#I just redacted that sentence or two

[sweetened-condensed-rage]

The curse of not having everyone know the lore of my DND OCs is that I wanna share my writing but it's all way out of order and I need to get it at least somewhat chronological so it makes sense because I don't wanna have to write explanations for the lore I'm posting when I could actually just write it.

[pepprs]

feeling very

[literaila]

How would gojo propose? Would he be serious or would he lock in and ask 👁️👁️

there is not one single proposal. oh no.

it’s starts off fairly simple—

“you have to fold it at an angle so that it doesn’t bunch up when you—“ you glance at satoru out of the side of your eye, sighing. “are you even listening to me, satoru?”

“marry me.”

and you drop the sheet in your hands. you turn to him, eyes as wide as can be. “excuse me?”

“marry me?” he’s smiling at you, leaning down so that you’re eye to eye. “please?”

you blink at him. staring for just a moment. the laugh that falls out of your mouth next is nothing short of bewildered, disbelieving. “i can’t—“ you scoff, returning to your sheet which satoru is supposed to be learning how to fold. “no, thank you.”

he pouts. “no? why not?”

you laugh again, kissing his cheek. “nice try, baby.”

and then he stands there with his arms crossed, just staring at you for almost an hour.

or maybe it’s date night and you’re just walking down the street, and satoru points out a lantern that’s bouncing colors off of the wall, a rainbow of light on both of your faces.

and you’re walking arm in arm, just looking at each other.

“marry me,” satoru whispers, his voice lithe and warm, something tangible.

you’re already smiling at him, so you don’t stop. “are you flirting with me?”

“c’mon, just one little marriage. i’ll even buy you a cake. and a ring.”

“wow. that’s a temping offer.”

“marry me?” he repeats, stopping you so that you’re just looking at him.

looking at the light in his eyes, and the colors on his face, turning his skin all sorts of magic.

“i’m think i’m going to pass.”

he groans, almost falling into you. “why not?”

“that’s just too easy, satoru,” you say, kissing his cheek, and then you drag him along as you resume your walk.

the colors fade, and so does satoru’s dejection. your smile is too contagious for him to keep up the act for long.

but then it molds into something else—far more desperate.

you’ll just be opening the fridge, looking inside.

“did tsumiki already pack her lunch?” you’ll ask him.

and satoru will nod. “yes. marry me.”

you just roll your eyes, shutting the door.

or you’ll be in the shower and satoru knocks on the door, peeking a head in. “what time will you be ready?” he asks.

“half an hour?”

“okay…” there’s a pause.

“satoru?” you ask, when you don’t hear the door shut.

“marry me?”

you scoff. “go check on megumi.”

or you’ll be in the store and satoru will put another carton of ice cream in the cart, which you scold him for.

“put it back.”

“only if you marry me.”

“i want you to redact that sentence in the next three seconds—“

or you’ll be exorcising a curse, just finishing up, still panting when you get a phone call. “satoru?”

“marry me.”

“do you actually need something? i’m kind of busy.”

“yes. marry me.”

“i’m hanging up.”

and this goes on for months. it will spread into a year, and at some point you stop feeling guilty for rejecting him every time, and satoru stops looking sad each time you do.

it’s like a habit, some weird tradition the two of you have. you come to anticipate it. appreciate it for what it is—easy, something ridiculous.

megumi personally hates it. “she already said no,” he’ll grunt at satoru, passing him through the door. “just get over it.”

tsumiki just sits there, waiting expectantly every time like the answer will be different. but it never is.

and then there’s one day. you’re both at jujutsu high, both working, and satoru just happens to be sitting on the steps of the entrance.

it’s been a long day for him. maybe something happened with one of his students, or maybe yaga said something just to get under his skin.

or maybe it’s just one of those days—the ones where memories cling to his skin like dirt.

it’s hard being here, sometimes.

and you’ve been looking for him for twenty minutes (because you always have lunch together) when you finally find him.

