#| rory's little notebook

[aerialflight]

i'm writing a gilmore girls fic that involves paris geller from our pandemic year 2020 going back to 2001, around the time jess first comes in to town. very slow burn between jess/paris. i have around 10k words of snippets all over my doc and an outline and i'm slowly becoming re-obsessed with gilmore girls again. what the fuck is up with this fandom that i keep going back to like an on-and-off again boyfriend??? anyway, i have no idea if i'll ever post this and i've been going back and forth on this for what feels like forever. if this sounds at all interesting, let me know.

[arielleslipgloss]

i feel like i am less important than other ppl. oe that i dont matter , inferior something like that :(

Hii doll!! Tysm for asking me this 💗

Let’s Talk Self Worth!!

”I just take a book with me everywhere. It’s a habit.” - Rory Gilmore

Why do you feel this way? Well, the root cause is most likely your surroundings. Those around you, social media, and maybe yourself? Maybe others make you feel unimportant? Maybe social media is telling you others are more important? Or maybe your just always judging yourself? If not, take a moment to think of when you started to feel this way. Then, why you started to feel this way. You can journal this in a notebook or your notes app. Now, describe the wave of emotions you get when feeling this way. Let it all out, it’s ok. Lastly, think of how you can heal from this!

2. Mentality!! Let’s say you get bullied, harsh things are said to you I would believe. The people bullying or saying mean things to you, say you’re “unimportant.” Then those words go to your mind and you start to believe them. Next thing you know more negative words are said. So, your brain continues to believe them as if their affirmations. Your brain now doesn’t even have a say in what you think about yourself. Why? Well, because now you only live by your bullies words. What your bully thinks of you, is how you think of yourself. Now, do you really want to live your life like that? I would hope the answer is no. Ok, so you need to work on becoming secure in yourself. So secure in yourself that when someone says something about you. Guess what, YOU DON’T CARE. You need to start living by your words (and Jesus’s) instead. For example, you like your hair and someone else doesn’t? So what! You go rock that hair of yours cause you like it!!!

3. Stop Comparing Yourself!! Not everything you see and hear is real. Not everyone tells the truth. Plus, what’s the point in comparing yourself to someone your whole life? There is none. What there is, is your older self disappointed thinking back to you now. Not only your older self, your younger self too. They wouldn’t want to see you comparing yourself. I would hope, your present self doesn’t want to be comparing yourself too. In my opinion, comparing yourself is a waste of youth. You spend your whole day, week, month, year, life wasting youth. It’s pointless because it really doesn’t get you anywhere. It just continues to make you more insecure. Therefore, remove what you can that makes you compare yourself. A little example would be deleting social media! If you can remove it from your life, do it.

4. Stop Punishing Yourself!! In other words, stop being so hard on yourself. Just because you got a bad grade isn’t an excuse. Just because you did something “embarrassing” isn’t an excuse. In fact, there is no excuse for punishing yourself. Be nice to yourself instead. You deserve so so sooo much love from yourself. For that reason, give all of that love to yourself. Leave that mistake in the past. Learn to embrace your mistake too. It’s ok, you’ll be ok.

5. You’re Only Human!! If there is one thing I want you to remember from this blog. It’s that you are only human. You can’t be “perfect” and you can’t be happy all the time. Your feelings and struggles are important. We all deal with a bunch of things everyday. It’s in our nature to feel this way at times. Maybe you feel this way more than others, and thats ok. You are only human. Maybe you act different than others, and thats ok. You are only human. Maybe you hate your life, and thats ok. You’re only human. Maybe you can’t do things others can, and thats ok. You’re only human. Maybe you struggle with healing, and thats ok. You are only human. You are only human, imperfectly perfect. You can really only choose to love yourself and have fun. Oh, and remember that you’re only human.

Love you so much dolls!! Remember God loves you and stay pretty 💋🎀

“If you’re gonna let one stupid prick ruin your life, you’re not the girl I thought you were.” - Holland Taylor/Professor Stromwell (Legally Blonde)

Pinterest: @arielleslipgloss

[https-harlow]

Bonnie & Clyde - A Scalvo Fic

Summary- You and Scalvo are partners in crime, but what happens when a robbery doesn't go as planned?

Warnings- Crime, guns, basically anything that's in the first 20 minutes of the instigators.

You and Scalvo were partners in crime. Literally. You met on a random job, it wasn’t an instant best friends or lovers scenario, but he tolerated you. You knew what you were doing, and he couldn’t help but respect that. You intrigued him because when he first saw you when you were going over what the job was going to be, you were wearing a pink shirt with some sparkly graphic and heels. He didn’t doubt your abilities, Mr. Besegai trusted you, that meant he had to. And you earned that trust in Scalvo during the first job you did together.

Before you met Scalvo, you had done a couple previous jobs for Mr. Besegai, he started to look at you like a daughter. Neither you or Scalvo were sure how he would react to you two dating. You weren’t sure if the normal rules for dating your co-workers applied in this situation, and you both knew how protective Mr. Besegai was of you. He didn’t care. He told Scalvo not to hurt you, but not because he would do anything but, “If anyone could hide a body and get away with it, it would be Y/N,” were his exact words.

Scalvo had been in a little bit of trouble with Mr. Besegai recently, and had taken on the task of putting a crew together for the next robbery to make up for it. He got Rory, Cobby, and you. Everyone was given a time to meet, Rory and Cobby arrived first, you and Scalvo arriving after.

“Hey, I thought you told us not to tell anyone about this, I didn’t know we could bring friends” Rory said and Scalvo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he had dropped your hand.

“This is my girlfriend, and if you don’t fucking respect her, then we don’t need you, and we’ll fucking do this job ourselves because I have more trust in her than both of you fucking combined,” Scalvo said, getting in Rory’s face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disrespect, just wasn’t aware there was another person added to this,” Rory held his hands up and Scalvo looked him up and down before taking a step back towards you.

“He doesn’t mess around with her, well he doesn’t really mess around with anything, but especially Y/N,” Cobby said, one of his last jobs was the first one you and Jack did as a couple, so he was aware of how protective he was of you. You pulled Scalvo’s hand into yours in an attempt to calm him down before scanning the room to make sure everyone who needed to be there was.

“Let’s just get started.”

It was the night of the party, the four of you pulling on your cover.

“This is the only time I’m ever going to get you in matching outfits isn’t it?” You teased Scalvo, and he rolled his eyes, playfully this time.

“Yes.”

When it was finally time to break into the back room, Rory stopped Scalvo just before he could break the door in.

“Can we just, like, go over the plan one more time?” He asked.

“No,” You chimed in. Signaling for Scalvo to pull his mask down, you knew Scalvo was over his questions and while you were a lot more patient in that regard, you were over them too. Scalvo looked at you making sure you were ready before he broke the door in, walked in, you behind him, Rory and Cobby behind you.

Scalvo pulled his gun out, before going around the corner into the kitchen.

“Everybody put your fucking hands up,” Scalvo said, swinging his gun around. Everybody in the kitchen turned to him, but didn’t put their hands up.

“He said put your fucking hands up. No one make any sudden movements or alert anyone.” You said, pulling out your gun too.

“You’re coming with me,” Scalvo said pointing at you, “You two,” Scalvo gestured between Rory and Cobby, “Make sure no one fucking moves.” 

“Wait,” Rory said, “Don’t leave yet, I need my notebook.”

“If you pull out that fucking notebook and not a gun, I will absolutely not hesitate to hold you hostage with all of them,” You said, and in that exact moment, Rory realized why you were the one to get Scalvo to break down and fall in love. Not because you threatened to hold Scalvo hostage if he didn’t, but because you matched each other perfectly. 

You and Scalvo made your way to the room where the safe was. Scalvo broke into the safe, “Fuck.”

“What?” You asked, keeping your eye on the doorway.

“They must have collected the fucking money, there’s a couple of thousand in here max.”

“Grab it and let's go, it’s better than nothing.” Scalvo threw the few stacks of money into the bag before standing up.

“I have a better idea,” Scalvo walked past you and back into the kitchen. You followed behind, Rory and Cobby joining as you walked past and motioned for them to. Scalvo kept walking until he got to the room where the party was, and for a second, you hesitated. You had done some pretty stupid things in the past, but even you were unsure about this.

“Everybody put your hands up,” Scalvo yelled, pointing his gun into the room. “Take off your jewelry, watches, necklaces, whatever, and put it in the fucking bag.” Scalvo held out the bag with his other hand. “Cash to, and hurry the fuck-up.”

A security guard pulled out his gun on Scalvo, so you pulled your gun on the security guard, Scalvo still pointing his to the room.

“Just leave and no one gets hurt.” The security guard said, Scalvo turning to point his gun at the guard. At this point, you and Scalvo had multiple guns pulled on you.

“C’mon, let's go, this isn’t a good idea,” Cobby said to the two of you.

“Shut the fuck up,” Scalvo said to him, “Move fucking quicker,” Scalvo yelled.

“You’re going to get us killed,” Rory said, and Scalvo ignored him.

“Hey,” You said, Scalvo was still pointing his gun at the guard but turned to look at you.

“Let’s go. This isn’t a good idea,” You said, and Scalvo sighed.

“I’ll put my gun down once they take their guns off of you.” The guards all looked at each other, having a silent conversation, before looking back at Scalvo.

“We can’t do that, we’ll let you all walk out of here unharmed if you leave now.”

Tag list @jackharloww @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @hoodharlow @itsyagirljaz @heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @awhore4moree @harlowslefttoe @twerkforambrose @jackmans-poison @ilovenudy @taniapri @killatravtramp @easternparkway @macey234 @toocriticalharlow @lightsoutstyles @rachxc13 @iknowdatsrightbih @idktbh101 @blossomluvv @middlechild404 @hufflewhore128 @christinabae @lafavoritaangel

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 7

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 7: Dirty Laundry

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.5k+

Content / Warnings: Reader POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting mention, alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, female masturbation, unprotected piv sex, send nudes pls, hold the moan/secret sex, text message chains, movies, fluff, awkwardness, praise kink, daddy kink

Notes: I don't really have any notes! Just excited to share, I hope you like it.

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The first time you wake comes a result of Frankie clomping around the house as he gets ready. 

It used to annoy you, how loud he can be in the mornings. But you’ve come to find it kind of comforting. Each cupboard slam and heavy footfall serves as a reminder that you’re not alone. That you’re safe. 

You stay cocooned in your sheets while he goes about his noisy routine, eyes closed, cradled in that warm, fuzzy space between awake and not. Content. 

When he leaves, a high-contrast silence takes his place. The slow rhythm of your automatic breathing lulls you back to sleep. 

You’re surprised when your eyes flutter open at 10:34 AM. 

Thanks to your opaque curtains, the room is drenched in darkness, despite the daylight trying to sneak in through the cracks. You squint into the brightness of your phone screen and read the text messages that came in while you were sleeping, all about a half an hour apart starting at 7:00. 

> RORY:  > Good morning beautiful > How are you today?  > I get off work at 3 today, wanna do something?  > I miss you 

“Oh my god dude, chill out,” you scoff under your breath while typing a reply. 

< ME:  < Sorry, just woke up. < Yes! I’m cleaning today but that’s all I have planned. What’re you thinking?

He reads and responds immediately. 

> RORY:  > We can check out that trail by the lake? Grab a bite to eat afterwards? 

< ME: < Sure

> RORY:  > Pick you up at 3:30?

< ME:  < See you then 😘

You toss the phone aside and sit up, scrubbing your hands over your face. Your eyes burn when you grind your fists into them and welcome a big yawn that stretches your lungs’ limits. A spasm catches your breath, shoving out a fit of coughs that leave you a little winded. 

Yeah, go on a hike today, that will be fucking fun. 

When you tiptoe through the kitchen, you find the coffee pot still on from when Frankie ran it this morning. Your nose wrinkles at its contents. The stale brew will be muddy and unsatisfying, but you pour it into a mug with some half & half anyway. 

You settle into your spot on the old couch in your living room and pull the notebook out from under your arm. Between sips of terrible coffee, you jot down the nighttime thoughts still floating around your head. 

Hard time falling asleep. Kept thinking about puppies, thinking I should have adopted that dog last year. Regret. No nightmares I think. Woke up at 10:30, feel tired still. Don’t want to go on a hike with Rory, but I am an idiot who can’t say no to people. I would rather stay home and be alone. I want it to be 

You pause here, staring at the passage. 

A jolt skitters across your ribcage. Blood rushes to your face. You glance around self-consciously, then cross out the last two and a half sentences. A few moments go by before you decide it doesn’t seem like enough, so you cross it out again and again, scraping dark lines into the notebook paper until the sentiment beneath is unrecognizable. 

Then you drop the ballpoint of your pen a few lines below the redaction and start writing out your to-do list for the day. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself. 

Frankie’s damp clothes stick to the circumference of your washer’s stainless steel drum. The rank scent that emanates from the machine reminds you of your grandparents’ house in the summer. 

With a sigh, you empty your dirty laundry on the floor of the mudroom and pull his clean clothes from the dryer into your basket, replacing them with the damps, then replacing those with your dirties. En route to his bedroom, with your laundry basket propped on one hip, you text him. 

< ME: < I stg you leave your clothes in the washer dryer on purpose so I’ll fold them 

He must be on his lunch break, because he texts back right away. 

> FRANKIE:  > I would never 😉 

The door opens with a creak when you step through the threshold, dropping your basket on the floor next to his bed. You take a selfie from the middle of the room and send it to him along with your response. 

< ME:  < K well I’m gonna lick all your stuff after putting away your clothes 

> FRANKIE:  > Promise? 

< ME: < Shut up lol 

> FRANKIE: > You look cute btw 

Heat floods your cheeks. A smile spreads across your face as you fall back into his bed. The musk woven between the threading of his sheets tugs at you. Your skin tingles with want, and you find yourself pulling the covers over your body and burying your face in his pillow. 

The phone buzzes beside you. 

> FRANKIE:  > Feel free to take a nap or do whatever you want in there

You sit up and whip your head around, then text back. 

< ME:  < Are you watching me 

> FRANKIE:  > Are you in my bed? 

< ME:  < … what if I was?

> FRANKIE:  > I wouldn’t mind one bit  > What are you doing in there?

< ME: < It’s comfy, I’m laying down 

> FRANKIE: > Can I see?

Your stomach flips. The warmth in your face spreads, sprouting up all over your body. You lick your lips and smirk, then open the camera and take a picture of yourself and send it to him. 

> FRANKIE:  > Wow 😍 > I’m going back to work. See you later tonight, sweetheart 

You start and erase about five variations of a response before just locking your phone screen and slamming it down at your side. Your hands fly to your face. All your organs melt and pool hot between your thighs. 

Fuck, you hate that he can make you feel like this. 

… but you love it, too. 

It’s intoxicating. 

You know him well enough to know that, throughout his day, whether he’s tinkering around in some commercial airplane, or running diagnostic tests, or chatting with coworkers, he will be thinking about you. Wondering what you’re doing. Hoping that when he arrives home there will be a spot in his sheets marked unmistakably yours. 

He always held a particular fascination with you touching yourself, a fact proven true last week when he got off watching you masturbate. 

The memory pricks your skin. Your squeaky mattress. The exchange of gasps and whimpers and moans. His lust-blown eyes, all wild and black as they watched you. 

Even before that, though. 

When you were working for him, he would sometimes text you specific locations in his house, asking you to masturbate there, send him pictures, and leave your panties. Of course, you were happy to oblige. 

There were a few times when he had you choose a place to fuck yourself. You gave him three clues, and if he guessed the location correctly, that’s where he would fuck you when he got home. 

One Saturday night, you were watching Sarah while he and Angie went out on a date. He texted you exactly one minute after Sarah’s bedtime. 

> FRANKIE: > Baby in bed? 

< ME:  < Yeah 

> FRANKIE: > Good > Can you do something for me?

