doesn’t want you stressing yourself out about that, either.

Imogen is the opposite, all tough love, giving you gentle but firm reminders: “you didn’t make it this far just to give up,”, “I know you can do this, so do it,” but she balances it out with tender affirmation when you’re done. She’ll even let you skip out on training for the day since you’ve been studying so hard (and she takes training seriously, so this is more of a reward than it seems).

Mira’s default approach is similar to Imogen’s, but she can see that you’re reaching your limit and dials it back, being more gentle with you and doing whatever you need -- encouragement? someone to just sit there? help / explanation / etc? she’s got you covered. herds you into bed at a reasonable hour so you’ll be well rested for the classes and exams.

And all of them are incredibly proud of you for working so hard and getting good grades 🤍

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monachopsis-11 · 3 months

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The infantilization of having restricted eating is crazy, I get treated like a kid on a regular basis by people who were treating me normal five seconds earlier just because of my sandwich order.

I have sat at a restaurant meeting while I was a hostess where all my coworkers laughed at how plain the food on the kids menu was and how kids had no taste and they were so glad they weren’t like that anymore. At the same job people questioned my orders when I got food at the end of a shift saying it was barely even the same thing anymore and wouldn’t I like something else? If I had wanted something else I would have asked for it, you don’t need to double check and use baby voice with me I’m fully capable of deciding what I eat.

I get judgmental looks and questions from people who take my food orders in public more and more often as I get older and it’s less socially acceptable for me to say no vegetables on things without being treated like a spoiled child who’s inconveniencing them. People look at me in surprise and ask if they heard right, scoff, roll their eyes etc. on a pretty regular basis.

When I need to send back food after someone makes a mistake on my order and I can’t eat it my family acts like they’re embarrassed of me and sometimes when I’m not paying they refuse to let me. I will go hungry every time and have been made to often as well.

For years school trips and meals with other peoples families were a terrifying ordeal and still give me anxiety. I was denied desert and sometimes the meal as a whole for not eating even though I asked what was being made ahead of time so I knew if I should eat before hand or bring something else and even knowing this people ignored it and changed meal plans to try and pressure me into eating more variety.

The worst part of all of this is that I wish I could eat everything other people can but sometimes the smell or look of food I don’t like on someone else’s plate is enough to make me feel sick, the thought of putting it in my mouth for any reason is unimaginable.

And maybe the whole “they’ll eat if they’re hungry enough” thing works at a certain point but I lived off beef jerky, raisins, and half a bagel for four days on a school trip where no one bothered to accommodate my eating restrictions and I would’ve gone much longer before eating what was offered.

I had a teacher who kept me in for six recesses in a row over me not trying a bite of food we cooked in class in third grade purely because they were annoyed and took it on themself to step into something that wasn’t their business.

I regularly get guilted and called out on my unhealthy diet and it hurts because I would do anything to be able to eat more foods, I hope that maybe I will in the future, but right now it’s not an option. I’m hoping if I find a good smoothie recipe I can get more fruits and vegetables in my diet but even then I won’t ever be in a position to just eat what is served and I shouldn’t have to endure judging and being treated like a child by random strangers who have no business in what I want the food I’m paying for to have on it.

It’s valid for adults to have restricted eating too, it doesn’t make us children, and it’s not a moral failing. It’s also not anyone else’s business.

#actually autistic #autistic experiences #late diagnosed autistic #invisible disability #actuallyautistic #autism #asd #autistic community #disability #restricted eating #sensory issues #food issues

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darcydoesfuckall · 1 month

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Why you should write that AO3 comment:

Hello! I am an AO3 author and professional fandom dipshit. This is an "essay" on why you should leave that comment on the fanfic you just read.

Table of Contents:

"Commenting is too much effort!"

"I don't know what to write!"

Do you want more fanfic?

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

"Commenting is too much effort!"

Yes, writing a comment takes energy. I'm an introvert, I get that. I have two counter arguments to this point.

AO3 comments are not the SAT:

This is a comment from my latest fic, Quantum Entangled.

Three words and a heart. It requires zero consideration, it isn't specific to the fic, it's something you could copy-paste, even. A comment like this is better than nothing. I'll let my reply from AO3 explain why:

"You know what, I appreciate this way more than you'd probably expect. The temptation to lurk is a strong one, both for social anxiety reasons and internet content-consumption culture reasons. But when people lurk, I can't tell that they've enjoyed the story. The more people that lurk instead of interacting, the more I assume that my work wasn't good enough, irrespective of the reader's actual feelings. So this was a very welcome comment to read. Thank you for indicating your enjoyment. I will endeavour to write more stuff for you to lurk on in the future. :)"

A comment like this, one that is as thoughtless and low effort as possible, is still a comment. Something that denotes a reader's interest. Because, and I can't be clear enough about this, I HAVE NO OTHER WAY OF KNOWING THAT YOU LIKED IT. Kudos and comments are my only window into the reader's experience.

Sure, I'd love more detailed and thorough comments on my work, but, if that expectation is the thing that's going to stop you from commenting at all, I'd prefer the bland copy-paste appreciation.

Onto my second argument.

Do you know what also takes effort? WRITING THE DAMN FIC:

You do not get to complain about being forced to type a congratulatory handful of words after reading that 200k slow-burn fantasy au. Do you know how many hours went into that thing? Do you? Because I can guarantee that it was A LOT. All that writers are asking for is a single emoji. A kudos, at the very least. Consider the effort that went into the creation that you've just experienced and give just a thimble full of it back.

Authors lay out a feast for you to devour. They're only requesting a "thank you".

"I don't know what to write!"

Like in the previous example, an AO3 comment can be as simple as three words saying that you appreciated it. Just an acknowledgement that you were there. It doesn't have to be fancy.

But if you want fancy...?

Here's one of my comments, from Tishae's Better Together.

Let me break it down for you.

"Stunning. This au is so well developed. I love how you managed to maintain tension after the point that they discover that their feelings are requited. This was brilliantly paced, and the action (esp the ending) was so engaging."

The comment opens with appreciation. (Think of it as a sandwich with love as the bread. It starts and ends with my enjoyment.)

There are specific details about what I liked.

"If I may ask, what was the crime that the Metatron committed? Maybe I'm bad at reading between the lines or maybe I missed something, but I'm really curious as to what dirt they have on him. Victimless? Bad enough for imprisonment, but not so morally reprehensible as to make Anathema reveal it? Did he embezzle? That's all I can really think of."

Continues with a specific question about the story and plot.

Shows that I was critically engaged and actively considering the story.

You don't have to have questions about every fic that you read, but don't be afraid to ask them if you do. I love it when people ask me about my work.

"Thank you for the delicious food. I honestly thought that you were going to have Crowley's final look be something in grey (black and white being the theme of the show, metaphorically representing separation/binary, so Aziraphale was uncomfortable with it due to the implications. Grey, symbolising unity/shades of grey as an idiom, would then be the biggest middle finger to the Metatron) but I do really like what you came up with."

Gratitude.

Thoughts about how I read the plot. (This is something I particularly love to read as an author. Please tell me what's going on in that funky lil' brain of yours!!)

"I'm hoping this comment provides plenty of dopamine. If the task activation and instant gratification parts of your brain light up, you might be more likely to write GO content again. Love your work, thanks for sharing it. I hope you gain 3 inches of metaphorical dick length. Please keep writing."

Encouragement to keep writing. (This is the best way to ensure that creators remain in the fandom)

A funny comment to sign off.

Now that you know what to comment, let's start on the real reasons why you should.

Do you want more fanfic?

Fun fact! Fanfictious Authoria are a species that sustain themselves entirely on a diet of brain worms, unfinished WIPs, and kudos. As one of the three fundamental food groups, removing kudos from the fandom ecosystem causes a complete collapse of the natural order. In times of unprecedented scarcity, entire populations of Fanfictious Authoria can die out completely. This means that the production of fanfiction, in that particular region of fandom, stops entirely, often causing major ecological damage, and the subsequent deaths of fan species in the same genus. (Like the Fanfictious Artia, or the Fanfictious Editour, both of which subsist on fanfiction based diets to survive.)

In conservation efforts, experts are imploring readers to donate kudos and comments toward any fandom region that they want to stay alive.

But I digress.

When I want more content, I tell the author. Ask and you shall receive; it's the best way to convince an author/artist to make more.

My comment on @mrghostrat's And They Were Streamers

You liked it? Then COMMENT! Not for the author's sake, but for your own. You want to see the ending of a WIP? Well, it'd be a terrible shame if the author gave up on it because they thought no one was reading... They don't know that you enjoy their work until you TELL THEM. They're not psychic, you have to help them hear you. Commenting on the things you like influences the creators of said things to attribute the act of making content (and, notably, making the type of content that specifically appeals to you) with the dopamine hit of reading your reaction. Treat them like Pavlov's dogs. Ring the kudos-bell.

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

They have real human feelings and real human egos. The contemporary attitude towards media engagement is skewed towards algorithmic, instant, and uncritical consumption. This is pumping straight gasoline into the beautiful lakes of our fandom ecosystem. Fandom cannot afford to treat its creators like mechanical text generators. We are not an unfeeling assembly line, only there to produce content. We are enthusiasts, engaging in our hobby. No fan creator has to show you anything. They are fully within their rights to keep their works hidden in their computer files, never to see the light of day. Every fanfic on AO3 is only there because someone had the grace to share it with you. You are not entitled to an author's work, just as they are not entitled to your kudos. We have a mutually beneficial arrangement. Do not forget your part in this symbiosis.

It's a problem that extends beyond AO3. Tumblr is a less enthusiastic place than it used to be. Fandom as a whole is drifting towards a consumption mindset. I, for one, am sick of it. Reblog things, like them, share them. Make fanart of fanart. Who gives a shit? Do the cringy thing. You don't have to cultivate your blog aesthetic. Be who you are, like what you like, and have enthusiasm about all of it. Fandom should be an expression of radical self acceptance. Embrace it. Leave essays about fics that you liked. Reblog the essays of other's when you see them. Exist in the mutual joy of seeing and being seen. You are not just an external observer, absorbing content from a distance. You are here too. Wave back at us. Say 'hi.'