“hey,” you say, hand going to his shoulder as you approach. satoru doesn’t flinch because he heard you coming. “not hungry?”

he just shakes his head.

and there’s something about him, sitting there with his legs spread out, chin resting on a hand, staring off into the distance like he’ll never be able to see far enough.

he looks like a boy, for just a moment. a boy you used to know well—a boy you fell in love with, almost a decade ago, now.

and you smile, but only a little. because it’s always been easy to be here with him, even when he’s this quiet, and even when his eyes are this haunted shade.

so you’ll sit there, sipping on some tea you brought out—a soda you brought satoru sitting between the two of you.

your thighs are just barely touching, hands inches away from each other. you could cozy up to him, remind him that everything is okay—somehow. but you won’t.

sometimes you just have to sit with it.

but eventually, you’ll start to get goosebumps for sitting outside for too long, and you can hear satoru sniffing as his nose runs.

so you sigh, looking to him. “satoru,” you whisper, voice lilted like you have a secret to share.

he looks over, face mercifully blank. “hmm?”

“will you marry me?”

and then satoru’s face stills. the air is calm, the wind shifting, and he turns right towards you.

it takes a couple of seconds, but his face is like the flash of a camera, sullen one moment, and lively the next.

his incoming smile is almost intoxicating.

“really?” he asks, almost breathless.

you laugh, moving over to him, finally wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your cold face into his neck. “next time you ask,” you tell him, “you better make it count.”

and satoru only smiles, wrapping an arm around you.

“okay,” he says.

[cheolhub]

11:59 P.M. — CHOI SEUNGCHEOL࿐

summary. cheol offers you a striking incentive to help you turn in your assignments due at midnight.

wc. 2.1k

warnings. soft service top!cheol but also soft dom (?), so much praise, cockwarming, cheol w/ a BIG [redacted], dumb!fication, pet names [princess, baby, pretty, good/smart girl], unprotected s2x, creampie (yum), desk s2x <3 both of them are very desperate ><

note. happy belated birth 2 me ^^ to celebrate, i’m posting my first (100% self-indulged) cheol fic (it’s long overdue, i know.) reblogs are greatly appreciated mwah!! ily all sm <3 [ not proofread ]

“cheollie…” you whimper softly, eyes fluttering close. “please…”

seungcheol smiles, lips pressed to your ear. “did you finish, baby?” he asks with a voice barely above a whisper. when you shake your head, muttering out a soft ‘no,’ he simply hums. “how much more do you have?”

“i-i only have 150 more words to write,” you tell him breathily, hands tensing up as you think about how full you are of his cock. “but i can’t focus anymore… i dunno what else to say.”

“oh, maybe i should take you–”

you cut him off with a desperate cry before he can even suggest taking you off his cock. “no! no, don’t– but…maybe i should turn it in as is?”

“you’re doing so well, though, baby. i know you can do it, you’re my smart girl.” he coos. “plus, that wasn’t our agreement.”

right, you think. the stupid agreement. 

seungcheol saw how much you were dreading your school work so, naturally, he offered to let you sit on his cock while you did your assignments. you both agreed– him more than you– that as soon as you turned in all of your work, he’d then treat you just the way you needed. 

but now the only thing you can think about it is his stupidly big cock and his buff arms wrapped around you and the stream of arousal that pools at the base of his length. it’s almost overwhelming how he’s filled your senses. 

“i know, cheol, but i’m tired– i wanna fuck.” you whine and he chuckles at the vulgar words. 

“i’ll only fuck you if you finish your work, princess, you know that.” he reprimands. “c’mon, it’s 11:23, start typing.”

you groan, hands falling to your keyboard. you do your best to come up with 150 more comprehensible words and, for the most part, you’re doing well. you easily write two sentences of 53 words, but when cheol accidentally shifts under you, your hands freeze and you let out a soft whimper. 

when you clamp tightly around him, the softest sigh slips his lips. “‘m sorry, baby, keep going.” he says, trying to control himself. 

“you’re teasing me on purpose, cheol,” you whine, eyes fluttering close when you feel his cock twitch inside

“‘m not, promise.” he whispers, hot breath fanning against your neck. “just feel s’good, can’t wait to fuck you.” 

you gasp, brain going haywire at the words. a soft moan slips your lips and a lightbulb goes off in cheol’s head. 

he knows exactly how to get you to finish your work. 

he smiles cheekily, “you want that, right, princess? you want me to fuck this pretty lil cunt full, yeah?” his voice is low as his lips trail up to the shell of your ear. 

you huff. “fuck… yes– i want that.” 

