#angry flint is sexy flint

[captainfern]

You Know You're Right

Captain John Price x fem!reader

["You Know You're Right" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - an argument with your bodyguard ends a lot differently than you anticipated lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 6.6k • warnings - fem!reader, thick girl friendly ofc, bodyguard!price, protective/jealous!price, oral [f!receiving], angry!sex but not really, he calls you a slag once i'm so sorry but he doesn't mean it i swear, unprotected (obviously) piv, reader has a breeding kink but price is like babe chill, but he also has one, so uh yeah breeding kink (obviously), reader is on contraceptives tho x, dirty talk, praise, degradation, strong language, 99% porn 1% plot • also to note: reader is a wealthy woman in the english countryside. sorry to all my american cuties but you can be a sexy british heiress for a while x

and the uniform stays on 🙏

my contribution to @glitterypirateduck price writing challenge for this month. sorry for the lack of work recently. uni's a bitch. and sorry for any mistakes lol anyway enjoy x

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You don't know how long John Price had been your bodyguard for. You honestly couldn't recall the amount of days, weeks, months, years it had been since you had first met him.

Of course, you remember the day itself, the events, the moment you first met him. A crisp, autumnal morning with the trees around you alit with oranges and reds, and you stood on the front steps of your grand country estate as a couple of military-grade hummers pulled up in front of you.

You remember a few armed men spilling out onto your driveway, clutching M16's or AR15's or whatever the fuck they were because you weren't paying attention to them. You were paying attention to the man that followed behind them.

A man who, as the armed soldiers-of-sorts fanned out and scanned their surroundings, approached you with a warm smile that melted the early-morning chill from the air. With deep eyes that heated you more than the fuzzy housecoat you had bundled around you.

He offered his hand, and you shook it. His hand was warm too.

And the way he spoke– oh fuck, his voice. Flint striking steel and fire crackling from it's spark. A smoker. A man who, all so suddenly, sounded much too experienced to be the bodyguard of a wealthy woman in the English countryside.

"John Price," he had introduced. "S'a pleasure, miss."

You then smiled politely in return and introduced with your name. He chuckled lightly, commenting something along the lines of oh, I know who you are, miss which made your body grow even warmer.

You had looked up, ignoring the fact he was still holding your hand gently in his, and gestured to the three young men who were pacing around the front of your house, weapons drawn. "Will these gentlemen be staying with you for the entirety of your stay?"

He shook his head ruefully. "No, miss. They'll be gone within the hour. Just ensuring they know their way 'round in case they need to get here in a hurry."

You looked back down at him, arching a brow and finally removing your hand from his. He dropped his arm with a clearing of his throat, bringing his hands up to clutch the top of his vest.

"Will they need to get here in a hurry?" You challenged, almost jokingly, but John saw no joke. A joke about your safety is no joke he'd dear indulge in.

"No," he said sternly and quite quickly, you remember. "But it's just precautions. No, don't you worry, sweetheart. You're in safe hands. I assure you that."

Sweetheart.

Perhaps you remember the first meeting with John Price because it was the very first time he referred to you in such a way. Sweetheart. Now, a little over a year later, he still refers to you as such, but also–

"Morning, love. Sleep well?" He'd ask when you emerge from your bedroom in the morning.

Or,

"There she is. Rough night, pet?" He'd quip when you finally decide to show yourself about late-afternoon after a night out with your friends.

Or even,

"Need a hand with that, darling?" He'd offer when you found yourself struggling to carry the many shopping bags through the door.

Oftentimes, the way he spoke to you, the way he referred to you, was like you two had been married for years. And it wasn't only the way he spoke to you that had you going to bed giggling and kicking your feet like a girl with a crush.

Lingering touches and long hugs and kisses to the top of your head. John was always so warm and welcoming. His presence crackled like a fire in winter, lulling you to sleep or to a state of comfortability. If it was any other man, you wondered if you'd be weirded out by the closeness of him– but because it was John, everything just felt... right.

Riding horses in the springtime, and he'd assist you into the saddle with big hands running down your sides and legs, settling you onto your sturdy steed with a squeeze to your knee. He'd ride on a seperate horse if you wanted to canter through the forest; or he'd walk alongside yours if you were only taking a lazy stroll across the pastures.

Swimming in the summertime, and he'd smooth oils across your exposed skin. You'd revel in the way his large palms moved against you, such a strong man being so incredibly gentle. He'd watch you swim, his eyes occasionally darting up and around, before settling back on you again. He always declined to join you, angling that silly little boonie hat of his over his eyes to shield the sun's rays.

Keeping you warm in the wintertime, letting you snuggle up beneath furs and blankets on your couch while he chopped firewood outside, bringing the axe down again and again until he had enough kindling to keep the fire running for days to come. You'd watch him work up a sweat, muscles stretching and contracting beneath his shirt. Your entire body would flush with warmth.

But sometimes... sometimes the two of you didn't get along so well. And it wasn't your fault, you didn't think. You honestly found Captain John Price so confusing at times, especially now that the two of you had known each other for quite some time.

Partying with your friends, and you'd attract the attention of some poor man who didn't know what he was getting himself into. He'd smile at you, offer you drinks or a smoke or whatever you wanted, his hands beginning to wander as the music seemed to grow louder and louder and the colours around you blurred together. You'd laugh and dance and sing with your friends, this man actively engaging with you and–

It never lasted.

Price would swoop in. Sometimes before the stranger could offer you a drink, sometimes after. Sometimes the man never got the chance to even speak to you, with your bodyguard planting himself firmly in front of you and blocking your would-be pursuer.

You were never one to complain. After all, it was his job to protect you. But you didn't like when, after getting home in the early hours of the morning, he would roughly escort you to your room, ensure you wouldn't be sick, then leave without another word.

He'd be better by the morning.

And this became a cycle. A cycle of trying to combat the winds of a hurricane. Impossible, really. You just had to brace yourself.

But you were sick of bracing yourself. You were sick of getting fucking cock-blocked by your ex-military bodyguard. You were an absolutely gorgeous, rich woman living on her own in the countryside, and you fucking deserved to find someone. You, frankly, deserved to get fucked.

"I'm going out tonight," you told Price as you emerged from your bedroom. You were already dressed, looking impeccable as always.

Price lounged in one of the chaises positioned in the hallway outside your bedroom. He glanced up from his phone, glanced back down, and then did a double take. His eyes shot up again and he immediately pocketed his phone as he got to his feet, knees cracking with the speed of it all.

"I– you said you were just going out for a few drinks with friends?" He countered, eyes skimming up and down your frame. But not for any longer than a second, you don't think. Forever the gentleman, his eyes honed in on your face, his gaze already beginning to melt the icy facade you'd put in place.

But you steeled your nerves.

"I am," you said with a smile.

"You're going into the city? I'll have to organise a driver–" Price began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head. You didn't live too far from the main city, but it was still a significant drive for simply a few drinks.

"No, no, we're just popping into town," you said, referring to the small, quaint town less than five down the road. "Having a few drinks at the pub. Nothing big."

You and your friends were regulars at the pub. And John frowned. He knew that the other regulars– a group of men you'd become familiar with– would also be there.

You clocked his frown and your smile grew. "What's the matter, John? Am... Am I not allowed to go?"

He huffed. "No, you can go, but just let me–"

"Oh, no need," you said with a batter of your eyelashes. You told him you'd organise your own driver. "And you don't need to come. I'll only be a couple of hours."

John's jaw tensed, and you could see the muscles moving beneath his facial hair.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm coming."

Your smile faltered. "No, you're not. I'm fine, John. Have a break. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be back before midnight–"

"That doesn't make me feel better," John growled. "I... I have no problem with you going out, but I need to come with you. I– I am coming with you, end of story."

Your smile had disappeared completely now. You then looked him up and down. He was dressed how he usually did, even around the house. A suit complete with the trousers and white dress-shirt. But he wore his kevlar vest over top, and with a belt stocked with a couple of sidearms and ammunition, he didn't exactly look inconspicuous. At least he wasn't wearing his boonie hat.

"Price..." You began. "Please, just... I'll be fine, okay? Can you just let me do something on my own–?"

"No."

You frowned. "John–"

"It's my job to protect you, is it not?" He cocked his head, daring you to challenge him. "You hired me to protect you. You pay me to keep an eye on you since there are a couple of real fuckwits out there that would want to hurt you, right? So why the fuck would I let you leave here alone?"

He took a step forward, opening his arms in a gesture of so?

Your frown deepened. "I deserve some privacy, you know. I appreciate that you look out for me, but I want to be able to enjoy myself in public without..."

John waited, but urged a mocking, "Without...?"

You scoffed. "Without you hovering over me. I just want to... enjoy myself, okay? I want to meet people–"

"Oh," John suddenly said, and his tone was less of realisation, more of discovery. "I see."

You scowled. "What?"

"You want to get fucked, is that it?"

Your mouth dropped open. "I–"

"No, no, it's okay, sweetheart. It's okay," he tutted, shaking his head as you stood there, embarrassment suddenly festering in the pit of your stomach, as he appraised you like you were a whole new person. He sighed. "You want me gone so I don't stop the lads from flocking to you. Is that it? You want me to let you go out on your own so you can get one of those boys to fuck you?"

The shame in your stomach, pulling and pushing at your conscious, fizzled out and was instead replaced by a new flame of self-determination. You took a step closer to your bodyguard and jabbed a finger into the taut material of his tac vest.

"You have no right to tell me who I can and cannot fuck, got it? I can do what the fuck I want. I'm a grown woman, Price," you seethed. "Secondly, yeah, I might just get one of the guys at the pub to fuck me. I bet they would, you know. I bet he'd bend me over his knee and–"

"Stop talking," John rolled his eyes, and the gesture made you a whole lot angrier. But he continued before you could say anything else. "You're not going. You can throw a fit if that's what you want, but you're not going."

Throw a fit. You wanted to slap him for that. But you didn't. Even though you were growing angrier and angrier at the man before you, there was something inside your brain that prevented you from going that far. Maybe it was the fact that... seeing him so protective of you... made you feel...

You shook your head to send the thoughts away. You're meant to be angry at him, babe.

"Fuck you," you spat, since those were the only words that managed to come to the forefront of your mind.

He grunted. "Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Just a needy fuckin' slag looking for a quick fuck–"

You raised your hand to slap him. You wanted to strike your palm across his handsome face. A slag? Who the fuck does he think he is–

Price grabbed hold of your wrist before you got within inches of his cheek. And, quickly, you realised you'd made a huge mistake.

In seconds, he had your soft body pinned against the wall beside your bedroom door. He pinned you there with his body, hard and firm against yours, one large hand holding your wrist and nailing it to the wall, while the other grabbed your other wrist and held it by your side.

His face was close to yours. You could smell him. Rich oud, the warmth of some sort of spice note, expensive tobacco–

Your core fluttered.

Oh, fuck off–

Price shoved a knee between your legs, parting them and forcing a yelp from your throat at the way he dragged himself impossibly closer. The taut muscle of his thigh beneath you made you scream within your head, silently begging that the warmth of your clothed cunt didn't give anything away because-

You were fucked.

