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#A 3+ month labor of love

collegeoflore · 6 months

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sunset turning red

pairing: nb!Tav/Astarion rating: E word count: 14,609 description: Bloody and bruised after a run in with a handful of Absolute cultists, Astarion and Xarrai remember all at once what it means to be hungry. more context: Xarrai is a tiefling bard with the charlatan background, and an escaped Banite cultist. Any pronouns are fine (though I stick with they/them here for clarity.) This piece is set mid-Act 3, post-ritual, with an un-ascended Astarion. ao3 link: here

Everything smells like copper and sweat. Xarrai moves on pure instinct, lips shaping words without thought, sidestepping the thrusts of cultists’ blades with practiced ease. It’s music to them, a sickly sweetened symphony; the clang of metal on metal, the slick slide of blades in flesh, the rhythmic beat of a dozen racing hearts, their own voice whispering or screaming or singing until mind is cleaved from body again and again and again and—

A sword slashes through their coat and into the skin of their shoulder. Xarrai hisses, pulled back into themself, dropped out of the whirling hum. They spin, rapier in their hand, to see Astarion behind them with his dagger buried so deep in the cultist’s chest his glove is dyed red by the spray. Xarrai grins, lopsided and fang-sharp and sweet as honey. The cultist in Astarion’s grasp goes limp and he drops them, catches Xarrai’s eye with a cocky smile of his own and disappears again into the fray. To their right a fireball explodes, searing heat across their face for an instant, and they see Gale back up on the steps, his teeth gritted and eyes dark. He motions for them to come toward him, and they know he’s right - they’re more effective at a distance, when they can see the battle in front of them – but this, the pain and the blood and the ear-splitting ring of it all makes them feel alive. Someone grabs at them again. They whisper, low and measured, fingers on their lyre, and watch the dwarf’s mind break behind her eyes.

The symphony churns on, voices and metal and the ringing of their lyre above it all. Karlach roars behind them, Astarion appears and disappears between their enemies, Gale runs his voice ragged shouting spell after spell that deftly avoids the three of them amid their enemies.

And then it’s over.

There’s blood in Xarrai’s mouth and they’re not sure if it’s their own or if it belongs to one of the cultists at their feet. They push the hair out of their face with their free hand and leave a smear of blood behind, black curls tinged red in the low light. There’s adrenaline thrumming in their veins, their heart still pounding like a war drum. They hook their lyre onto their back again and shake out their limbs.

Behind them, almost close enough to touch, Astarion catches his breath. “I don’t know why you insist on throwing yourself into the middle of things.” He quips. He’s dripping with blood, his cheek sliced open and oozing dark red, the rest of him splattered in the searing bright carnation of the recently living. “You’re more helpful when you’re not getting stabbed.”

Xarrai turns to smirk at him. “I didn’t get stabbed, to be fair.”

continue reading on AO3

#astarion #astarion/tav #tavstarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 fic #oc. xarrai #r. hold me like a knife #story journal #here we are. finally. this thing has been sitting there taunting me for like two months. i started writing it before i even finished the ga #e #editing it was a labor of love because it was NOT intended to be posted ever at first lol it was a hot mess.#apologies in advance for the number of times i am going to reblog this it's my baby sorry

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theghostofashton · 2 years

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it's only just the weight of the world (not the end of it, you know)

Pairing: Sam/Mercedes Rating: T Word count: 19.2k

“Have you ever felt like you don’t know yourself anymore? Like the life you were used to just doesn’t fit?”

“And you don’t know how to make it fit?” Mercedes says. “Yeah. I’ve been there.”

“I’m not gonna be who I used to be,” Sam mumbles. “Who they wish I was. But I don’t- I dunno what else there is, y’know? Feels like I forgot how to be me. How do I get that back?”

or, sam is a former nfl player forced into retirement after a career-ending injury, and mercedes is a musician who needs to be heard.

#glee #glee fanfiction #samcedes #sam evans #mercedes jones #samcedes fanfiction #i am so nervous omg here it is!!#such a labor of love over the past few months and i am so proud to finally share it <3 #please feel free to send me your thoughts!#neha writes #samcedes pt au #glee fanfic

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locrianking · 10 months

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i want worse movies by people who are paid more to work less. i want worse video games by people who are paid more to work less. i want worse tv shows from people who are paid more to work less. i want less sequels and i want media to take longer to be produced and i want them to come out less frequently. i want deadlines to be pushed back more often and release dates to be postponed regularly. i want media to be produced with love and care and patience and time and i want the people who put their hearts and souls into a movie or show or video game or album or what have you to be lauded and loved and paid.