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

My final appeal is a moral one.

Commenting on AO3 is just a kind thing to do.

You are your actions. Are you the kind of person who does the kind thing when no one is watching? When no one will care?

Fanfiction is a hobby, and I'm not here to guilt you about how you spend your leisure time. I'm only here to say that there is a kindness you could be giving the world.

If you are one of the people that performs this kindness, I thank you.

#ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #GO fandom I'm looking at you #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable wives #ineffable husbands fic rec #ineffable idiots #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses

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wh0re-in-the0ry · 5 months

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Would a pilgrim die from the Chuckle/Sorry boys content?

Just something for thanksgiving :)

Schlatt

Most of the content that Schlatt makes would kill a pilgrim easily. There’s too much goon talk, the funny mic would give them a heart attack, and I’m pretty sure they would think Schlatt is a witch or something because how he has beef with the pope.

The only content I think a pilgrim would survive watching are the Jambo centric videos. That and the one where Schlatt is in that pet store in Japan with the cats. Just any of the cat content.

8.5/10- could kill a whole colony but there’s still a chance of survival

Ted Nivison

Could a pilgrim get overstimulated from his Rainforest Cafe and Margaritavil videos? Yes, definitely.

Could they kill a pilgrim? No, sorry :(

4/10- good attempt

Chuckle Sandwich itself

Yes. I’m sure of it. I also asked my mom and she also said yes.

11/10- Look at me in the eyes and tell me a pilgrim wouldn’t die from hearing the docking talk. (bonus mom point)

Slimecicle

Slimecicle’s content would start a plague if left unsupervised here present day then imagine what it would do in a small, unaware village.

15/10- those pilgrims are fucking dying.

TommyInnit

He’s the reason I made this.

11/10- Most pilgrims wouldn’t even survive the “Most people find me annoying at first-” bit (bonus point for British)

Wilbur Soot

Ngl I don’t really listen to Lovejoy I’m sorry- But from what I have listened to and knowing fun wasn’t allowed back in the pilgrim days, any pilgrim that would be caught enjoying Lovejoy would be burned as a witch.

8/10- Content can kill a pilgrim but not directly

(British bonus point)

Ranboo

They’re too fruity to be suitable for pilgrims.

10/10- too slay, too silly

Philza

If we are talking about the QSMP then they will perish but let’s be real, most of us are not doing well after the QSMP.

I must confess, I don’t have twitch and haven’t watched much of him so the only references I have are from either Tommy’s videos and the sand video.

But from I watched, it is with a heavy heart for me to say a pilgrim can survive Phil’s content. Out of everyone I might even say pilgrims are most likely tolerate/possibly enjoy Phil.

10/10 for QSMP (basically cheating)

3/10 for normal (bonus point added for British, point deduction for possible enjoyment by pilgrims)

Sorry Boys itself

…Is this even a question?

14/10 (+3 British points, +1 gay point)

Moral of the story: fuck the pilgrims

#chuckle sandwich #chuckle sammy #sorry boys #schlatt #jschlatt #ted nivison #charlie slimecicle #slimecicle #tommyinnit #tommy innit #wilbur soot #ranboo #ranboo live #philza #thanksgiving

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buddhamethods · 4 months

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10 BL Characters I Want Carnally

AKA I'm just a person with two keen eyes and dubious morals when it comes to enjoying media so don't take it seriously, I'm here for a good time.

Thank you @sndrys for tagging me! This was an eye opening experience putting this together. As it turns out I might have a type (ew).

1) Guy from Bake Me Please (2023)

The sole reason for me creating this list! Look, I dropped Bake Me Please almost immediately because it just wasn't for me BUT I've been lowkey watching through my dash. And let me tell you, my fingers gain consciousness and hit reblog everytime this baby's face pops up because...well...LOOK AT HIM. He is beautiful and he should get the guy (hehe get it) in the end idc.

2) Yok from Not Me (2021)

Yok is such a beloved character and for good reason! He is sexy, he is gay, he sets buildings on fire and steals cops' wallets on accident because HOW WAS HE SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT GUY HE WAS STALKING WAS A COP??? I love you Yok, never change.

3) Palm from Never Let Me Go/ OurSkyy2 (2022-23)

The anger I felt for all the injustice and mistreatment our beautiful Palm had to face in this show took literal years off my life. It's rare for me to get this passionately protective over a character and yet here we are, in the Palm Protection Squad headquarters. Even Nueng is on the watchlist!

4) Tonhon from Tonhon Chonlatee (2020)

Not to out myself as an enjoyer of silly goofy times , but I did have fun watching Fish Upon The Sky and Secret Crush On You, so OFCOURSE I thought I would like this one too but GOD was it rough. Did I still finish it? Yes. Did I fawn over PoddKhao pairing and have been quietly praying for some kind of reunion ever since? Also yes. Was I foaming at the mouth barking everytime Tonhon AKA Podd was on my screen? I'm not gonna comment without lawyer present.

5) Tew from My Dear Gangster Oppa (2023)

Speaking of Tonhon Chonlatee...AH! Ai Long Nhai (TC's spiritual prequel of sorts) was sure...something. And by something I mean I saw Meen and decided I will never speak ill of men ever again, feminism quite literally left my body. And then a year later My Dear Gangster Oppa came out and guess what??! MEEN IS THE GANGSTER OPPA! Dreams really do come true, kids.

6) Wen from Moonlight Chicken (2023)

(or Tian from ATOATS or Mueang Nan fron FUTS). Mix...I will eat you. Always so dewy and healthy and sparkly-eyed. But Wen from Moonlight Chicken is something out of the realm of my imagination. The sex appeal? The maturity?? The gentleness??!! Somebody sedate me before I say something I will not be able to justify in court.

7) Vee from Love Mechanics (2022)

He is a pretty bisexual who makes the most abhorrent stupid decisions known to men and then weeps and suffers for them WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED? Once again, is the show flawless or even remotely coherent? Absolutely not. That being said Vee brought me so much joy by being stupid I'm forever grateful.

(also YinWar are so back GO WATCH JACK AND JOKER TRAILER)

8) Prapai from Love In The Air (2022)

To a certain extent I've enjoyed every MAME show I've watched. To do that you need to possess the rare ability called "I abandoned every shred of moral integrity to gawk at hot men". And Prapai? MAN is this bitch hot. Tall dark handsome? Check! Bisexual on a bike? Check! Stubborn and annoying? CHECK!

9) Xiang Hao Ting from HIStory3: Make Our Days Count (2019)

*incoherent wailing and sobbing* IM NOT EXPLAINING SHIT ABOUT HIM LEAVE ME ALONE

10) AlanJeff from Pit Babe (2023)

My newest obsession! I refuse to separate our local senior citizen and his favorite prophetic mechanic. Both of them are hot as shit in their own way. Alan is a sexy dilf with so much weight and responsibility on his shoulders it's a miracle he retained his optimism and youthful awkwardness. And Jeff is a prickly baby-cow-baby-deer eyed baby that is so touch starved it's actually a little funny. SO I GUESS ALANJEFF SANDWICH IT IS.

(don't be shy tag yourselves besties <3)

#tag game #bake me please #bake me please the series #not me #not me the series #never let me go #never let me go the series #my dear gangster oppa #my dear gangster oppa the series #moonlight chicken #history 3: make our days count #pit babe #pit babe the series #love mechanics #tonhon chonlatee #love in the air #love in the air the series #blacked out and tagged every show oops

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msfbgraves · 11 days

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Work vs Jobs

What I'm going to say is not in any way new - you can read Marx, Chomsky, Graeber, Bregman if you want to ponder it at length, but in the offline world it is still seen as a radical idea.

When reading about the sandwich- to- minimum wage- ratio, I saw all these Tumlblr comments basically going: (sobbing) 'fuck you, I'm not gonna buy that (sobbing some more').

So then I thought: if so many of us are cutting back on things like sammies because who indeed would pay €8 for a döner or $10 for a sandwich, how can this not cause a recession?

And then I remembered a Jon Stewart interview with some banking hotshot, saying that yes, because of the pandemic there were fewer laborers around, and yes, we absolutely had to force them to take jobs with bad pay, because supply and demand doesn't go for multinationals, so yes, they had to raise interest and prices artificially to force a recession, cannot be helped, how else would anyone work?

There's so many people who share that view, that if you didn't force people to take jobs, they wouldn't do any work, especially unpleasant work. A uni friend of mine who supports the German Green Party had argued vehemently against a basic income for that reason, because who would deign to clean the streets if they weren't forced to by threat of starvation, homelessness and having their children taken away?

And I need you all to know that experiments with basic income have proven that this is utter, and I mean utter bullshit. Even The Atlantic is seeing now, that there are people for whom working wasn't worth it because of the abysmal conditions, have begun working when the pay was high enough to justify the cost of work - in time or commute or rent.

There's this protestant view of the human spirit that suffering is somehow good for the soul, and this medieval catholic idea that the concept of "work" and "doing penance" is somehow one and the same, and therefore it is morally just to make others and yourself suffer through work, possibly to get a pat on the head from God, whose existence is taken as a given. And that has bled into the idea that jobs are

-morally just

-supposed to be awful, because good for the soul. The more intrinsically rewarding a job, the lower the wages, that's why caring for your own family is unpaid work the world over (both important and intrinsically rewarding)

-something you have to force sinful people into against their will

And both research and experience have proven time and time again that this isn't good, neither for people nor human society at large.

-First of all suffering doesn't make you a good person, ask Art Spiegelman, writer of MAUS, when talking about his father;

-Miserable workers do worse work, ask, well, any labour board in any country

-People actually choose to work for wages when the benefits outweigh the costs, ask the Finnish Government's minimum wage pilot, and the Mincome project.

If you guarantee people housing and a livable income whether or not they choose to work for wages, a few things happen:

People who couldn't afford to work less than fulltime because the cost of care would outstrip the benefit of wages, now choose to take on smaller jobs, stimulating both their wellbeing and the economy;

An increase in informal care makes sure that so many fewer people get sick (excluding antivaxxing tradwives, goodness knows what they're about....), costing the economy billions less

A greatly reduced crime rate, and far fewer incarcerations.