< ME: < Maybe, what?

> FRANKIE:  > Go in my upstairs bathroom and take off that pretty dress > Film yourself getting off in the mirror  > Then send it to me 

< ME:  < Where are your manners sir 

> FRANKIE:  > Pretty please 😘

So you did. You tiptoed into the bathroom and pulled your dress off over your head, which is all the effort it took to strip down to a red thong. You stood in front of the huge vanity mirror and pressed record. 

When they came home, Frankie ushered an extremely inebriated Angie to their bedroom. He emerged a few minutes later and coaxed you into the bathroom. Between heated, whiskey-soaked kisses, he told you, “We have to be quiet.”

You nodded and raked your fingers through his hair, responding to his urgent mouth with your own. He locked the bathroom door and dug his phone from his pocket, propping it up on the bathroom counter before he pressed play. 

You pulled your dress off, watching his reflection in the vanity mirror for telltale signs of him being shitfaced. A stumble or slur. Compared to other nights where he spent hours at the bar, he seemed fine, which was a relief. 

From his phone, you heard your own whimper. You looked down and watched the past you, video you, flick your wrist beneath the cover of your underwear. 

His belt clanked as he undid his pants, pulling your attention back to his reflection. You met his eyes through the mirror and watched the darkness in them churn. He slid your thong aside, head of his cock nudging against your entrance. 

A rasp tickled your ear, “Look at you, the dirty little movie you made me—what were you thinking about?”

Your gaze dropped to the video. To video you grabbing your tits and biting your lips. He plunged forward, splitting you open, pulling a gasp from your lips, “Ffffuck—”

“Thinking about fuck?” 

He started to roll his hips, driving his cock into you, slow and deep. Pleasure rippled up your spine. Video you slid your thong off and showed the camera your pussy. 

Your lips parted to answer his question, but the words caught in your throat. It felt so wrong to tell him. He grabbed your shoulder and pulled your body against his, snapping his hips, pumping into you with sharp, hard movements.

“Holy fuck, Frankie—”

“Tell me what you were thinking about when you were playing with your pussy.”

“This,” you breathed, arching your back into his thrusts, each one a heatwave across your body, “You fucking me—trying to be quiet—trying to be a good girl—”

“You’re doing so fucking good, baby,” he purred, “Can’t get enough of this sweet pussy—drives me fucking crazy, Jesus Christ.”

Little whimpers and gasps started wriggling up your throat. Your eyebrows threaded together and lips parted with a croaked, “Frankie—”

“Fuck yes, baby, take it,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fucking you harder, faster, repeating under his ragged breath, “Take it, take it, take it.”

His cock rubbed along all the right parts of you, sending your pulse racing, adrenaline spiking when you remembered Angie asleep in the other room while he was there with you, dark gaze flicking between your video playing on his phone and your body bouncing off of him. 

Your whimpers morphed into moans, immediately muffled by his warm, rough palm. 

“Gotta be fucking quiet, sweetheart,” he panted in your ear, “I know it’s hard but you gotta do that for me, ok? Can you be a good girl for me, be quiet?”

You nodded. Calmed your moans into frenzied breaths. Lowered your gaze to the phone screen, where video you sank two fingers into your cunt and moaned, fucking yourself, just for him. 

“That’s it,” he panted, wrapping his arms around your torso to hold you in place as he fucked up into you, hot breath heating the crook of your neck, “Fuck, that’s it, such a good girl for daddy, hmm?”

You couldn’t help the choked moan that escaped you. 

“Say it, say you’re such a good girl for daddy—”

“I’m such—such a good girl for daddy.”

“Fuuuuck yes,” he groaned, one hand finding your clit, drawing frantic circles that flooded your body with a gooey, electric, pulsing energy, “Pussy so tight, feels so fucking good, fuck—”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, pushing against his thrusts, nodding your head, “Daddy I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Holy fuck—that’s it, sweet girl, cum on daddy’s dick, you can do it.” 

You lost yourself, forgetting all about the concession to be quiet—whining and moaning as your bodies slid together with this sick, wet, sucking noise—consumed by the throbbing fire at your center, amplified with each snap of his hips, with his dirty little praises whispered in your ear, cock filling you again and again until you couldn’t fucking handle it anymore and your pleasure reached a fever pitch. 

Frankie released a deep, guttural moan as you clenched down, pussy fluttering around his length, white hot static vibrating across your body. 

He plunged into you once, twice, three more times with a shudder, spilling inside you. 

“Holy shit,” you panted, collapsing forward onto the bathroom counter. His grip softened and he went slack against your back. A few blissful moments went by like this before the spell broke. 

“God, I wish you could stay,” he told you in a breathy murmur, pressing a kiss into your bare shoulder, “Wish I could wake up with you.” 

And it sounded sweet on the surface, but you knew it was your cue to leave. 

You think about it now. 

About Frankie, and the video that you sent him while he was on a date with his wife. How she was under the same roof when the two of you fucked in the bathroom. How he had you call him daddy, and how you were such a good girl for him. 

You think about how it is between you now, how good it would feel to give in to those reckless desires and fuck like you used to. 

Your touch trails down between your legs as you imagine him here in the bed with you, cooing filthy things in your ear, rubbing your clit, laying heated kisses on your neck. 

You grab your breast and pretend it’s him squeezing your flesh. Imagine his soft lips around your nipple, the roll of his tongue against it. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, rolling your hips into your hand. 

A whimper bubbles through your lips and the brazenness of it stokes your insides. Another whimper, this one louder. Tingles shoot up your middle. 

You drag your fingers along your slit, moaning at the puddle of arousal pooling at your entrance, spreading it, coating your pussy in the slick substance. 

“So fucking wet,” you gasp, gripping your tit harder, imagining Frankie there, touching you, watching you with awe, telling you how fucking good you’re doing. 

Your fingers move faster, sliding easy against your lubricated nub, and you release a throaty moan, “So fucking good, daddy, you make me feel so good.“

The words out loud jolt your insides. You think: What if he saw me like this? What if he heard me? What if he knew I still fantasize about him? 

A burst of feral energy overtakes you and you crawl up onto your knees, pulling your loose cotton shorts and underwear aside so your cunt is exposed to the room. You work one hand hard and fast against your clit. The other sinks two fingers inside you.

You roll your hips, fucking your hand, moaning out, “Fuck yes, Frankie, fuck me just like that, so fucking good, daddy, you’re gonna make me cum—”

Uttering the words out loud electrifies you. Heat churns beneath your touch, growing brighter and hotter as your wanton moans hit his bedroom ceiling. Pleasure starts to swell and your movements grow frantic, desperate, chasing that feeling as you whine, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

You convulse around your fingers and gasp, twitchy prods of pleasure gushing at your center each time your slick fingers graze your clit, slowing as the waves ebb into a fuzzy kind of bliss that occupies your whole body. 

You fall back in his bed, chest heaving, and try to gain your bearings. 

Shame starts to creep at the edges of your post-orgasm fog. Without prompting, your brain tells you: I hate myself. 

It stings. 

You gulp and shake your head, whispering out loud, “I love myself.” 

The correction soothes your hindbrain’s outlash enough for you to release a content sigh. A smile creeps across your face. You blink over at Frankie’s dresser, then rise to your feet and start folding his clean clothes. 

As you tuck the folded clothes away in his dresser drawers, you find the underwear he snatched from your bedroom last week. Teal lace, all stiff with his dried cum. 

You chuckle to yourself and shake your head. That familiar, reckless kind of satisfaction spreads through your veins. 

It’s fucked up, but the thought of him getting off on the scent of you fills you with pride. 

This is rocky territory. More than rocky, honestly. It’s dangling-off-a-cliffside-while-your-grip-is-slipping territory. 

You both know it. It’s like neither of you can help it. Over and over, you fall back together like opposite poles of a magnet. 

Are you drawn to each other because there’s something real? Or is it because of the thrill? 

You remind yourself that there is something more between you and Frankie than sexual desire. 

You laugh together, support each other, and enjoy your shared time. The bond you’ve formed is genuine. He has come to be one of your best friends. Second only to your sister, Leah. 

There’s a softness when you’re with him, too. A saccharine kind of intimacy that curls around your body and makes you feel at home. It has always existed between you, even if he never admits it. He used to push it away, but more and more, it’s become commonplace when you’re together. 

You swallow hard and shake your head, finding that you’re still staring at these cum-encrusted panties. You know Frankie won’t be able to bring himself to throw them in with the rest of his laundry. That would mean washing your scent, throwing your gift away. 

A little flint of arousal sparks at the base of your spine. 

After dropping the teal lace into your laundry basket, you shimmy your shorts and underwear down your legs, then wipe yourself off with the gusset of your floral cheeky bikini. You shove them into his dresser drawer in place of the spent pair. 

Two flimsy cardboard boats slide out onto the "PICK-UP HERE” window’s ledge. A booming voice follows, “Order number 32!”

Rory glances down at his receipt, then tucks it in his pocket as he steps through the crowd of hungry onlookers and approaches the rusted-out food truck. He returns holding one basket in each hand, a victorious smile dawning on his face, “Where should we sit?” 

You squint around your surroundings and spot a shaded patch of grass beneath the gnarled trunk of a buttonwood tree, then point to it, “Ooh, over here!” 

“Got it!” 

Rory jogs ahead and lands on the grass before anyone else can claim the spot. You catch up a few seconds later and sit down next to him, crossing your legs. He hands you your shrimp tacos and you murmur a thanks to him while balancing the basket on your knee. 

Under the eaves of the buttonwood tree, you find relief from the unrelenting sun. Your skin, all heated and gleaming with sweat, thanks you profusely. The cool earth somehow feels icy against your palms when you lean back and stretch out. You pull your sunglasses up on your head and tilt back to look up through the twisted branches of the tree, “Fuck, it’s hot out.”

You’re never really sure how to start conversations with him.

“Yeah,” he follows your gaze up into the tree, quickly losing interest. A deep breath expands his lungs as he looks around the park, finally settling his gaze on a playground, “You ever take the kids you babysit out here to play?” 

Your nose wrinkles a bit when he calls you a babysitter. You follow his line of sight to and watch hordes of squealing, laughing children crawl all over the playground. 

“Not this park, but I take them to the one by their house. It has a splash pad and this playground with water features. They love it, it’s pretty cool.” 

He nods. 

“When I worked for Frankie and his wife, I took their daughter, Sarah, here a lot. She was still just a little squish, but, you know, there are all these trails with cool trees and there’s the lake, and another playground further down that-a-way.” 

You point to your left. He doesn’t seem to care much about what you’re saying, but asks, “Is that a job you see yourself having long-term?” 

It’s a question you’re familiar with answering. Always tainted with judgment, insinuating that your job is that of bored teenagers trying to make a buck over the summer. 

“Yep,” you tell him with a close-lipped smile, tilting your head as you wait for him to say more.

“How will that work when you have kids? Do you want to be a stay-at-home mom, or will you bring the kid with you, or what?” 

With a shrug, you tell him, “Figure I’ll see where I’m at when the time comes and go from there.”

Rory hums and nods, brow furrowing at the ground like he’s soaking this in, then he says, “It’s nice that you do that. I like that you’re a caretaker.” 

It takes you by surprise. His gaze meets yours and you smile at each other for a moment. 

“Thanks,” you say and bring your attention to the boat of shrimp tacos resting on your knee, finding them cooled down enough to eat. 

After finishing your food, you and Rory start off towards his vehicle, hand-in-hand. The trail winds by the playground you were watching from afar. Like playgrounds often are, it’s total chaos. Children screaming, running, climbing, crying. 

You spot one little girl sitting in the sand, digging a hole between her splayed legs. She seems oblivious to the world around her. The dark ringlets dangling around her cherub face wiggle as she talks to herself, eyebrows raising expressively like the one-sided conversation is intensely interesting. 

She must feel you watching her, because her spine straightens and she looks around. When her dark brown eyes meet yours, her face lights up in recognition, and she squeals your name. 

You stop in your tracks and can’t restrain the wide smile from spreading across your lips, “Sarah!” 

Aside from the brief glimpse you caught of her the day Frankie moved in, and the grocery store shortly after, you haven’t seen her in over a year. She’s grown so much. Her chunky, wobbly baby legs have elongated and grown more capable, allowing her to run towards you, arms outstretched. 

When she reaches you, you scoop her up, twirling her around as you give her a big hug, “How are you, sweetheart? I missed you!” 

Sarah squeals with delight and says, “Missed you!” 

A cool rush of panic spreads across your skin when you look around and ask, “Where are your parents, sweetie?” 

“I’m digging a hole!” 

“Oh wow, you’re digging a hole?” you laugh and shift her onto your hip as you continue to study the sea of faces, ears growing hot when you remember Rory standing behind you. The last time you saw Angie, she insulted you in broad daylight. How the fuck would you explain that to Rory if it happens again?

“Hey!”

The familiar voice is sharp with outrage. Frankie’s hand grips your shoulder and spins you around to face him. His chest is heaving, jaw clenched, eyes aflame with fury. 

You have never seen him like this. 

Your eyes widen and you hold your palm up to him, “Just me, sorry!” 

He studies your face, still red-hot anger, then it seems to come into focus for him. His shoulders relax with a relieved exhale, then his features soften and grow apologetic, “Oh, hey.” 

You bring your hand back to your hip to support the weight of Sarah and chuckle, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you—”

“No, no, it’s ok.” 

“We were just walking, and, umm,” you gesture back at Rory, trailing off when you see Angie approaching, arms crossed, beautiful face squared off in a stern expression. 

Frankie’s gaze flicks to Rory and he gives a nod of recognition before returning his attention to Sarah, “Did you see your friend and go to say hi?”

Sarah smiles sweetly and nods, then starts wiggling to be put down. You grant the request, lowering her to the ground and letting her go. She gallops back to her hole in the sand, while you call behind her and wave, “Bye, Sarah!” 

Your face scrunches up into a wince when you meet Frankie’s eyes again, and you shrug, “Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it,” he waves you off with a smirk. 

“Hey,” Angie greets, surprisingly calm. Her fingers curl around Frankie’s bicep and she blinks at you. 

“Hi, Angie,” you give a nervous nod, plastering on a smile that’s too eager, “I was just passing by with my, um,” you swallow hard and turn to Rory, waving him forward, “My boyfriend, Rory.”

Your voice is shaky. This is a nightmare. 

Rory’s arm wraps around your waist from the side and he gives a polite wave, “Hi.” 

“This is Angie Morales, Frankie’s wife,” you tell him. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rory smiles and extends a hand to her. Angie says nothing, just shakes his hand while wearing this Mona Lisa smile and steps back beside her husband. 

The silence that follows is painful. 

“Ok, well, sorry again for the scare,” you sigh, looking down at your feet, “It was really nice to see Sarah, I miss her a lot.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Frankie says, and you look up to see his brow knit together, dark eyes all apologetic, “I’ll see you at home, yeah?” 

You nod at the ground, then tell Angie, “Good to see you.” 

She raises an eyebrow and laughs at this. It feels like a slap. You suppose it’s better than her screaming insults at you, though. Or, like, a real slap. 

When you turn and walk away, Rory’s hand finds yours again. His grip is warm and steady, and he frowns over at you, “You ok?” 

You forgot to adjust your face. The pain bubbling up inside you must be obvious. Traitorous tears spring to your eyes, thankfully hidden behind the dark of your sunglasses. You clear your throat and nod, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

It sounds watery and false. 

“Hey,” he stops walking to turn towards you, “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head and sniffle, “Nothing, I’m fine.” 

He raises his eyebrows, searching your face, “Really?” 

Your teeth catch your tongue. Dull pain wells up in each section of the soft muscle you clamp down on, providing a microscopic release. With a deep breath, you look down at your feet and shrug, “I just—I guess I missed her more than I realized.” 

“Come here,” Rory murmurs, ushering you into a hug. You oblige. His body seems to awkwardly wrap around you, but it brings you a small dose of comfort. Even if he doesn’t feel or smell like home. 