#maybe im overinvested in the hollywood-related strikes because im studying to go into related industries but like. im sick and tired of it #i want less media producers to be addicted to heroin and coke to get their crazy amounts of labor done #i want less movie staff dying in car wrecks because they fell asleep at the wheel after a month of 12+ hour shifts #i want less accidents on set due to somebody along the line being too exhausted to work properly #i LOVE it when there’s 5+ years between sequels <<3 #rosie speaks

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empty-movement · 6 months

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Chiho Saito's Illustration Collection artbook is the highest-quality visual media in the Utenaverse. Oversized, single-sided, heavy pages with extremely high quality printing. It is the first artbook I ever scanned.

In 2001, the average screen resolution was 800x600, and I delivered a 1250px wide collection that for a while, took $60 A MONTH to host, because no normal website was hosting images of this ludicrous size. It took my scanner almost an hour to capture a third of each page. I spent months piecing the scans together in Photoshop. It was one of my first true Utena labors of love, and the result is that for decades, these copies have been the definitive copies of Chiho Saito's artwork on the internet. For a very long time, even kinda now, if you see these images, they're probably my scans.

But decades have passed, and I've never been happy with these results, because they couldn't capture the fine details, the paint spills, the sketch beneath poking out, the brilliant use of gradients of dark color to pop the image but drive me insane. What I am finishing up now is a true, archival copy of the artbook. One that delivers such high resolution, that these can print posters larger than the originals, and thanks to some truly brilliant descreening tech, (Thank you Sattva) I've been able to dig up fine details in the work that the printing obscured, but undeniably included.

It's been over 20 years, and it shows. 1250px? Nah, my archive copies are 15,000px wide. I can't wait to finish this and share it with the world. <3

#utena #revolutionary girl utena #empty movement #chiho saito #it's actually insane how much has changed #I can't believe I'm still here doing this shit lmao

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joelscurls · 3 months

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stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out.

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do.

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter.

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that—

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right.

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship?

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating.

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend.

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds.

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool.

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash.

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down.

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking.

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie. His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him.

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need.

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically.

“Ah — that’s alright.”

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him?

But then you think of Frankie inside — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly.

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too.

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?”

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes.

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks.

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone.

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink.

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline.

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers.

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again.

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke.

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver.

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion.

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all.

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming.

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans.

“Hey,” you announce.

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm.

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other.

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…”

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades.

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of.

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod.

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively.

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers.

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct.

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it.

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally.

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed.

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh.

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway.

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss.

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past.

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.”

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis.

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat.

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies.

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you.

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton.

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand.

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you.

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest.

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want.

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?”

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls.

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant.

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside.

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium.

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below.

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again.

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away.

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky.

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin.

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.”

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right.

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist.

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.”

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

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netherworldpost · 3 months

Text

@kernyen-xo /

Cheaply.

Watercolor sets made by Crayola. Acrylics made by Crayola. The brushes these kits come with are frustrating, cheap brushes are typically $3-5 each. You can spend as much as you want on a brush, the cheap ones are surprisingly good. This is extremely common advice, this isn't just from me.

When you find "ah I like this" go with a student grade of whichever you prefer. Or both! I find watercolor frustrating. I find acrylic doesn't look graphic as much as I want. I fell in love with a paint called gouache because it is very flat, layers nicely.

I would not start with oil paint. It is expensive, requires a lot of special care to keep you safe. Fumes, cleaning agents, etc. Fall in love with painting, then if you want, give oil a try. Be prepared for days (weeks, months, literally) for paint to dry. This isn't to scare you off it -- it's great -- but I wouldn't start here.

Oil has tremendous variety of things you can do with it.

Watercolor is ethereal.

Acrylic has great graphic qualities, lots of range.

I like gouache because it looks almost animated (there is a reason for that, it was/is used in animation background sometimes). It's tricky and tempermental.