The reason why we're mostly not in a recession that several people who weren't working before, because of high wages, actually ARE working now and nobody needs to bully somebody out of their small business to become a barista at an understaffed Starbucks instead.

What people have been doing, however, is quitting pointless jobs that were actually killing them and keeping them away from their families.

And sure, corporations do not like that.

They need people tired and absolutely miserable so they spend their meagre disposable wages on immediate relief: overpriced food and alcohol, forcing them to clock back in until they die.

If a few employees die, that is absolutely fine. Cost of doing business. We need a critical mass of employees to replace them. You can replace a dead person with a former small business owner, no biggie.

If people get sick, they do not carry any - and I mean not any - of that cost. Society does, but they're not in society, they're in business. Money is not the means to an end, money is the entire end, no matter the cost.

They need to extract as much 'value' out of people as they can, then discard them. Again, it's not about making the employees do good work, it's about having their labour be of very short term gain, and having enough surplus people to be able to work employed people to death.

For that, they need to create poverty where, by rights, there isn't any.

And even they understand that people do not hold with that. So they conflate the idea of "labor", i.e. activity to sustain to make something new, sustain something or improve something, with the idea of a "job" - a position where you, potentially, are used to get a few shareholders richer with no regards for your wellbeing or that of your community, and if you want to get an increase in wages, you have to accept that your time spent there will be increasingly miserable. There are good jobs and bad jobs - indeed some jobs need you functioning at a minimum level of physical health, or are indeed fun, but even they will make you artificially miserable, either by forced poverty (you are a teacher! That is so rewarding! Of course you make nothing!), or moral injury (not only are you not doing anything useful, you are actively making people's lives worse). And they tell you this is necessary, like that episode in Black Mirror where someone has to kill three people or the world will come to an end. People have to be employed, otherwise the economy will tank, making everybody's lives super duper awful and nobody will ever even bother to come out of bed anymore.

There's is useful work done in jobs, but they are not the same thing.

If you guarantee people food, housing, and healthcare, they take better care of themselves, their loved ones, their environment, choose work that suits them, be it about the amount of hours or the kind of work, commit fewer crimes, spend more on fun, make more art, raise more children (their own or others), have fewer addictions. Exploitation is only in the interest of like 5 big companies in the world right now, and they exploit people so they neglect other people who also then have no other choice to get exploited until they die. So please let no one ever tell you that, because there is obviously a lot of work to be done, people have to be forced into jobs. Work is a necessary activity, a job is a place where work may or may not be done under artificially miserable conditions (or what economists think are miserable conditions. Dentists get paid so well because everybody thinks it is a horrible job; meanwhile, I've known a fair few, and those who choose it enjoy it well enough! And yes, every office has a Dwight, but those people truly are outliers).

The person who says "no one wants to work anymore" or "without jobs no work will get done" and especially "without us the economy would tank" are lying through their teeth! Especially those people who say that about "tanking the economy". They're trying to artificially tank it right now! To make people stop doing work they deem necessary and start doing jobs that benefit only the corporations!

Work is necessary, and people will always want to work, and work for wages too. Jobs are designed to be prisons under the current conditions. They will only be opportunities if you can freely choose to leave them at any time, with no risk to your wellbeing.

#wage slavery #capitalism

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notaplaceofhonour · 5 months

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or maybe y’all are just dipshits & don’t understand what tf you’re talking about

a) stop viewing social issues through the lens of your own self-actualization

boycotts aren’t about the consumer’s morality. they aren’t about being a “good” or “pure” person or “washing blood from your hands”. they aren’t about any kind of individualistic anything. they’re a tactic, pure and simple, that leverages market pressure against companies in order to convince that company to meet specific demands agreed upon by the collective that is performing the boycott—the point is improving collective conditions, not bolstering your individual moral superiority, and if you keep treating it like the latter rather than the former, you aren’t fighting for justice you’re just pushing other people down to serve your ego

people who are not members of groups that collectively agreed to perform a boycott may be invited to join the boycott but they are not obligated to participate in it. if being consistent with your personal convictions leads you to joining a protest or a boycott or other collective action, genuinely good on you. that has nothing to do with the “goodness” of the 8 billion other people on this planet who aren’t at your particular protest or who drink an occasional 16 ounces from the ever-growing list of companies you hate

if you’re thinking of typing a rebuttal, stop, and ask yourself what materials are in your phone, your laptop—whatever device you are reading this from—do you know where they all came from? where did the cobalt come from? do you know who assembled your device? do you know who picked the tomatoes in the food you eat? who made the clothes you wear? who slaughtered the cow or chicken in your sandwich? do you know how much were they paid? do you know what their working conditions are like? do you know what their countries’ governments are doing to people? congo, china, etc.

if someone is “complicit” in genocide for drinking a cup of coffee, how much more complicit are you in the same for the cobalt in your phone? for genocide, for slavery, for child labor

this world is built on blood and the same hands you use to type your self-righteous indignation have been smeared with it from the moment you first drew breath. stop striving for a more righteous lungful, stop beating people over the head about the “blood on their hands”, and just take steps to make the world a more livable place

b) starbucks has nothing to do with israel

they don’t even do business in israel. they don’t give money to the israeli government. they never posted “in support” of the israeli government or any violence against palestinians

in fact starbucks openly condemned violence against innocent gazans in the same statement that they condemned the october 7th massacre—a statement they only had to make in the first place because Starbucks Workers United’s october 7th “solidarity” post featured an image of the bulldozers Hamas used in the attack where they murdered more than a thousand people on a social media account bearing Starbucks’ name, and that is not something any reasonable person, organization, or company wants their name to associated with

starbucks does not “support” israel, much less “genocide”

there are other reasons to boycott starbucks, and godspeed to you if you do, but the idea that you’re a good or bad person (much less somehow stopping or contributing to genocide) for whether you buy a cup of fucking coffee is mind-numbingly asinine

#starbucks #i/p #israel

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secretmellowblog · 2 years

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So much internet analysis of media feels like……. if people were trying to criticize Chick-Fil-A, but refused to talk about anything other than the quality of the sandwiches. All that mattered was whether the product was good. So people just debated endlessly over whether the products were Good or not, and no one discussed how Chick-Fil-A donated to conservative homophobic hate groups.

“Is this Disney product Good and does it have good gay representation?” Does Disney still donate to homophobic republican politicans!!!??? Do they still actively censor any queer content during production, cancelling gay projects and actively forcing their writers to cut gay content, to the point where every sad scrap that makes it onscreen is a miracle? Can you meaningfully make any statements about “gay rep at Disney” without bringing in that larger context?

It’s not a perfect analogy— because art shouldn’t be a product, and a movie is theoretically trying to Say something in a way that a sandwich is not. But Idk I feel like the reason we fixate so much on media analysis is because it is Fun. It is fun to talk about lord of the rings and the owl house and Steven universe. It is not fun to talk about the horror and exploitation that is baked into the “entertainment industry;” it’s not fun to research and analyze the systems that created the horrifically expensive movies you love.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because amazon is releasing the most expensive tv series ever made, a spin-off series based on lord of the rings. I have no interest in watching it despite my lifelong love of lotr but the thing is—

I have no doubt the series will be good! It will be fine. Lots of money has been thrown into it, and I have enough friends in the entertainment industry to know that on every massive corporate product there are hundreds of writers and artists sincerely trying their best to create good meaningful art. The Amazon series will be Fine. It will be good.

But my question is: Does it being good actually matter? Does it matter if a chick-Fil-a sandwich is good? Does it matter if this vile evil horrible media monopoly run by a villainous CEO that works its employees to death creates a good product?

I feel like I’m going crazy when most of the criticism of Amazon’s lotr is conservatives and people who act like conservatives ranting on about how “I can’t believe they gave Blorbo GenericElf a personality! That’s so out of character—he didn’t have a personality in the book! Tolkien, our lord and savior who we must worship as an authority, would be infuriated (because we still are bound to submit to this dead guy’s opinion apparently!) Everything would be better if everything stayed exactly as it was in the past, in the Sacred Original Canon. Any attempt to transform Tolkien’s work is morally reprehensible and a sign of the fall of the civilization.”

Sometimes I just want to shake those people and say “PEOPLE ARE DYING! people are dying in Amazon warehouses, and you’re treating your petty fandom opinion about blorbo genericelf’s personality as if it has this laughably enormous moral weight.”

I know that’s unkind, and that people can care about more than one thing; but I don’t know. I used to have this really naive idea that adaptations were a conversation with the original work, and every reinterpretation was a beautiful addition of meaning. I still believe that on some level. I think every author should be free to reinterpret stories however they want, should be able to argue with the original author and set their work on fire if they need to. there’s a lot about Tolkien’s work specifically that deserves to be disrespected, like his vicious racism and sexism. I LOVE transformative work—especially transformative work that meaningfully argues with the original author.

But like….you really can’t talk about these big media franchises without talking about the systems that created them.

Yes, people can sometimes create great beautiful sincere emotional art within these exploitative systems! I love the original lotr films and books. The new Amazon series is so expensive that it will be perfectly Fine.

But creating good art doesn’t change the fact that these giant media monopolies do so much real, constant, tangible harm. Warner Brothers caused massive harm to New Zealand while making the lotr/hobbit films, essentially strong arming the country’s government into changing their film industry laws to benefit massive foreign corporations. And Amazon is a vicious violent exploitative mega monopoly that is literally overworking its underpaid employees until it kills them.

It’s hard because I believe that good art can be very meaningful to people, and that media analysis can be important and valuable.

Its just that— not to swing a bat at a hornet’s nest— sometimes I wish people would stop hyperbolizing about how [petty fandom opinion] will cause lasting harm to the world, while not engaging with the things about the media property that are causing immediate tangible physical objective harm.