“What’s the deal with his wife, why did she seem mad?” 

Fuck. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice, or ask. 

“She, um… she thinks I stole something from her,” you tell him, “That’s why I don’t work for them anymore.” 

Misleading, sure, but not entirely a lie. 

He hums, rubbing your back, “You care about her a lot, huh? The little girl?”

“Yeah,” you croak. A few tears spring from your eyes. You squeeze your eyelids shut and wish them away. 

Rory kisses your hair and gives you a tight squeeze, “Should we keep going?” 

You sniffle and pull back from his embrace, flashing him a tight smile as you nod, “Yeah.” 

When Frankie comes home, you’ve already resigned to your room for the night, content to wallow in self-pity you have no right to feel. 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards as he makes his way through the kitchen, into the hallway outside your room. A knock comes at the door. 

You sigh and pout to yourself, then call out, “Come in.” 

Frankie opens the door and hovers in the threshold. You pause Stardew Valley and look over from your laptop, raising your eyebrows in question. 

“Hey,” he says, puppy dog eyes in full force, crossing his arms, “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know.”

He hums and studies you for a moment, shifting his weight into the doorframe, “Earlier was… It was weird, right?” 

Your eyelids flutter. You shrug, “She didn’t call me a slut this time, which was… nice.” 

He chuckles at this. You don’t crack a smile. 

When your lack of amusement registers to him, he clears his throat and pushes off of the door frame. He makes his way around the bed and sits down on the opposite side, scooting close to you. You roll your head on your shoulders and watch him reach out to touch you, then decide against it, fingertips curling onto his lap instead. 

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he says finally, but doesn’t look at you. 

“For what?”

“I know you miss Sarah. And I know my reaction earlier was—was,” he sighs and shakes his head, “It wasn’t great.” 

“Frankie, you thought I was a abducting your child—”

“I mean after that,” he turns to you now, sincerity etched in his features, “I could have let you hang out with her, or been nicer or something, I don’t know. I just—I know, in my gut, that I could have done better. And… I’m sorry.” 

An ache of affection spreads across your chest. You reach out and rest your hand on his forearm, thumb grazing his skin as you search his face, “I appreciate that, thank you.” 

A small, relieved smile graces his lips. He nods, “Of course.” 

Then he seems to relax a little, leaning back onto one elbow as he squints at your laptop screen, “Whadda you have going on here?” 

“Exploring caves, fighting monsters.” 

“Sounds nerdy,” he teases, “Figures you’d like it.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” you laugh and give him a playful shove, “You think I’m a nerd?” 

“Maybe,” he grins. 

You scoff and shoot him a mock glare, “On what grounds?” 

He frowns, looking up at the ceiling like he’s thinking about it, then shrugs, “Basically just this, but you’re cute when you’re all riled up.” 

“Wow,” you laugh, covering your face as it heats up, “So rude.” 

He grins and lays back in your bed like he’s making himself at home here, so you join him, resting your head on his shoulder. His cheek presses into the crown of your head. You resume playing Stardew Valley. 

Some time passes like this, cuddling with him while he idly plays with your hair, asking you questions about the game like he’s interested. When the sun sets and you both start yawning at regular intervals, you tuck the laptop away in your nightstand. Frankie doesn't move. 

You return to your pillow and roll on your side to face him, tucking your hands under your cheek. He mirrors the action, just a foot or so away. His warm gaze works around your face and he murmurs, “Do you want me to go?”

It’s so quiet you can hear your pulse pounding through your arteries. 

“Not really.” 

A small smile flicks across his lips. He looks down at his clothes, “Do—do you mind if I, um…”

“What, you don’t wanna wear jeans to bed?” you snort. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, “They’re not great pajamas.” 

“Go change, I gotta wash my face and stuff anyway,” you yawn, rolling onto your back, stretching your arms into the air. 

The two of you go about your bedtime routines. When you return to your room, Frankie is laying on top of the covers, arm tucked behind his head as he scrolls on his phone. He changed into gray basketball shorts and his old, worn out Metallica t-shirt. 

“That shirt is gonna crumble into dust one of these days,” you tease while plugging your phone into its charger. 

He sets his phone down and looks at his shirt, then grins up at you, “Until it does, I’ll be wearing it.” 

You shake your head at him, peeling back the covers with shaky hands. He sits up and wriggles between your sheets as you turn off your bedside lamp and crawl in beside him. 

For a few moments, it’s just quiet in the dark. Neither of you move or say anything. You imagine he’s staring at the ceiling with tingling nerves just like you, filled with uncertainty and fear and want. Not sure what the “line” even looks like anymore because it’s been blurred so much it’s indistinguishable. 

Every other time you’ve fallen asleep together since he moved in, it could be chalked up as either accidental or, like when you were sick, necessary. Excusable if brought forth as evidence by others, or each other, or yourselves. 

But this is different. 

It’s intentional. No plausible deniability in sight. Heat blooms in your chest and between your legs. He feels so far away. 

“Frankie.” 

“Hmm?”

“Would it be weird if I asked you to hold me?” 

He lets out an amused scoff. The bed squeaks and shifts as he rolls on his side as you scoot closer to each other. His hands find you under the covers and he pulls your back to his chest, tucking one arm under your head while the other wraps around your belly. 

“It’s not weird,” he murmurs, pausing for a second before saying, “It should be, but it isn’t.” 

This makes you smile. It’s a relief to hear him say it. You relax into his embrace and rest your arm atop his at your waist. 

The darkness surrounding the two of you seems to hold space for honesty. It’s that sort of feeling you got at sleepovers when you were younger, when you and your friends would whisper secrets to each other in the dark. 

“I have nightmares sometimes,” you tell him. 

“I know.” 

You know he knows. He’s been there to wake you from them and calm you down in their wake at least a dozen times. Regardless, there’s this buzzing under your skin like you need to tell him. 

“I can never remember what happens except—except, um,” you blink your eyes open and swallow the thickness in your throat, shaking your head, “There’s this feeling, like… I know that he’s chasing me, and if he catches me, I’m never going to escape.” 

His body seems to tense a little. He looks down at you, “Who?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” 

You can feel the question occupying his tightened muscles, and say, “It’s not you.” 

“But if you don’t know—”

“It started before you,” you lace your fingers with his, letting your eyelids drift shut, “And, besides, I don’t feel like that with you. I feel… safe.” 

He relaxes around you with a sigh that sounds like relief. 

“When I lived alone it was hard. I’d wake up alone and scared, and I couldn’t fall back asleep,” you murmur, “But it’s been better lately.” 

He hums. The noise vibrates against the nape of your neck. His thumb brushes against your midriff. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you admit, “I guess… I just want you to know it’s nice having you here.” 

The wet swallow of his throat makes you start to worry you said too much, that you showed too much belly. You brace for him to pull away. But when his voice breaks the silence, it sounds raspy and damp. Heartfelt. 

“You don’t think I’m a burden?” 

You almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s ridiculous.  

“Not even a little. I’m happy to have you.” 

“I’m happy to be here, mariposa.” 

The nickname stings a little. A sharp, precise prick to the center of your chest. But his arms squeeze around you tighter, bringing you closer to his warmth. 

Your lips curve into a slight smile and you feel the tug of drowsiness on your limbs. 

“No funny business back there tonight, Franklin,” you mumble out, your words fuzzy with fatigue. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nuzzles into your hair, his own voice groggy and low, “Best behavior.” 

That warm, soft intimacy settles deep in your bones and makes you feel at ease. Safe. Loved. And it’s not long at all before sleep overtakes you.

Your Friday nights used to be synonymous with drinking. 

It meant going out to the bar to get drunk and dance and maybe find another lonely soul to spend time with. It meant blackouts and bar tabs and spending your Saturdays absolutely fucking miserable. 

Truth be told, you much prefer your new Friday night ritual: Movie Night. 

You and Frankie each get to pick any movie you want and stuff your faces while watching them back-to-back. After work, you pick him up from his AA meeting and load up on junk food, then head home. 

Tonight, the two of you walk side-by-side down aisle 5 of your neighborhood grocery store, moving at a leisurely pace across the glossy white tiles. A country music station broadcasts softly over the store’s speakers. From the cash registers up front, you hear the rhythmic beep of customers being rung up. Probably the only other people in here, honestly, it’s fucking dead. 

“What’s your movie pick?” Frankie asks while tossing a bag of classic potato chips into the red basket hanging from the bend of his elbow, “And I swear to god if you say Moulin Rouge! I’m instituting a no-repeat policy.” 

Your laughter ricochets down the aisle and you shake your head, “Don’t act like you don’t like that movie! I know you do.” 

“I mean yeah, but… there are other movies.” 

“Other… movies…?” 

He snorts and shakes his head at you. 

“Actually, I wanna watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” you tell him, slowing to narrow your eyes at a bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips, “Do I want pretzels or salt and vinegar chips?” 

“Why not both?” he shrugs. 

You scrunch your nose up, tossing your head from side-to-side, then grab the kettle chips and drop them into your basket, “What’s your movie pick?”

“I’m between Dazed and Confused and The Wolf of Wall Street,” he says, glancing over at you. 

Your face lights up and you coo, “Ohhh Dazed and Confused, please!”

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” 

He grins at you and shrugs, “I will take your opinion into consideration.” 

“What, I can’t help you choose?” 

“It’s my pick,” Frankie chuckles, “You can’t pick my pick!” 

You roll your eyes at him. The two of you round the corner, merging into the vacant main aisle, and you say, “Fuck, I want ice cream.”

“I want a fucking drink,” he mutters offhandedly, then notices your concerned stare and says, “Sorry.” 

“Do you really?” 

His brow furrows as he considers this, eventually admitting, “In a way, yeah.”

You know you shouldn’t take it personally. He’s an alcoholic. But that rationale doesn’t stop the ache that spreads across your chest. 

Frankie must recognize your hurt, because he nudges you and adds, “Not because I don’t like this or anything.”

You give him a warm, reassuring smile as you turn down the freezer aisle. He continues. 

“It just lingers, I guess. Like I think I could drink and be fine,” he comes to a stop in front of the ice cream, glancing around before staring forward into the freezer like it holds all the answers, “Everything is just so… raw without it. All the feelings I’ve never dealt with, they keep bubbling up and it’s—I don’t know, it’s a lot.” 

It surprises you that he’s talking about this so openly, in a public place and everything. Two months ago you could not have dragged these words from his mouth under any circumstances. 

You nod as you study him, “Well, um… I know it’s hard, but I’m glad you’re doing it.”

He doesn’t really react, just continues to look at the ice cream. His eyes are a million miles away, though. Lost in thought. You lay your hand on his shoulder and graze your thumb against him, “Francisco.”

His jaw tightens. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

He blinks a few times, then swings his gaze to meet yours. 

“I mean it. It’s been a pleasure getting to know the real you, in all your, uhhh,” you stop and try to come up with something eloquent, landing on, “sober glory. I know it’s a lot. But I can see that it’s making a huge difference. You’re so far beyond where you started. It’s… it’s really brave to choose sobriety. I’m proud of you, Frankie.” 

It all kind of spills out of you. A collage of sentiments you’ve been keeping to yourself thrown crudely together here in the middle of the freezer aisle. 

His brow creases, eyes all dewy as they flick around your face. You worry that what you said doesn’t make sense, or that maybe it was insensitive. But then, his basket falls to the floor with a clatter and he pulls you into a hug. 

Again, you’re taken by surprise. 

You just stand there for a moment, kind of awkward with your basket dangling in one hand. 

He squeezes you tighter. Unbridled appreciation flows from him. Your stomach flutters and tears prick your eyes. You drop your basket to properly return the gesture, wrapping both arms around his torso, pulling him close. 

The warmth of his body surrounds you. You take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting musk of his skin, exhaling tension, melting into this softness. 

Frankie sniffles and kisses the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair, “Thank you.” 

You part ways, both taking a step back to see the others’ glossy, red-tinged eyes. 

And you’re not sure exactly why, but then you both laugh. Not in a nervous way. More like joy. It bubbles beneath your skin and makes you feel hopeful. 

He picks his basket up off the ground and clears his throat, turning back to the freezer door, “Anyway, ice cream.” 

When the end credits roll on Dazed and Confused, you stand up off the couch and start towards the kitchen, asking Frankie, “Need anything?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” he answers with a yawn. 

You pull open the cupboard and find a bag of popcorn, then toss it in the microwave. While you wait for it to pop, you check your phone. Three unread messages. 

> RORY: > Hey > How was work?  > Doing anything fun tonight? 

“Hey, I was thinking,” Frankie says as he shuffles past the dining room table, into the kitchen. You set your phone down on the counter and cross your arms, looking up at him. 

“Next week is Sarah’s birthday, Ang is throwing a party on Saturday. Do you want me to see if she would let you come?” 

The question leaves you momentarily speechless. You never thought it would be a possibility, and the offer completely blindsides you. 

Your mouth gapes open and you blink, “I, um—well, I—”

“If you want to, I mean.” 

You frown and meet his eyes, “Well, yeah, obviously I want to, but is Angie really ok with that?” 

“I’ll talk to her,” he says, leaning back on the counter next to you, “She’s been more receptive lately. And—and I think if you brought Rory, she would feel more reassured, that, um…”

Your stomach drops like a rock. 

A clusterfuck of messy emotions tangle and twist inside your body. At the tip of your tongue sits the question: That, what, there’s nothing going on between us? 

You look over at him and search his face. It’s unreadable. He’s frozen like he knows he came dangerously close to mentioning the elephant in the room and doesn’t know what to do next. 

The air thickens. 

Moments go by that feel like centuries.

You can’t stand it anymore, and lead him to continue the thought, “That what?”

He turns to face you and looks fucking terrified. Forehead creased. Eyes wide. Lips parted like apologies are about to come spilling out of them. 

You hold his gaze. Try not to notice the pungent energy pulsing between your bodies, or the way his eyes soften when he looks at your mouth and takes a step towards you. 

For one heart-stopping moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. 

A beep sounds from the microwave. 

He looks to the source, trance broken, but your eyes stay trained on him. On the elongated bob of his throat swallowing nerves. On the restless, twitchy movements that suddenly seem to possess him. 

When he notices you’re still staring at him, he only allows a brief glance before dropping his gaze to the ground and shoving his hands in his pockets, finally saying, “I—I just mean that I think she’ll be ok with it. And—and Sarah would be excited to see you.”

You pause before you react, trying to decide whether or not to ask him the question tearing apart your insides like a rabid dog: Do you want me to go so I can see Sarah, or so you can continue to lie to your wife?

Simultaneously, you cannot ask him and you need to know.

You tell yourself: He’s in recovery. He needs support, not criticism. 

You say: Let him figure out the missing pieces in his life and put it back together. Even if the shape it takes breaks you. 

“Ok,” you give him a tight nod and push off the counter, pulling the microwave door open, “If she’s fine with it, I’d love to go.” 

“Yeah?”

You pinch the corner of your bloated popcorn bag and pull it out, nudging the microwave door closed, then turn to face him, but don’t look up, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

A small, distant voice says: You fucking coward. 