Fucked off, yes. Angry at him, yes.

But he was also turning you on in a way that no man has ever done before.

"D'you want'a try that again?" He whispered, the words ghosting across the heated skin of your face.

When you didn't respond right away, he pushed his knee up higher, shifting his hips closer to yours, humming out an impatient, "Hm?"

You shook your head.

"Didn't think so."

You frowned. "You're such an arsehole."

"I know," he said, words hushed. "But you fucking love it, don't you?"

The both of you paused. Breathing jaggedly, you looked at each other for what felt like an eternity, a storm passing between the two of you, complete with the crackling of thunder. You could feel him breathing against you, and you willed yourself not to look down at where your bodies were flushed together. Instead, you remained calm.

You watched the way his eyes darted across your face. How they lingered on the curves of your cheeks, or the part between your lips. His eyes scanned over your nose, your eyes, your everything. You could almost hear his brain trying to keep up.

You could feel your core growing warmer and warmer, arousal pooling and no doubt tangible. Without a doubt he could feel it against the material of his trousers, soaking through to his thigh. It was already drenching your underwear, and probably ruining his suit.

God, you loved him in a suit.

"What are you waiting for?" You whispered your challenge, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat between you.

Price groaned and he released his hold on your wrists. Instead, he grabbed the fat just above your hip in one hand and wrapped the other around your jaw, before he was pushing forward and slamming his mouth to yours.

•º•º•

John Price didn't know how long it had been since he fell in love with you. He honestly couldn't recall the number of days, weeks, months, years it had been since the moment he first saw you.

But of course he remembers what the day was like– how beautiful and welcoming and soft you looked, bundled in your expensive housecoat with a sliver of your leg exposed to the chilly autumn breeze. He remembers the bright smile, tired but bright, you had offered him as he walked up to you and extended his hand. He remembers the way your hand felt within his, and how he didn't want to let go.

He remembers how his heart lurched in his chest when you introduced yourself, and he recalls feeling nothing but sincerity for the fact a pretty woman like you needed to be protected by someone like him. Oh, but how gorgeous you looked when you thanked him for his service. The almost-guiltiness didn't last for long.

You were always so sweet to him. Even when he put you in your place, told you what you could and couldn't do for your own safety. You were constantly being kind to him. Respectful and polite and understanding.

You were such a good girl.

And as the days passed, as they blurred into weeks and months and finally a year-ish together, you got all the more sweeter. But–

But you now knew him. You knew what made him tick. You knew exactly what to do to get your way. Saunter through your home with a pretty, coy smile and a soft hand on his bicep and of course, sweetheart, we can go into the city today. Or a well-cooked meal of his favourite food, paired with a pint if you really wanted to get into his good books, and okay then, love, I'll call your driver to take us.

You knew how to deal with him. And he let you, of course.

But as the months went by, Price couldn't help but grow resentful. His pretty girl, being chatted up by some absolute mingers in a big-city nightclub. Or maybe even the village idiots down at the local pub. How dare they?

He found himself growing more annoyed that they approached you, instead of worried that they could cause you harm. Sure, they were still a threat, and Price was doing his job. But also, also, they were encroaching on what was his. What belonged to him.

His good girl.

And he supposed he should have seen this coming– an argument bubbling up and over about it all. About how he was always there when you just wanted to socialise and have a good time. How he was always turning guys away from you. It wasn't fear, and John understood that. But he was firm in his thinking– you were his.

Oh fuck, you even looked gorgeous when you were angry at him. When you were spitting and hissing like a feral cat, and even with your claws unsheathed and swinging right towards his face, he found you to be the most ethereal being on the planet.

His pretty girl.

He didn't mean to call you a slag. Of course he didn't mean it. His anger conjuring into stupid fucking words that he couldn't keep hidden in his head. And even then his anger wasn't to you, but to the local fuckwits who haunted the village pub in the hopes of spending time with you.

Delusional cunts.

When John caught your wrist and pinned you to the wall outside your bedroom, he didn't mean to escalate things. He was angry at himself, angry for saying such filth to you. But then–

But then he felt it. His heart hammering wildly against his ribcage and your chest rising and falling rapidly. He felt the way you squirmed against him, how you arched off the wall and how your barely clothed pussy seemed to throb against the muscle of his thigh. He could feel your warmth through his trousers, feel your need.

His needy girl.

And he was more than happy to indulge you. Hell, he was more than happy to indulge himself.

•º•º•

John's mouth on yours was hot. Liquid heat passing between you, sparks flying as he pulled you closer by the hand on your jaw. He split your lips with his tongue, pushing inside with just as much strength as you anticipated. His lips against yours smeared your gloss, sticky and sweet, mixing with the spit that threatened to drip as he licked into your mouth again and again, chasing the taste of you.

You moaned into it, eyes shut and hands wrapping around his neck. Fingers delved into his hair, tugging and pulling and angling his head to get yourself closer. He groaned in response, pushing his pelvis closer to yours, and you could feel him growing in his suit trousers.

Then, you began to move. You followed him blindly, your eyes still closed as you attempted to keep up with the languid rhythm of his tongue. He licked at your teeth, your tongue, your lips, committing your taste to memory.

You'd never been kissed like this before.

You were walking backwards, guided by Price's large hands. He had two hands on your waist now, holding you flush to him as he slowly edged you back, back, back until the backs of your legs bumped into something. Your bed.

You broke the kiss, surprised, and turned your head to the side to see that yeah, he'd navigated you both back into the warm, lovely-smelling oasis of your bedroom. As you looked to the side, your bodyguard continued his mission, dragging his lips along your jaw and then latching his mouth onto your neck.

He groaned, tasting more of you. He'd imagined what you'd taste like, imagined the saltiness of your skin his lips. He now knew what your mouth tasted like. All was left now was–

John forced himself away, grumbling to himself and gently pushing you back onto the bed and into a sitting position. You smiled up at him, and he shifted to stand between your parted legs, cupping your face in two hands. He bent down to place one last kiss to your lips, before slowly– with cracking knees and a shallow grunt of effort– he lowered himself to his knees.

His hands dragged down your body. They rolled over your shoulders and arms, skimming lightly over the curves of your breasts and stomach, running over the fat of your hips and thighs. When his knees hit the, thankfully carpeted, floor, he gripped your knees and gave you a couple of comforting squeezes.

"Alright, sweetheart?" He asked, voice husky and full of yen– desire and longing mirrored in his eyes.

His eyes on you, his hands dragged back up your thighs and to where your skirt sat bunched a few inches below your hips. He pinched the fabric, toying with it while waiting for your response.

You nodded at him. "M'alright."

"Can..." He dropped his eyes for just a second to look at your skirt, before raising them again. "Can I take this off, please?"

You nodded again, followed by a whispered yes, please. You then raised your hips for him to pull the fabric down and away from you, shuffling back to rip it down your legs and fling it across the room. You giggled at his enthusiasm as he returned to his original position.

Price groaned low in his throat and leaned forward, holding your thighs apart. Your underwear still on, he pressed his face against you, his beard tickling the softest part of your inner thighs. His nose pressed onto your clit, his lips placing a kiss to your clothed core. This forced a moan from your throat, and you gripped your duvet for some kind of stability.

He kissed at the patch of arousal that had bled through during your altercation in the hallway, his nose nudging against your clit as he decided to swipe his tongue against you. He groaned and you keened, a high pitched mewl, your legs twitching either side of his head.

"Pretty girl..." He whispered, the rumble hitting your clit and making you mewl out again.

He kissed at your clothed cunt again, tongue smoothing along the thin cotton fabric until the entire area was wet with his spit and your arousal. Your legs twitched beside him, pleasure sitting fuzzy in the base of your tummy, and you wondered– no, you knew that he could probably make you come in your fucking underwear.

But he didn't. Whether you were thankful for that or not, you weren't entirely sure. But he eventually, and rather torturously, pulled away for long enough to pull your underwear down your legs. He let it fling from your ankles, not caring where it landed, before he was pushing back between your legs once more.

This time, he licked a fat stripe up your cunt before latching his mouth to your clit and sucking. You cried out, a hand shooting down to grab hold of his hair, fisting it tightly as he laved his tongue over you. His mouth was hot, burning at your core, but your body had now been set alight– the flame of pleasure coursing through your veins, heating your body. Your legs trembled now, thighs flexing either side of his head, his facial hair scratching and tickling you all at once.

John's movements were quick. Quicker than you expected. He seemed desperate for it as he licked back down your cunt and stuffed his tongue into your hole– in and out, in and out– before curling and repeating the process. You moaned at his well-timed movements, never leaving you dissatisfied or overstimulated in the slightest. Price was amazing.

He kneaded the fat of your thighs as he ate you out, enjoying the softness of you around his head. His cock was hard and leaking in his trousers, and one of the reasons he wanted you to quickly come on his tongue was so that he didn't bust a fat load in his fucking briefs. He couldn't handle that today. Not when he'd been waiting so long to have you.

"John," you moaned, stretching the syllables. Your hips bucked, his nose catching your puffy clit. You ground against him, moans bubbling from your throat as you tossed your head back. You rode his face, locking your ankles together at his back and anchoring yourself with one hand on the bed and the other in his hair.

He moaned in response, eyes on the way your body writhed above him. He loved the way you bucked up, wriggling in search of your coming high. Fuck, you looked gorgeous.

John screwed his eyes shut and focused on curling his tongue in and out of your sopping hole. He felt his cock twitch. If he looked at you again, he was sure he'd come.

You moaned sweetly above him, orgasm building tight in the base of your tummy. You continued rocking your hips, the mattress creaking quietly beneath you. But the sounds from your mouth, coupled with the wetness of Price's mouth on your pussy, was all that rang true in your ears.

"John, fuck– oh fuck, please–" You mewled, edging on a whine. Desperation was creeping in. You hurtled towards your high.

Then, you felt deep vibrations rock through your core (unbeknownst to you, John had mumbled a that's it, come for me, baby against your hole). The band of pleasure inside you snapped, and with one last push of your cunt into his face, you came.

You moaned John's name, head still tossed back as pleasure fizzled through you. Your thighs clamped down on either side of his head, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you came on his tongue. John happily buried himself deeper into your heat, tongue licking you slowly through your orgasm.

He had looked up, chanced it, and watched you come. He managed to hold on and not come in his briefs, but he could feel the front of them growing tacky with his precum.

A few moments later, ensuring your orgasm had been well wrung from your beautiful body, John withdrew from your cunt. He unbound himself from your legs and got to his feet as you blinked up at him, dazed and fuzzy.

"Feeling good, sweetheart?" John asked, gently and carefully guiding you further up the bed. You crawled with him until your head hit the pillows at the top of the bed and John knelt between your legs, his hands rubbing circles over your bare thighs.

"Yeah... good..." You replied lazily, eyes dropping down to where you could see John's cock straining in his trousers. The sight made you moan, and you attempted to sat up, but Price stopped you.

"Hold on, sweetheart..." He murmured, placing a kiss to the top of your head before helping you out of your top. In companionable silence, he discarded the garment and went to work unclipping your bra, letting your breasts spill out as he discarded that too.