#idk if this is coherent but yee #;-;;;;#anyway thank you for reading! i know I haven’t been active here lately #i just wanted to throw this out there before anyone asked me about rings of power #I’ve just become so disillusioned by the entertainment industry and the active tangible harm these giant franchises cause #that I just . don’t #XD #like it’s probably good! it’s probably a good fine show #and lots of marvel movies are good!#and I found meaning in the original lotr trilogy #but I don’t know #i kinda just. am disgusted with the way these mega franchises work #and the way the entertainment industry works #it’s the ‘art school student with entertainment industry friends’ life lol #but yee #anyway I’ve been inactive here but I’m back to be sad about stuff again XD

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obsessedwithpedritoofc · 3 months

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Mʏ Oɴʟʏ Rᴇᴀsᴏɴ (Fʀᴀɴᴋɪᴇ Mᴏʀᴀʟᴇs)

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Frankie Morales × Transmasc Reader.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 7,3 k.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Both sent to the same prison, with different reasons and different problems to deal with. At least most of them, until one brought them together.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: au, angst, violence, mentions of blood, shots being fired, mentions of death, mentions of killing, allusion to drugs, mentions of anger problems, mentions of scars, fluff, not wanting to have sex, frankies a sweetheart ofc, similarities with the series "time", actual physical descriptions of reader (but not detailed), no use of Y/N (reader is referred to as Lost). (lmk if i missed any).

𝔸/ℕ: hellooo as i suppose you already know, i LOVED writing this shit. frankie is my favorite pedro character and will always be and whenever i write something for him i get really excited. anyway so, this is based on the series "time", which is why it has some similarities to it but i mainly got inspiration from my own imagination :D whatever, im starting to bore myself lol. enjoy <3

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

That was it. You almost had it. You just had to pull the trigger...

"Come on, get up!", there was a firm, insistent knock at the door of your cell. You looked at the ceiling, sighed and reluctantly got up.

Of all the bad days you had —and you had many bad days—, that was the worst day you could have been transferred. Your legs were stiff, your knuckles were broken and bloodied, and the scar in your stomach was making your insides hurt more than usual, though maybe that was because of the hunger. But well, it's not like you could even choose when to be transferred or where. That fight hadn't been your fault.

"Move, asshole", you looked up at him. He grabbed the chicken sandwich from your tray.

"Aren't you a bit too small to be a boy?", he laughed. Some of the ones behind him did, too.

"Give me my fucking sandwich back and move out of the way", you tried to stand your ground, not look weak, give them a warning.

"Oh, lookit that! Little girl's gotten all mad—".

You didn't give him the chance to finish the sentence before you smashed your tray right on his face, making him fall to the floor with a heavy thud. You got on his lap and started hitting your fist on his nose, his mouth, his eyes, everything you could hit. Until the alarm went off and you were surrounded and grabbed by a bunch of guards that took you to an isolation cell.

Next day, you were being transferred to a prison thousands of kilometers away from him. You didn't even know where they were going to take you. But you didn't care either. At this point, you didn't really care about anything.

When you arrived to your new home it was snowing and you were freezing. As you were approaching, the driver gave you a brief explanation of how weather and life were like in that prison. You didn't see yourself living in a place where it was always cold and raining —or snowing, that day specifically—, let alone for more than twenty years and between all those freaks.

Your time in that last prison had been cut short barely a month after you got in. You rejected every chance you were given to call your family or whoever close to you, and you didn't receive a single visit. Not like you had anyone close to you either. The only one that had once been was now gone.

You spent your first day in prison like it had been your forever home. The next day, though, everyone knew who you were and started looking at you as if you were their next prey. Or more as if they knew why you were there. Luckily for you, no one approached more than necessary. And luckily for you, you didn't really have to approach anyone at all, since you didn't even have a cellmate.

A week in, though, a group of inmates paid you a visit while you were reading in your cell. One of them looked outside to make sure there was no one dangerously nearby, then closed the door. The man at the front stood still, looking at you and scanning the room. Then, he sat next to you on the bed. You immediately sat up by instinct and scanned them all as well. There was three of them —four counting the on sitting next to you. You really didn't have much of a chance if you wanted to suddenly run away, but you could knock out their boss and one of them if you were fast enough.

"I know who you are", said the one on your side.

"Before you continue, you should know the last person who told me I was small didn't end very well", you spoke fast, looking at him in the eyes with an expressionless demeanor, showing you weren't weak and that you were going to stand your ground.

"Oh, I know that, too", he smiled. "That's why you were transferred here, right?".

You sighed. The situation was starting to be a bit too cliché and boring for your liking.

"What do you want?", you didn't take your eyes off of his.

"Nothing", he raised his eyebrows. "Yet".

Of course, you thought, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"So?", you crossed your arms. The man beside you stayed silent for a while.

"Do people around here know what you really are?".

Your demeanor immediately changed, shifting from an expressionless one to a scared one. You knew what he was talking about.

But how the hell did he know?

"Who the fuck are you?", you found yourself suddenly lacking of oxygen. He just smiled.

"I'll come to you when I need a favor", he got up and walked to the door, then knocked. The man behind it opened it. "In the meantime, try not to get in much trouble".

And just like he had walked in, he also walked out. You gasped for air the very second you were left alone.

Great, one week in that prison and you had somehow already fucked up.

"Hey", another man was standing by the door now. He wasn't one of the other guy's men. "You good?", he looked around the room as if he was searching for something.

"Uh... Yeah", you frowned. "Why?".

"Those assholes are always up to somethin', wouldn't be a surprise if they were tryna get you in", he put his hands in his pockets and leaned his side on the doorframe.

"Do you want something?", you sounded a bit annoyed.

"No. I, uh, was jus' checkin' you weren't hurt".

"Well, I'm not. Thanks", you forced a brief smile. "You can leave now".

"Right", he pulled away from the door. "Sorry for botherin' ya".

When he was out of sight, you breathed again.

You took some time to think. Maybe if you did what the guy had told you to, you'd be out of trouble. By the moment, the best for you was to stay out of trouble. He had said not to, perhaps so that cops around wouldn't keep much of an eye on you in case he was going to ask you for a favor —you'd be out of suspicion.

You sighed. You knew you were fucked. But maybe you could keep yourself from making it worse.

"Why?", you held up the gun. "Why did you do it?", tears were streaming down your face.

"I had no choice".

"Why did you do this to me?!", you took a step back.

"I didn't know I'd get y—".

"Get the fuck away from me!!!".

And then you shot.

You sat at the back of the dining room. You were lucky to go down early so you could avoid the masses of inmates that fought over the last piece of bread. Unfortunately, the assholes were something you couldn't avoid. Especially the ones that came to you that morning.

"Well, hello", he sat beside you once again, followed by his men.

"What?", your tone was stern, though your face gave away your concern of what he might say. He didn't say anything at first and grabbed the bread from your tray. "That's mine", you spat.

"Not anymore", he looked into you eyes with as much sternness as your tone was holding at first. "I need you to do something for me", he smiled.

Shit, was your only thought.

"What?".

"But I need to know I can trust you before I give you a task".

"No. You tell me what you want me to do and I'll decide if I do it—".

"I think you don't understand how this works", he moved closer. "I tell you to do something, and you just do it. You don't do it, I tell everyone about you. You fuck it up, I tell everyone about you. You tell the cops, I tell everyone about you", he stared into your eyes. "Are we clear?".

You didn't say anything. You didn't want to make him think you were one to submit easily, but you didn't have any other choice either. Luckily for you, he wasn't looking to humiliate you and just let it be.

"A friend of mine's gonna leave some stuff by your cell one of these days", he pulled slightly away. "I need you to hide it and save it until I come get it".

You put on your usual expressionless demeanor.

"Okay", was your answer. He smiled.

"That's more like it", he patted your shoulder and got up. "Good thing we're on the same page".

And like that, he just walked away again.

You looked around, searching for anyone that might have seen you. Everyone else seemed to be minding their own business, except for the man that had gone check on you the first time that group of inmates had gone talk to you. He was staring at you with a knowing look from a couple tables away. You saw him well this time: he was wearing a cap and his moustache barely hid half of his upper lip. He got up with his tray before you could scan him any longer, then walked up to you and sat by your table.

"What did he say this time?", he asked.

"Hello to you, too", you rolled your eyes and went back to eating. "Why do you care so much anyway?".

"Because the last people I saw him approach to didn't end well".

"Well, define not well", you said with your mouth full.

"Beaten up by cops. By himself. Ended in the hospital", he paused to think. "Dead".

You stopped chewing for a moment, then continued.

"And why me?", you swallowed. "There's a lot of people in here, at least one of them all's gotta be in some shit with those guys".

" 'Course they do, but most of 'em want the reward he gives 'em", he took a bite of his own food. "You didn't seem to".

"Yeah, well, I guess he ran outta rewards because he didn't offer me one", you raised your eyebrows while looking down at your plate, having another bite.

"Then why did you accept to do his dirty work?".

"I didn't ac—".

"I saw him gettin' outta here with your bread n' all smiley, you must've said somethin' he liked".

You stopped eating and slammed your hands on the table.

"Look, man. Whatever I do or not is none of your goddamn business, so I suggest you start minding your own shit unless you wanna end beaten up like the last person that fucked around with me", you stared into his eyes, your own set on fire. He threw his hands up.

"A'right", he grabbed his tray and got up. "Sorry for b—".

"Bothering me, yeah, sure, you can go", you shooed him. He knew better than to keep insisting, so he walked away.

You went back to your cell as soon as you were done eating. Damn, you did miss the bread. But to be honest, it wasn't really something you were concerned about. What really worried you at that moment was which kind of stuff was that bastard's friend going to make you hide and what would happen to you in case you were caught in a room inspection.

You hoped nothing too bad.

It was done. You had done it. It was over.

You stood there, looking at the body laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.

Then you heard police sirens.

"Drop your gun!", they broke the door open. They held their gun up. You held yours on the side of your head.

"Get back!", you screamed.

"Drop your gun and get on the floor!", they kept saying.

You saw no better way out of it. So you shot once again.

A knock on your door woke you up. You hit your forehead with the metal bars under the bunk bed when you jumped, startled. You cursed yourself and rubbed the hurt spot on your forehead before getting up.

No words were shared between you and the man at the other side of the door. He just lent you a small paper bag. You hesitantly grabbed it, then he walked away.

You went back inside. You sat on your bed, asking yourself if you should open the bag or not. To be honest, it wasn't really closed, so the others wouldn't really know if you had looked inside. It's not like he had said you couldn't look. Technically, you were doing nothing wrong—

"What did he give you?".