[luvmorales]

HELLOOOO I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! Can you do a Miles Morales x fem! reader who’s like rory gilmore from gilmore girls (I don’t know if you watched it, if you didn’t or simply don’t want to do it its totally fine), reader who’s like chilton rory?? Thank you <3

TUTOR ‧₊˚

pairing ⊹˚. 42!miles morales x rory gilmore!reader 

summary →  you help miles study for a test but he can’t help but focus on something more distracting 

contains ☾₊ ⊹ fluff + kissing, just cutesy stuff

a/n: thankuuuu so much omg! hopefully you like this pook, i love gilmore girls that show is so comforting, TY FOR REQUESTING <3!!

you were very smart, and you tried to be modest but you continue to keep up straight A’s, studied whenever you got the chance, and always bringing a book to parties just in case yk?

you were pretty quiet and kept to yourself most of the time, but you finally found the person you long desired to have in your life, miles. 

it was the first day of school when you met him, he tried creeping into the class trying not to be noticed as he walked in late. something about him was so alluring in your eyes, he tried cracking a joke trying to lighten the mood but failed, at least he got a stifled laugh from you. ever since you two have been inseparable, your friendship blossoming into a relationship.

miles never had trouble with school, so when he asked you to help him study for a test you happily volunteered.  

the bell had just rung, you grab your bag and walk out of the classroom looking for miles as u reach the entrance, “hey baby” miles says as he comes up from behind wrapping his long arms around your waist

you feel the warmth in your whole body heat up from his soft touch, “hi loveee” you say turning around and putting your arms around his neck as he gives you a kiss 

“you’re coming to my house right?” you say finally pulling away and grabbing his hand starting in the direction of your house

“yes mami, you gotta help me study” he replies staring at your silhouette as you walk at a faster pace than him 

“woah slow down ma why you rushing?” miles says letting out a breathy laugh as you guys walk down the street 

you slow down walking beside him, “miles we have to get home so we have enough time to study!!’ you say laughing 

when you and miles finally get to your door he grabs your hand and drags you to your bedroom as he pushes you into your bed laying kisses all over your face 

“miles!-stop we need to get to work!” you squeal out as you try to wiggle out of his arms

“okay! okay” he says letting you go

you go and change into some comfy clothes, walking back into your room with textbooks to help miles study

“come here baby, i’m gonna make some flashcards while you read over my notes” you say while miles sits down 

you realize miles is sitting on your desk chair so you bring the flashcards to the floor sitting down and starting to write away 

“what are you doing” miles stares at you

“What do you mean, i’m making flashcards,” you asked feeling confused 

“i mean what are you doing sitting on the floor?”

“well- you're sitting at my desk soooo…” you say laughing a little 

“mami.” he looks at you with a slight smirk “you know you can just sit on top of me,” he says grabbing your arms and pulling you off your hard floor, guiding you onto his lap

“oh,” you say trying to get the butterflies out of your stomach as you try and focus on helping miles

when you finally think you both are focused on working you feel miles arms creep around your waist hugging you close

“mileeess! we need to focus okay-” you say trying to concentrate, you ignoring him doesn’t work as he tries to pepper kisses all over your neck 

“oh my god, i swear to god miles!” you giggle out, “i promise after we finish study we can cuddle okay?” trying to negotiate with your boyfriend 

“fine” he grumbles out grabbing the notebook and starting to read again

after you and miles go over every piece of information making sure you prepare him the best you can for his unit test, you finally get blankets and cuddle up right next to him. 

miles felt so lucky to have you in his life, you’re always looking out for him and making sure your helping him in all ways you can “thank you for today baby, i love you so much you don’t even know” he whispers kissing you on the forehead as he sees the way your eyes flutter shut.

[cevansbrat0007]

Warm

Summary: Andy makes you sit through one of his favorite punishments...

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Cock-Warming, Bratty Reader, Spanking (mentioned), Pussy Spanking, Daddy Kink, Light Degradation, Punishments, Cursing, Lloyd Evans-Drysdale, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @writer84, @sarahdonald87, @lexivass, an anonymous reader, and several others. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own.

___

You let your head rest against the doorframe as you watch your little girl’s eyes slowly fall shut, her quiet breaths evening out as she clings tighter to her stuffed pink cow, Ms. Marie Moo. Rory had woken up less than an hour after you’d tucked her into bed claiming that she and her “best friend” needed a glass of water.

While that certainly wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, her little knock at your husband’s study door had thrown you both for a bit of a loop.

Because you’d been in the middle of one of your discussions at the time. And since it was well past your all of your babies’ respective bedtimes, you hadn’t necessarily anticipated the interruption. Thank goodness you’d at least been able to throw on your robe before unlocking the door. After assuring Andy that the two of you would be quick, you'd ushered her down the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

That had been well over fifteen minutes ago. Which meant that you needed to head back. Casting one last gentle smile in her direction, you blow individual kisses to both of your sleeping daughters, who also happened to share a room. And then you turn on your heel, quietly shutting the door behind you before traipsing back down the stairs to rejoin your man.

Your hands toy with the belt of your plush robe as you round the corner, tugging at the messy knot you’d tied in a hurry. Bracing yourself for what’s to come, you stride through the still open door before shutting and locking it behind you. 

“Hey, baby girl.” Andy greets you from his place behind his imposing mahogany desk. “I thought I was gonna have to come looking for you.” He takes a sip of the whiskey you’d dutifully poured for him before you’d been distracted by your child.

“Oh no…just had to tuck her back in. And then we accidentally left poor Marie Moo behind on the counter, so I had to double back.” You go to take a seat opposite him, only to stop at the quirk of one tawny, challenging brow. 

Oops.

“Sorry, Daddy.” You mumble as you make quick work of removing your robe before draping it over the small couch located on the other side of the room. He leans back in his chair, his bearded chin resting between his thumb and forefinger as he lazily peruses your naked form. 

Andy’s intense gaze fixates on your breasts, watching them bounce gently as you pad towards him. Seconds later, you’re standing in front of your husband, your hands fisted nervously at your sides. Even though this man has seen every inch of you a million times over, you still have to fight the urge to cover yourself. 

But you also knew that Andrew Barber wouldn’t tolerate any attempts to hide from him – not that he ever did. Sometimes when was in a mood he would keep you naked in his study the entire night while he reviewed whatever legal documents he’d brought home from the office. Lately, he’d even taken to splaying you out on his desk alongside him while he worked. That way he could stop and play with you whenever he needed a break. Or, as he so often put it… 

So that he could enjoy his favorite treat.  

“God, I’m so lucky.” Andy purrs as one of his big hands palms his erection, even as the other reaches for your special notebook. “You ready to try this again, little love?” He holds it up, the glossy cover you’d designed gleaming in the light. 

“Yes, please.” You nod. “Can I, um…I mean may I…um…” 

“Use your big girl words, sweetheart.” There’s no mistaking the mocking edge to his tone. “You can do it.”

You blow out a sharp breath as you will yourself to start over.

“Um, D-daddy. May I please warm your cock while we finish our discussion?” Your newly polished toes dig into the carpet while you await his answer.

“You may.” He places his arms behind his head, his muscles flexing beneath his cotton t-shirt. “Go on and take me out again.”

Sighing, you go to reach inside his sweats, wrapping your hand around his impressive length. You give him a playful squeeze, eliciting a hiss when you finally free him from his pants.

“Good girl. Now go on and have a seat.”

Your teeth graze your bottom lip as you maneuver yourself over his lap. And then you grip him again as you slowly lower yourself onto his thick cock, whimpering softly as you take him inside you.

Inch by delicious inch. Christ he was filling you up just right!

Your walls clench around him as your core spasms against your will  – reminding you of just how desperate you were to ride him. Grind against him. Make him go crazy enough to fucking explode and fill you up right. 

But once again, you knew better than to move without permission. Your Daddy could thrust in and out of you all he liked, but you weren’t allowed to do a damn thing without his permission. Unless you fancied earning yourself a sore bottom. Not to mention that it had been three – no wait, almost four days – since your last spanking and you had no desire to ruin your hot streak. 

“You feel so good, baby.” You tell him, your head lolling backwards against his solid chest. “Sir? Can I–can I please move? Maybe just a little bit?” 

Andy’s hands go to your hips, his long fingers digging into your flesh as he playfully thrusts once, then twice. “Now, that’s all you get until we’re finished with your little list.” He smacks your thigh for good measure, making you cry out. “Assuming it is finished, of course.”

“It is. I–ooh.” You find yourself squirming in his lap. “I did it last night–just like I said I would.” You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from whining. Especially when he tweaks your nipple before cupping and kneading your breast.

“Need I remind you that you were also a day late?” He presses a kiss to your throat, making you shudder when his bearded chin lightly scrapes over your thrumming pulse.  

“I’m sorry, Sir. But I wanted to make sure it was good.” Your man’s hand caresses its way down your body, only stopping when he reaches that sweet, wet juncture between your thighs. The pads of his fingers swirl over your sensitive bundle of nerves, loving the little sounds you make as you try to fight the bright onslaught of pleasure.

“I know.” Andy taps your clit, making you jerk and clench on his cock. “Stay still, brat.” He grunts, pinching you roughly. “You just worry about keeping me nice and warm deep inside my pretty pussy while we go over your apology list. And if you’ve done a good job –” he bounces you then, groaning as your walls milk him for all he’s worth. “I’ll give you the ride you’ve been asking for, okay?”

“Mmhm.” You hum, picking up the notebook and flipping it open to the appropriate page.

“And just how many items did you manage to include on this apology list of yours, baby girl?” His talented fingers stroke their way across your soft belly, before coming to rest just above your abdomen. “Hope it’s more than two, otherwise Daddy isn’t gonna be very happy with his baby.”

There was a time when you had to stop yourself from flinching, or curling into yourself whenever he touched you there. It had been after the birth of the twins. You’d found yourself struggling with your self-image back then. You’d hated the way you looked, to the point where you almost couldn’t fathom how or why your husband was still attracted to you. 

But Andy had helped you through it all. Reminding you again and again of just how much you meant to him. How much he loved and worshiped you, not just as the mother of his children – but as the woman with whom he had chosen to share his life and his bed.       

That night you’d received the green light from your doctor after your babies’ arrival had been nothing short of amazing. He’d been so tender with you, so gentle. But he’d also been very firm about your letting him in. 

Letting him adore you. Cherish you. 

Until you remembered how to love yourself again. Andy was your man. Your anchor. Your love. And most important of all right now… 

He was your Daddy. 

“It’s definitely more than two. “See?” You tell him, biting your lip as you show him the page. “I’ve got six. And I was really honest, too.” 

Just like he’d told you to be. And the way you saw it, that meant there was no way he could be mad about what you’d written. 

Sweat beads across your brow as you shift in Andy’s lap, a strangled mewl catching in your throat. Damn, it was hard to focus like this! Especially, when all you wanted to do turn around and fuck him so long and hard your eyes rolled back in your heads and you both succumbed to unconsciousness. 

“I see that, sweet girl. And I have to tell you that I really like your first one.” Your husband pecks your temple. “Proud of you for recognizing that you should have listened to me when you weren’t feeling well. Next time I bet you’ll go to bed when I tell you to, huh?” Another kiss, this time on the apple of your cheek.

“Uh huh.” You murmur, allowing your head to fall back against his broad chest when he gifts you with three short thrusts. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Forgiven. Now, onto the next.” Andy grabs your hand, squeezing encouragingly. “Oh yeah, I’m glad to see you being more understanding about our lunch plans. Daddy didn’t like having to cancel with you like that, baby.”

“I know.” You turn your head towards him, offering up your mouth for a kiss.  “I do feel really bad about withholding my cuddles. I always forget how pouty you get and – oww!” You squeal when he pinches your side. 

“Wrong time to sass me. Keep it up and you’ll leave me no choice but to turn you over my knee.” 

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry…” You clear your throat, feeling yourself flush. “Do you – I mean…do you want me to add that to my list then?” 

Now that earns you a quick slap to your pussy.

“I’m sorry.” You grit out as he pops you again, trying to ignore the way the sharp contact makes your walls contract. “But sometimes I just can’t –”

“Sometimes you just can’t help yourself.” He grumbles. “I know, honey. The same way I knew you were a brat from our very first date.”

All you can do is shrug. “But in my defense, at least I’m cute.” You bat your lashes at him before lightly nipping at his chin. “Plus, I also gave you four babies, I make the best smothered pork chops you’ve ever had, and I look sexy as hell in all of your shirts.”

“See what I’m talking about?” Comes Andy’s throaty growl. “Goddamned brat. And watch your fucking language, before you force me to find a much better use for your disrespectful little mouth. You got that?” 

“Yes, Sir.” You breathe, feeling your breasts swell and your nipples harden at his words. “S-sorry, Sir.” 

“S’alright. You’re forgiven. It’s not all your fault, especially since I suspect that part of this has to do with that greedy pussy of yours running the show.” He takes a deep breath before moving onto the next apology item on your list. “Okay, number three. I see here you’re apologizing for the…” Your man trails off as he takes another calming breath. “For those fucking spiders.”

“Yep.” You flash him your best, most innocent smile. “I am so very sorry about that. When I heard your panicked screams I…well…it sounded like you were being attacked.”

“I was being attacked, Y/N! By a bunch of stupid fucking spiders that fell out of the cabinet, on top of my head, and onto the floor. And it wasn’t just me! They got Junior too!”

Yes, but unlike his father, your three-year-old had found the whole affair rather funny. He’d cackled his little head off while Andy had practically hyperventilated in the corner. And once he was done, he’d scooped up a bunch before taking off down the hall to show his sisters. 

Now they, on the other hand, had reacted more like your poor, flustered husband. Yeah. It was safe to say that he had not been amused. And the way he’d roasted your bottom later on that night had confirmed that fact. 

“Yeah. He seemed really disturbed by it.” You deadpan before mentally facepalming.

Shit! There you went again, mouthing off when you were in no position to be cheeky. At this rate, Andrew Barber was never gonna let you cum. And it was going to be your own goddamned fault!

“Err, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, I shouldn’t have preyed on your fears like that, Daddy. It was wrong of me to do. I know now that I caused you extreme levels of distress. And since you’re getting on in years, I should take more care with your blood pressure. Please accept my apology.”

Andy is quiet for a moment as he mulls over your admission. 

“Are my ears deceiving me, or did my sweet girl just make a crack about my age?”

Yes.

“Nope. Didn’t even cross my mind, sweet husband.”

Yes it had. So you did. Maybe you needed mental help. 

“W-which brings me to number four.” You bravely forge on, not wanting to give the man time to think. “I’m sorry for going a little feral when you tried to, um, discipline me for that whole spider nonsense.” You let out a surprised yelp when Andy swats your breast.

“You bit me, you little hellcat.” His warm, slightly calloused hand wraps its way around your throat. “Nearly took a chunk out of my left calf.”

“I–I didn’t want to be–ooh!” Andy holds you in place while he moves his hips, teasing you with several tempting thrusts. “I didn’t want to be punished!” You cry, arching your back when he hits that special spot inside of you as white-hot sparks dance behind your eyelids. 

“And how’d that go for you?”

“Terrible.” You concede with a gasp. “And then I pinched you. And then I followed it up with that unnecessary quip about you lacking an actual working funny bone.” Oh God! “It was mean spirited of me then, and it sounds just as bad now when I reflect back on it.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve really seen the error of your ways, baby girl.” He rasps as he moves his hand from your throat in favor of stroking your sensitive little clit. “Daddy is quite proud of you.”

“Th-thank you, Sir.” You forced yourself to take a steadying series of breaths. “As for the next one, you really do have my word that I’ll keep working on the–on my, um, n-negative self-talk.”

“Okay.” Andy ceases his movements, knowing you needed to make it through this one without him interrupting. “Keep going for me.”

“I am a good–no. Let me start over. I am a freaking fantastic Mama Bear who adores her children. Having four kids all under ten can be challenging. And there are only so many hours in the day. Which means that I need to give myself a little more credit, along with a healthy dose of grace.”

“There we go, Y/N. There it is. That is exactly what I was looking to hear from you just now.” Andy grips your jaw, tilting your head back just enough to steal himself a kiss. “Do you believe everything that you just said, little love? Because we can keep breaking it down if we need to.”

“No. I honestly don’t think so.” You murmur, your lips softly gliding over his. “But can we maybe revisit this one in a few days?”

You knew there was no way he would possibly say no to that. Andy never allowed himself to forget that you occasionally still struggled in the self-esteem department.

“Alright, put a little star next to it so we can remember that we need to do a brief check-in.” You do as he asks without missing a beat.   