He groaned, happily to himself, reaching forward to roll one of your pebbling nipples between his fingers, his other hand groping the opposite breast.

"Fuckin' beautiful..." He muttered, and then leaned forward to kiss you.

You tasted yourself on him as he guided you back down. A soft tang, a subtle sweetness in his saliva. You moaned, fingers once again moving to card through his hair and stroke the back of his neck, just above his shirt collar.

While you kissed, Price slipped one hand between you and unbuckled his belt. He let the belt hang open while he deftly unbuttoned his trousers and peeled them open just enough for him to reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He hissed into the kiss, his hand on his own achingly hard cock causing pre to dribble down his shaft.

"Fuck..." He muttered into your mouth, and you pulled back, shifting to look between you. The image of your bodyguard still dressed in his uniform, but with his thick cock hanging out, was a sight to behold. You moaned, hips bucking involuntarily, the heat of your cunt coming within centimetres of the head of his cock.

Price moaned loudly, immediately dropping his hand to fist the base of himself while positioning his hips against yours. He ran the leaking tip, ruddy and flushed red from his arousal, through your soaked folds. At the same time, you both moaned.

"Oh my god," you breathed, still looking down. Price, eyes on your cunt, continued to smear pre along your slit, running his cockhead up and down, revelling in the way your arousal leaked around him.

"S'alright, pretty girl..." He uttered, not looking up from where he circled his tip around your hole. "S'alright... I'll make you feel good. I'll make you feel good." Then, he finally looked up, eyes boring into yours. You felt your stomach flip as he smiled warmly. "That's what you need, isn't it, sweetheart?"

His words dripped mirth. You whined, knowing where he was going with this.

"Just so desperate for some cock, s'that it? S'that what's got you all riled up?" John poked fun at you, referencing your argument beforehand.

You gave in and nodded, shifting your hips and catching the tip of his cock against your entrance. It made both you and Price release sounds of pleasure, but he held strong, gripping himself at the base and pulling his cock away an inch.

"Use your words," he instructed, voice husky, ash-laced. "Use your fucking words, love. Tell me how desperate you are for my cock. How much of a fucking whore you are for it."

The unexpected degradation punched a moan from your lungs. You babbled, "Y-yeah, fuck– need your cock so bad, John, please."

"Yeah?" Price teased, running the head of his cock up and down your folds again. "You need this cock?"

He pushed the head of his cock into your hole, and you moaned, arching your back. But he stopped there, the flared tip of him laying dormant inside. Your cunt fluttered around him, arousal leaking down the curve of your arse. You whimpered, attempting to push your lips down onto him, but a firm swat to your thigh had you pausing in place.

"S'this the cock you need?" Price asked, voice dark. "Or 're you wanting t'get fucked by some stranger? Want one of the lads down at the pub to fuck this tight cunt? Eh, sweetheart? That's right, isn't it? Actin' like a fuckin' slut lookin' for a quick fuck–"

"No, no, no, please–" You said quickly, trying not to get distracted by the way Price's accent was strengthening as your cunt fluttered around his cockhead. "S'only you! Need you, John, please. Only need you 'n– fuck, only need your cock."

Price growled, pleased, having itched that jealous spot inside him. That's right, that's what he wanted to hear.

His good girl.

"That's fuckin' right, baby. Good girl–" John pulled out and then pushed back in, slowly parting your walls for the girth of his cock. You moaned and he leaned forward to kiss you, being as gentle as he could while splitting you open. He murmured against your lips, "That's a good girl. Yeah, that's it, sweetheart. Doin' so well..."

The buckle of his belt clinked as John picked up his thrusts, stretching you apart on his cock. You could feel the bunched fabric of his trousers and briefs against you with each of his thrusts, and when he curled over you to kiss you, the feeling of his dress shirt and tac vest against your bare chest had a shiver rippling through you.

He kissed you hard, just as he had done in the hallway. This time, a bit of saliva did escape your mouth, rolling from the corner as you parted your mouth to moan, Price's tongue licking over your lower lip as the head of his cock punched up against the base of your cervix.

Just like everything else about him, the sex was hot. Price radiated warmth. The space between your bodies was heating up, and you could feel the light sheen of sweat covering your skin. Beneath his beard, Price's cheeks began to burn read, a bead of sweat trickling from his hairline. His hips moved quickly, but with precision, shunting you deeper and deeper into the mattress, making it squeak and groan.

His cock hit all the right places, too. Your walls hugged him, tight and hot and wet as he plunged up against your womb. John could feel you squeezing him. Feel the sheer hold you had on him, physically and otherwise. He grunted and groaned to himself, his balls already beginning to tighten, his lower back starting to strain from the effort.

"John..." You whined, second orgasm already fast approaching. You felt yourself beginning to tighten up again, your muscles pulling taut as the band of pleasure in the base of your abdomen began to expand. The drive of Price's cock was pulling it further and further. You were so close.

And when you were this close, John always seemed to know what to say and do to push you off the precipice.

Expertly, your bodyguard moved his arm downwards to press a couple of fingers to your puffy clit, rolling it beneath with a gentle stroke. He drew gentle circles that made you spasm beneath him, a panting moan filtering from your parted, spit-covered lips.

He continued the drive of his hips, cock hitting the best spot inside you. Bursts of light, of pleasure, appeared behind your fluttering eyelids, the intensity of it all making it hard for you to keep your eyes open. But you did– you forced your eyes open, lids drooping. You locked eyes with Price, and he smiled down at you in a way that was probably meant to be comforting, but it only turned you on more.

"My sweet girl, just look at you," Price cooed, still slamming into you. "So gorgeous. Such a pretty girl, an' you look even prettier getting stuffed with my cock, don't you?"

You nodded, delirious now. You wanted nothing more than for him to come inside you and–

The thought made you moan loudly.

He chuckled. "S'that right?"

"John, fuck–" you moaned out. "Fuck, please–"

Come inside me, you wanted to beg him, but the tip of his cock at the plug of your womb and his fingers on your clit had your vision whiting out as the band in your stomach snapped again.

You came hard. Legs locked around his waist, the fat of your thighs and stomach rippling with his strong movements, you came. Arousal gushed out around his cock, the sensation forcing an unexpected whimper from you. The slick walls of your cunt clutched the girth of him, squeezing with each fluttering pulse of your erratic heartbeat. Fuzzy pleasure washed over you and, just like with his mouth, he stroked your clit through your orgasm and stopped right at the brink of overstimulation.

But you gained no mercy after coming.

John redoubled his efforts. With two strong arms either side of you, he rutted into you with renewed energy, now chasing his own high. His balls, almost painful at this point, smacked against the plush curve of your arse, with the head of his cock leaking inside you.

Oh fuck, he wasn't wearing a condom.

He knew you were on contraceptives. Of course. He knew almost everything about you now. But the thought–

"John–!" You all but sobbed, wriggling beneath him, becoming impatient. Not because you wanted it to end, but because you wanted him to end inside you. "John, please come inside me."

"Fucking hell," he grit out between clenched teeth, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Stuffing you full of him. Coming right up against your cervix, flooding your womb. Filling you out, watching you grow fat with his kid. Laying claim to you, how you were truly his. His pretty girl. His good girl.

Not today.

But the thought alone had Price coming.

"F-fuck, take it, sweetheart, jus'– fuckin good girl, take my cum, baby–" Price muttered, pumping his hips as he came. He filled you with the same kind of warmth he radiated. Comfort and security, maybe.

You moaned quietly once Price'd emptied himself inside of you, and you relaxed your legs so he could flop to the side. Cock still inside you, softening just a bit, Price curled you into him, his face resting in the crook of your neck, your legs entangled.

The two of you caught your breaths, breathing in each other's scent and the pungency of sex. Your eyes opened and closed lazily, the heat of Price's body lulling you to sleep. But you forced your eyes open when Price pulled back– only to change positions. His suit rustled as he pulled you in against him, and you wished you could run your fingers through the hair on his toned chest.

After a little while, you felt Price kiss the top of your head.

"Feeling alright, love?" He asked, and the sincerity in his voice had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Yeah," you replied. "More than alright. I... thank you."

"Thank you," Price said, nuzzling into the top of your head.

•º•º•

The two of you basked in each others company for what seemed like hours before a buzzing broke the haze of whatever dream you were living. Peeling yourself away from Price for a moment, you reached over to your discarded purse and fished your phone out, finding it alight with missed calls and messages from your friends.

You almost felt guiltly.

"Cancel," John grumbled below you, seemingly already knowing what you were looking at. "You're not going out tonight, are you?"

"No, 'm not feeling up to it," you said, smiling.

John, burying himself into the crook of your neck once more, arms wrapped securely around you, smiled too.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

this was the first long-ish fic i've written in a while so forgive me if it wasn't my usual best lolol. anyway thank you for reading and make sure to go check out the other @glitterypirateduck submissions for this writing challenge

lots of luv <3

#captainfern #captain john price #john price call of duty #price smut #captain john price x female reader #captain price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price x you #price call of duty #call of duty #cod smut #captain'snirvana

[remythologise]

please rank your gay ships based on how bad thekr first time havifn sex would be thank you

a short selection of SOME gay ships from western live action on a RELATIVE score ranking because we don’t have time or space for all the rest: charles/erik: charles is literally a telepath. their first time having sex is 15/10 even if both of them cry and erik gives himself an injury it doesn’t take away from how out of this world the sex is

hannibal/will: 13/10 for the 13 people that died right before it happened. I am so sorry to tell you this but they are BOTH so into it and there is so much blood.

alexander/hephaistion: over two millennia of people saying alexander was cuntstruck by hephaistion’s thighs so I guess that first messy 12/10 handjob was astronomically good for alexander.

tos kirk/spock: kirk is very kind and gentle with spock here even though spock’s losing his goddamn mind about it. kirk, in fairness, ALSO loses his goddamn mind about it a bit. not for nothing are they based on the above two historical figures. 11/10 lewd handholding

xena/gabrielle: including women on this list as a comparison point. it’s so 10/10 good and they are so normal and communicative about their needs, wants and feelings

post-15.18 destiel: might be sort of normal actually. a bit awkward at first, but given cas is an angel and blows out some lights along with dean’s back I’ll give it a solid 9/10 that can only get better from here.

flint/silver: 8/10 sadly they’re both so in love with each other and work so well together it overrides all of the gaslight gatekeep girlboss manipulations and mindgames that have or will go on, even if they’ll never admit that!