Paint by numbers kits if you don't draw. Maybe even if you do and just want to dive into painting.

Mixed media sketchbooks. Lets you experiment a lot, cheaply. The big thing about sketchbook paper is it comes in a few forms -- very cheap (newsprint) and takes dry media (pencils, etc.) well, cheap (mixed media, lets you experiment quickly and a lot), and expensive (hot press has no texture, cold press has a texture).

Painting needs something that can get wet and not fall apart.

Start with a cheap mixed media sketchbook and see how you like it. Move on from there.

Ton of videos across lots of social media and much content. Has the advantage of multiple perspectives, you don't get trapped in "I think this is crap" or "This is the best" versus your thoughts.

Start cheaply.

Art stores and product manufacturers exist to make money. This is a neutral statement. The point is they are a store, they will sell you whatever you think you need, whether you need it or not.

Conversely!

Some things that are not universally useful but sold in art stores are great labor savers. Some people look down at disposable palette paper, others need the flexibility because they have a hard time washing palettes... etc.

Start cheaply. Look at hardware stores, lots of duplicate functions in items.

I come from a background of digital art and a lifetime of business where "ah where the BONES ARE WE GOING TO FIND MONEY FOR--"

Have fun.

Get in deep and frustrated and then drink the frustration (but not the paint water) because you realize you're frustrated because you can FEEL how it should look but you can't get there yet.

The journey is amazing.

I've started looking at the mountain of business problems I have been sorting through for the last few years.

"Okay. How is this supply chain issue with stationery compared to a painting I want to do of the piranha plants of Super Mario Brothers?"

This is literally something I asked myself.

It took me out of the problem (supply chain issue, boxes, our office size, the number of stationery items I want to design) and forced me to look at it as a painting (structure, where does it stay simple, where does it get complex -- what makes sense -- ah, PDF downloads).

Paint.

Learn by doing.

Start cheaply.

Keep going. Build up.

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writingoddess1125 · 7 months

Text

You tell the Old Men you're Pregnant + Extra

Shanks, Buggy, Mihawk

Just Fluffy Fluff!

Also to those who are saying "They aren't even old!" Blah Blah- I know. I'm using Old Ironically cause it's funny. Middle Aged just don't have the same ring to it and I would/could sub in DILF but I was trying to be good.

Anywho! Enjoy!!

Shanks

So drinking and unprotected sex can lead to pregnancy- who knew... Panicking yoh decide its best to just rip that bandage off.

"Shanks- I'm pregnant"

Shanks will stare at you for a while, before starting to laugh- Hard. He will bend over laughing as his panic response sets in-

"Shanks this isn't funny! I-"

He grabs your hand and pulls you close as he held you still laughing now much softer.

"You're the best things that has ever happened to me-" He will whisper in your ear and hold you close.

This man acts like he can shit gold and piss roses when he finds out your pregnant. Nothing can get him down or damper his mood.

Even though you are miserable and sick most of this pregnancy- for almost the whole length of your pregnancy you are vomiting or nauseous so Shanks has to make you eat and buys things to help you.

"Shanks I'm not hungry..." You grumble as you sit on the bed. Shanks hanging you a cup of tea and some soft bread.

"I know love- But you haven't had anything solid in 3 days. Let's get this bread a try?" He says softly, You nodding and eating what you could and sipping of the flowery tea.

He will eventually find something that you can eat without getting sick and buy as much of it as possible. He may grow tired of the smell but will never complain.

When you go into labor he is still a little too excited at the prospect of his child being brought into the world. Will comfort you the whole way through but is more interested in seeing his child.

Buggy

It was a complete accident- You blamed the trip to the hot springs two months previously.. being pregnant with Buggy's child was definitely not what you had planned for yourself or him.

"Buggy I'm pretty sure I'm um.. pregnant"

You beeak it to him after a good day and even set out his favorite sweets to try and make this as soft as possible. Buggy just stares at you, His face completely unreadable as he just stares at you.

"Buggy?..." You are now anxious as he stays silent and stone faced- However he walks over to you lightly and just wraps his arms around you. Not saying a word but you can feel how tense his body is- He's scared?...

"We will be fine.. All of us. How do you feel about it?..." He will mumbled- This being so different to how he normally is as he is feeling scared in a new way.