“i know, baby,” he murmurs against your ears. “just 97 more words ‘n i’ll let you turn off that big brain of yours and fuck you stupid– you can do that for me, can’t you?”

you shudder, nodding your head incessantly. you take a deep breath and let your eyes refocus on the screen at your desk. seungcheol proudly hums, chin resting on your shoulder as he watches you type. 

it’s obvious you have no idea what you’re talking about. your trigger fingers clack against the keyboard as if your life depends on it, but your sentences are nearly incoherent. you forget your commas and apostrophes and proper capitalization, but he can’t find it in him to correct you. he knows how badly you need this and he also needs it just as bad.

when you type your last period and press submit without proofreading the work, you let out a cry of relief. it definitely wasn’t your best work– probably your fucking worst– but you’re nearing the end of the semester and you could truly care less about what your professor thinks of you. you let out a sigh, instantly grinding down and clamping around seungcheol’s cock as soon as you see the ‘submitted’ sign on your computer. 

“so good,” he moans, hands guiding your hips. “my smart girl, you did so well, fuck.”

“oh my, god.” you whine desperately. “cheollie, y-you’ll fuck me right?”

“god, yes.”

unbeknownst to you, too caught up in your own desperation, seungcheol was needy. probably just as needy as you. you wrapped around him so nicely– you always fucking do– and it has been driving him up a wall for the past hour. he wanted, so badly, to buck his hips up to fuck into you, but he had to control himself. he had to let you finish your work before you could finish in the way you deserved. 

but now, you’re done and he plans on ravishing you till the only thing can say is his name. 

his hands grip your waist tight, halting your movements and ripping a loud whine from your throat. 

“up.” he demands softly, pulling you off his cock. 

you pant, “but cheol–”

“promise i’ll give you what you want, baby— told you i would—  but not like this, yeah? let me take care of you.”

you nod dumbly, lifting up and whining in the process at the emptiness. seungcheol grunts, already missing the tightness of your pussy, but he quickly moves to spear you back on to him. he stands to his feet and pushes the chair back before roughly spinning you around and pressing his lips to yours. you melt in his calloused hands, your own flattening against his hard chest. 

your mouth cracks open on a moan and cheol takes it as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside. your knees give out at the feeling of him invading your mouth and your fingers grab at the loose grey shirt on his body to keep from falling over. you fist tighter and tighter as the seconds pass, arousal leaking from your bare cunt. 

he presses you against the desk, blindly sliding your laptop out of the way. when he groans into your mouth, you hoist yourself on to it with his assistance, sitting on the edge and spreading your legs for him to stand between. 

panting, seungcheol parts from the kiss, “hold on to me, baby.” he says, words rushed and a bit whiny.

you eagerly nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning back so he can easily press into you. his breathing is shaky as he aligns his cock with your hungry, drooling hole and when he slowly pushes in, he lets a loud moan out– one louder than the whimper that escapes your lips– while huffing out a curse. 

your head falls back and your eyes roll when you feel his cock fill you up again. even though he was inside you a mere three minutes ago, his girth is still so much to take. so much in a good way, of course. the burning stretch is one you miserably crave throughout the day. 

“still so tight, fuck,” he sighs, basking you in. you look so fucking beautiful in his loose t-shirt alone and, even with the tiny dark circles under your eyes and your hair slightly disheveled, he still thinks you’re the prettiest thing in the world. his pretty fucking girl. 

a choked sob dies in the back of your throat as he bottoms out. “ch-cheol.” you manage to get out, a pained expression falling over your face.

he shushes you softly, “just breathe, baby, you’re takin’ me so well, but you need to breathe.” he urges, words strained as he’s fighting the impulse to moan again. it’s nearly impossible, though, with how fucking amazing you feel. 

you nod profusely and take a shuddered inhale followed by an even shakier exhale allowing your body to adjust to his intense size. when the pain finally subsides and you can nearly taste the pleasure on your tongue, you softly moan out his name. 

he asks if you’re good and that raspy, deep voice fills your ears, sending shockwaves to your messy cunt. you clench again but ultimately tell him, “‘m okay– s’okay. y-you can keep going.”

he grunts at this, pulling his cock out– eliciting a whine from you– before gently pushing back in. he gives you a few experimental thrusts, listening to the way you moan for him prior to setting a steady speed. 