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Anything for my baby girl.” He purrs, his voice deepening with approval. And then his eyes stray to the final item on your list. “And as for this last one regarding that damned Drysdale fucker–”

“Maybe we should just focus on the fact that I openly and knowingly deprived you of blackberry cheesecake.” You quickly interject, wishing you had thought a little more before including the name of your husband’s supposed rival for your affections. 

Andy positively loathed Lloyd Evans-Drysdale, which sometimes made things difficult since the aforementioned man also happened to be your favorite actor.  

“Or, we could focus on the fact you deprived me of the chance to eat a positively decadent treat off of your delectable little body. All over some pretentious jackass who’s too preoccupied with his fading spotlight to actually care about making a decent film once in a while.”

“I’m so sorry, honey. I know this is a sore spot. And, honestly, I shouldn’t have poked it.” You choke back a sob when he finally begins to move again. Which let you know that he was most likely satisfied with that apology.  

“You mean that, little one?” Andy grunts, his arms lacing themselves around your middle as continues to drive into you. You find yourself feeling grateful when he increases his pace, both of you loving the way your messy cunt clings to him, refuses to let go of his thick cock. 

“So much, Andy Bear. Am I…am I forgiven then?” You hold your breath. 

“Depends.”

"Mm?"

“You owe me one orgasm for each point on that piece of paper.” He nods in the direction of your notebook as he possessively cups your drenched core, shaking his hand back and forth.

“What!” You wail as your eyes fly open. “That’s not even fair!”

That was one hell of a penance, not to mention a ridiculous stipulation to put on any one girl’s pussy at any given time. 

“Didn’t ask if it was fair.” Andy hisses as your velvety walls continue to milk him for all he’s worth. “You give me six good, strong orgasms and Daddy will consider the slate wiped clean.”

With a whimper you begin to bounce on his lap, working hard to push yourself closer to the brink. "There we go. Bein' such a good girl for me." Andy praises.

"Now be a doll and turn around. Daddy wants to watch those perfect tits bounce while you use him to fuck yourself senseless."

END

[sentientcave]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Read on AO3

Chapter 2 - A Spoonful of Sugar

<Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

After a bad breakup with a mediocre ex, Rory decides to move back home-- Sort of. Rather than settle back into her mom's flat in London, she accepts her dad's invitation to move to his house out in the country. But unfortunate circumstance has John's former protege, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick moving in as well, after finalizing a divorce. It wouldn't be so bad, if he wasn't stupidly handsome and extremely annoying about it. But she can learn to live with him, can't she?

Contains: OC x Gaz, Lorelai "Rory" "Scout" Blackmoore-Price, Age gap romance (Scout is roughly 25), Annoying old men, Schemes and Plots, Mentions of John Price's many divorces, Poor decisions, Guns, Inadvisable Flirting

~6.7k - 18+ Only - MDNI

Billie was still free, and agreed to meet for coffee in about an hour, so Rory grabbed her bag, shoving her laptop in it in case she got there first (She hadn’t done the walk into town yet, and wasn’t certain how long it would take to get there), and headed out without a word.

It was a nice afternoon for a walk anyway, through the pleasant countryside that surrounded Hereford. It was one of the things she was beginning to like best about living there, that country and town basically butted up against each other. London was grey streets as far as the eye could see, and she’d never minded that, but there was something so unbelievably pleasant about a walk through fields, with birds and insects singing in the brush.

She got to the coffee shop about a half-hour ahead of time, so she ordered a coffee and a big ginger cookie, and set up in a corner where she could keep an eye on the door. She got a little writing done, before someone approached. She glanced up, frowning at an earnest, freckled face. “Can I help you?” she asked, before he could say anything.

“Um. Yeah. I just saw you and— Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you.” Whatever introduction he’d planned, she’d set him on the back foot and scrambled him. “I just— You’re, um—”

“I’m Rory. I’m waiting for a friend, but if you give me your number, I’ll consider texting you later.”

“Yeah? I’m Ro— Gary. Gary Sanderson.”

“Hm, do I detect a military callsign?” she asked. On second glance, he was definitely military. There were scars on his knuckles and up his forearms, and a silver chain around his neck. He had a trim, muscular physique, broad shoulders filling out his t-shirt, and thick legs. Cute too, freckled and and brown eyed, with a long, angular face.

He blushed. “Yeah. I’m used to— Are you military? I’ve seen you on base, haven’t I?”

“I’ve been there a few times to see my dad. I’m not— I’m a civilian. Definitely not in the service. I’m not quite nuts enough.”

He laughed. It was a pleasant sound, quiet and throaty. “Yeah, you have to be a bit crazy. I used to be gung-ho myself, but you know, you start realizing what you’re missing after a while. Everyone I know kind of… Got ahead of me.” His blush deepened, the colour sweeping up to his strawberry blond hairline. “Sorry. Yeah. Do you still want my number? Or did I just fuck this all up big time?”

“You’re fine. Here.” She scribbled down her number in the corner of her notebook and tore it out. “Can’t promise I’m looking for anything serious, but if you want to spend any time getting unserious, you know how to reach me.”

Gary’s grin was lopsided, but definitely charming. “Yeah? Cool. Uh. Yeah. I’ll get out of your hair. And I’ll text you!”

“You do that,” Rory said. “My friend’s here anyway.” She leaned to the side and waved to Billie, who had stepped into line. “See you around, soldier.”

Billie wiggled her eyebrows from across the room, indicating that she thought Gary was pretty cute. Rory had to agree, especially when he walked away. Military men had a lot of flaws, but they were rarely physical ones. And Rory could appreciate the work that went into the lean taper from his shoulders to his narrow hips, and she even better appreciated the thick thighs and nice ass as he disappeared through the doors.

Billie made her way over, holding some sugary, whip-cream topped confection with a straw poking out of it, a big smile on her face. “He was cute,” she said, taking the seat across from Rory. “Someone you know?”

“No, he just came up. He seemed nice. I gave him my number, anyway.” Rory broke off a peice of her cookie and chewed it thoughtfully. “You want him? I can give you his number whenever he texts me.”

Billie’s smile turned sheepish, and she glanced through the windows, brown eyes finding the soldier again. “Oh no, I don’t want to— He approached you.”

“Kind of got the impression he’s looking for more serious than he’s gonna get from me. I was just interested in a ride or two.” Rory shrugged. “If you think he’s cute, I’m one hundred percent fine giving him up. You don’t know me that well yet, Bill, but I’m kind of a, hmm, free spirit, and there are plenty of hot guys in this town. And they don’t have to be nice if I’m planning on keeping their mouths busy.”

Billie giggled, the bundle of tight curls on top of her head vibrating slightly with the movement. “Well, you can have the first ride, and just let me know if he’s worth it, alright? I’m not quite ready to dip my toes back into the dating pool.”

“Roger that.” Rory hummed. “Thought you and Gaz had been separated a while though.”

“Well, we have. But I guess I’m still hoping for a grand romantic gesture. We had a good thing going. Seven years together. It wasn’t perfect, but I don’t know. All the problems seemed to fade into the background when he was home.”

“Hm.” Rory nodded sagely. “Because of the fucking.”

“Is that what it was?” Billie asked faintly, pressing her hand to the side of her face, her expression indicating that she hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Holy shit. That’s exactly what it was.”

“I watched my dad fumble four marriages, I guarantee that Gaz pulled from his toolbox of relationship prolonging tricks.” Rory calmly ate another bite of cookie while Billie went through a minor crisis across the table, replaying sequences from her relationship with Gaz through a new lens. “If you do want him back, you’d better hold out for more than a grand romantic gesture. I’m sure he’s used those before. Like meaningful change. A commitment to couples counselling. Taking a bit of accountability.”

Billie nodded. “Honestly, I kind of thought you were going to talk him up. Being Price’s kid, I figured— I’m glad you’re not though. I think I needed to hear that. A lot of my friends don’t really get why I went through with the divorce. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure.”

“Well Gaz is pretty charming. If you don’t have to spend that much time with him I’m sure he seems just about perfect. But he’s not. He’s kind of a jerk. Self-centred.”

“Yeah. I like you, Rory. We should have started being friends ages ago. Where have you been this whole time?”

“London. Liverpool. Didn’t like my dad’s last wife, so I didn’t come around much for a while there. No one ever listens to me until it’s all over.” Rory closed her laptop and stuck it back into her bag, and picked up her pen, tapping it idly on the notebook cover. “I mean, I’m just as blind to shit when it’s about me. I was with a guy for a couple years there and I didn’t figure out he was a jerk until it was ending either.”

“Guess we all have our weak spots.”

They chatted for a long while, until Rory saw John’s truck pull into the parking lot. She winced, pulling out her phone. She’d set it on silent after Brandon had tried calling a few more times on the walk over, and had missed quite a few calls and messages from John. “Aw shit. I’d better go. I didn’t tell dad I was leaving, and he’s the worrying type.”

“How’d he—”

“Oh, he definitely has a tracker on me. I’d roast him about his invasion of privacy, but it wouldn’t change his behaviour. I just got complacent about checking.” She shrugged, packing up her things. “Let’s do this again soon. I’ve got a big deadline coming up, but I can still make some time. I’ve been told it’s a good idea to get out of the house once in a while.” Rory stood up and gave Billie a quick hug. “Thanks for making time for me.”

“Thanks for the reality check. I’ll see you around, Rory.”

Rory bought another cookie on her way out, figuring she could probably sweeten his mood with a baked good. She made her way over to her dad’s truck, smiling tightly in response to his stern glare. “Hi dad,” she said blithely. “Sorry, I turned my phone to silent because Brandon keeps calling me. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

John huffed. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Oh please, you knew where I was the whole time.” She climbed into the passenger seat and set her bag between her feet.

His jaw tightened and loosened again. “Yeah. Suppose I did.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

“You didn’t tell me where you were going, or answer any of my messages.”

“I’m a grown woman. You didn’t know where I was going or what I was up to when I was in London. We went months without speaking before. Why are you suddenly so worried about my safety?”

“Because you’re under my supervision now. Your mother would never forgive me if something happened to you under my watch. And there’s always enemies popping out of the woodwork. If someone targeted you because of me…”

“Why not just tell me that?”

His knuckles tightened on the wheel. “Guess I should’ve.”

“Of course you should’ve. You’re so cagey about work stuff, dad. You have to communicate. If I need to be more careful, I need to know that. You can’t just follow me around or track me or have your dogs babysit me all day long. I’m not going to be able to stand long term exposure to them.”

“No? Don’t get along with the lads?” The disappointment in his voice was clear.

“They’re fine. We just don’t exactly have a lot in common.”

“They like you.”

Rory huffed. They might’ve liked her a little too much. “Of course they do. I’m damn delightful.”

He chuckled, some of the tension loosening from his jaw and shoulders. “Maybe you could come to the base with me more often. It would set my mind at ease if you took a job there.”

“Oh come on, dad. I’ll be fine. I’ll be more careful to keep you updated. I’ll come to the base if you get concrete intel on some big bad looking for revenge, alright?”

“Scout…”

“Dad.”

He sighed, remembering that his daughter was at least as stubborn as he was. “I’ll get you a gun.”

“Thank you.”

They pulled back into the farmhouse driveway. Soap’s blue sports car was gone, and likely so were Ghost and Soap. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asked. “Could use a distraction.”

“Nah. We could play Song of Valour though. Been a while since I kicked your ass in a video game.”

“Don’t recall you ever kicking my ass, but sure, sounds like a plan.”

The sun peeked over the horizon, spilling gold over the fields, streaming through the mist that rose from the shadows and burned away in the thin, pale light. Rory pulled in steady breaths, feet striking the ground evenly, sweat trickling down her back. This was the best part of living out here, the utter serenity of the morning run. It was quiet in the city around dawn too, but there was an ever-present hum of traffic, no matter the hour, and the air always smelled slightly of petrol and rot. Out here, the air was sweet, and the world was quiet, everything shrunk down to her body, the rush of blood in her ears, the inhale and exhale, the crunch of gravel. Smooth and perfect.

It had been a few weeks since their talk— Rory had mostly busied herself double and triple checking her formatting and spelling and making last minute edits on her latest book, but she had gone to the base with John a few times as well. With both Gaz and Soap gone at once, he was stuck running drills, and he’d brought Rory in a few times to brush up on her own skills. Just in case, he’d said, but Rory suspected that the real reason was so that he didn’t personally have to throw recruits around. In all fairness, she was more than happy to do it for him. It was good to get the practice in. And range time too, brushing up on her rifle skills.

She suspected nothing would come of John’s worries. She’d kept herself alert when out in town, and she had spotted Ghost following her a few times (and probably missed several more), but nothing else out of the ordinary.

Gary had texted her a few times, before explaining that he’d be out of country for a bit. She’d sent him a few cute selfies to come home to, hoping to escalate from polite getting to know each other texts to something a bit less polite and a lot more fun.

She’d ended up texting Ghost a lot too, over the weeks. Mostly one word messages and the thumbs up emoji, along with pictures of any dogs they happened to see. She’d also sent him one of her cute selfies by accident (Gary and Ghost were too close together in her contact list), and when she’d told him to ignore it, he’d sent a very unclear No in response. She still wasn’t sure if he had been responding to the picture or the message after. She’d started sending him pictures of him when she caught him following her, which had opened up to him sending her pictures of her out in public. She had to admit, the old man was still good. There were pictures of her that she had no idea how he’d taken. And a few surprisingly nice ones that she stuck on her tinder profile to break up the selfies.

She made it back to the house just as John was stepping outside, coffee in one hand, cigar in the other. “Mornin’ Scout,” he said cheerfully. “How was your run?”

“Not bad. I’m still trying to get that six minute mile consistently. Can’t keep up the pace over the long haul, but I’ve been keeping the ten mile below an hour and a quarter, even with a quick rest at the half point, so, all in all, not bad. I’ll keep working on it.” She dropped down to the grass to stretch, taking a minute to just breathe first.

“Pretty good, Scout. Should get you on the track to run laps around my soldiers one of these days.”

“What, they can’t fight, they can’t run, they can’t shoot? Aren’t these supposed to be your elite soldiers?”

John laughed. “You can outdo the recruits, Scout. You want a tougher fight, I’ll put you up against Soap. You’ll feel a little less cocky after that.”

"Dad, if you're going to have a dog chew on me, I'd rather it be Yardstick than Soap."

"Don't be silly, Scout. Soap hardly ever bites anymore."

Rory laughed, sitting up to run through her stretches. "Hardly ever is too far away from never, in my opinion."

John laughed too. "Probably right about that. We'll get you sparring with the kids. Nitro still bites, mind. And you'll have to put Roach on his ass a few times before he fights back properly."

"Sounds fun. Been a while since I had a good mixed discipline spar."

“It’s what you get for not signin’ up.”

“Don’t think I’m that big a fan of getting shot a.”

“Could still get you a job on base. There’s civilian work. Don’t have to be a soldier.”

“I know, dad. Mum offered to get me into the London base or as some kind of parliamentary aide when I said I was leaving Liverpool. I don’t want work I didn’t earn.”

He scoffed. “You’re bein’ ridiculous. It’s about the only way to get decent work these days.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as fucked up?”

“Course it is. But you’d do good work, no matter how you got the job. You always rise to the occasion, Scout.”

“Well, either way, I’ve got my own projects cooking.”

John’s sipped his coffee idly. “You ever gonna share what you’re working on?”

“Absolutely not. Are you home for dinner tonight? I’ve got one of my projects wrapping up today, so I’m ordering celebratory takeout.” Scout hopped to her feet.

“Should’ve told me ahead of time. Got a date tonight.”

“Oh, did— oh shoot, Carrie, right? From base accounting. You mentioned her. Am I not expecting you home at all then?”

John laughed. “Maybe. You gonna be alright on your own? I can have Ghost drop by.”