You hit your head again with the bars.

"Dude, what the fuck!", you rubbed the top of your head. You turned to look at the door, finding the same guy that had sat with you on the dining room more than a week ago. "Oh, it's you", you huffed. "Didn't I tell you to leave me the fuck alone?".

"I know", he walked inside. "But seriously, you need some help with that guy".

"Of course, I do", you smiled sarcastically. "Out of the two times he's talked to me, I haven't been beaten up, I'm not in the hospital and I'm not dead!", you threw your hands up. "I didn't even get in trouble with any cops because of him! Of course I need help with that guy!".

The man stayed silent as you gave him your most sarcastic smile. Then you shifted back to you usual expressionlessness.

"Why do you think I need help?", you shrugged angrily. "Is it because I'm not big and buffed like the dogs he carries around with him?".

"That's not wha—".

"You think I'm weak? Is that it?", you stood up to face him. "Well, lemme tell you something, old man. This is not my first prison, and I've been surviving on my own long enough as to be able to beat the shit out of everyone in this place if I wanted to", you stared into his eyes with your brow deeply frowned.

"I didn't mean that", he spoke slowly, definitely more calmed than you. His eyes flicked down for a moment before looking back into yours. "I jus' thought that, in case he wants to fuck you up real bad, you'd be better with someone by your side".

You cleared your throat and stepped back, looking up at him.

"Someone by my side, huh?", you resisted the urge to laugh. "Because I can't handle myself well enough?".

"I already told you I didn't mean—".

"I know", you chuckled this time. "I'm just fucking with ya", you sat back on the bed. "I understand that you feel alone in here and want a friend. And who better than the new inmate, right?", you gave him a knowing smirk. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Shit, you caught me", he sat beside you as well. "I feel so lonely in this prison", he chuckled. "I'm Francisco, by the way".

"Francisco? What kind of name is that?", you bursted into laughter.

"Jus' call me Frankie, goddammit. No need to make a big fuss 'bout it", his mumbling made you laugh more.

"Yeah, Frankie's a definitely better name".

You spent a couple minutes like that, just laughing at the stupidity of it all. Truth be told, you hadn't laughed that hard in months. And you needed it.

"So", he said after a while. "What's in the bag?".

"I don't know", you looked down at the paper bag in your lap. "A guy just came and gave it to me".

"D'you wanna open it?", he looked at you with hooded eyes.

"I don't know", you took a deep breath. "I don't think I should, but they didn't tell me not to".

"Are you seriously gonna do what he says?".

"What else am I supposed to do? He's gonna fuck me up real bad if I don't", you let out a deep sigh. "I'll find a way out of it".

"What'd he threaten you with?".

Your blood ran cold at his question. You could tell how your face went pale, and your knees would have failed to keep you steady if you weren't seating.

"I'll take care of that", you said, looking at the ground. "I'll just do whatever he wants me to and stay outta trouble for as long as I can", you opened the paper bag, pulling a small disposable phone. "Huh", you put it back were it was. "What a little shit", you mumbled.

"It's a phone now, but what if it turns into somethin' else?", Frankie got up, still looking down at you. "You have to stand up to him—".

"I said I'll take care of that", you stood up to face him once again. "Whatever he does to me, it's my problem, not yours", you stared into his eyes. "I understand you're concerned, and I appreciate it, but you can't be behind my ass all day long. I'm not a kid, I can take care of myself".

Frankie stayed silent for a minute, processing your words. Then he cleared his throat and spoke again:

"Right", he nodded once. "I'm sorry, you're right".

"Right", you nodded, too. "Glad we're on the same page", you let out a heavy sigh. "Oof, sorry. I get pretty carried away when I'm angry".

"Yeah, I can see that", he chuckled. You laughed back.

"Welp", you took the paper bag with the phone and threw it into your pillowcase. "I better not use this thing before that asshole comes looking for it".

"Yeah, you better not".

You could tell he was uncomfortable now. He didn't now what else to say. You knew you usually did that to people who tended to assume you were as weak as your body showed. That was actually one of the reasons why you had learned to survive using violence most of the time, and probably the main cause of your anger problems.

Before you could speak any apologies to him, you heard the walls and doors being hit outside, followed by cops shouting.

"Lights out! Everyone get to sleep!".

You looked at Frankie with a regretful expression. You felt bad for having caused him to be so taken aback and awkward.

"I better get goin'. Cops won't see me in my cell, might be suspicious", he said.

"Yeah", you nodded. "I'll... see you around".

"Sure", he walked out. "See ya".

Fuck, you cursed yourself.

Perfect. The first friend you made in prison ever and you screwed up your first non-violent chat. You could swear you had never felt so bad for taking your anger out on someone else.

Wait.

You had never felt bad for taking your anger out on someone else. That was actually what you were the best at.

Frankie was a good man. You somehow knew it. And you somehow knew he didn't deserve to suffer your anger problems as well. You had started off on the wrong foot, you also knew that well. Maybe the first thing you should do to try and fix it was apologizing. For treating him that bad the first times you talked, for taking your frustration out on him, for showing him the you no one like him should meet—

"Hey", a cop outside your door startled you. "Lights out and get on the goddamn bed".

"Yessir", you turned off the lights and laid on your bed as the cop closed your door and walked away.

You sighed, trying to close your eyes while thinking of what you would say to Frankie when you saw him next morning.

A beeping sound woke you up. You eyes opened in a sudden move and you looked around, confused, despaired.

Two cops were sitting beside your hospital bed, not seeming to have noticed you awake.

Suddenly, everything came back and your memories hit you like a truck.

Your unsteady and heavy breathing alerted the cops. They both stood up and got on both sides of your bed. You tried to get up, a stinging pain in your stomach keeping you laid down. You lifted the hem of your shirt to see it covered by a large gauze, a little bloodied.

Your mind was dizzy as the cops told you about your current medical condition, and about the twenty-five years you were going to spend in prison for murder and trying to commit suicide afterwards.

At least you had gotten rid of your worst nightmare.

"Hey", you sat next to Frankie in the dining room. He smiled at you.

"Hey", he made room for you to sit more comfortably. "You get some sleep?".

"Yeah", you forced a smile. "Kinda", you cleared your throat. "I, uh... Sorry for how I acted yesterday. I didn't have the right to talk to you like that".

"It's fine. I'm like that sometimes, too", he shrugged it off.

"No, I mean it. I shouldn't have—".

"Hey. It's okay, really", he stared into your eyes. "I understand you have... difficulties managin' your feelings, and it's alright", you saw the beginning of a smirk forming on his lips. "I've seen more o' those around here and they don't deal with it as well as you do".

His chuckle made you laugh back.

"Whatever, old man".

You spent the day talking to Frankie, walking around with him, getting to know him. Turns out you were right: he was a good man. And maybe he was a bit too sweet to be in a place like a prison, but he seemed to be doing well. You somehow knew he wouldn't have trouble if he suddenly got into a fight.

The next few weeks went just like that. You stuck to Frankie, and Frankie stuck to you. You found in him the first person to be close to you in a long time. You found a friend in him. He didn't judge you, didn't treat you like the rest of people in you life had. It's not like he knew either, but you really didn't need him to know. There were already enough people in that prison that knew.

Perhaps too many, you thought one of the times you thought about telling Frankie.

So you just accepted the fact that he would probably be your only friend in that prison, and maybe for the rest of your life. Maybe you didn't even have to tell him about—

"Well well well", a pair of hands fell on your shoulders as you picked up your freshly washed clothes. "Look who's alone today, huh?".

"The fuck do you want?", you turned around. There was that asshole again.

"You seem to be nice friends with that cap guy, huh?", he gave you a sarcastic smile. "What did you tell him 'bout us?", his expression shifted very quickly to one of pure anger.

"I didn't tell hi—".

"Bullshit!", he grabbed you by the neck of your shirt and pushed you against the wall. "What did you tell him? You asked for help, huh? Like the pretty little bi—".

You punched him right on the face before he even had the chance of finishing the sentence. He let you go and pulled away to recover, touching his now bloodied nose. The men behind him took a step forward, but he signaled them to stay back. And he just laughed.

"I. Told him. Nothing", you repeated. The guy in front of you sniffed and chuckled again.

"Wow", he stood up. "You have guts, gotta admit it", he fixed his nose. "Maybe I did cross a line there. I'm sorry", he shrugged. "Be careful, though. Next time, my dogs won't be as merciful", he looked back at them and nodded. Then he approached you. "You better not tell that fucker anything of our agreement. Wouldn't want the whole prison —including him— knowing what you really are, huh?".

You didn't say a word, but your silence was enough answer for him.

"Good", he cleaned the blood off his nose. "See ya around, little one".

Once again, he walked away.

Part of you felt relieved because you hadn't gotten yourself nor Frankie into trouble. Part of you still cursed yourself for being so fucked up.

That is how you survived your first year in that prison: doing favors to those pieces of shit and sticking to Frankie. You had learned a lot about him —what he used to do before ending up in prison, how he got there, the reason why he didn't get any visits...

You also told him all of that. What you used to do before ending up in prison, the reason why you didn't get any visits... You might have lied a bit when you told him how you got there, but he seemed not to notice —or at least not to mind that you did. Maybe he wanted to give you some space, and he understood that your situation was complicated. Whatever it was, you thanked him in your mind for not asking any more questions about it.

You became closer to him that you ever planned on. He talked to you every day, seemed to be the only one to care about you in that shitty place, made sure you were doing okay even with the assholes behind you. He even seemed not to want to let you go too far away from him, except when necessary. And even if you hated to admit it, being around him —or well, having him around you— made you feel safer than if you were by yourself. You and him both knew you weren't with him for protection —you could take care of that yourself. But he still made you feel protected, but not weak. And you didn't want to admit it, but you knew you had felt that before.

And it really, really scared you.

Of course, you kept having your disagreements with the group. Many disagreements. But you managed to keep it cool so that they would leave you and Frankie alone, which they surprisingly did. And you didn't get caught by the cops around either, which was also a surprise, but you wouldn't complain. Not when you had managed to keep you and Frankie out of trouble.