After the initial shock of it all he will be so over the top its not even funny. You might as well be made out of glass and carrying a paper child cause that's how he treats you. Infront of the crew while he is less likely to be as openly affectionate he is still just as protective.

Understands physical insecurities so will never insult or even bring up your appearance as your body goes through changes. Hell have mercy on the person who even accidently hints at your bigger weight since he will go ape-shit and throw the biggest tantrum of all temper tantrums before brutally killing whoever said it.

He is very Very touchy- his hand has to always be on you at all times and so his detached hand has been known to stay either on your lower back, or on your arm like some horror themed arm band.

In private he is very thoughtful especially as you get near the due date.

"Sorry pressure" You hissed in discomfort rolling to your side to receive some pressure from your back. Buggy getting up calmly and moving you to stand on your feet. Which was definently not something you wanted-

That was till Buggy stood behind you as his hand detached and went under your large belly gently listing it up which relived the pressure from your back. You sigh and lean against him as he does this. Will hold you stomach up for a solid hour ignoring the sorness in his hands for you-

Will feed you constantly any food he can find, Anything you want he has made for you. If a food makes you sick magically the plate seems to be thrown out to open sea.

Will also be an emotional wreck when his children are born- If you are angry at him or scream while in labor he will take it- if not give a few quips back. However all is forgotten once the kids arrive.

Mihawk

While you believe it was an accident- It was not by Mihawks standards. He has been planning this for months since you are the only one he sees worthy of officially carrying his children.

"Mihawk I'm pregnant" You say bracing for at least a level of irritation but instead he looked pleased. Reaching a hand out to caress your belly and stare at you fondly.

"I am happy to hear that"

Will take blame in saying he must have not been careful and that its too late now and will be happy to take full and total responsibility.

Is a textbook kind of man so will have book pages memorized on what you should be doing. How many more calories needed for the baby, stretches, the healthiest food. Aka he's fucking annoying-

You will be in the kitchen with a fork in a cake eating, feeling the wave of low blood sugar that has clouded your mind and tired of the veggies or fresh fruit that Mihawk had shoved down your throat- Mid bite the cake was pulled away by Mihawk.

"It is bad for you to have-" Will pause at your glare as you step very close to him, Grabbing his beard with iron clasp hands and yank him down to your level which make his eyes go wide.

"Mihawk... If you don't hand over that cake- I'm going to take your sword and shove it so far up your ass that the handle will be in your mouth" You all but hiss, Making Mihawk lower the cake down and hand it to you silently.

Will learn that maybe not everything has to go to textbook. Despite being a bit of a hardass for your safety he will give you massages, rub your feet help decorate to your liking. If you're sick will help you the entire time in getting better.

Rubs lotion on any tender spots or stretch marks and hums a tune you've never heard before.

Will be there with every step of the way during the labor. Supportive and comforting the whole time his child is being brought into the world, If complications will be a rock for you and will pick you if it came down to it.

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece shanks #shanks one piece #red haired shanks #shanks x reader

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l1tw1ck · 9 months

Note

I want to fck pregnant Miguel so bad, maybe a short aftermath of the last fic would be fine

3 Months

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc reader

AFAB Language Used | [Part One]

i don't normally write characters that are already pregnant nor do i take requests when they're closed but god i had to write this 😭 i was planning on adding it to the original fic but i forgot....💀 anyways, enjoy!

CW: Past Non-Con, Pregnant Miguel, Table Sex, Cunnilingus, Squirting, Lactation, Dumbification, Overstimulation, Creampie

You hug Miguel from behind as he’s grabbing a plate from the table, rubbing your boner against his ass to let him know your intentions. “Dinner was great, honey, but I think I want dessert too.” You pull his panties down and sink down to your knees. You bury your face in his cunt, indulging in your sweet and wet dessert. Miguel lets out a slutty moan and grips the edges of the table. He moans your name, voice coming out as breathy and desperate. “Fuck..” He lowers his head as your tongue enters his hole and your finger circles his clit. His whines are music to your ears and encouragement to keep going.

You don't stop until his squirts, giving you a delicious refreshment.