Rory snorted, clapping her dad on the shoulder as she moved past him into the house. “No, dad. I do not need your weird old man friends to babysit me.”

Her book had gone up at midnight the previous night— Setting it up for nighttime releases helped quell some of the anxiety she felt every time she put a new work out there— and had planned an Ask Me Anything session online from the afternoon to evening. Her plan was to run some errands during the morning, and then answer questions while she took a long, hot bath, watched a favourite movie (The Princess Bride, most likely) and ordered take-out, in that order.

The AMA went great— She was surprised at how many questions she'd gotten, and shuffled her plans slightly to accommodate. Takeout while she worked on questions, then Princess Bride while she was in the tub.

A few accounts had messaged her privately as well, including some guy who mentioned how much he liked the Scot Cameron MacGregor in her last book, saying that the character reminded him of his husband. Rory was struck by the possibility that he was Ghost, since the character in question had been just slightly based on Soap, and the straightforward, clipped sentences seemed awfully familiar.

She snapped a picture of the tub full of bubbles and candles and the laptop with her movie playing, and sent it to Ghost.

Scout: Selfcare Sunday

Ghost: Isn’t it Friday?

Scout: Probably. I’m an unemployed layabout so I don’t know.

Scout: What are you up to, old man?

Ghost: Reading. Author I like has a new book out.

Vindication.

Scout: Oh yeah? Who?

Ghost sent her a picture in response, of his ereader leaning against his knee in the bathtub, with her book cover displayed on the screen. He was very clearly too big for the tub.

Scout: Did you get in the tub just to send that or were you already in there?

Ghost: Wouldn’t you like to know

It was very easy to imagine the smirk on his face. He could be so annoying.

Ghost: You read any Avery Ackerman? Might like her. Does the self-pub thing, like you’re doing.

Scout: Yeah I’ve heard of her. Didn’t know you were a romantasy guy.

Ghost: Romantasy? Being a writer’s no excuse to make up words

Scout: Shut up, you’re just old. That’s the genre.

She heard a thump downstairs. Her blood turned to ice despite the warm bath. John’s paranoia was rubbing off on her.

Scout: Shit, I think someone’s in the house. I gotta get my gun.

Ghost: I’m coming over. Don’t do anythin stupid

Well, at least the cavalry was coming. Ghost was a one man army. Rory quickly got out of the tub, trying not to splash around too much, setting her laptop on the lid of the toilet. She scrubbed herself as dry as she could and wrapped a robe around herself before quietly dashing into her room to grab the handgun from it’s spot in the desk drawer, slapping a magazine in and tucking a second one into the belt of the robe. She quickly swept the upstairs, just to secure it, and crept downstairs, listening hard. The only sound was coming from the kitchen, so she peeked around the doorway, heart hammering. One man, combat boots, fatigues, gun on his hip, gun on his vest, holding her tub of double chocolate brownie ice cream with a spoon stuck out of it. Blue hat, familiar smirk.

Just Gaz. She let out a breath and came around the corner properly. “Jesus, Gaz, you scared the shit out of me.”

He raised an eyebrow at the gun in her hand and her state of undress. “Quite the homecoming.”

“Oh shut up. You’re eating my ice cream too.” Rory took the ammo out of the gun and set both on the counter. “Give that back.”

Gaz shook his head. “No.” He dug out a spoonful and popped it in his mouth, making an exaggerated sound of enjoyment. “Don’t think I will. Might share, if you ask nicely.”

“It’s my ice cream!” Rory protested, trying to grab it out of his hands. He held it up out of her reach, his annoyingly superior smirk turning into a grin. “Don’t be an ass.”

“That’s not asking nicely, is it, Scout?” he asked, tone patronizing. “Would you like to try again?”

“No I would not!”

It was a low blow, certainly, but he was annoying, and she was still a bit amped up from the interruption and the threat of a possible intruder, so she hooked her foot behind his knee and pulled him off balance, grabbing the tub of ice cream from his hands. He snatched it back, putting a hand on her shoulder to hold her at bay.

“Now listen,” he said sternly. “I’ve had a long couple of weeks in the bloody desert, and I’m hungry. You got anything else for me to eat?” His thumb brushed over her exposed collarbone, although his eyes didn’t drift from hers.

“It’s not my job to feed you!” Rory knocked his hand to the side and feinted for the ice cream, switching direction to snatch his hat off his head instead, leaping back out of reach. “Give me the ice cream or the hat gets it.”

“Terrorist,” he grumbled. “That’s my lucky hat.”

“We can solve this with no further bloodshed,” Rory said loftily, holding her other, empty, hand out. “Give it to me, and order yourself a fucking pizza.”

He handed over the tub of ice cream with a sigh. He’d made a good dent in the little container. It was what she got for buying expensive stuff, but she’d thought that she wouldn’t have to worry too much, since John wasn’t home. She hadn’t thought Gaz would be back so soon either. “Fine. You win this round, Scout.”

She set the hat on her head, and made a dash for the door.

She got about two steps away before he grabbed her arm and pushed her down over the counter, wrestling one arm behind her back and kicking her legs apart so she couldn’t muster any real force to kick him, and grabbed her other arm for good measure, twisting it up beside the first. “Brat,” he grumbled, flicking open one of his pockets. A moment later Rory felt a zip tie bind her wrists together.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“You reneged on our deal. That means you’re going to sit here, and you’re going to watch me eat all your damn ice cream.” He righted the container, yanked her upright, turned her around and picked her up to set her on the counter.

Scout snapped her legs together the moment he stepped back, trying not to think about how little she was wearing, or the way Gaz’s rough handling nearly had her purring like a cat. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would tell him, not in a thousand years, so she hoped the angry front she held up worked. He had no reason to question it— And as far as she was aware his primary concern was getting back together with Billie. Flirting outside the bar had just been a fluke. Not that she had been flirting.

Definitely not.

She didn’t even think he was that handsome. Sure, he had pretty brown eyes fringed by long lashes, and maybe he had a bright, perfect smile that lit up his whole face, and the flecks of silver brushed through his black hair gave him a distinguished air, but he was definitely too pretty to be Rory’s type. The way his plush lips closed around the spoon didn’t effect her in the least.

“You’re an asshole,” she said. “I have things to do, you know.”

“No you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t be home on a Friday night.”

“The only friends I have in this town are Ghost and your ex-wife, I’m not exactly swimming in social plans,” Rory snapped. She wanted to rub his nose in it, that she was friends with Billie, although she couldn’t really explain why. She just felt like being mean. He deserved it, after all, since he’d zip-tied her fucking hands together.

It gave him pause. “You’re friends with Billie now?”

“Yeah. She’s nice. Too good for you, in my opinion.”

“Probably. Did she ask about me?” He dug another spoonful of ice cream out, making eye contact with her while he ate.

Rory hummed, pretending to think about it, trying really hard not to let her eyes drift down when he licked the spoon. “No, not really.”

“Aw, come on, Scout. I’ll share if you tell me.”

“Something like, the sex was so good that she didn’t realize there were serious problems until you stopped having it, and that she wouldn’t get back with you for less than a strong commitment to individual and couples counselling.” Rory shrugged, wincing when the shoulder of her robe slipped down. “Which I doubt you’d do. And honestly, you should let her find someone else. You had a good run. You’re still at least outwardly tolerable, so I’m sure you’ll find someone out there.”

Gaz nodded thoughtfully, ignoring the latter half of what she’d said. “I suppose that’s fair. Counselling would be a good start. Maybe I’ll talk to her next week. You should tell her I’m back in town. She’ll be expecting me to show up, so if I don’t, she’ll think that’s me respecting her space.” He held up a spoonful of ice cream. “That’s very helpful, Scout. You’ve earned this.”

“God, do you hear yourself? Why don’t you start by actually respecting her space? And not scheming about getting her back with you.”

He offered her the spoon, smirking again. If she’d had her hands free, Rory might have popped him just for being a prick. “If I’m doing the right things, does it really count as scheming? Now open up, before this starts melting.”

“I’m not going to let you feed me, you asshole, let me have my hands back!”

“No. I’ll let you go when I’m done. I have more questions.”

“This is the worst fucking interroga—” Rory squeaked as Gaz slid the spoon into her mouth, cutting her off.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, pulling the spoon back slowly.

Rory glared at him. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You are not making me want to let you go any sooner. Now, when I talk to her, what do you think will go over better? A text? I’d usually call, but she might find that more intrusive, and I want to show I’m committed to change.”

“But you’re not!” Rory protested. “You’re not committed to change, you’re trying to put your marriage back in the box it was in before, because it was convenient for you! Don’t be an asshole, Gaz, let her go.”

“She’s my wife. I’m not just going to let her go. But I could wait longer. Let her go on some lack-lustre dates with civvies that can’t even make her come.” He offered another bite of ice cream to Rory, running his tongue over his teeth as he thought it over. “Maybe I should see someone else. Get her jealous.”

Rory flinched as a glob of melting ice cream landed on her thigh, and opened her mouth to keep more from dripping all over her. The spoon clicked against her teeth as Gaz pulled it back again. “You’re so immature. You’re nearly forty, and you’re using jealousy as a tool to get your wife back?” she asked. There was a weird energy in the room, a counter to the acid way she spoke to him.

Gaz absently used his thumb to wipe the drop of ice cream off her thigh, and popped it into his mouth. “I’m considering it.”

“Listen, Gaz, I don’t think you’re a bad guy, but you really need to listen to what you’re saying right now.” Rory leaned to the side slightly to avoid the next offered scoop of ice cream. “She’s a person, and she has wants and needs that you can’t fulfill. Why do you need to draw it out? Why not think about it for more than a second before committing yourself to chasing her down? Like, what do you want? It’s probably not even the same things.” She huffed as more melting ice cream dripping down onto her shoulder. “Now will you stop that? You’re getting chocolate all over me.”

“What? Oh.” Gaz’s eyes dropped, following a drip that slowly travelled down her collarbone. He stuck the spoon back into the container and caught the drip before it reached her robe, just above her breast. Rory couldn’t help the way her breath caught, and he seemed to be having a similar moment as he licked the spot of chocolate off of his thumb and eyed the rest of the sticky sweet mess he’d made, inexplicable heat sparking in the air between them. “Let me just get that for you.”

Instead of getting a cloth like a sane person would, he leaned in and licked up the droplets, his hands settling on Rory’s waist to hold her still. He made a deep, contented sound when she gasped, the combination of warm tongue and cold confectionery turning her brain to mush. She didn’t even try to squirm away, only leaned her head to the side to give him access to her neck, where he started sucking slightly sticky kisses onto delicate skin, slotting his body between her thighs, hands sliding down to her hips to pull her closer to the edge of the counter.

“Gaz, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You— ahhh— You can’t— I’m not—” He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, scrambling what remained of her thoughts, his teeth dragging over her earlobe. She made a pathetic, whimpering sound, trying to keep her eyes open and fighting for the return of rational thinking. This was obviously a bad idea. A terrible idea.

An insanely hot idea.

“Oi,” a gruff voice behind her said. The accompanying click from a gun’s safety switch brought Rory back to cold clarity in an instant. “Step away from the bird.”

“Ghost, wait, it’s just Gaz!” Rory twisted, panic blessedly pulling her back to reality, where she knew that what had just happened was messed up. “Don’t shoot him.”

The safety clicked back on. “Gaz, get your fuckin’ ‘ands off Scout,” Ghost growled. He didn’t wait for Gaz to comply, just gripped the back of his tac vest and pulled him back a step. “Wot the ‘ell’s goin’ on ‘ere?” He was wearing the Ghost mask, not just the usual plain black surgical one he usually wore these days. He meant business.

Gaz opened his mouth to explain, but Ghost held up a hand. “Not you. Scout? Why’re you tied up and ‘alf dressed?”

“Oh. Um. So you said not to do anything stupid, and I, um. Did. Secured the top floor and looked into the kitchen and realized it was just Gaz, so I put the gun down.”

"Din't think maybe you should've put pants on first?" Ghost's eyes swept over her critically, taking in the half-open robe and the blush that spread from her chest to the tops of her ears.

“Well. It occurs to me now that might have been a good use of my time, yes.”

“And when I told you not to do anythin’ stupid, you just thought you’d ignore that, roight?”

“Ghost, I am ziptied and embarrassed, can we save the lecture for once I’ve gotten dressed?”

“No. You’re gonna remember it better this way.” Ghost turned his attention to Gaz. “And you! Wot the fuck do you think you were doin’?”

“I— I thought we were—” Gaz looked rattled, more surprised than anything else, like he couldn’t fully put together what he had been doing. His eyes found Rory’s, and stuck there.

Ghost stepped between them, practically growling. “No, I don’t want to ‘ear it. That’s Price’s little girl, you can’t be suckin’ on ‘er neck like a teenage boy just coz she’s ‘ot now.”

Gaz scoffed. “She’s a grown woman, she can do anything she likes.”

“She’s not gonna want to do it with you! You’re nowhere near good enough for ‘er.” Ghost jabbed a finger at Gaz’s chest. “Scout is off limits. For you, for Soap, for me. If you can’t ‘andle that, I’ll tell Price what I caught you doin’ and ‘ave ‘im kick your sorry arse out.”

“Woah, woah, everyone slow down,” Rory said quickly. “It’s fine. Ghost, he just got carried away, he didn’t hurt me, so you can calm down, okay big guy? I’m fine.”

Ghost turned around, the scary, cold light in his eyes fading. “Shite. Sorry, pet. Just scared me, thinkin’ you were in trouble.” He cupped her face with his huge hands and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “But if I ever catch you walkin’ into an uncertain situation ‘alf naked again, I’m gonna put you over my knee, understood?”

Rory snickered. “Kinky.”

Ghost huffed, shaking her head lightly before releasing her and reaching for his knife. “Christ, Scout, you stop that. Why’re you tied up anyhow?” He leaned around her and cut the plastic tie with a quick tug of the blade.

“Oh, we were being obnoxious. I was mad because he was eating my ice cream, he was grumpy because he just got in from god knows where and I was giving him grief about it.” Scout rubbed her wrists. She hadn’t been in the position long enough for it to really hurt. “Childish nonsense. I think we both just wanted to fight.”

“I did not want to fight.” Gaz picked up the tub of ice cream again. “I’ve had my fill for a little while.”

Ghost snorted. “Don’t give me that. You always come home itchin’ for a fight or a fuck. Or both, ‘alf the time.”

“Well. I was thinking about going to see Billie. So I guess you’re right. Was looking for both.”

“Alright, Scout, go get your cute little arse dressed. Can’t ‘ave you temptin’ this degenerate any longer.”

“Yeah yeah. All my fault, I get it.” Rory hopped down from the counter and picked up her gun before trotting back up the stairs. She cleaned up the bathroom and drained the tub, and got dressed in some comfortable sweatpants and an oversized sweater, covering as much skin as possible. She bounced back into the kitchen, sticking her tongue out at Gaz, who was scraping the last bits of ice cream out of the little carton, looking at her smugly. She ignored him and focused on Ghost. “You stickin’ around, big guy? Or heading home?”

Ghost shrugged. “Figure I’d stick around for a bit. Keep an eye on this one, make sure ‘e don’t get ‘andsy again.” He elbowed Gaz, eyes crinkling slightly.

“I don’t need supervision. It was a lapse in judgment.”

“You’ve been ‘avin’ a lot of those lately. Get your ‘ead on straight, Garrick.”

“I get it, I fucked up. No idea what’s gotten into me.” He sighed, shooting Rory a guilty glance. “Just missin’ Bill, I guess. Sorry Scout.”

“It’s fine. I would prefer if we never spoke of it again.”

Gaz nodded, relief written plain on his handsome face. “Yeah. That would be for the best.”

Rory settled in on the couch beside Ghost while Gaz trudged upstairs for a shower. He came back in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and they bickered over a movie for a little bit (Ghost won, and they watched You’ve Got Mail). Ghost got a text from Soap that he was landing, so he left, sternly telling them to behave themselves. Rory rolled her eyes when she locked the door behind him. He could be such a mother hen, always worrying about the silliest things.