“how’s this, princess?” he pants, large hands still roughly grabbing at your waist. “too fast?”

you shake your head, looking at him with teary, doe eyes. “faster? please?” 

he moans, nodding his head. “tell me if it’s too much, okay? know you’re tired ‘n i just want you to feel good.” he reminds you sweetly, voice cracking as the tempo of his thrusts increase. 

even if it was too much, you wouldn’t tell him. you love his cock– love the way he makes you feel– and you would spend days fucking him if you could. you nod anyway, though, giving him peace of mind. 

the desk under you wobbles a bit with the rapid speed at which he fucks you, but it’s very obvious that the unsturdy object is the least of both of your worries. your mouth is hung open, moans and soft cries drooling out while cheol watches completely enamored of you. 

it’s right when he gives you a sharp thrust, hitting the spongy spot in your pussy, that he sees your brain shut off. he sees the way your eyes glass over and hears how your pleads and cries have slurred. he’s already fucked you stupid. 

“that’s it, pretty baby, don’t need to think anymore. so pretty ‘n smart. so fuckin’ perfect. just for me.” he moans breathily, grip on your body somehow tightening. he’ll have to remember to apologize and dote on you a little more when you wake up with bruises in the morning. “oh, shit— you’re doin’ so well, baby. always so good f’me.” 

his cock stirs you up and it’s hard to stop your orgasm from brewing in the pit of your tummy. “cheol!” you gasp, tightly wrapping your legs around him. you pull him closer to you and he feels like he might let go too soon if you don’t ease up on him.

“‘m here, right here. all yours, baby.” he promises. “gonna let go for me? make a pretty lil mess all over me, huh?”

you nod, tears of pleasure soaking your lash line and getting ready to spill down your face. “uh-huh! ‘m so close.”

you just need a little bit more and you’ll surely soak him in your cum. luckily, seungcheol knows exactly what you need. 

“rub your clit,” he tells you, a loud grunt following his words at the thought. “rub your clit and cum all over my cock, princess.”

a broken moan slips out and you nod weakly. one of your arms leaves his neck and snakes in between your bodies. your nimble fingers find the puffy, untouched bud, rubbing uncoordinated circles into it.

seungcheol finds the sight so alluring and when you clamp around him, his eyes nearly roll. he can’t stop the way his hips pick up in speed as his own brain turns to mush. your jaw goes slack and your eyes squeeze shut at the onslaught of pleasure. you don’t even get the chance to warn him when he gives you another sharp thrust and the tight coil in your tummy suddenly unravels. 

your cries die on the tip of your tongue as you release with an inaudible squeal, body jerking under his. tears begin to fall, painting your heated cheeks as you’re overwhelmed by the immense gratification. 

“that’s a good girl,” he groans, feeling how you trap him in between your tight, gummy walls. “fuck, fuck, fuck– you feel so good.” he tells you, eyebrows knit together as he wears the sexiest face of pleasure. 

you sob as he fucks you through your orgasm, body slumping in exhaustion. “cheollie,” you mewl, still trembling on top of the desk. 

“i know, baby, ‘m gonna cum… w-where–”

you cut him off, “inside.”

he grunts a curse, “shit– gonna fill you up, gonna give it to you, princess,” he babbles, thrust growing sloppy. “take it all for me.”

it happens before you can reply. his hips flush against yours, cock stilling before he empties his load into your cunt. he whines softly, mumbling out more words of praise. 

he stays nestled inside of your cunt, holding your body up with his hands while he peppers kisses all over your face. 

“did that feel good?” he whispers, unable to trust his wavering voice. 

“so so good,” you sigh. “thank you, cheollie.”

he smiles, humming, “you deserved it, princess.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

taglist 🔖: @roe-sinning @hyuk4ngel @bowmonde @rckwithyou @5xiang @ttyunz @lunaofthelake @girls4cheol @miriamxsworld @enhacolor

[beekeeperspicnic]

Let's play... Bella or Watson?

While waiting for the next Letters from Watson email to arrive, fancy joining me in a little game of BELLA OR WATSON?

Some of these statements were written by Dr John H Watson about his friend Mr Sherlock Holmes. Some were written by Bella Swan about Edward, the hot teenage vampire from Twilight.

[IMG Silhouettes of Dr Watson and Bella Swan, text reads Watson or Bella]

(This was inspired by a tumblr post, but I'm afraid it's lost to the mists of ancient dash for me by now. Answers are under the cut!]

With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted [REDACTED], and [REDACTED].

glanced sideways at the beautiful [REDACTED], who was [REDACTED], [REDACTED] with long, pale fingers

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence

I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine.