You sit Miguel on the table, planning to clean it up afterwards, and sink your cock into his pussy. He can't describe how good it feels when you enter him, it's almost euphoric. Almost as good as when you come inside him. He loves you so much now. He’s started to lactate and he often feels sore, it's your job to take care of that. You bring your mouth to his nipple, gently sucking on it while your hand massages his other breast. You slowly push in and out of him as you do so. Miguel leans his head back, letting out soft and sexy moans.

He whimpers your name, about to come even faster than normal. His nipples are so much more sensitive than before. You pull away and lick his nipple, getting the excess milk before moving to his other breast. Miguel’s breathing becomes labored as he gets close to an orgasm, letting out a loud whine as he comes.

Miguel moves back onto the table as per your instructions. You grab his legs and raise them in the air, using them to thrust into him. He grins, moaning even louder than before. The table shakes violently as you fuck him. Your aggressiveness is already making him lose his mind. He can't focus on anything except the pleasure he feels. He’s practically mindless. Ever since your first time together, it’s been getting progressively easier to make him get into this state. Make him come a few times and he’s gone. It made it easy to manipulate him. You lean over and kiss him. Thanks to muscle memory, he kisses you back. He feels as if a wave of electricity just ran through his body, from his chest and down to his cunt, causing him to orgasm again. Like always, you don't stop. The both of you love overstimulating him. He likes how fuzzy his brain gets and how he completely loses control, how you always have to help him after sex because he can't do anything on his own. He likes giving up his body to you.

Your thrusts eventually come to a stop as you finally fill Miguel up with your cum. “‘M gonna have twins..” He giggles. You smile at how dumb he is now. He’s so different from the Miguel you kidnapped. He’s better.

#wicks🕯️shorts #top male reader #male reader #sub miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #afab character #ftm character #dark content #tw noncon #spiderverse x male reader #spiderverse smut #dom male reader #🕯️marvel #🕯️miguel o'hara #🕯️spider man

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byunpum · 9 months

Text

Tsa·zìskrrmipaw

Pair: Neytiri x Y/N human baby x Sully family

Warning: Mention of dead, soft moments, mama neytiri <3

Request: (Anon) I love how you describe neytiri being our mother. Can I asked if you could react or make a small oneshot about how neytiri would adopt us.

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 2

Neytiri learned of your existence when your mother gave birth 1 year after neteyam's birth. It was big news in the clan. Mo'at attended the entire birth, as norm could not do anything else. Your mother had complications with the delivery, and she was losing a lot of blood. And the baby could not come out. After a labor of more than 5 hours, the woman died leaving mo'at with no choice but to deliver the baby on her own, asking eywa to keep the newborn alive. Norm was at her side, helping her, ready to provide oxygen to the newborn as soon as it came out of the woman's womb. To his surprise, just as mo'at pulled you out and the woman wiped the baby's nose with her hand and tapped the baby's back to make it respond. All this happened very fast, norm hear how the baby takes a breath and starts to cry. As if she could breathe air easily. Mo'at looks curiously at the man, placing the baby on her chest trying to pacify the baby.

After about 5 minutes and norm monitoring the baby, he notices how the lack of air began in the newborn. Putting on a special oxygen mask that your mother had prepared for you, he watched you breathe. Norm wanted to check something in his head, he thought it couldn't be true, but he wasn't wrong. After 10 minutes of letting you breathe human oxygen, he removed the mask and saw how the newborn kept looking to the sides, very calm. This child had the respiratory system of the na'vi. He almost fainted, how could this be possible.

Norm took it upon himself to investigate, and what a surprise he got. Your mother was a doctor, she had been one of those responsible for the creation of the DNA of the avatars. She had been injecting herself with a modified DNA for months, just so her baby could breathe the air of Pandora. Of course, this was very irresponsible of her, and Norm understood why she was hiding this experiment. He would never have allowed a baby to be experimented on like that. But well…it was too late. This was a surprise to everyone, the first human who could breathe in Pandora. Max and Norm discovered that this was only possible for fetuses, and not all of them. Only those that could survive the treatment, for your release your DNA withstood all the changes. And lucky for you…Mo'at wanted to take care of you, not as your mother but as your guardian. She felt a kind of responsibility, your mother was a very good person to her, and she had trusted her with everything. So she would take care of her daughter. And that's when neytiri met you.