Gaz was half watching the movie and half scrolling through his phone when Rory came back. She settled back into he spot she’d been curled up in before, suddenly a bit tense. They’d been fine when Ghost was there, laughing and joking like old friends, but now that he was gone, Gaz didn’t seem to have anything he wanted to say to her, although he kept looking at her when he thought she was paying more attention to the movie.

He snorted softly. “New in town, take me on a whirlwind tour of Hereford. If we still want to hang out after the ten minutes that takes, we can get coffee.”

Rory whipped her head around so fast she felt like she pulled something. “That’s my fucking tinder profile.”

“Got some cute pictures in here. You havin’ any luck?”

“Some. Most guys just want to take me on a whirlwind tour of their dicks, which is fine. Been a while since I got laid and all. But I’m not sleeping with a guy who’s first overture is a picture of his penis.”

Gaz chuckled. “Have we really not figured out that that doesn’t work?”

“I don’t think they care about it not working. It’s a test to see if the other person has boundaries or self-respect.” Rory chucked a pillow at his head. “But honestly, there’s not a lot of charm in this town.”

“That’s what boys’ll get you,” Gaz said loftily.

“Like you could do better, Mr. Big Tough Man.”

He smirked. “Do you want to find out?”

“Ew, no, you’re almost as old as my dad.”

“First of all, no I’m not. I’m not even forty.” He threw the pillow back at her, and it bounced off her scandalized face. “And secondly, I don’t think disgust was top of mind when I was kissing you earlier. Some of those sounds could even be interpreted as enjoyment.”

“Sure, if you’re a delusional old man.” Rory grabbed the pillow before he could chuck it at her again. “And I’m not sure I’d call that kissing, it was more licking, because you’re gross and insane.”

“Watch it, love. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble with that attitude.”

Rory scoffed. “Oh yeah? Are you my daddy now, Gaz? Gonna punish me for bein’ a brat?”

She tensed, realizing what she’d said could be considered provocative. Gaz tensed too, his dark eyes flashing with interest. That stupid smirk of his was becoming a permanent fixture on his too-pretty face. They stared at each other for a long moment, both of them hardly daring to breathe. The sensible thing to do would to leave him there and go to bed. And she was sensible. She was.

But he tipped his head to the side, as though he sensed that she was about to flee. “Is that what you need me to be, Rory? Your daddy?” And fuck, if that wasn’t unreasonably hot coming from him, that gorgeous dark caramel voice that was just a little too sweet, covering wolfish intention. He reached out, his fingers brushing her ankle.

Scout pulled her leg out of his range before he could grip her, and jumped to her feet. “WellthatwasagreattalkI’mgoingtobed,” she said, all the words coming out on top of each other in a nervous jumble. “Goodnight!”

She practically ran upstairs, ears turning hot when she heard Gaz laughing. Oh he was such a bastard.

Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - Banners by @/cafekitsune

[pecxiebu]

Rory Keaner x Reader

y/n pov:

My first day at the new school and I'm already exhausted. Having gone through the previous day organizing all my stuff in the small apartment I have bought was more tiring than I had thought, although I'm a vampire this moving made me lose a lot of meals and I'm starving. Getting out of my comfy bed, that I use only for the reasons that I like to pretend to sleep, I go to the kitchen looking for something to eat, of course there's nothing and I'm gonna have to be late.

narrator pov:

y/n goes back to her bedroom to change clothes, choosing a dark red long sleeve, to hide the blood in case she spills some, and dark brown pants with a pair of black shoes, tying her hair up she tosses everything she thinks she will need on her backpack, a notebook, her phone, an extra blouse and a new tube of sunscreen.

- am i forgetting something - she picks her backpack and scan the room for what might she have forgotten, deciding she has everything she goes to her living room to open the curtains for the three remaining plants that survived her bad memory - sunglasses, my sunglasses - she squints her eyes putting a hand between her face and the sun while the other close the curtains - great now i’m blind - overstating her conditions y/n makes her way back into the bedroom.

finally with everything she needs in hand y/n exit her apartament to start her hunting. - my keys, i forgot the keys - now with what she hopes is everything y/n start her dark blue Ford Galaxie, her most prized possession - where does a vampire goes to eat some breakfast - she drives without a rout for some minutes until remembering the reason she came to this town at all. she picks her phone looking for her friends number - hey jes, do you have any blood on you, i just arrived and i’m so hungry - he being the reason she moved to whitechapel therefore the reason she didn't eat a drop of blood for two days is going to have to help - great, you came in the perfect time, we just got some blood and i want you to meet someone - she didn't wait for him to complete the sentence before she was spending to where she remember was his house.

y/n pov:

- who could it be that jesse wants me to meet - trying to guess who that person could be i almost forgot that i was driving, hitting someone in a bike, looks like a kid - oh my i killed a kid - stopping i get out of the car kneeling beside the person, groning the mop of blond hair turn over and i finally see the boys face - i’m so sorry, i didn’t saw you, please say you’re okay - i take the bike off him looking for blood or a broken bone, he seems okay - I don't think it hurt as much as your fall from heaven - the boy says, going from a pained expression to a sly smirk.

“what” I ask with a giggle, confusion clear in my face. it’s this boy, that i just hit with my car, hitting on me. “well, you know, because you're an angel” he blush “that fell from the sky” i conclude with a smile, what a cutie. i offer him my hand for him, he takes happily and we both stood up, giving him his bike back “i’m y/n nice to meet you, but i really need to get going and sorry again for almost running over you cutie pie” i get back into my car waving my hand at him, leaving behind a blond blushing mess behind. “I'm Rory” he shouts a little too late for me to hear.

narrator pov:

thinking about the encounter with the cute boy, y/n don't notice the time passing and in a blink she's at jesse’s gate, stretching her body a little out of the car she press the button of the interphone “password” a male voice comes from the little box “i don't know, jesse didn't say anything” throwing her head into the seat cushion, she should have guessed there would be a password, reaching for her phone she hear another voice that she recognize as jesse “hello old soul, hope you like the changes i made in the house” the gates open and she enter, seeing the front garden brings y/n old memories, some better than others. everything looks the same but different in some way, at least they have a pool now.

y/n pov:

I park the car in front of the door, there are some other vampires scattered along the entrance. entering the house it's a mess, red cups thrown on the floor, they definitely have thrown a party last night, i also see some kids lying on the furniture. “Jesse, it's so good to see you, you don't look a second older, these kids' blood are really good on you” finally in the kitchen I see Jesse with some of his friends and a girl that i don't know.

Turning in my direction Jesse opens a fangy grin, coming at me, he opens his arms and gives a big hug. “it's so good to have you back, and don't be so modest, you're as good as I remember” I reciprocate the hug, going back to the times where we whore kids and everything was simple. As I got grat the others i can see a new girl staring at me “it's so good to see y'all again, but i’m really hungry, jes where is the blood?” I held onto my stomach feeling more and more weak.

“here o- that's also the password” i take the bag of blood out of jesse’s hand, biting with ferocity into the bag i drink the majority of it’s content, letting little spill out, the metallic taste fills my senses as it fills my stomach. i feel my body getting its energies back slowly, taking slow breaths i recompose myself “sorry i didn't get a lot of opportunities in the travel” i do a little burp, putting my hand immediately on top of my mouth. “no judgment, we all know how bad it feels” a dark skinned boy says with a simpatic smile, he gives me a paper towel “i’m Nathan by the way” i take the towel saying a “thank you” after i clean myself jesse calls me to the living room.

i seat in the couch and he sits besides me “i want your help with a newling” he says looking at me and a let a small giggle “don't say that the great, cult leader, jesse is in need of help” i mock him poking at his face, he takes my hand away from his angry face “i don't ‘need’ you, i only want your abilities to convince that girl in the kitchen to drink blood” grabbing my wrist with force, he carve his index finger in my pulse “i’m gonna do it because you’re my friend not because you order it” i pull my arm free of his grip, a fine string of black liquid runs down its length “i am not one of your followers jesse, and we both know who wins this fight”

I hastily stand up going back to the kitchen, Jesse follows a little after. that now there's only the girl i don't met yet “y/n thats Sarah, one of our most recents addition and also my girlfriend” he gives a peck on her lips. I smile at Sarah knowing that its probably not gonna last much, i shake her hand and notice she is a little nervous “it's a pleasure to meet you Sarah. i hope we can be friends, all jesse’s friends are my mine too” jesse motions to the girl with his head and i understand she is the one, not wasting time i take her hand “you don't mind a take her for a walk do you” i pull Sarah to my side smiling at her still nervous face “not at all, have fun” saying bye to Jesse, i guide Sarah to the back of the house where the trees provide a good cover of the sun.

“So how long do you know Jesse” I start, trying to ease her “a couple of weeks, maybe three i guess” passing through the pebble path. I see one of my favorite spots in the house. An old wooden swing that sits below an even older oak tree, i happily stroll the rest of the way, patting the open space i invite her to take a sit besides me “it’s seems like you know Jesse very well, how many long have you know him” she asks me, voice coated with jealousy. i turn a little so my body face her “you don't need to worry darling, Jesse is like an annoying brother to me. i would never date him” she relax a bit, embarrassment showing on her face “and i know Jesse even before he was a vampire and what an ugly kid he was” i recall the time i met Jesse, he had always been a bossy little brat, but in that time we were such innocent kids. I tell Sarah about how I met Jesse, how he looked before being a vampire and how he felt the first time he drank blood.

Looking at my phone i see that we been talking for about ten minutes and the classes started five minutes ago “shit we’re late” we stand up to make our way back to the front “i’m sorry a got you late for school, hope you don't get in trouble” we speed walk to the front of the house where there's only my car. “That brat didn't even call us” i kick the floor picking some grass, taking a big breath a turn to Sarah “do you mind show me the way to school, not that you have another option” i give her an apologetic smile, leading her to my car i open the door for her, i hop into the driver's seat frustrated with Jesse’s antics.

“Sooo… Sarah what type of music do you like” not wanting the entire drive to be a painful silence i say the first thing that comes to mind “i listen to pop a lot, but i really like pop rock, what about you” she appears to be more comfortable now “i like a little of everything, but i think i know a music you gonna like” i turn on the radio with my cd already inside, passing some musics i finally stop on the right music, i look Sarah’s way expectantly.

“Not bad” she bobs her head in the rhythm, I followed along and not soon after were dancing to the song. we share the moment and i feel that we gonna be good friends “looks like we’re here” she points to a brown brick wall building, there's no sing signaling what is the building “i really liked meeting you Sarah, hope we can be friends”

i give her a side hug and we go our separate ways, but not before i bump in someone “sorry, i wasn't looking” the blond boy from before kneels on the ground looking for something, next to my feet i see black glasses that i remember seeing on the boy earlier. i quickly get down and pick the glasses “here” i hand them over to the cute boy “i don't think i got your name” helping him stand i say “it’s Rory, and you’re y/n, are you going to study here i can show you around, i’m like suuupeeeer popular here” enthusiastically he puts the glasses on, he looks like a happy puppy that just got a treat “please Rory show me the to the principal's office” he opens a big smile and leads me to the doors opening them for me.

i am feeling this year is going to be special

hope you guys have liked and thank you for reading

@maggiecc

[disasterbiwriter]

Okay, so first, if you're not reading @sarabethsilver's Everglow, you absolutely should be.

Additionally, a hat tip to her because her Mo Willems name drop in the latest chapter inspired this goofy little headcannon that I just came up with: namely, Jess Mariano is anti Mo Willems.

Setting the scene: Rory is pregnant, Jess is supportive. No plot, just vibes!

Enjoy!

“Overrated.”

Rory’s jaw falls open. “Get out.”

“I’m just saying.” Jess gently lays There is a Bird on Your Head! in the pile to his left.

Rory snatches it up again and presses it to her chest. “Iconoclast. Contrarian. Meanie!”

“Excuse me, did you call me here to ask you to sort Cletus’s library or not?”

She pouts up at him from her spot on the floor. “I did. I think I also threatened you with violence if you didn’t stop calling my unborn child Cletus.”

“Did you? I must’ve missed that.”

“Jess,” Rory whines. “Mo Willems. He wrote for Sesame Street. You watched Sesame Street four times a day when you were little!”

Jess leans forward in the chintzy glider Luke and Lorelai brought over earlier that week and flutters his fingers towards the low modular bookshelves lining one wall of the nursery. “And you have two other Mo Willems titles on the shelf already. I let you convince me on Knufflebunny—”

“This is the new version, with the updated dedication to Trix!”

“—and begrudgingly accepted that We Are in a Book is a solid introduction to metaliterature—”

“Begrudgingly?!”

“—but I’m putting my foot down here. Do not let the weed of Elephant Gerald choke out the rest of your literary garden, Mother Gilmore.”

“Oh, okay, let’s just add a threat of violence for using the phrase Mother Gilmore to your account.”

He laughs and shudders. “Yeah, I kinda squicked myself out on that one too.”

“So, should we consider the rest of your argument moot then? I think we should.”

“Rory, you have no more space. Are you telling me with a straight face that you’re not buying any more books between now and when the kid finally makes an appearance?”

She starts to answer him, but gives a funny little strangled yelp instead.

Immediately Jess is kneeling next to her. “What?!”

But Rory’s laughing. “Nothing, nothing. They just kicked. Hard, too.”

She doesn’t wait for permission, rather grabs his wrist and presses his hand to the lower right side of her stomach. They mutually ignore the jump of their pulses.

They wait a beat, and then:

“Oh shit!”

“Right?!”

“Mia Hamm in there.”

She smiles. “Hand me the little notebook off the nightstand? There should be a pen too.”

He unfolds himself from the floor and crosses to the other side of the room. “Counting kicks?” he asks her as he hands her both items. “Isn’t it a little early?”

Rory squints up at him and flips open the cover. “And how would you know?”

He feigns offense. “Hey, I have known upwards of two pregnant people.”

“Soooo, your mom and… me?”

“Among others.”

She laughs and makes a note on the page. “Twenty-eight weeks is when they suggest you start, so I’m right on schedule.”

“What are you supposed to record?”

(In eight months, on the phone during one of her late-night feedings when she can’t sleep and he’s the only other one awake, he’ll confess he had been reading baby books for the duration of her pregnancy. But that’s eight months away.)

“Oh, you know. Number of kicks, time since the last movement. I’m also trying to track down what the stimuli might be.”

Jess nods. “Very complete.”

She waggles the notebook at him and grins. “It’s not every day you get to record baby’s first objection to a bad take on a book.”

“Oh for…” Jess rolls his eyes and grins. “So you’re just going to, what? Buy another bookshelf for this tiny room?”

She beams at him and holds out her hands. He hauls her to her feet. “See, that’s the kind of outside the box thinking I keep you around for, Mariano.”

[iheartjeremygilbert]

How to Romanticize your life ɞ˚‧｡⋆

I have seen so many how to romanticize life videos and at the start they’re good, but thrn they just turn into study tips and hobbies to do.

So I present to you the actuall way to romanticize your life!

Make your life a TV show. So let’s just list the characteristics of a TV show:

Theme song. A theme song is basically the song that plays at the start of a TV show. Make that song your alarm. Since every episode starts with that theme song and everyday it’s an episode, the beginning of your episode is the morning.

Soundtrack. Always keep your headphones with you. Everytime something happens play a song/playlist matching your emotions.

Episodes. Every episode has a name that rounds up the topic of that episode. So you do it with your days. Name your episodes. Some ideas for you: name the first episode the pilot, name it after a quote you/someone said throughout the day, name it after an event that happened that day, name it after a famous quote that can round up the day etc. Also I do write my episodes in Notion, you can write them in your notes app, a real notebook etc. (Go down a little and you can see my notion page.)