Yep, I've fallen so hard, you said to yourself one day. You were scared to admit it, but you weren't doing to lie to yourself about something you already knew.

"Well, hello", you turned around to see him standing behind you on the shower stall, scanning you up and down. You quickly wrapped your towel around your body and started getting dressed, trying to let him see as little as possible.

"What do you want?", you made sure to sound upset this time.

"You got what I was waiting for?", he sat at the bench outside the showers. You grabbed a small bag with herb from inside your pants and tossed it at him. He put it in his pocket. "Good".

He stood there, watching you, but he didn't say anything else. You frowned, trying to decrypt his expression. It wasn't the one he usually had. He seemed to be eyeing you with pity, but had at the same time he had a knowing look.

"Want anything else?", you crossed your arms and leaned on the lockers. He kept his pitiful, knowing look displayed on his eyes.

"Yeah", he looked down for a moment. "I wanted to talk to you about something. It's not about me this time, promise", he moved to the side of the bench and patted the spot next to him so you would sit. You reluctantly did. "You see...", he cleared his throat. "There's one of my dogs that... Well, actually a couple of 'em... that know about your... physical condition", he stared into his eyes.

Your heart started beating quickly, anger cursing through your veins.

"Some of them have been in here for a quite some time now, and... Well, they haven't had fun in a while, and since you're doing me some favors, I thought you wouldn't have trouble doing some to the—".

Your fist crashed against his face, this time harder than the last time you had punched him. Your other fist did, too. One, two, three, four times, you lost count.

"You think I'm some slut you can sell?! Huh?! That's what you like?! Fucking little boys like me?!", you spat on his face, hitting it again and again. "You fucking pervert, son of a bitch, piece of—!".

Now it was his fist what impacted on your face.

You fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He got on top of you, just like you had done with him, and started punching your face again and again and again.

Eventually, you lost conscience of your surroundings. Probably one of his blows hit you somewhere in the brain and left you dizzy. You could just feel more pain in your face and head, even though you couldn't even lift your arms or legs to try and defend yourself. The only thing you got to hear before you fell completely unconscious was how someone pulled him away from you and grabbed you to take you somewhere.

He was in his cell with his cellmate —who he usually didn't pay much attention to— when some guy came to tell them some shit about you.

The truth about you.

Frankie didn't want to believe it at first. He couldn't. But the more he thought about it, more sense it made to him. Aside from your short frame and your beautiful little face —focus, Frankie, this ain't about that—, your explosive personality and your obsession over you being too weak or small kind of gave it away. It actually made sense. It was true.

He went that same day —after the night of your encounter with that fucker— to check on you to the infirmary. He wanted to know how were you doing, and he wanted to hear from you the truth of all the scene those guys were making over you. He was told you weren't conscious yet, but he stayed nonetheless —grabbed a chair and sat beside your bed.

He had been watching you ever since you got in that prison. And when the group got inside your cell that day, his suspicions about you were confirmed. You were exactly what they needed. Why would a little man like you make the cops think you were dangerous? Simple, you weren't. That's why they picked you out of everyone.

You were right thinking Frankie wanted to protect you from them. Not because you were small —he was sure you could defend yourself just right— but because he needed to, because his heart told him it was the right thing to do. That's why he insisted on approaching you as well.

He knew you were going to be close friends the moment you apologized for talking to him in such a rude way. And he knew he liked you too much for his own good. But honestly, he didn't care. The need to protect you made him not care at all. It actually just made him embrace his feelings more. It never really bothered him to be attracted to someone. He knew he was a bit of a lovestruck guy, and whenever he knew he liked someone he didn't hesitate to admit it —unlike you.

He told you what he used to do before ending up in prison, what he did to end up in there, the reason why he didn't get any visits... He wouldn't usually tell someone that, but it was different with you. He had the feeling that you understood him, that you could empathize with him and wouldn't judge him for just anything. On the other hand, he knew you were lying to him about why you ended up in prison and why you didn't really have any friends —in or out. But he knew it wasn't easy for you —he had already seen how difficult it was for you to keep your feelings controlled, so he didn't want to push things unnecessarily further. He wanted to give you your space, since he knew he had already kind of taken that from you the moment he insisted on continuing to talk with you.

Or at least he wanted to, until he saw that asshole beating the shit out of you in the shower stalls.

Frankie got there just in time before he punched all the teeth out of your mouth. He pulled him back and hit his head against one of the lockers, leaving him unconscious as well. Then he grabbed you and took you to the infirmary. He stayed there long enough to hear them say you were going to take some time until you were fully recovered, and that you would probably be unconscious for a couple days. He also heard them mention the other guy was better than you, that his time in bed would be briefer than yours.

A cop came to them both and asked them about what had happened. Frankie could only say that he had seen that asshole already beating you when he arrived. The cop could only say he would have to do extra work for a week as a punishment for leaving the other guy unconscious, but at least he understood Frankie just wanted to protect you.

"You did good", he said to him.

Then he went to talk to the other guy. And Frankie could only fist his hands and hope no to break anything.

"I was asking him to help me with something in the shower and he just started punching me!", was what he said.

"What about the wounds on his face?".

"Well, I had to protect myself!".

"Sure", the cop wrote something on a paper, then stood up. "As soon as you're out of bed, you're being transferred to the next block".

A smile formed on Frankie's lips as the guy shouted complaints at the cop. Still, he knew you weren't safe. Not yet. Not even with him away. And he knew his dogs were everywhere —this block, the next, the prison some kilometers away from that one...

But he would still try to keep you out of danger.

The next day, he was in his cell with his cellmate—who he usually didn't pay much attention to— when some guy came to tell them some shit about you.

The truth about you.

He grabbed your hand softly in his, examining your broken knuckles and bloodied skin. He should have known better than to leave you alone like that in the shower stalls. He should have been with you. He should have protected you, like he had told himself he would.

"I'm sorry", he whispered.

Distant voices woke you up. A female one and two males. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but you didn't need to. You remembered everything pretty well.

You tried to stretch yourself, despite the way your face was hurting terribly. Still, you couldn't move one of your arms. Your hand was being held by another.

You opened your eyes and saw Frankie sitting beside you, his hand holding yours even with his eyes closed. As soon as he felt you move, he opened them and sat up, staring into your eyes.

"Oh god", he breathed out. A smile played on his lips as he examined you. "You okay?".

His question made you laugh.

"Well, I've been better", you smiled at him. "But I'll survive", you looked around. "How long have I been...?".

"Four days. Well, three and a half", he swiped his thumb over the back of your hand, you figured involuntarily. "They've been taking good care of you".

"I bet...", you looked down at his hand on yours. Frankie pulled away as soon as he saw you do it.

"Sorry—".

"No, it's okay", you were the one to grab his hand this time. "I don't mind...", you whispered that last part. Frankie tried to hold back his own smile. Then something he remembered made it go away as soon as it had come. "What?", you stared into his eyes. He kept swiping his thumb small soothing circles on the back of your hand.

"Will you tell me—", he paused to breathe; "What's the deal with you?".

"What do you mean—".

"I know you lied to me, Lost", he tried to keep it cool, but his eyes gave away how mad he was at you for not having told him the truth and having gotten in so much trouble because of it. "I... I already know... a bit of it, but—".

You turned around to try and find the asshole that had shattered your face, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"They moved him a block away from here", he answered even before you could ask. "He still had the chance to spread the rumor, though".

"Shit", you whispered to yourself. You looked down, biting your downer lip and trying to stop your own tears from coming out, trying to ignore the stinging pain in your face.

"Hey", he grabbed your chin softly, careful not to hurt you more than you already were, and made you look at him. "Tell me what's wrong", he spoke slowly. "Whatever it is, I don't care. It'll still be you no matter what", he caught a tear halfway down your face, his skin grazing lightly against yours. You took a deep breath.

"A... couple years ago... I had someone really close to me", you sniffed. "I... He got me... pregnant... And...", you dried off your tears. "I didn't want... I couldn't..." you took a shaky deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "He also tried to... run away...", you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. "He was into drugs... and was told to move... Without telling me...", you sighed in an attempt to ignore the way your breathing was starting to get heavy and your chest was starting to hurt. "I couldn't take it anymore", you sniffled again and looked away from Frankie, unable to maintain your eyes on his piercing look. "I shot him. And...", you lifted your shirt just enough to reveal a big scar that went across your stomach. "I shot the baby, too", your voice broke.

"Oh, Lost", he reached out to grab and hug you. "I'm so sorry", he rubbed your back, trying to calm you down a little. You held tight onto him, squeezing him as close to you as you could.

He kept you in his arms for a while as you cried out your grief. Everything made more sense after you told him the truth. He finally felt like he understood you, really understood you and your feelings. And he finally felt like his feelings were resolved, just like yours.

He had to leave when some cops came to interrogate you about what had happened in the shower stalls a few days ago, but he promised to come back to see you that night. In the meantime, you answered the cops' questions and tried to rest as well as your pain allowed you to.

You got out of bed a week after that. The first thing you did was hug Frankie, since he was waiting outside the infirmary. He took you to your cell, staying by your side and not walking more than two steps away from you. Everyone was looking at you either with a weirded out expression or with hungry eyes. As soon as you noticed, you got even closer to Frankie.

That was the moment you gave up on trying not to look small or weak. Every single man on that prison was now trying to fuck you or fuck you up. Damn, you had never felt so vulnerable.

Good thing I have my brick wall over here, you thought.

Frankie could see the looks the other inmates gave you, and the ones you gave them. If he felt like he had to protect you before, now he felt even more responsible —especially since he had let that motherfucker beat you like that. He felt guilty, and even though you tried to tell him it wasn't his fault he couldn't get that thought out of his mind.

"Look at me", you grabbed his jaw, making him look at you, just like he had down a week before when you were still in that bed in the infirmary —tough this time you were in your bed. "It wasn't your fault. I told you it was my problem and that I'd deal with it, and so I did".

"I know", he stared into your eyes. "But if I had done something, if I had gone talk to him or—".