She had given birth to lo'ak 5 months ago, and finding out that there was another newborn baby was very interesting to her. Her mother never told her that the baby was a human, neytiri thought it was another na'vi woman who had given birth and could not survive. And about the human who gave birth, well…she lamented the event but didn't think much of it. She could hear Jake lamenting, and everyone else but it wasn't her problem. She was on her way to her mother's hut, Mo'at had called her to ask her for a favor and to meet the new baby. Neytiri entered very excited, seeing how her mother was sitting there cradling something on her chest.

"Mother…did you call me?" speaks Neytiri. Mo'at settles herself more so that she is now seated in front of her daughter. "Yes, I want to ask you a favor" neytiti nods her head, now sitting up. As she settled lo'ak more on her chest.

"I think you already know about the human-woman who gave birth and died, right?" moat asks.

"Yes…it's very sad news" says neytiri, she doesn't want to imagine that scene. Now she was a mother and she can't imagine how hard it must be for a baby to be alone without its mother.

" Now that you know…I need you to take care of this baby" mo'at pulls out a human baby from her chest, of course she wouldn't have seen it, it was very small compared to her baby. Holding the newborn baby with only one hand, so that her daughter could see it. Before neytiri could speak, mo'at begins;

"She…her mother did not stand the birth, she is a very special baby neytiri…she can breathe our air, she can have a good life. Since you and your partner have adopted kiri, and jake is part of the humans. I think it would be the right thing to do, to help this baby grow up. Besides, you are the only woman who has just given birth, this baby needs to be fed with mother's milk," speaks Mo'at.

Leaving neytiri speechless, she more than anyone else knew that she did not like humans that much. And now she was asking him to take care of one of them. She adopted kiri, because the baby was a na'vi. And she accepted jake, because he had his na'vi body. But now that she would take care of a human child? His mother was going crazy. "Mom…I can't do that, get someone else to do it?" speaks neytiri in protest. Mo'at shakes her head, her mother looked calm. Placing the baby now, in a kind of nest she had prepared. This one was in front of her, in front of her feet.

"Daughter I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't necessary, this baby can't be raised by humans. She needs to breathe oxygen from these masks from time to time" mo'at held for a moment the mask norm had left for the baby. "But it's not just that…this baby's feeding is also from a na'vi. Norm already tried to feed her food that is used for human babies and she threw it up. She won't accept it, I thought you might be able to help. It's just feeding and basic care. You don't have to take care of her or adopt her." Mo'at speaks.

Neytiri was still looking at the baby with curiosity, she could have a lot of anger with humans. But she was not a monster, she was not a savage. What she was seeing there was a helpless creature, which she could tell was a little weak. Neytiri touches one of the baby's feet a little, seeing if it had any movement. "I'm afraid it will die if it doesn't feed well in the next few hours" says mo'at. Neytiri sighs, and thinks for a moment. Feeding a baby is not a bad thing, indeed it is very common in the clan. Helping and feeding the children in the clan was something that the women of the omaticaya clan helped each other with. So she would do it as a way to support her mother.

"It's okay," neytiri says, moving lo'ak a little to the side of her chest. Taking the human baby in her hands, carrying it carefully on her breast. It was very delicate and small. It weighed almost nothing, she was afraid that if it moved too much it would hurt the newborn. Neytiri moves the ornaments covering her breasts a little, bringing the creature close. Carefully positioning and guiding the baby. Noticing how the baby opens its mouth desperately trying to seek a maternal touch. After a few seconds, Neytiri watched as the baby began to suck with ease.

Neytiri settles in more, and places the baby on her forearm. She watched as the baby sucked the milk with great enthusiasm. She felt sorry, and an anguish filled her heart. She was such a small and helpless baby. Neytiri noticed how now lo'ak had gotten up, but did not begin to fuss or anything. He just started to move his little hands, until he found the human baby's foot that was right next to him. He touched it carefully and curiously, closing his hand. "Hey careful…be gentle" says neytiri in a low voice, trying not to wake the baby and not to upset her son.

After feeding the baby, neytiri continued to hold the baby to her breast. The baby had fallen asleep, and she looked more peaceful. She had finally eaten since she was born.