Go to events. No one wants to watch a TV show where the main character stays on their phone all the time. So go to events. If you live in the big city or a small town, trust me there are events. You just haven’t found them. (Go down a little and you can see my notion calendar for August.)

Make a pinterest board. Name it ‘How I want to be perceived’. Gather pins that match your desired aesthetic. Every morning, before starting your day, scroll through that board and get inspiration on how you are going to dress and act for the day. (Go down a little and you can see my pinterest board.)

Personalize your stuff. Literally customize everything. Your phone, your outfits, your notebooks, your binders. Make everything you own yours. And it will be like your little thing where everything with a certain sticker or everything with a specific type of writing is yours.

Go on bike rides. I’m not joking when I say that you will feel like the main character when you’re with your friends or even alone, and your riding your bike into the sunset.

Narrate your life. Sometimes in different TV shows characters narrate their lives. For example Bella Swan. So, narrate your day like she does. Example: ‘I walked through the hallways of my new school. I feel a kind of excitement. New school, new me!’. Now that’s just an example. You can narrate in first person or in third person. First person narrating is like the example I gave before. Third person narrating goes like this: ‘She walked through the hallways of her new school. She felt a kind of excitement. New school, new her!’. Now you can pick whichever narrating style you like.

Pretend your a movie character. If you want you can pretend you’re a movie character to romanticize your life. Examples are Bella Swan, Elena Gilbert, Rory Gilmore, Blair Waldorf, Hermione Granger etc.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ♡ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ♡ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

This is my notion page for episodes.

*I have edited the other episodes out for privacy reasons*

This is my calendar for August. Of course it can change.

These are some of my pins!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ♡ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Tysm for reading!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ♡ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Lucian x Peter Vincent

+ Peter gets harassed by an annoying fan/stalker and Lucian steps in to “help”

Have I written this before? I feel like I have, oh well, haha.

Warning: harassment from a fan

On with the fic!

--

Lucian didn't always attend Peter's shows, they were typically the same performances (depending on if the effects worked or if Peter was a bit too drunk and flubbed a line so he had to improvise), but he was always there at the end of the shows to wait for him.

Whether it was to go out for the night for whatever activity Peter had planned or was spontaneous about, a hunt they had planned, or just to go back up to the penthouse for so in-home activities, Lucian was always in the lobby, waiting near the doors to the theater for his boyfriend.

The staff was aware of him by now, and often told him he could wait in Peter's dressing room, but Lucian declined because Peter often just wandered out of the theater instead of going there. It pissed off the costume people, but they were used to this.

Glancing about, Lucian looked for the familiar figure, trying to spot leather and a dark brown wig. He spotted Peter near the doors to the theater, talking to some fans of his show. Lucian didn't really get the whole appeal of fanatics over things like this, but then again, he was a centuries old lycan who didn't really understand humans in general. Peter seemed pretty happy, stopping to take pictures with some of the people, be them goths and vampire fans, or even the odd tourist who got a kick out of whatever happened on stage.

But there was a familiar face nearby, hovering, waiting.

She has been at a lot of the shows lately, nearly every single one Peter did, including the matinees. She was dressed as a typical goth chick, Peter's words, and wore fake fangs. She was clutching something in her hands, it looked like a notebook, and was bouncing on her feet.

When Peter was finishing up with an autograph, the goth girl got right in front of him, chatting him up before he could even say anything. She did this often, and tried to follow Peter when he left, always trailing him towards the lifts until Rory the security guard would stop her. Lucian wondered if she'd try again tonight.

She was talking a lot, but it was hard to figure out what she was saying over the background noises of humans and the casino, but she kept looking over at Lucian, and he didn't like that. She gestured at him and then at Peter, before showing him what was in her notebook.

Peter made a face and started talking at her, putting his hand over the pages and pushing her back. Lucian decided to step in.

"-speculatin' on shit like that is just... I dunno, fuckin' weird? I mean, I made it clear I'm in a relationship online." He heard Peter speak. "And who I'm with ain't any of your business!"

"But you never show his face! You just always talk about him and show, like, his boots or even a hand, but no full pictures! And you always use a wolf emoji for the guy!" The girl huffed, jabbing at a page. "See! You never did this with your girlfriends, you always posted pictures of them and their names, why's this guy special? Is it that guy you always leave with? Or is your 'boyfriend' fake?"

"For fuck's sake..." Peter growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do you even care?"

"Cause it's not fair to use fans that love you if you're fakin' a relationship to avoid us!"

"What the fuck?"

"Excuse me," Lucian spoke as he approached, "is there a problem here?"

The girl glared at Lucian from behind the glasses she wore, lenses tinted a neon red and looking like they were blood drops. Peter owned a pair like them, they were tacky. "It's nothing to worry about, sir. Just asking some questions, Peter always does little Q and A's after his shows."

Lucian frowned. "Yes, I am well aware. Peter, is everything alright?"

"No." Peter huffed, crossing his arms as well as he could in that ridiculous jacket he wore. "She's askin'... personal things."

"Such as?"

"What's it to you?" She snapped. "Unless if you'd like to answer the question bugging everyone on Peter's reddit page?"

Lucian didn't know what a reddit was, but it sounded like something Peter understood, judging by the noise he made. "I am willing to answer the question."

She turned to face him, snapping her notebook shut. "What's your relationship with Peter?"

Lucian didn't like her usage of his boyfriend's first name, in a tone that said 'we're friends' even though Peter complained about her constantly, always calling her 'one of those fans that needs to touch grass'.

He glanced at Peter, who stared back, then rolled his eyes and mouthed 'fine, tell her'. Lucian looked down at her and smiled. "I'm Peter's boyfriend."

She looked very unhappy with this answer. "You're lying."

"Oh, no, young lady, I very much am. I am the one with the wolf emoji, the one he sometimes calls 'wolfy' in those ridiculous videos he posts online. I do not have social media, and I do not like being bothered or being known, and Peter respects that, he just shows glimpses and respects my privacy."

She stammered for a moment. "A-are you serious? Who the hell even are you? What's your name? People want to know!"

"Just an old soul who somehow keeps this confounding, brilliant fool in line. No need for names, Wolfy will do, I suppose. But even then, that's for Peter's use only."

He took Peter's hand, tugging him close. "Come along, love, we have plans tonight, don't we? Best to go get ready, I'm sure you don't want to go out in that getup."

"You just don't want people droolin' over my ass in these pants." Peter smirked.

"Possibly, but you hate wearing the costume and what we're doing requires more athletic clothing, you never know when you need to run." He turned them away before smiling at the goth girl. "Have a nice evening, and please stop bothering Peter about his love life. Be more invested in the ridiculous things he says online when he drinks, I'm sure that's much more interesting."

"Guh, don't mock me! I have important things to say when drunk!"

"Like when you told people the other day that for three years you thought Bat Boy was real?"

Peter started ranting about that as Lucian walked them towards the lifts, and he glanced back, seeing the very confused girl still standing by the theater doors. He smiled again, giving a little wave.

--

I'd like to think that with these two, Lucian is a complete mystery to people who are invested in Peter online. Like, where did he come from? Who is he? A bodyguard? A friend? A fuck buddy? Who knows!

Maybe one person out there is all 'hey, I swear I've seen this guy in old art when I was study werewolves', but it's one of those things like when people said Keanu Reeves is a vampire cause there are some old paintings and drawings that kinda look like him. No one thinks Lucian's a supernatural creature. :)

[billpottsismygf]

73 Yards rewatch complete! It was nice to get to watch the actual broadcast for once, as I really miss doing that in this midnight drop era, and I think I can confirm that I officially love this episode enough to not really mind that it doesn't make sense. I still stand by all of my complaints from my initial reaction, but - as I'd hoped would happen - they don't bother me so much now I know what they are and can just ignore them. I still love what the episode is doing for 95% of its runtime.

I also still stand by what I said in my second post about the two elements being somewhat disconnected, since it does feel like she just randomly has to stop an evil prime minister long after the semper distans starts and long before it ends. Ah well, it still flows pretty well and both storylines are very impactful.

Some more little things I noticed this time:

The credits for the episode coming on the screen should have tipped me off that we wouldn't get the theme tune this week. I noticed them this time! Still sad to not get to doo-wee-oo this week, but I quite like the interpretations people are coming up with to do with the Doctor being missing removing the music.

Speaking of the Doctor being missing, in my initial review I complained that several things seemed to be caused by one event, but this time I thought that the Doctor going missing was specifically caused by the "I miss you" note Ruby reads out first. Then, "rest in peace, Mad Jack" is what releases Mad Jack, and maybe stepping on the fairy circle at all is what creates the 73 yards semper distans?

The semper distans stuff still works very well on second viewing, and perhaps even better. I thought it was notable that Siân Philips' character says that "Josh is now semper distans" when he runs away, which more clearly shows that this is all about people keeping their distance from Ruby. Likewise, elderly Ruby saying everyone's abandoned her her whole life but she's never been alone worked very nicely. I still wish it had been tied up a little better - and, for someone presumably with abandonment trauma, she's remarkably chill about the Doctor abandoning her - but I appreciate it nonetheless.

I've thought of another episode it reminds me of, which is elderly Rory in the time loop in The Angels Take Manhattan.

This time Kate's comments about things being suspended along Ruby's event read to me that world-ending threats had been suspended while the Doctor is missing (completely converse to Turn Left).

Siân Philips' character seemed incredibly mysterious with her little notebook. My headcanon is that she's a writer, but I also wonder if there might be more to her than meets the eye...

The long and the short of it is, the ending of this episode is still incredibly muddy and rushed and missing a satisfying narrative conclusion. However, now that I've got all my thoughts and feelings on that out, I found the second time through that I was able to enjoy it just as much as the first time but this time without caring too much about the messy ending. Hooray! I like it when I like Doctor Who.

[typicalopposite]

W.I.P. Ask Game!

tagged by: @meraki-yao <3

Ask me anything about my WIPs! :)

(just like... be prepared... there's a lot... and I'm not even going to post them ALL! These are the ones I want to get up by 2025!)

Works Started

Shassie Fic

Psych fic! It's going to read like a 5+1 fic but with an added +2 lol! Just a chapter for each season starting with them pining and eventually getting together! Think the Shules timeline but Shassie instead... with some scene changes missing scenes episode swaps and all that! I swear I'll have a better summary when I post it!!!

you still haven't noticed (oh but baby, I have)

RWRB Fic. I have been sharing the snippets from lately. Another 5+1 fic (I love them ok!) about Alex noticing things about Henry through the their relationship. Gonna have a lil bit of angst because... well just because.

Happy Birthday to Me!

RWRB Fic. This was supposed to be written on my birthday... it didn't happen! but since their birthdays are in March... hopefully I get it up this month!

no one's more mystified than Shaan

RWRB Fic. ANOTHER 5+1 fic! Shaan POV. It's going to be part of the Zahraverse series, and will be kind of a parallel to the Zahra Deserves A Raise fic!

first rule of fight club

RWRB Fic. BAMF Henry! The jist? A guy punches Henry and Henry learns how to fight so it doesn't happen again.

Baby Mine

RWRB Fic. Kid fic. Henry and Ellen bond over baby June! :D very very cutesy very very fluffy as kid fics should be!

Three Nights

RWRB Fic. Sequel to Three Days!

Rewrite the Stars

RWRB Fic. Amnesia Henry! Amnesia takes place during the polo match.

Desperado

Destiel Fic. Fix it where Dean doesn't die and they retire. Of course Cas gets saved... what do you think I am a monster??

Kiss The Angel

Destiel Fic. Jack goes to the empty to save Castiel. Makes a deal with the Empty that Dean will reciprocate Cas love confession (with the catch of him not remembering Cas' confession) by the time the sun sets on the third day... or the Empty can have him too. Yes its a Little Mermaid themed fic :)

Make it Better

WangXian Fic. 5+1 fic. Five times LWJ uses WuJi on WWX and one time WWX uses it on LWJ! :)

Drunk XiChen Fic

WangXian Fic. Because one drunk Twin Jade of Lan is not enough apparently.

(boy, I am killing it with these summaries... I KNOW!)

Practical Cultivation

WangXian Fic. A Practical Magic themed fic! :)

Sympathy For the Devil's Spawn

Lucifer Fic. Season 6 fix it! Rory is stuck in a hell loop (the whole she goes back to confront her dad, makes him "abandon" her, rinse and repeat BS that was the series ending) but in reality he was there and a part of her life and HAPPY, but she thought she ruined his life by being born so she goes to hell to learn about him and gets trapped in a hell room :)

just a little while

Gallavich Fic. Gallavich take Liam after the series finale and are amazing uncles to Franny and Frank! its just a cute fic with some angst! I will finish it soon i SWEAR

IDEAS!

Arthur POV

RWRB Fic. probably will be a 5+1 of Arthur finding out about his cancer and spending time with his family up to the end. or something sappy shit like that!

The Puppy Trap

RWRB Fic. Yes another David fic with The Parent Trap theme!!

Henry and Oscar Fic

RWRB Fic. SOOOOOO what if they like bond over losing their dads.... that sounds bittersweet and delicious... right?? :)

Nutcracker Fic

RWRB Fic. @meraki-yao this one is for you! <3 and like... is self explainatory.

NoteBook Fic

RWRB Fic. Again self explanatory. Angst and angst and so much ANGST! but in a good way!

Practical Cultivation FirstPrince

RWRB Fic. I don't even know how to make this work... but I need to make this work!

Clap Your Hands If You Believe

WangXian Fic. Think how the kids bring Tinkerbell back to life... but make it WWX and restoring his golden core! :)

AAAND I think thats all... omg Imma have carpel tunnel from typing this!!!!

No Pressure Tagging: @onthewaytosomewhere @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @scripted-downfall and @taste-thewaste <3

[emmafallsinlove]

literati s2 au where lorelai did married max & divorce him after a few months but that’s not the point. so jess comes to stars hollow a bit late in this au, like, almost at the mid of rory’s semester in chilton but max has this special extra writing class he’s teaching in nyc over the weekends. and one night he comes home with a notebook of a student by the name jess mariano. and rory’s like taking it to her room reading his stuff and they’re all original stuff and they makes her feel and she thinks she met him before. maybe not in this universe but on some universe they’ve already met. she met him before maybe in a thousand of lives because his words and his writing feels like coming home. and so she spends the whole night staying up & putting a little notes stickers on his notebook full with her thoughts and in the next week max comes back home with another notebook, also belongs to jess, but on the front page it dedicate to the girl who had the nerve to add little notes onto his stuff but. he knows her. he knows her writing. he read it before. he remembers. something about her feels familiar and he cannot figure out why.

[dissvicious]

You could do all the good dummy memes with Blaze it’s almost hard to just pick one. Like this one from futurama : „Wait! I’m having one of things! You know? A headache with pictures!“ „An idea?“ „UHUH!!“

Or the ever classic „Follow me to the island! I have an idea!“ *Rory, clearly impressed pulling out a notebook to write in *„On this day, March 22, Blaze had an idea.“ from Fairly odd parents.

This boy is just gods perfect little idiot

I'm proud of writting dumbass well lmao

I really would have love to draw that but I have to focus on Daddy's treasure if I want to release it on Friday BUT let me offer you

Other dumbasses that makes me think about Blaze

2. Trio dynamic memes that make me think to the triplets

(if anyone has the original artists of these, since they became memes it's hard to find but credit is important)

Rory, Blaze & Sky

Blaze, Rory & Sky

Sky, Rory & Blaze

Blaze, Rory & Sky

[rocketrrush]

Lennas bandages are supposed to be something like knuckle wraps to help her fight without worrying about injuring her paws (I just forget to draw them right sometimes). But she also has some sensitive spots around her paws feom an accident so she wraps them to keep them from getting in her way.

For Nolls bag, he keeps a little notebook so he can write about whatever is happening. Him having writer's block is actually one of the reasons he even agreed to go with Rory, he hopes the entire thing will give him inspiration so he can become a famous writer.