steve/tony: picking one universe and saying ultimates, ults steve is homophobically trembling the whole time and ults tony is bitter and jaded and laughs derisively at the situation after steve comes. 3/10 objectively but a 9/10 experience for steve (previously had not had gay sex) and a 7/10 experience for tony (he’s a masochist)

holmes/watson: holmes is too in his head about it and watson doesn’t know if he likes gay sex yet. 6/10 love that dare not speak its name is still very sexy for all involved

house/wilson: they know way too much about anatomy for this to be bad, BUT never underestimate the power of them derailing the experience by arguing with each other and bringing up death before anyone even gets off. 5/10

kim/harry: oh this is ABSOLUTELY what you’d expect (harry full on losing it not even halfway in and sobbing violently) but it is saved by the fact harry can near-read kim’s mind even if he doesn’t know what kim’s mind means half the time. 4/10, +0.5 modifier (kim really trusts you)

nandor/guillermo: also 4/10, neither of them communicates about their kinks. guil makes a secret action plan of how the next time can be better, except nandor then immediately goes off and hooks up with some other love of his life

merlin/arthur: 5/10 sloppy blowjob by merlin that gets a downgrade to 3/10 because somehow in sucking arthur off he also managed to doom magic, all other gay people and the entire working class

geralt/jaskier: 2/10 geralt is thinking about yennefer’s breasts the whole time. sorry he can’t help it blame the djinn probably

aos kirk/spock (or any pre-movies version of tos): somehow kirk spends the whole time convincing himself it’s just a casual thing for a literal vulcan. spock spends the whole time trying not to kill kirk and then thinks he’s gravely injured him AND disgusted him with the scale of his aggressive desire. 1/10 they both get off but it’s physically painful and both are miserable about it

endverse destiel: dean is SOOOO angry and revolted with both himself and castiel. absolute 0/10 that never happens again.

dishonourable mentions for the hell of it:

aziraphale/crowley: whatever neil gaiman said about them never having sex because they’re beyond that or whatever. -10/10 they don’t qualify

#thanks sadie. #kira for ts #this post brought to you by me just recently reading cherik fic. miss them. #again this was a specific selection of ships. really aziraphale/crowley should not be on here #and I KNOW there are ships missing but you know askbox IS open if you want to know specifics (sadie.) #ask #quote unquote #anonymous

[athenasnina]

FIC RECS HERE!

The trifecta of @scriberated, @thrillofhope, & @myrsinemezzo are keeping me so well fed with three very different, yet still each incredibly well written and enthralling fics. My heart leaps every time I see an update from them, you have no idea. So I HAVE to share them somewhere, okay!

A Blessing of Eru by Scriberated

Galadriel deals with the fallout of her many, and I do mean MANY, indiscretions with Halbrand. Now there’s a bun in the oven, and her baby daddy turns out to be her mortal enemy. Thanks to Gil-galad, Galadriel is safely hidden, though not in her dreams. And poor, frustrated Sauron is having a very difficult time understanding right from wrong, giving me strong James Flint-esque “everyone is a monster to someone, if you’re so convinced that I am yours, I will be it” vibes. And I’m HERE for that shit! It’s nearly over and I’m very sad, but this last chapter left me gasping, like damn!

The Lesser of Two Evils by Thrill_of_hope

Amazingly beautiful prose, and characters written so much like their television counterparts, you ask yourself if you’re just reading scripts from the show itself. Sneaky Sauron puts himself at the mercy of the elves, so that they might work together to defeat Morgoth. Gil-galad is wise and in charge, Galadriel grudgingly does as she’s told, and Sauron’s just out here having good time (especially when getting Galadriel in trouble with Gil-galad, it’s great).

Across That Fine Line by MyrsineMezzo

Angry Galadriel follows behind smug Sauron in a bid to find a way to bring him down. Only to realize, they’ve ended up on a sexy road trip that he’s been planning all along. AND THATS ONLY HALF WAY! You have to read to find out where this road trip ends up! Sauron just wants to treat his lady right, but still be evil, okay.

Special mention goes to @coraleethroughthelookingglass whom I just found.

Lessons by Coraleeveritas

Modern AU with single dad Halbrand meeting with his twin daughters’ prickly teacher Galadriel. Oh you guys, this one is just... Mmmm, so good. Apparently there’s more coming! And when I tell you that I am ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT waiting for it!

So if you haven’t already, GO READ THESE AMAZING MASTERPIECES! Then give these writers all the love in the comments.

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #halbrand x galadriel #trop #fic recs

[pastelwitchling]

I'm not sure if you're taking prompts anymore but I was wondering if you could write a fic where Alex gets pissed at Michael about something and obviously yells at him about it but Michael just finds it sexy.

***

               Alex had first noticed it when they had come back from a night at the Pony with Flint of all people. Michael had kept a protective stance over Alex, smirking tightly at Flint, his words even tighter.

               If anything, Flint looked like he really remembered being knocked out and tied up. Alex didn’t have too much sympathy for him there, since he had kidnapped him first, but he did feel like his brother, after being away from their father’s influence, had gotten better. He couldn’t keep his family separate from his brothers anymore.

               Then Flint had said something about Michael’s airstream and Alex letting trailer trash live with him, and Alex had snapped.

               “You do not talk to him like that!” he yelled, slamming a fist on the table. “Brother or not, one leg or not, I will kick your ass if you so much as breathe wrong in his direction, Flint, do you understand me?”

               Flint clenched his jaw, but only sniffed and nodded once. The rest of the conversation had passed quietly and without much word from Michael, because he’d spent it, instead, staring at Alex, his expression odd. Alex had taken his hand under the table and squeezed, but he didn’t know what was wrong until they’d gotten home and Michael had pushed him against the wall, pressing every inch of his body against him. He was rock hard already.

               Alex gasped. “G-Guerin—”

               “That was so hot,” Michael murmured in his ear. “You’re so sexy when you’re angry, I wanted to take you right there in the bathroom.”

               “What—ah!” he gasped as Michael sucked on his neck.

               The rest of the night had turned hazy after that, a blur of damp bodies and strong thighs and grunts in Alex’s ear, but he had learned a certain kink Michael had, which was always fun.

He’d actually forgotten about it until weeks later, at Deep Sky. Alex had been put in charge during Eduardo’s trip to visit his daughter, and one agent had nearly destroyed a valuable artifact meant to be archived. Eduardo’s one direction to Alex before he’d left him running things was to be the captain he’d always been. Everyone else was a soldier.

And when soldiers messed up badly, a captain was anything but nice.

“If you don’t know how to handle this technology, then maybe you should take the beginners’ training again on Level One!”

After he was done with him and sent him off to finish his job, he turned to face an impressed Kyle and a lusting Michael.

“Wow,” Kyle said, arms crossed. “I wouldn’t have minded flying your plane.”

“Back off, Cheekbones,” Michael said, breathless. “He’s mine.”

Despite Alex’s half-hearted objections, Michael pulled him into a storage closet and started yanking off his clothes.

“I wanna suck you so bad,” Michael groaned into Alex’s neck before leaning down, kissing his chest, his stomach.

“We—we can’t in here,” Alex tried, but Michael was already grabbing his thighs, was already hungrily swallowing him down, and all Alex could do was bite his lower lip to keep from screaming out.

After Alex came, he pushed Michael against the wall and crashed their mouths together, kissing him hungrily. “You’re such a freak, and I love it so much.”

Michael grinned against his lips, pulling Alex’s hips in as he slotted their mouths together, deepening the kiss. “Okay,” he said. “Now we go back out there.”

“Erm,” Alex stopped him, raising a brow. “Where do you think you’re going?” He grabbed Michael’s hard length, making him gasp, his eyes dark. “We still have to take care of you.”

***

I deviated a bit. I’ve also answered all the prompts in my inbox. I don’t think I’ll actually be opening it again just because all I really get is prompt requests and I just don’t think I’m up to taking anymore right now. If you enjoyed reading please reblog and comment, it always makes the world of a difference.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

[demenior]

[Critical Role Campaign 2 Finale Spoilers.]

I was too excited to sleep, thinking about all the potential pirate shenanigans to come from Fjord & the tieflings’ story. Also to see how many Black Sails references I could fit into like 500 words.

--

“There’s a reason he picked you,” Vandran says.

Fjord blinks out of his trance. The movement of the water, the open horizon, still has a tendency to capture his attention with a longing he can’t put to rest. No matter how many hours he sails, the blue calls to him.

Vandran comes to stand beside him near the bow. He looks out at the slow roll of the waves.

“There’s an old story, about a man who sailed to the end of the world and back. Angered the gods, suffered misfortune after misfortune as he tried to get home,” Vandran starts.

Fjord settles in. Sailors love their stories. For a moment he might be below deck on the Tide’s Breath, listening to someone weave a tale over dinner.

“Spent a lifetime fighting to get home. On his journey met a sage, who told him that at the end of his journey. When his enemies were slain, when his war was over, he must do one last thing before he can rest. The sage tells him to pick up an oar and walk inland. And keep walking until somebody mistakes that oar for a shovel. For that would be the place that no man had ever been troubled by the sea. And that's where he'd find peace.”

Fjord thinks it over a moment.

“I’m not ready to leave it,” he admits, “I don’t know if I ever will be.”

Vandran grins. Gold glints off of one of his teeth, “I know, son. You and I have that in common. I saw it in you. I’m sure he saw it in you. That love for the untamed.”

“A wiser man would walk inland, given my circumstances,” Fjord muses.

“It’s why he could tempt you,” Vandran figures.

Fjord hums an agreement. Why offer power and endless oceans to someone who could be happy to walk away from the shore.

“It’s also why he can’t beat me,” Fjord says, “the ocean is uncontrollable. He’s not the only god of the sea.”

“Just the one that wants you dead,” Vandran reminds him.

Fjord laughs, “You say that like that’s not part of the appeal.”

Kingsley’s voice rings out from the crowsnest, “Sails! North-west!”

Fjord stands upright, moves to the far side of the ship. He follow’s Kingsley’s direction, searches with a spyglass. Vandran follows.

There she is. Two masts, just came into sight. She’s on her way to the mainland. Sitting high in the water, because she’s relatively empty. She’s hunting for a merchant’s ships to fill her hold with prizes.

Fjord hands off the spyglass to Vandran. Waits for Vandran’s opinion.

“It’s the Black Hind,” Vandran confirms, “I need to remind you that that’s a Revelry ship. Her crew is from Darktow. They won’t shy away from a fight.”

“And we know Sabian’s on that crew,” Fjord says, “first time he’s left Darktow in months.”

Jester emerges from the cabin. She’s got paint smeared on her cheek.

“Is it him?” she asks.

“What say you?” Fjord asks Vandran.

“A wise man might say something about moving on. Let the past sink and leave it behind.”

“A wise man would forgive and forget?” Fjord checks. Laughs. Vandran shakes his head.

“Good thing you’re not a wise man,” Vandran agrees.

“Orders, Cap’n?” Orly calls.

“I’ll let Sabian know we’re coming,” Jester announces, and begins casting sending.

“Full pursuit,” Fjord shouts, “let’s get that fucker.”

#critical role #fjord stone #fjord tusktooth #cr vandran #vandran is just a slightly less angry and blonde james flint #and that did NOT get jossed so here it stays #anyways the critrole pirate arc was very sexy and i think we should go back to that tyvm #writing is hard #be kind this is completely unbetad or edited and its way too early to be alive

[primasveraas-writing]

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

-

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

-

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

#roy kent #keeley jones #roy x keeley #roy x keeley fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy x keeley fanfiction #roy x keeley imagine #roy kent x keeley jones #keeley x roy #angst #oops im so sorry yal #rebecca welton

[spaceskam]

8 for Malex? Thanks!