"You couldn't, Frankie", you tightened your grip on his jaw. "Look, he had threatened to tell everyone if he found out I told you anything. It would've happened sooner or later, I just exploded when he asked me to do that with he and his men", you let go of him. "Think about it this way —if you hadn't come just in time to stop him from beating me to death, I wouldn't be here right now", you patted his thigh. "So you saved me anyway. And I also got you to keep me away from those creeps", you both laughed at that.

"I guess you're right", he sighed. "Still sorry".

"Didn't I just tell you not to be?", you crossed your arms and stared into his eyes with a frown. He couldn't help the smile that crept on his lips.

"But I still am", he crossed his arms as well. "What, am I not allowed to be?".

"Not if I tell you not to be".

"Ooh, getting bossy", he chuckled. "I like that".

"Okay, now you're acting like one of those freaks out there".

"Come on, y'know I'm not like—".

"Shut up, old man".

You grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. A slow, passionate, nice kiss. Frankie stayed still for a moment before replying with just as much passion. You then pulled away to look into his eyes. You were both smiling.

"Wow", he whispered. "Didn't think you'd take the lead".

"Well, someone had to, and you didn't seem to be going to, so...", you grabbed his hand. "I couldn't bear the sexual tension anymore".

"Oh, sexual tension?", he rolled on top of you. "We can fix that...".

"No! Gross! Get away!", you laughed and pulled him off of you.

"Why?" he approached again, leaning down to leave a trail of small kisses down your neck. "I wanna...".

"Frankie, no", you pulled him off again, this time with a serious look on your face. Frankie's smirk was immediately deleted when he saw you, and seemed to be asking for an explanation. "I... I can't", you looked down. "Not like this, I'm... not ready", you cleared your throat before looking back up at him.

"M'kay", he grabbed your hand once more. "We won't do anythin' you don't wanna".

You smiled at him, thankful. He understood that you needed space and you weren't ready yet to show him that part of you. And he would respect you and your decision not to. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable, make you push him away from you. So he put it back in his pants and gave you a comforting smile.

He stuck with you all the time, by your side, not daring to leave you alone. Whenever some guy would look at you with a weird face, he gave him a warning look —or push him away from you both. He didn't let anyone other than the cops get close to you, which you thanked him for in multiple occasions. For once in a long, long time, you weren't afraid of being too small or weak. You weren't worried about your looks anymore. You weren't worried about anything with Frankie beside you. He was your only reason to want to keep going despite being in a place such as that damned prison. The only reason why you wanted to keep going at all.

The only reason why you preferred spending twenty years in prison before being back out in that shitty world.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you

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artemiseamoon · 1 year

Text

How about you and me

Secret Santa fic for @din-jarhead | I hope you enjoy it. This was fun to write.

Frankie Morales x Reader (f) | friends to lovers

Words: 3,840 | A03

Warnings: disappointing sexual and dating history, p in v unprotected sex scene.

About: After a bad run of dates and getting fed up with the whole thing, you vent to your best friend Frankie (who you secretly love). He has a few ideas how to improve your situation.

An: fic is from readers POV mainly and the intro is Frankie’s. As always, no one reader will fit all (example - say the things you’d say) so you can read as an Oc if you prefer.

* since this is a gift fic for secret Santa i have posted in full*

Frankie kept his feelings to himself for a list of reasons, his career being number one.

Frankie has seen too many times what this work does to relationships. He knows firsthand. He did not want that with you - he’d never forgive himself if he messed it all up with you.

It's better this way, or so he tells himself, loving you secretly while being your best friend.

But now that he’s recently retired, and seeing you face constant disappointment in love and sex, Frankie thinks it’s time to speak up and give the possibility of you and him a chance.

✨✨✨

Thursday night

Humming contently, you relax against the red cushion of the diner booth. Before the sound fully leaves your lips, Frankie is already holding back a laugh as he chews his food.

“What?” You asked once you swallowed.

“All these years later, that's still your favorite thing on the menu.” He sits up, placing his elbows on the table across from you. “You still make that sound.”

“How observant of you,” you wink at him, then grab your glass of water. “You making fun of me?”

“No, it's cute.” He replies before taking another bite of his sandwich.

You and Frankie have been coming here for years. It’s become one of your places, and the times you’ve been here without him always feel weird.

Earlier that day, Frankie texted you and asked if you were free tonight. It was a light day at the garage, and he finished all his projects early. You happened to be off, even though you usually work on Thursdays, so the two of you decided to meet up for dinner, ‘at our spot’, as Frankie calls it.

You love the garage for him. It started as a passion project in between jobs. Once he retired, Frankie spent time trying to figure things out and ended up back at a garage. Now he owns it, and he’s much more relaxed than he used to be. It gave him something to do, something he cares about, and as his best friend, it's a pleasure to see him enjoying this stage of his life.

Cars, garages - all that may not be your forte, but you do enjoy visiting him and usually hang out with him after work, sometimes helping at the counter if he and the guys are busy. Your favorite part is watching him work, and when he catches you looking, you usually wink or make a silly face that brings a smirk to his lips.

You cover up what's really happening inside of you with humor and silliness but underneath, you are still madly in love with your best friend and watching him work is like an aphrodisiac. Not that you’ll tell him that.

…

There are many reasons you and Frankie love this place, and you have endless memories here. Sitting in this booth most of the time, number 4.

Memories of you meeting after exciting life events, less-than-exciting ones; memories of you running inside to meet him once he was home after missions. That one time you nearly ran the waitress over to get to him.

After dinner, you shared a dessert and ordered some drinks. As the night goes on and groups of people leave, their seats filled once more by others, you and Frankie remained in your own little world.

At one point, you headed outside to the patio. It’s a nice night out, and once the diner filled up, you and he both eyed the doors without words. It’s another thing you adore about him, that silent language between you, it’s a rare thing.

…

An hour passes, and the second round of drinks is in your hands. You and Frankie are seated on a bench on the far left of the patio, cute led lights decorate the wooden fence as the music from outside dances in the air.

When your phone buzzed, you and he were in the middle of laughing about something. Frankie's thigh touched your own as you huddled together on the bench.

With a sign, you dig into your pocket and pull out your phone. “Sorry, this keeps going off.”

Frankie tells you it's okay without words, just using his eyes. You plug in the pin, then pull up the screen. It’s a series of texts from that asshole you hooked up with two months ago. Also, sadly, the last person you had sex with.

You must have made a face because Frankie calls your name, then asks,

“You okay?”

“Ugh, yeah,” you lower the phone and look him in the eye, “I’m just never dating or having sex again. But it’s fine. It’s okay. It's fine.” You shake your head, trying to push away memories of that night.

You were horny and lonely, so you checked out your recent matches online. You hadn't used the app in some time at that point, because every date you went on was a disaster, and the men, shit, the men just kept getting worse.

But your vibrator was no longer cutting it, and that night you decided all you needed was hot sex with a hot guy and it would hold you over for a while. When you saw his face, it was a yes, he was exactly what you were looking for, and his body was even better.

The date went okay, it was clear there was nothing there beyond sexual attraction, but that was fine. At the end of the night, you went back to his place and what started as a very hot make out led to the most disappointing sex you’ve had in a long time, and that says a lot because your recent lovers have been lackluster.

He was selfish in bed; more selfish than any man you’ve been with. He didn't go down on you but wanted you to go down on him, which you declined to do. Once you did fuck, with a condom, of course, it was over so fast you lay there stunned. The mother fucker got off on himself, you’re sure of it. You might as well have been a damn sex doll for all that.

You were sure you blocked his number and told him to never contact you again, but maybe you were too horrified at the end and forgot to do it. Either way, getting a series of texts from him telling you he wants to see you and how much fun you had together makes you want to vomit and burn your phone.

Despite your efforts to not get stuck in this memory, you do. Frankie's voice pulls you out of it and thankfully, puts the man out of your mind,

“Still not working out?”

You meet his eyes, “Yeah. I’m either cursed or there are no good men left,” when the words leave your lips, you see something in his eyes, something you can’t put a finger on, “at this point, I think I’m destined to be single and maybe never have sex again.”

Frankie chuckles, his head lowered slightly. Letting your gaze linger, you take in his profile, the way his wavy chestnut hair curls from beneath his hat. Admiring Frankie when he’s not looking is something you’ve done more times than you can count.

Your love and sex life are already a mess. The last thing you need is your secret pinning for Frankie to spill off your tongue right now. It’s a secret. You plan to keep it that way. One more disappointment with a stranger, sure, it would suck but you could handle that. One more “you up?” or ‘wyd’ text from some asshole you never want to see again, you don’t want that, but you can handle it.

But Frankie? What if you laid it all out and spilled your truth and he doesn’t feel the same way? What if he turned you down? If you try and it doesn't work out? What if you try, it’s weird, and you end up losing your best friend? - no, you can’t take that risk. Frankie means too much to you.

“Don’t give up,” when he speaks your name in between breaths, paired with his calming voice, you’re ready to just confess anyway and go in for a kiss, but you hold back, “You’ll make someone the happiest man on earth. I promise.”

You scoffed, “yeah right.”

“Don’t do that,” Frankie sits up, his expression growing serious, “you just have shitty taste in guys. You’re picking the wrong ones.” He adds a little grin at the end.

You point at him, “don’t think I can argue with you there. That or I broke a mirror at some point and didn’t realize it.”

Frankie chuckles, “or, there are good guys out there and they’re not on those fucking apps,” he observes you, then points at your phone, “those apps,” he motions to your phone, “you don’t need that.”

You sigh and drop your gaze to your phone. Then set it on the bench beside you. Your eyes meet Frankies, “no one meets organically anymore. I don’t want technology to have a decent date or get laid but here we are.”

Frankie is quietly observing you and listening. You hold his gaze for a while, too long. You feel a confession dancing on your tongue yet again. Swallowing back the words, you grab your phone and start deleting the dating apps. “Screw it. I’m getting rid of them. You’re right Cat, I don’t need them.”

Frankie sits back and crosses his arms in a relaxed way. After a few moments, he says, “I have an idea. It might be a crazy one.”

You raise a brow, “listening.”

“How about-“he pauses when your eyes meet his, “we go out on a date.”

You drop your phone. Frankie feels a jolt of panic, worrying if that was a bad idea.