"Daughter…if you don't want to do it I understand…but I trust you and " mo'at is interrupted by neytiri. "Mother…it's okay, I will take care of her. After all she is a baby and she needs our help" says neytiri, stroking the baby's tiny head.

"Ok…Neteyam come here!!!" shouts jake, watching as his one year old son ran as fast as he could around the edge of the family hut. Kiri was next to him, playing with some toys. Jake watched as his partner entered the hut. Neytiri had her eyes on her chest, cooing at something. Jake thought it was lo'ak, but noticed how Neytiri had another net over her chest, and was holding something else. Jake gets up from the ground, and walks over to her.

"And what do you bring there?" asks jake. Watching as neytiri giggles softly, moving the net a bit revealing the face of a human baby. "That's it… it's newborn" jake quickly approaches taking the baby in his hands. It was instinctive, they already had their own children and seeing another baby was very common for them, they acted on their instincts. Cradling the baby in their arms. "This is that woman's baby, huh?" asks jake. Hearing how neytiri answers him with a "hmm". There was a small silence, until neytiri explained everything to jake. The man was a little surprised by his mate's attitude, she didn't usually act like that. Neytiri wouldn't even go near spider, and now she was taking care of a baby girl. A human baby.

"She needs to be fed and cared for…mom told me she needs this to breathe sometimes" says neytiri, holding up an oxygen box which had a small oxygen mask. "Well…there's nothing we can do" says jake, laughing a little. Neytiri moves closer to jake and gets closer to smell a little bit of the baby's hair. "She's very precious and special" says neytiri.

"yes….is very special" says jake. Until jake feels someone touch his feet. It was kiri and neteyam who wanted to be carried, they wanted to see how much their parents were doing. Jake kneels down, showing the baby to his sons. "She's a baby…just like your brother" jake speaks softly. A little neteyam reaches over and gently touches the baby's nose, to start laughing. He thought the baby was funny, and kiri does the same. The children were amazed at the baby their father was holding in his arms.

Neytiri didn't know what she was getting into, but she knew she was going to do her assignment very well. She herself began to doubt, the more Y/N grew up, because it was more than obvious that this baby was going to stay with them, after taking care of you for 6 months Neytiri told her mother that she would adopt you as her daughter. This news filled mo'at with joy. She knew she had chosen well, and that her daughter would do a great job. But now neytiri was doubting herself.

The mothers could be a little rude if they wanted to, it had been five years since Y/N had come into their family. And the Sully's had raised the girl as one of their children. There was no preference, no special care. You were a na'vi in the eyes of her family, but to some members of the clan you were still a strange human who shouldn't be in the village. It was more than evident that you were a human, but what human wore no mask at all?. Except you, and this bothered neytiri a lot. She was always hearing how some mothers commented on your appearance and made ignorant comments. Making fun of her for thinking she was the mother of this strange creature. This did not stop Neytiri, even though it hurt her, she went ahead with your raising. But it was normal for her to doubt her parenting and whether it was right for her to take care of you.

Neytiri had gone for a walk with all her children, sitting in a nice meadow. Watching her children run and play. Neteyam, kiri were running around. While lo'ak was lying with his head lying in her lap, while taking a nap. And Y/N she was beside her playing with a wooden ikran, making it fly. As she stood calmly by her side. Neytiri She hadn't been so calm in a while, taking out her bow that hung from her back. She used to carry it, in case there was something dangerous. She began to fix some details, like the loose string. Taking her knife to sharpen one of her arrows.

Neytiri was so focused, she didn't notice that Y/N had gotten up from the floor. You were small, so you didn't make much noise. You look for some branches, a rock, and some ropes from the trees that were on the ground. Running now to sit next to your mother. Neytiri notices how you sit down again, and is surprised to see how you have all these things between your legs. Trying to put them together, and imitating Neytiri. Copying how she was sharpening her arrows. "Honey…look it's like this" says neytiri, following your game. Giving you a stone that was next to you, for you to play with.

You were next to her, copying what she was doing. What was she worrying about, she felt a little silly. Here was the child she doubted she was raising right, imitating her. She chuckled to herself, stroking her daughter's face a little, pulling up the oxygen mask around her neck over her daughter's nose so she could breathe a little. Watching as the little girl continued her work of creating a bow. She knew that life at your side was going to be difficult, but it was going to be worth it. She knew that.

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