*hiding because this took an embarrassing amount of time I'm sorry*

tags: high school au, slight mental health stuff goin’ on, bed sharing

8. bedtime stories [ao3]

Alex never claimed to be subtle.

He watched Michael openly, his thumb between his teeth as he eyed the way he pulled his shirt over his head. He knew this was probably inappropriate. However, Michael was hot and had yet to tell him to stop staring. Sometimes it seemed like he deliberately did things to make Alex stare. So Alex kept on and hoped that, if he was only doing this to make fun of Alex, at least he got something nice to look at.

“Hey, Alex,” Michael called, tossing his sweaty shirt into his bag and grabbing a dry one, “Do you think your brother would mind if I stayed over tonight? I don’t feel like going home.”

Alex swallowed and sat up straight. He looked around at the other guys in the locker room. He was sure one of them would say something. Magically, they didn’t. 

“Clay won’t care,” Alex said, trying to seem nonchalant. Michael closed his locker and looked at him with a massive grin as he pulled his shirt down. His hair was still damp with sweat and it stuck to his forehead. Both of those things together were too much for Alex’s sanity.

“Cool. Meet you after school at my truck?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

Michael leaned close into Alex’s face and gave a mocking, “Okay, yeah,” before he laughed and walked around Alex. He twisted on the bench and followed him with his eyes as he went to the other side of the locker room where his other friends were. They instantly started talking about the game next Friday and how they were playing Carlsbad and how their team’s cheerleaders were hot. Michael didn’t deny it and Alex tried not to feel weird about it.

Instead, he grabbed his back and quickly headed out of the locker room. He hated gym and had put it off until his senior year, but now he was stuck doing it with basically no one to talk to except sophomore loners who seemed content to fail the class. He felt that.

The only highlight of it was Michael Guerin who he got to watch work up a sweat for 45 minutes every single day of the week. He got to watch him play dodgeball with too much enthusiasm and run the mile at the fastest in the class and play put-out with his friends. Alex had, somehow, befriended him when they were freshmen and both the youngest in their math class, so they stuck together. Then sophomore year they had Spanish together, junior year they had chemistry, this year they had gym. It wasn’t much but it was enough to spark an unlikely class-only friendship that turned into a school-only friendship that turned into an actual one.

He was Alex’s favorite person in the world.

The next two classes passed by relatively quickly, solely relying on the fact that Alex wasn’t paying attention and instead doodling aimlessly in his notes. Science was boring, math was easy.

Alex let himself into Michael’s truck because he was a dumbass who never locked it and sat in the passenger seat. His notebook stayed in his lap and he kept shading in the boat he was working on as the parking lot filled with other people going to their cars and people going to their buses. Michael always talked to his fellow football players before he left considering they couldn’t leave until the buses did anyway, so Alex wasn’t in a rush.

When Michael did climb in, he raised his head to get a good look at him. Because he always wanted to get a good look at him. Today, just like most days, he looked gorgeous and lit up from the inside and he was already staring at Alex.

“What’cha drawing?” he asked, scooting to the middle to look at Alex’s book. He pressed up against his side and eyed it, nodding his head. “Nice. I’m gonna get one of those tattooed on me one day.”

“What? A boat?”

“No, one of your pieces,” Michael laughed, shaking his head as he moved back to the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition and Alex stared at the side of his face. “Whichever one you think I should. Think about it.”

And Alex would think about it. It wasn’t even the first time he thought about it. Michael had spoken of getting one of his drawings on him before and the thought was quite possibly the most erotic thing Alex could think of which was ridiculous. There was nothing sexy about that in reality. But… Michael shirtless and having something Alex created permanently on his skin was just so good.

He went back to the drawing before he could entertain putting his tongue on it.

Michael turned up the radio before backing out of his spot and then they were on their way to Alex’s house. He put his drawing down in favor of watching out the window as Michael badly sang along to Nirvana and Beck.

Junior year was the first time Michael had come over to his house and it had felt weird to acknowledge that the person he’d spoken to nearly every day for over two years knew approximately nothing about his home life. Alex had half-assed an explanation about how his mother left and his dad was in jail, so Alex only lived with his brothers. Michael hadn’t judged him, only loudly made it clear he thought Clay was badass for stepping up when he was freshly 18 to make sure the rest of them didn’t get too screwed.

It was a few more after school hangouts after that that Michael confided that he’d been in the foster care system since he was a baby and had been in a group home for the last few years. Teenage boys were a hard sell to foster parents, apparently.

Clay had no problem giving his number to the group home to call for check-ins whenever Michael started staying over. 

“Please tell me he got spicy Doritos because I‒hell yeah,” Michael said, letting himself roam freely around the kitchen. He pulled the bag of spicy nacho Doritos labeled Michael out of the pantry and ripped them open, a grin on his face. Alex could watch it all day.

“Can I steal the bar mix that you haven’t touched in, like, a month?” Flint asked, his gaze stuck on his computer where he was doing homework. His eyebrows were pulled into an angry glare at it.

“Yeah, sure, if it’s still good,” Michael answered, falling onto the couch right beside Alex and holding out the bag to him. Alex shook his head. Michael often got food obsessions and would go a month where that was all he wanted, but during bad days it was the only thing he could eat that didn’t make him lose his appetite. 

Despite the fact that he was all smiles, Alex had memorized the warning signs and knew he wouldn’t be eating dinner.

“Sweet,” Flint said, sliding to the pantry to grab the remnants of Michael’s last food obsession.

One of the warning signs that Michael wasn’t doing great, despite the fact that he’d asked to come over at all and hadn’t just invited himself, was the fact that he had taken any excuse all day to be tactile Alex. He’d spent all lunch and gym with him instead of with his football buddies, he’d wanted to sit closer in the truck, he immediately sat practically on top of him on the couch.

Later that night, he sat beside him at dinner and picked at it, only eating the crunchy asparagus and the edges of the tortilla part of his quesadilla. Alex ate what he didn’t.

Michael took a shower and wore Alex’s clothes and made himself at home in Alex’s bed, all cozy and on his phone with his thumb in his mouth when Alex got out of the shower. When they’d first started spending the night together, Michael slept on the couch or on the floor. One night they’d fallen asleep in Alex’s bed during a movie and now that’s where he went each night.

Alex didn’t mind.

He shut off the lights and jumped into bed, putting on Netflix on the TV and starting up where they’d left off in their third watch-through of The Good Place. Michael scooted closer until they were touching in some way, his eyes still partially on his phone and partially on the TV.

It should’ve bothered Alex. It should’ve felt like taunting. Occasionally he did feel the need to shake him and ask him if he really wasn’t seeing how much Alex was into him. Was the staring not enough? Was the way he got a bit dizzy whenever he realized Michael was beginning to smell like Alex’s shampoo not enough? Was Alex’s eyes tracing every bead of sweat that rolled across his face like he hadn’t had water in weeks not enough? Was every single one of Michael’s other friends mentioning that they acted “kinda gay” not enough?

But mostly Alex was fine with it. Michael was safe here and comfortable and Alex wasn’t going to ruin that by wanting something more. So he would keep his hands to himself. He wouldn’t be subtle, but he wouldn’t be overbearing. He would just be Alex and hope that was alright.

“Alex,” Michael whispered, moving until his head was on Alex’s shoulder. Alex hummed in response. “Can you tell me a bedtime story about your boat?”

Alex smiled and shifted, his fingers slipping into Michael’s hair. Michael tilted his head up until they locked eyes. They were so close, just like every time Michael requested a bedtime story, as if that was the only acceptable time to be less than an inch away from each other’s face. Alex very quietly thought that their entire friendship felt like one.

“Once upon a time, there was a very loud pirate captain,” Alex started, watching as Michael’s thumb slowly started gravitating towards his mouth again, “He was old and held very strict beliefs. If you disagreed, he’d throw you overboard.”

“What a dick.”

“Mm, yeah, very. Anyway, he was always angry and his crew were like ‘shit, what if he’s lonely’ and decided they needed to get him a friend.”

“Oh no, poor lonely pirate man,” Michael said around his thumb.

“Poor lonely pirate man indeed,” Alex agreed, nodding solemnly, “So they searched high and low for anyone to be his companion. Not someone on the crew, but someone who would be his equal and separate from his employees. It was a very complicated task. They would find people who seemed good, but then the pirate captain wouldn’t like them and kick them out. It happened so many times they almost gave up. But eventually, they found an astronaut who seemed like a good fit because he was very smart and very happy.”

Michael pulled his thumb from his mouth with a loud pop, “So they really searched high, huh?”

Alex huffed a laugh and nodded, combing back his hair. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at him, at his interested and tired eyes. God, he was so into him. Every single bit of him. Even when he needed moments like these.

“Yeah, really high. And they brought him back to the boat to meet the captain and they really, really thought he would hate him. But you know what? He didn’t. They actually got on quite well. And the captain started becoming a lot less angry,” Alex said. Michael shifted, pressing closer.

“And did the astronaut change?”

“Mhm. He got to relax too. He didn’t feel like he had to be super smart and happy to make everyone else happy anymore, he could just be himself. He could even be sad sometimes and that was okay because he had someone who liked him no matter what,” Alex explained, “He even would stop at islands to get his favorite foods.”

“Were they just best friends or were they in love?” Michael asked. Alex swallowed carefully and scanned his eyes over his face, trying to gauge what would be a better answer.

“They started as just best friends,” Alex decided, “But they fell in love. They were both. Somewhere in between.”

“Somewhere in between?”

“Yeah, like, not quite just best friends and not quite together romantically. Something different. Something special,” Alex tried. Michael watched him closely. In the background, Eleanor watched herself fall in love with Chidi for one of the hundreds of times they fell in love and Alex tried not to be too poetic about it.

“Alex,” Michael said, his hand dropping between them, “Are we somewhere in between? It feels like we are”

The question was honestly innocent but Alex stopped breathing, not knowing how to answer. He had a football player cuddling up to him in his bed. He should say no. He should save his own ass. He should keep it to himself.

But Michael was comfortable enough to cuddle him, to be babied when he needed it, to be raw and open.

So why couldn’t Alex?

“Do you wanna be?” Alex asked. Michael blinked. “Or… like… do you wanna be somewhere… not in between?”

“Like, on the other side? The romantic side?” Michael clarified. Alex nodded slowly, unsure. “Does it mean I get goodnight kisses?”

Alex let out a slow breath and laughed cautiously, “If you want them.”

“I want them,” Michael said assuredly. Alex couldn’t fucking think straight and he was just smiling stupidly at him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Goodnight kisses, right here,” Michael said, tapping his lips delicately.

“Right. Okay.”

Alex moved his head just a little to give him a soft kiss, barely lasting a few seconds. He didn’t want to be too presumptuous. And, still, it was probably the best kiss he’d ever had in his life. His heart was trying to escape his chest.

He was really doing this. This was really happening.

“Did they live happily ever after, Alex?” Michael asked against his lips. Alex breathed and nodded.

“Yeah. They did.”