The sound of your phone hitting the ground is heard by you, but you don’t care. You stare at Frankie, and a shocked smile slowly builds on your lips.

Your eyes widen, “you and me?”

“Yeah. Look,” Frankie slides his cap off and runs his hand through his hair, “you’re my best friend. You know I care about you -“he takes a beat, “I hate watching you go through all this shit with those guys. I hate seeing you unhappy…” he says your name with so much softness, it makes your heartbeat faster, “I like you; I have for years I just didn’t think -”

His words fade. You’ve always been beautiful to him. But right now, with the glint in your eye and a smile on your lips that could brighten any dark room - it renders him speechless, and any doubts he’s has start to melt away.

Frankie scoots closer to you, he attempts to continue his thoughts but can’t. Words won’t meet his lips. Instead, he does something he’s always wanted to do. He kisses you. Frankie's lips are soft and warm against your own, and your cheek heats up as he cups it with his hand.

The kiss is sweet, it makes your heart flutter and when it ends you want more. Frankie leans back just enough to gauge your reaction.

He’s a confident guy, anxious at times, sometimes a little shy, but confident. And though seconds ago he was sure you feel the same, he’s doubting himself again.

“Was that okay?” He asks softly, his beautiful soulful brown eyes locked on yours.

You smile and throw your arms around his neck, “a little short, but yeah, that’s okay.”

Frankie chuckles and pulls you closer until his lips meet yours. This time, there’s no hesitation, no worry; he kisses you like it's the last time he’ll ever kiss again, he kisses you so deeply he leaves you breathless; your head spinning as moisture pools between your thighs.

As the kiss heats up, your bodies are pressed together, and he nearly pulls you beneath him on the bench. Your fingers are in his hair now, your other hand tugging on his collar. Frankie has one hand on your thigh, the other behind your neck.

The hungry kiss doesn’t break until the beer bottle shatters on the ground, his bottle. You laugh as he reaches down to rescue your phone before it gets wet. Breathing heavily, you both continue to chuckle, and he cups your face again.

“Better?” He asks with a playful grin.

“Fuck yes.” You reply with a seductive smile.

Frankie's eyes dip to your lips, “about that date? Tomorrow?”

You poke his dimple, “Tonight?”

You’re sick of waiting.

You've wanted Frankie for years and after that kiss, you can’t wait for a second longer. Luckily, Frankie feels the same way.

“Okay, “he says confidently, “this is now a date.”

…

You can’t keep your hands off each other.

The official date portion of the night only lasted 30 minutes before you piled into Frankie's truck and ended up at his place. From the door to the living room, you make out passionately, hands exploring each other's bodies as you remove your clothes. It’s been two months since you had sex and the kiss made you feral. In the back of your mind, you wondered if you should slow down, but you don’t want to.

Every time a piece of clothing is removed, his lips are on yours again, the thud of your racing hearts pound between your bodies. As you make your way to the bedroom, he tries to navigate you in the dark, a table there, something falling over here.

“Maybe we should turn the light on?” you giggle.

He kisses your neck, his hands on your hips as you pause in the hallway, just before his bedroom. His body pressing against yours, both of you down to just your underwear now.

You wrap a leg around him, pulling him in closer, and moan as his bulge rubs against you.

“Fuck the light,” he growls, “bedroom now.”

…

In the bedroom, Frankie turns on one light, he needs to see you, to take you in, all of you. He’s seated on the edge of the bed now, admiring your form as you stand before him. He anchors one hand on your hip and kisses the soft skin of your belly.

“You’re beautiful.”

He kisses the spot again, then dips his head to kiss your thighs. Your hands are anchored on his strong broad shoulders as you watch him admiring you. There are no words, no thoughts, just the way Frankie is looking at you and speaking to you, the way his hands feel on your body; you are nearly vibrating with desire now.

Frankie stands. You slide your fingers in his hair as you kiss him, tugging at his dark brown waves. Frankie moans into the kiss and deepens it, needing more of you, his hands moving behind you and greedily cupping your ass.

You slide a hand between your bodies and palm his cock. Your hand on his cock makes Frankie moan and squeeze your ass harder. You imagine it inside of you and grow even wetter.

Frankie kisses you like no one ever has before, the way you read about in books and dreamed kisses could be. And when he slides two fingers inside of you, your knees almost buck, he demands more of your mouth as he fingers you, and you give it to him.

Pleasure rises in you as he feels you up with his other hand. You’ve always loved his hands, you stare at them all the time, you like to watch them work, and this man - he’s a fucking expert, he finds all your spots and brings you to the brink of release in minutes.

Frankie pulls his fingers out and orders you to lay on the bed on your back, knees up. Your breath catches in your throat at the command. You do it. He positions himself between your thighs and spreads them further apart,

“Perfect, just like that - “he groans, taking you in, drunk on you, kneading your thighs with his fingers as he observes you, his eyes clouded with desire.

Frankie knows how to touch you; you purr and moan to way he uses his fingers, his tongue, his mouth, the intuitive way he works your clit. You melt in his hands.

Frankie knows the right speed and pressure to bring you rushing past the edge of desire - to sweet sweet nirvana.

Frankie sits up and licks his lips. You’re seeing double and sucking air into your lungs as post-orgasm ecstasy moves in waves through your body.

He smiles, “all of that for me,” Frankie grins and dips his head again, savoring even more of your release.

Seconds later, Frankie moves up your body and hikes your leg over his hip; you bring your hands to his shoulders as he anchors himself with one hand and wraps the other around his shaft.

His eyes stay on yours as he slides into you, inch by inch, filling you and stretching you deliciously. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders,

“Is this too much? Should I go slower?”

He’s thicker, bigger than you’re used to, but you want all of him, every inch. You clench your walls around him and grab his ass, pulling him in deeper, needing more of him. Frankie kisses your jawline, then your lips.

“How's that for an answer?” You tease, pulling him in deeper, he moans and drops his head.

“Fucking perfect - “ he groans, thrusting his hips, sliding the rest of his cock inside your warmth.

You begin grinding your hips together, moaning with pleasure as you fuck. Your bodies move in a rhythm so synchronized it’s like you’ve done this before, and even with the extra stretch it takes to accommodate Frankie's cock, once he’s in, you fit perfectly, like your bodies were made for each other.

You grind your hips faster and faster, your hands traveling each other's bodies as he fucks you into the mattress. Frankie has imagined this so many times, and he would love to take his time with you, but right now, he's feral, the same as you, utterly consumed by red-hot passion.

Frankie changes positions, rolling on his back, you on top of him. As you ride him, you throw your head back in ecstasy. He anchors one hand on your hip and uses the other to rub your clit.

As you fuck, you become drunker and drunker on each other. You on his cock, him on the feeling of being inside of you.

You try to hold on, to keep it going a little longer, dancing at the edge of what you know will be the most exciting, most fulfilling crescendo you’ve ever had.

Frankie is so good with his hands, and his cock, you won't last much longer. Seconds later, you’re moaning his name and collapsing onto him as you come. He grunts and jerks his hips harder, faster, fucking you through your orgasm. When he kisses you again, it's almost possessive and you like it.

Frankie pins you beneath him again, he hikes your legs over his shoulders, thrusting deep into you with a shuttered groan. You cry his name and whimper at this new angle, it's intense and dizzying. The new angle does Frankie in, after a couple of pumps he comes, moaning your name in pleasure.

His body tenses, orgasmic bliss moving through him as he spills into you. A mix of moans and heightened breaths fill the room as he gently lays you on the mattress, then rolls over on his back beside you. Your body goes limp as you catch your breath.

…

Friday Morning

Frankie is up first. He’s never been able to shake his old schedule, when the sun is up, he’s up. Unless he makes an effort to sleep in.

Last night, moonlight streamed through his window and across your sleeping face, now it's the sun. He stayed up a little longer than you and watched you sleep. Same as now.

You stir awake slowly and eventually open your eyes. Squinting, your flash a tired smile at him, “hi.”

“Hi.” His voice is still groggy, and his hair is messy on his head, he looks adorable. Like you, he’s still naked beneath the sheets. Frankie leans over and kisses you.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” You chuckle and cover your mouth,

“I don’t care, I’ll kiss you anyway.” he grabs your face and plants another kiss on your lips.

You sit up and pool the sheet at your hips, your back against the pillows like him.

“Frankie, about last night?” You raise your brows at him. “Do you think we messed this up by hooking up right away?”

“No,” his brown eyes meet yours, he turns his body to you, “you?”

You reach out and scratch the patchy part of his beard. “No. I hope not.”

Frankie looks at your thoughtfully, then takes one of your hands in his, “the way I see it, this has been building between us for some time. What happened last night was proof of that.”

You nod. Last night was amazing.

Frankie's everything you imagined and more. With one night, he’s erased all your bad sexual experiences and cleansed shitty lovers from your body memory.

He kisses you how you’ve longed to be kissed. Touches you in ways that make you wild and dizzy with lust. The way he pleases you cannot be compared to any other experience you've had; all your past lovers pale in comparison to this.

In the back of your mind, a thought picks away at you. What if starting with sex makes this a sex thing? As fun as that would be, you love him, and you’d want more than that.

Frankie caresses your arm, “hey, where’d you go?”

“Sorry, I just- it’s clear we like each other. We are obviously attracted to each other, but I’m just worried this will turn into a friends-with-benefits situation. And as fun as that could be, I don’t want -“ you trail off and try to read his expression.

Frankie takes a breath and caresses your arm, “I’ve been in love with you for years. I don’t want just a sex thing. I want you and me, together.”

A smile builds on your lips as your worries fall away, you inch closer to him, “I’m in love with you too Frankie.”

Your name is soft on his lips, his eyes full of adoration, “It's official then isn’t it, “he brushes his knuckles over your cheek, “you’re mine now.”

“And you’re mine.” You smile as you climb into his lap and draw him into a kiss.

Masterlist | Frankie | Pedro

#Frankie Morales #pedrostoriesgift22 #pedrostories #Frankie catfish Morales #Frankie x f reader #best friend to boyfriend #fic: how about you and me #frankie morales smut #Frankie Morales fluff #artes moodboards #frankie triple frontier

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