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #title tuesday #alexmanesss

[exlibrisfangirl]

Honestly, I don't know why you post these things, knowing the type of person that I am: Chris Argent, James Flint, Duke Crocker, Oliver Queen, Tenth Doctor, Allan, and Faramir - XOXO

I AT LEAST TRIED TO BE SOMEWHAT KIND WITH YOURS, YOU TRAITOR. GAWD, ANNA.

HAVE SOME ANGRY CHRIS ARGENT CAKE-GRABBING AS A TOKEN OF MY DISPLEASURE.

Give me 6 characters and I’ll tell you who i would:

Push off a cliff: Tenth Doctor. He can regenerate. =D

Kiss: Flint. He's a dang sexy man.

Marry: Chris Argent. Like, honestly, what were you expecting? We're already married in my head, so... *shrugs*

Set on Fire: Faramir. I mean, it's canon. *puts self in the trash, where I belong*

Wrap a Blanket around: Oliver Queen. The man needs some TLC, good gravy.

Be Roommates with: Duke and Allan. Can you imagine how much FUN that would be?! They would drive me BATTY, but we'd laugh SO MUCH and have such a good time.

(There are 7 names, so I took the liberty of doubling up on one of them. Neither of us can count to 6, apparently, lol.)

Send me 6 characters...

#i am still laughing about faramir #somebody drag me to the nearest dumpster please #angel in a big blue box #answered ask #and the meme goes on #this is my design #fictional characters #the tenth doctor #doctor who #james flint #black sails #chris argent #teen wolf #faramir #lotr #oliver queen #arrow #duke crocker #haven syfy #allan a dale #bbc robin hood #when fandoms collide

[likelytowritesomestuff]

BLACK SAILS CHARACTERS ACCORDING TO CRAZY EX GIRLFRIEND’S SONGS

James Flint:

Crazy is when I go off the rails

This is what you've done to me!

(You do/You don’t wanna be crazy, Season three theme)

John Silver:

Whee-ooh-ooh-whee! Hello there, it's me!

I'm the Santa Ana winds king of pirates!

I cause allergies uprisings

I also make things weird everyone believe every bullshit I say

(Santa Ana wind, 2x12)

Eleanor Guthrie: 

Let's generalize about men

Let's generalize about men

Let's take one bad thing about one man

And then apply it to all of them

Let's conflate all the guys

Let's generalize about men

(Let’s generalize about men, 3x01)

Max: 

Maybe this dream won’t lead to disgrace 

Maybe this dream is in reach 

Maybe this dream won’t poop on my face 

Like a seagull at the beach

(Maybe this dream, 2x02)

Jack Rackham: 

Hey West Covina Nassau, why won’t you let me break free? 

Am I doomed to stay here, 

pouring my high school friends beers running this brothel, 

for the rest of eternity? 

(What’ll it be, 1x06)

Anne Bonny:

Scary scary sexy lady 

Angry scary sexy lady 

Angry like a witch 

But sexy like a sexy witch

(Scary scary sexy lady, 3x04)

Charles Vane:

'Cause fit hot guys have problems, too 

Don't look at us, we're not dancing for you 

This is our quiet personal time to reflect

(Fit hot guys, 3x09)

Miranda Barlow:

(Lady we're all gay

we get nothing out of this!) Neither man will notice

my learning disability!

Cause the center of the triangle

is little ole

sexy, little baby

Me-e-e-e-e-e-e!

(The maths of love triangle, 2x03)

Madi:

This is my movement 

Can't stop this movement 

It's coming out fast in a powerful blast from deep inside of me 

Like an explosion of built up emotion, o-oh 

(This is my movement, 3x07)

Billy Bones: 

I have friends my men, I definitely have friends my men!

No one can say that I do not have friends my men!

(I have friends, 1x03)

Woodes Rogers:

Don’t be a lawyer - and a governor -, 

don’t do it - quickest way to ruin your life. 

Don’t be a lawyer not worth it, it’ll leave you dead inside. 

(Don’t be a lawyer, 4x03)

VaneElanor: 

We should definitely not have sex right now We should definitely not have sex right now It would complicate the situation

(We Should Definitely Not Have Sex Right Now, 2x01 )

MaxAnne: 

Let's have intercourse!

(Let's have intercourse!)

Just pretend I'm seducing you...

Come on let's quickly have intercourse...

(Let's quickly have intercourse...)

So I can move on

With my life...

(Let’s Have Intercourse, 2x12)

SilverFlint: 

This is our horny angry tango! 

I want to fight! 

I want to bang! 

This is our horny angry tango! 

We’re truly furious but... Dang! 

We’re also horny too!

(Horny angry tango, 3x10)

#black sails #black sails meme #black sails memes #crazy ex girlfriend #crazy ex gf #crazy ex girlfriend songs #james flint #john silver #long john silver #billy bones #charles vane #eleanor guthrie #woodes rogers #max black sails #anne bonny #jack rackham #miranda barlow #madi black sails #silverflint #vaneleanor #maxanne #rebecca bunch #paula proctor #greg serrano #nathaniel plimpton #valencia perez

[medusinestories]

Black Sails Confinement Challenge - Prompts

Here it is! The list of 50 prompts to inspire confined fic writers to write about confined characters. Here’s how I broke them down:

The General (G1 - G25) prompts only contain ideas for settings and sometimes simple plot ideas. They can be used for any ship or character. Please fill these prompts as closely to the general idea/mood as possible.

The Specific (S1 - S25) prompts tend to be more detailed and contain a ship request. If you choose a specific prompt, please write the ship/main characters requested in these prompts, whose names you have been bolded for your convenience.

Tomorrow I’ll be posting a form to let authors claim prompts. Prompts can be claimed anytime during the challenge but prompts are granted on a first-come, first-serve basis (this list will be updated to reflect which prompts are currently claimed). Specific prompts can only be claimed once. General prompts may be claimed several times AS LONG AS the writers are working on different characters/ships (they will be asked who they plan on writing in the submission form). There is no deadline or minimum length, but authors must make some progress within one month of claiming the prompt (ie, at least an outline and a few paragraphs). Prompts for which the author has gone radio-silent or made absolutely no progress in one month will be put back up for grabs. Authors can fill as many prompts as they like, on the condition that they claim one prompt at a time and finish each prompt before starting working on another.

As always my inbox or PMs stay open if you have any questions about this challenge!

And now, without further ado, let yourself be inspired by these prompts and choose your favourites (1 main, 2 backup) for signup tomorrow! (write down the FULL code, fx G5 or S22)

GENERAL PROMPTS (any ship/character)

G1 Place: inside a whale Reason: the whale swallowed them Mood: banter, done with this shit, crack-y

G2 Place: a subaqueous lab Reason: the inaccessibility of the lab Mood: UST and a tinge of horror Extra: the heater is malfunctioning and they have to huddle for warmth

G3 Sexy times feat. character 1 being tied up and waiting for character 2 who's left them alone for a while.

G4 Place: a safehouse  Reason: they're in witness protection  Mood: sexual tension, banter, funny?  Extra: Character 1 is in witness protection but hates it, thinks it's unnecessary and is trying to leave. character 2 is personally responsible for their safety.

G5 Place: at the Oglethorpe plantation Reason: fear of disease Mood: bittersweet

G6 Place: a part of the ship Reason: punished by the crew Mood: cracky, ust. Extra: there is only 1 hammock

G7 Place: an elevator in an office building Reason: it broke down, nobody's responding and it's Friday night Mood: banter, arguing, enemies-to-friends-to-more? Extra: one of them isn't feeling well because of a medical condition (can be claustrophobia) but is trying to hide it

G8 Place: at the top of a Ferris wheel Reason: power cut Mood: funny, bickering

G9 Place: a supposedly haunted house Reason: the door is mysteriously stuck Mood: creepy, funny, possibly UST/smutty

G10 Place: a closet/wardrobe Reason: they're hiding from someone Mood: ust/smut

G11 Place: a tent Reason: it's pouring with rain Mood: first time, smutty

G12 Place: a store (grocery, book, clothes, you decide) Reason: they got locked in after closing Mood: funny, cracky, fluffy

G13 Place: a ship Reason: becalmed Mood: angsty, delirious, desperate

G14 Place: Miranda's house Reason: someone is sick/wounded Mood: angsty, hurt/comfort, confession (no death please)

G15 Place: mysterious Aztec/Mayan/Inca ruins Reason: they were looking for the Eldorado and got lost/trapped in the ruins. Mood: adventure, friendship, maybe hurt/comfort Extra: there's a jaguar lurking about

G16 Place: the Otherworld (heaven, limbo, hell… you choose) Reason: the last thing they remember is getting hit on the head. Mood: thoughts about the Afterlife. Could be as dark or as cracky as you like. Extra: The Good Place AU?

G17 Place: a library Reason: someone dared them to stay in after closing time  Mood: fun, cracky, adventurous

G18 Place: two houses far away Reason: quarantine Mood: longing, lonely, horny, smutty Extra: they're writing/texting/talking on the phone to keep in touch but It's Not Enough and it's driving them nuts

G19 Place: a steampunk Jules-Verne-ish submarine Reason: there's a giant squid outside Mood: spooky, adventure

G20 Place: a lighthouse Reason: a terrible storm with crashing waves Mood: intense, passionate

G21 Place: a cabin in the middle of nowhere Reason: zombie apocalypse (or other supernatural invasion/pandemic) Mood: horror, tension Extra: Character 1 arrives at the cabin after having fled the monsters, thinking it's empty. It's not, and Character 2 isn't all that happy about the intruder.

G22 Place: Skeleton Island Reason: marooned or left for dead Mood: spooky, angsty, paranoid

G23 Place: a hut on Maroon island Reason: Hurricane Mood: ust, angst, comfort

G24 Place: the Fort in Nassau Reason: they took the fort but now they're besieged Mood: bickering, going stir-crazy

G25 Place: a room in the brothel Reason: they're hiding from someone/something Mood: pining, ust Extra: everyone is having sex around them but they're not (yet) and it's driving them nuts

SPECIFIC PROMPTS (specific ship/character)

S1 Ranger trio is stuck in space prison and have to try to escape ft. Space ship Captain Vane, Anne with blaster shooters (or maybe a lightsaber if it’s a star wars au) and hacker Jack. Mood: Funny.

S2 Thomas and Silver are stuck in James' flat... without James. They're stuck there separated from James until the shelter in place order is lifted (pick your poison - pandemic? Bad storm? Dangerous escaped convict on the loose?). Sexual tension ensues.

S3 Inspired by S4: Madi and Eleanor are confined together in the hidden cellar of Miranda's house when Spanish troops are invading the island (and this time they don't get assaulted/killed). Unresolved sexual tension, unresolved sibling-like rivalry. Bonus: just some angry ✂️✂️✂️ 

S4 Eleanor is imprisoned in England and thinks about Max. Mood: angst, broken heart, angry.

S5 Silver is stranded at Miranda's house, could be with or w/o the captain. Reason: suspect outbreak on the Walrus, Silver can't go back on board, Flint doesn't want his map wandering around Nassau. Mood: funny, smutty, up to the writer.

S6 Israel Hands + character of your choice. Place: a ship, in a locked room Reason: misbehavior? crew shenanigans? Mood: writers choice.

S7 Utley pisses off a superior officer and gets locked in with Flint. Place: the cell in the fort. Mood: ust, smut!

S8 John Silver and the companion of yr choice. Place: an island. Reason: marooned by a pissed off crew. Mood: up to the writer (not too tragic?)

S9 Flint is stuck on shore and runs into someone he knew (and liked) in his old life. Place: a terrible tavern or a room above. Reason: too stormy to return to ship. Mood: friendly to smutty? I just want Flint have a little bit of happiness.

S10 Miranda comes to meet Flint but gets stuck at the brothel as things get dangerous on the streets. Reason: some kind of unrest, riots. Mood: fluff or smut or anything as long as Miranda is not miserable.

S11 Modern au first meeting Silver & Miranda. Place: Elevator. Reason: breakdown. Mood: up to the writer.

S12 Muldoon is sick and no one knows what with. Silver is worried and Flint extends a rare offering of comfort.

S13 It's 1721. James and Thomas are still incarcerated at the plantation but at least they live together in a separate little cabin. With smallpox spreading from Boston to the rest of the colonies, Oglethorpe shuts down work for a few days and has everyone shelter in place.

S14 Silver showed up on Flint and Thomas' doorstep and the reunion isn't going well. Just when Silver is about to leave in a huff, they get stuck indoors (b/c weather, plague, authorities looking for Silver, etc) and Thomas is stuck with Flint and Silver's angry/awkward UST. He knows the only way to resolve this is in bed, and starts dropping less-than-subtle hints. 👉🏻👌🏻 Mood: funny, smutty.

S15 A scientific research station in space (Solaris AU but with a happy ending!). Flint is sent to investigate a space station after receiving some weird reports. Silver is one the few remaining members of the crew. An incident make them unable to leave without some major repairs. Angsty, slow burn, where Flint slowly accepts to move on after the death of Miranda&Thomas. 

If you're not familiar with Solaris (book or movie) check wikipedia but: the space station is doing research on a mysterious planet covered with an ocean; but that ocean gives the crew some strange "side effects". Their secrets/fears/guilt take a material (often human) form. Flint sees Miranda (or Thomas, or both, as you prefer) for example. As Flint learns to deal with the loss of his loved ones he grows closer to one member of the crew, Silver.* Their bond help them break from the planet's melancholic influence, give them motivation to repair the station and finally leave together. *That could be a great opportunity to write about Silver's (probably very dark according to the BS writers) past!

S16 Silver / Flint - modern era, fake dating for some reason, now they're stuck together for a long time. Place: Somewhere travel related like a hotel room. Reason: quarantine like we're in now. Mood: angsty, UST.

S17 Flint's cabin on the Walrus. Silver is recovering from the leg amputation and discovers Flint has locked him in the cabin. Mood: angsty, angry, fluff if you want?

S18 Flint and Silver captured by the Spanish and Flint learns the truth about Silver’s past. Place: The plantation. Reason: Took control but hit some problems. Mood: Hurt/comfort or angst with happy ending.

S19 Silver & Flint reunion fic – they are stuck together in the room because of the snow and there is only 1 bed. Place: an inn. Mood: UST

S20 horror movie au (not really scary) silver & flint spend the night at a scary cabin after reading one too many ghost stories. Reason: someone locked the keys in the car and there's no signal. Mood: cracky.

S21 Silver and Flint in a magical au get stuck together by either a spell gone wrong or a curse and they find this frustrating in every possible way but have to get on the same page to reverse it.

S22 Flint and Silver are neighbours, but haven't spoken before. They both have gardens and can see each other through gaps in the fence. During the lockdown (because of a disease), Silver and Flint become aware of each other in close proximity but separated by the garden fence. So begins an odd flirtation involving sunbathing and topless gardening and water fights. Mood: Sexual tension. Flirting. Maybe voyeurism?

S23 Place: a house with large backyard (probably farmhouse?) Reason: Snowstorm for a week. Snowstorms happened and they had blackout in the house. Silver doesn't like darkness and he keep clinging to Flint. Flint doesn't like Silver's but he had to because Flint doesn't remember their house (floor plan, I mean) and ended up spending their time in other bedroom. Mood: sexual tension, confession, first kiss and first time.

S24 Silver and Flint bicker about emergency prep and then make up. Place: modern apartment. Reason: some disaster.

S25 Silver is talking to Flint, Flint is avoiding De Groot and so Silver finds himself manhandled into a very small compartment he'd never noticed on the Walrus. Mood: silly, ust

#black sails fanfic #black sails #bs confinement challenge #signal boost #please reblog if you can #the more the merrier!

[erlkoenige]

Chiara, since you asked me such a nice question for anti-honesty hour, let me repay you in full + interest: Opinion(s) on Elias Bouchard and James Flint? <3

oh hel you’re really out here making me talk about characters i hate huh

honestly i hate elias so much he literally is just some old guy with eye powers, no sexiness, nothing, and on top of that he’s evil which is a huge turn-off for me. every episode he was in made me hate him more and more, every time he does something evil i can feel my blood pressure rise. episode 92? “tingly” shut the fuck up grandpa everybody hates you. i think season 5 is so much better than the other ones because there’s literally no trace of him, i hope the theories that he’s already dead when they reach the panopticon are true not only for my own satisfaction as an avid elias anti, but also because it would make so much sense in the grand scheme of things!

ugh and don’t get me started on James “man pain” Flint. i honestly don’t know what people see in him, he’s always so angry for literally no valid reason, he’s made to be so unlikable and one-dimensional. and not only that, but the fact that he’s canonically queer? makes everything so much worse because he’s such bad representation, he’s basically an unlikable, untrustworthy captain and his character is even trauma porn wrt his and Thomas’ relationship. and they couldn’t come up with any other character motivation other than he’s a little pissy his boyfriend was taken from him? that’s why he has so much beef with England? very weak. makes it seem like lgbt people only care about their significant other. also why is he always covered in blood? it’s so unpleasant to look at he should have kept his look from the s2 flashbacks imo

#dlfjsdlfjdlf that was fun #thanks for the ask hel you really chose the right characters fjdsfjd

[ghoulgeists]

HEWWO I HAVE QUESTIONS.... flint: 1, 5, 19, 22, 25, 30, 33, 36, 41, 49, 51 / cadma: 3 8, 15, 21, 52, 57, 59 / feng huo: 9, 17, 30, 31, 67

KISSES U.... thank u for asking about my chilbren... answers under cut bc long :’D

Flint

I’m gonna answer theirs according the alternate story thing I have for them instead of their actual game self because those are. Two very different people lol :’D This is probably what you wanted anyway?! uwu

1. why did they choose their class(es)? their subclass(es)? Becoming a warlock was never in their intentions, it was done more so because both parties would benefit from the relationship. Flint’s patron needs to earn some favor with a higher power to accomplish their own goals and Flint needed to get rid of some undead, so a celestial patronage was a pretty painless deal. They need each other a little more than they might realize though :^)

5. do they follow a higher power? what are their thoughts on divinity? They don’t follow a higher power, necessarily. Because of their patron they do have to keep in mind that their power comes from being in someone’s good books, and they act accordingly to stay there. Otherwise they believe in the power of gods and all, but their relationship with divinity is generally pretty lax. They’re the kind of person who only prays when they need it, if that makes sense?

19. what haunts them? what doesn’t? All the mistakes from Flint’s not-so-distant past bite at their heels every now and then. What doesn’t haunt them so much is probably the fact they rob tombs lmao... As far as Flint is concerned, an angry spirit or two can’t touch them the same way a grudge from the corporeal can.

22. what is a promise they’ve broken? There’s a lot... but probably the one that ruins them the most is a promise they made to themselves not to hurt people.

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear? Flint is an expert at spooky campfire ghost stories, mostly because they draw from their own experiences. As for what they like to hear... They like very classic “hero gets the girl” kinds of tales! Stuff you don’t have to take too seriously, and are just stories to be stories.

30. what do they seek out from others? Someone to watch their back while they pilfer jewels and to stoke the campfire when it’s their turn to keep watch at night. In a word, reliability!

33. what makes them cry? So many things... Flint acts tough but they’re a baby... To rattle off a few things, they get weepy whenever someone cares too much about them, whenever someone has to say goodbye (no matter how temporary), and whenever they hear something sappy and romantic. It is almost too easy to pull at their heartstrings.

36. what’s a secret they’ve kept? Probably the biggest secret they keep is what they were like in the past. They spent a lot of years doing some pretty... morally and ethically questionable things...

41. what are they attracted to in other people? It’s weird... but probably loneliness? Not in a sad way or anything (exclusively). Flint has ended up surrounded by people who know too much, so much so that it makes them unquestionably different from others. That kind of thing breeds loneliness and Flint likes filling voids. Being needed? That’s sexy.

49. what makes them smile? They will visibly light up when they get close to a certain town. Where a certain person lives. :^) But also they’ll smile in almost any relaxed situation, like while they’re playing music, listening in on casual conversations, or just drinking in nature.

51. what is the most beautiful thing in the world, for them? A tomb full of riches... polished gold... ah, it almost brings a tear to their eye...

Cadma

3. what is their goal right now? He’s kind of drifting through life, just with a lot of enthusiasm, so I don’t think he really has grand ambitions or anything. I suppose you could say his goal right now is supposed to be thwarting a lich queen’s evil plans for world domination, but honestly he’s just here to vibe.

8. what are three songs that suit them? Wait I don’t know anything about music- UH Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos, Here’s a Health to the Company by The Longest Johns, and Halcyon by The Paper Kites kind of fit Cadma’s vibes. Despite his personality he’s pretty mellow on the inside!

15. do they trust their party? why or why not? Cadma trusts his party more than anything, because he’s stuck by them for longer than anyone else. He used to be (and probably still is let’s be real) very flaky- the second something looks more interesting, or things start looking dangerous he’s GONE. So hanging out with the same crew for years, through thick and thin, has gotta mean SOMETHING at this point, right??

21. do they follow their head, their heart, or their body? Definitely his heart, maybe a little his body. Cadma just has no braincells.

52. from whom do they seek validation? People with more brains than him lol... His old captain (even though that ship has kind of sailed), his current party members, pretty much anyone who is perceivably smarter than he is is someone he wants to keep around and impress.

57. what makes them angry? Not a whole lot, but anyone who uses their faith as justification for keeping the status quo gets put immediately on a hit list. That, and anyone who disrespects a ship 😤

59. what is a quiet passion of theirs? Nothing about Cadma is very quiet, but recently he’s taken up whittling because he needed something to do while everyone else in the party figured out puzzles :’) He’s not good at it.

Feng Huo

9. do they care about their appearance? how much effort do they put into presentation? Not a whole lot! Feng Huo was kind of cast out of his village with nothing but the clothes on his back, so he does try to keep what he’s wearing tidy since he can’t exactly afford rips and tears. As well as that, he maintains normal upkeep on all his feathers and plumage just to keep healthy!

17. what do they dream about, when their dreams are their own? They dream about going home one day, seeing all the family and friends they were forced to leave behind. He’s a little afraid of how much might’ve changed in his absence, but his heart really aches for his village. He’s super homesick :’(

30.  what do they seek out from others? Nothing! Feng Huo is the kind of person who gives without asking anything in return. I guess what he wants the most is someone who will just be nice to him, or won’t treat him differently? He gets a lot of looks because he’s a phoenix, so being near people who don’t think he’s weird would be very nice!

31. they’re given a blank piece of paper–what do they do with it? At first he wants to write a letter home, but then he decides against it when he realizes no one will know where to deliver it so he just makes a paper crane instead. Not in a sad way though!! It’s more like... an “oh well! plan b!” kind of way :’D

67. what makes them laugh? Literally anything... Corny jokes and terrible puns especially!

THANK U FOR THE ASK THIS WAS FUN!!! ilu ♥

#ask meme #dnd #bothriolepis #flint locke #cadma #feng huo

[iihappydaysii]

A, Q, U

A - Ships that you currently like a lot.

umm Lord John with almost anyone??

john/brian is the true forever otp

john/jamie is like the basic otp that everyone understands and i do enjoy writing

john/tom is cuuuuute i love sweet little tom who hates messes and is always so put together just being taken part

john/percy is the canon otp/endgame we all hope for in the books

john/stephan ... sure is fun to write about real big dicks

john/roger/brianna ... the super sexy ot3 i didn’t know i needed until it happened

Q - A fandom you’ve abandoned and why.

Supernatural. lost interest in the repetitive nature of the show + the queerbaity vibe it always gave off. just not my thing. 

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Lord John Grey from Outlander - for all i don’t like how his stories often end or unfold, he’s such a good queer character. complex and not loaded down with shame or guilt, a good man and a good father and i love how he’s a queer character and that impacts his life but his stories aren’t about that. bless. i just hope he gets a happy ending.

Captain James Flint from Black Sails - umm he’s an angry gay whose boyfriend was taken from him so he decided to go to war with England and try to end colonialism? what’s not to like. plus happy(ish) ending.

David Rose from Schitt’s Creek - he’s just so himself and has such a lovely character arc and gets to fall in love with the perfect man for him and there’s not many pan characters and i just want to give him a hug out of sheer joy. definitely happy ending.

[pastelwitchling]

Michael finally comes to see Alex.

Alex could feel the damp earth of the small garden he’d managed in the span of the past few months in his backyard sink into his sweats, turning his legs cold. He loved it. It was moments like this that helped him breathe, that grounded him to something warmer and kinder and better than his work at Deep Sky. And yet . . . Deep Sky gave him an itch he couldn’t scratch, an addiction he couldn’t let go of.

He shut his eyes against the thought and watered his cucumbers when he heard tires coming into his driveway. He looked up and found Michael’s truck.

Well, he thought, better late than never.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” were Michael’s first words, and Alex smirked.

“I’ve been right here,” he patted down the dirt around a small tree, his nails filled with mud.

“You haven’t come to the trailer.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Or the Pony or Crashdown.”

“Actually,” Alex smiled, “I have.” The silent implication was clear; It just wasn’t to see you.

Michael shifted, clearly not knowing what to say next. Alex kept working. He’d done his fair share of fighting others’ battles. He wasn’t going to do it anymore.

“Kyle’s still alive.”

“I know,” he said. “Talked to him an hour ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” He stood with a sigh, wincing at the pain in his leg, and dusted his hands off. “Guerin, why’re you here?”

Michael seemed to realize he was staring at Alex, looked away with a clear of his throat, and back again. “Max has been healed.”

“I know that, too,” Alex said, grabbing the small shovel and watering tin he’d used. “I checked in with Isobel.”

“O-Oh.”

Alex straightened, and waited. And waited. Michael seemed to have nothing more to say, and Alex would’ve been content with just watching him all day – God, he was beautiful – but standing here, pining and wanting and yearning, and knowing that the most he would get from Michael was a smirk and a joke and something self-deprecating – Alex didn’t think he had the strength for it anymore.

“Well, if that’s all . . .,” he trailed off, and walked past Michael to his front door.

He heard Michael hesitate, then start to follow. “A-Actually,” Michael started, “I was going to ask you about the – uh – the Air Force.”

Alex stopped and turned to face Michael, unimpressed. “The Air Force.”

Michael put his hands into his back pockets. “Yeah, I – I mean, is everything still okay with them? I was worried that you – Flint said you’d be court marshalled after –”

“That was over a year ago, Guerin,” Alex shut his eyes. “I’m not even in the Air Force anymore, so –”

Michael’s face fell. “So something did happen.”

He sighed. “Yeah, something did. I left. With full honors, by the way. And it was recent, since you’re dying to know.”

Michael faltered, then, as Alex predicted, that infuriating, sexy, exhausting smirk was there. “You’re angry.”

“No,” Alex turned back around. He heard Michael following him inside. “Anger implies I expected any different. You don’t know anything that’s going on with me because you don’t care. That’s pretty much in the lines of what I was expecting, Guerin.”

“That’s not fair.”

Alex chuckled. “No?” He set the shovel and watering tin in the sink, and washed his hands clean. “I’d give you anything you asked for, Guerin,” he said. “I’d tell you anything. You didn’t ask. What do you want me to say?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael scoffed humorlessly, “that I had other actually important things going on.”

Okay, Alex thought, his hands stilling under the water. That one hurt.

He doesn’t mean it, the rational part of his brain said. Alex knew he hadn’t meant it, but still . . .

Michael seemed to realize what he’d said almost at once, and his eyes widened, horrified.

Alex nodded and returned his attention back to the sink, holding the shovel under running water and keeping his back turned to Michael so that he couldn’t see the humiliation on his face.

“I didn’t –” Michael started, “Alex, I didn’t mean –”

“What do you want, Guerin?” he asked, too weary to pretend to be anything otherwise.

“Alex,” he tried again, and Alex could hear him closer. “I didn’t mean that.”

Alex sighed, and rested his weight on his left leg. “Guerin, what do you want?”

A moment, then in a low voice, Michael said, “I wanted to see you.”

“Great,” Alex said despite the ache in his chest. “You saw me. Anything else?’

Michael said nothing, but he came closer until he was nearly pressed against Alex’s back. Alex held his breath and waited.

Then Michael wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in tightly against his chest. Alex stood, holding his breath, not knowing how to react now. This was not what he’d been expecting.

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, burrowing his face in the crook of Alex’s neck. “Just one more thing.”

Alex’s heart stuttered as he felt Michael take a deep breath against his skin, as if trying to inhale as much of him as possible. Then he exhaled, and goosebumps followed the breath on his neck and shoulder. Alex found himself involuntarily melting against Michael, turning his head so that his lips brushed Michael’s temple and felt his curls against his cheek and jaw.

               Michael ran a hand from Alex’s stomach up to his chest, Alex’s skin on fire underneath the soft fabric of his Air Force shirt.

               The way they both breathed, it felt like an exhale of relief and peace after the long years they’d suffered apart. Alex wanted to turn in Michael’s hold, to feel Michael’s breaths against his mouth, his tongue. He wanted to touch as much of Michael as he could instead of gripping the sink’s edge as tightly as he was, feeling every inch of Michael’s body against his own.

               “Kyle knew,” Michael suddenly said, and Alex realized his eyes had fallen shut. Michael held him tighter. “You were talking with Isobel. Even Max told me you’d texted him. I hated . . . I hated that everyone got you but me. Everyone was worth your attention, and . . . you stopped coming to the junkyard.”

               Alex felt the press of Michael’s lips against his neck as he hugged him almost desperately. “I was tired of chasing someone that didn’t want to be caught.”

               “You caught me a long time ago,” Michael breathed without a moment’s hesitation.

               Alex swallowed. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

               Michael’s chin dug into Alex’s shoulder. “I hadn’t moved,” he said. “I didn’t want to know that you could’ve moved on without me, and I . . . hadn’t moved, Alex. You were always three steps ahead of everyone, I didn’t want you to be past me any more than you already were. I didn’t want to just be another bad memory you had.”

               Alex’s shoulders fell, but Michael held him tighter as if terrified that he would push away. Alex only rested his head back enough for Michael to press their cheeks together from behind, which he was more than eager to do.

               “You’re not a memory, Michael,” he said. “You’re . . . my life.”

               Michael didn’t say anything, but Alex could feel his jaw clench and his hands on him tremble as they held him. “Yeah?”

               Alex sighed and finally, finally did what he wanted. He covered Michael’s hands on him with one of his own.

               “Yeah, cowboy. Yeah.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

[hotniatheron]

Steinberg: okay so Flint is gay and also angry

Toby Stephens: AND SEXY 👅

#pirate blogging

[aubrey-plaza]

me, watching 5x09

5x09 aka the episode with the parenting and the return of the nicknames

#no one on the corner got swagger like us

Elena calling Mack sexy #couplegoals Flint interrupting like a classic kid interrupting parents

I didn’t realise how much I missed the Turtleman nickname tbh

"~I’m their god" HOO-KAY BUDDY

Enok is such a sassy plastic I live

“How we looking?” “Terrible” yeah maybe if you turned on a fucking light it would be better @ agents of shield lighting department

Parenting Philinda? sign me the fuck up Daisy interjecting like a surly teenager interrupting her parents

Ugh Deke

ohmg Elena teaching Flint how to shoot and Mack being angry? Classic parents not discussing parenting styles lol. “End of discussion” OH THAT’S WHAT MY DAD USED TO SAY

“santo infierno” fucking right-o Yo Yo holy fuck she isn't dead??? ohhhhhmygod eso es santeria salvame

aw 'Pebbles'

Phil Pep Talk Time

"Well I’m not TRYING to electrocute myself” big mood

The time travel loop is exhausting I can’t keep up

Yo Yo and Mack ride or die together? I live for this

May is 100% done with Enoch and it is HI-larious

“another mom face” AHAHAHAHA

OH NO I FORGOT ABOUT SINARA OH FUCK

“that is definitely gonna get infected” unhelpful and honestly why would you even say that cmon

Yo Yo confirmed feminist

OHMYGOD they’re such parents I cannot deal Mack and Elena both look so disappointed at Kasius AHAHAHA couple goals whoo hoo why does Kasius know Yo Yo??? I don’t like this AT ALL

NO GRAVITY SPACE FIGHT? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP

Mack-Elena-Flint family goals

“OKAY that is quite the jaw you got there” dammit Deke you sass master I agree she kicked him ONCE and sent him down I am SCREAMING

Daisy impaled her ok that’s such a dumb way to go cmon Sinara how did you not see that one coming I’m gonna miss this blue bitch

Philinda looks AAAH

ugh Kasius is such an emo queen get it together

he has Elena locked up, doesn’t he. Or at least one of the team. 

Also next week’s promo is horrible I don’t like it ONE BIT DON’T HURT MY BABIES

#aos #aos spoilers #philinda #mackelena #yoyomack #amber watches aos