In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing Watson or Bella?

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. 

An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were shivering.

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. 

ANSWERS UNDER THE CUT

Question 1 - Watson

With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff.

Question 2 - Bella

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers

Question 3 - Watson His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase

Question 4 - Bella His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence

Question 5 - Bella

I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine.

Question 6 - Bella

In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon

Question 7 - Watson

In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing

Question 8 - Watson

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. 

Question 9 - Watson

An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were shivering.

Question 10 - Yup, still Watson

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. 

[amethystasra]

14DWY is an 18+ game, minors DNI !

Ren/ AFAB Reader

2.4k words

Ren belongs to @14dayswithyou 🌟

You spent the day with Leon and Ren gets jealous. Based off a post that said Ren would only take his own pleasure into account if you manage to make him jealous enough, though this ended up being a lot softer than intended. Written with [REDACTED] in mind.

jealousy, reverse comfort and all that stuff:)

-

Five hours. Five hours, fifty-two minutes and thirteen seconds. That's how long you've been gone today. Ren looked at the time on his laptop, as he counted the seconds you were away. A painful emptiness in his heart, as he stared at the pictures of you and him that hung on your shared walls. He missed you so much. Even a minute without you is enough to turn him into a sobbing mess.  

He heard your laugh coming from his laptop -That he had been using to listen in on your conversations through your phone- followed up by someone else's that made his fists curl up in anger. Leon.  

"I haven't seen Leon in weeks Ren. We're just catching up. It'll only be for a little while; I'll be right back." You had told him, after he had desperately tried to keep you home using numerous excuses as to why you shouldn't go.  

Ren's possessive tendencies are already intense enough as it is, but oh your childhood friend, the piece of shit who had ruined his proposal to you all those years ago, made him feel a type of jealousy like no other. His jaw clenched as he forced out a –somewhat unsettling- smile. “Sorry angel. I just worry about you.” He pulled you closer to him, placing a kiss atop your forehead. “Call me if you need anything, alright?” He had no choice but to let you go, not wanting to risk a fight, and end up with you potentially viewing him in a bad light.  

Ren felt his stomach churning, a mixture of jealousy and anger, hearing the two of you talk and laugh, while you ignored him. You had responded to the first couple of his texts, picked up the first few times he called, until you decided to put your phone on do not disturb.  

"Is everything alright between you and that lanky fella, sunfish?" Leon’s voice was laced with concern. "You know all I want is for you to be happy, and I'll support you no matter what,” He paused for a second. “But, if I'm being honest, something about him just feels off. He’s called you, like what? Five times already?" 

Ren felt his blood boil, his brain already coming up with ways to remove this pest that keeps on trying to separate him from his angel.  

You were quick to dismiss Leon’s concerns. "He's just a bit clingy, that's all. It's actually kind of sweet. He just worries a lot." Ren's anger melted away, as you came to his defense, replaced by the utter love and devotion he feels for you. A literal angel.  

Six hours and 20 minutes had passed when you finally returned home. Ren already stood waiting right in front of the door. Before you could even step inside you felt a pair of arms wrap around you tightly. "Woah, hello to you too." You giggled; a bit startled. Ren didn't respond as he pulled you inside, rested his head on top of yours and inhaled your scent. You embraced him back and smiled. "I missed you too Ren."  

Ren finally pulled back enough to look at you.  

"Did you?" He sounded sad, but there was also a certain sharpness in his voice. "Then why were you ignoring me?" The jealousy in his voice now becoming clear.  

You frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt rise in you. "I'm sorry Ren. It's just, you were calling almost every 10 minutes and Leon-" Ren cut you off before you could finish your sentence. "Do you like him more than me?" His voice was intense, not mad, you knew he could never get mad at you. He sounded possessive, and if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you would’ve almost missed the desperation his words were laced with. "No- no of course not." Heat rose to your cheeks as butterflies began to form in your stomach. 

He stared at you intensely, putting his hand on your face and bringing his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. You kiss him back immediately. His hands grabbing your waist firmly, fingers digging into the plush skin. After what felt like forever, he finally pulled back.  

"Then show me that you belong to me. That you're mine."  He breathes, eyes half lidded. You nodded your head with a desperate gleam in your eyes, letting him know how much you want this too. "I'm yours Ren." You tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear.  "Only yours." 

Ren's lips were back on yours in an instant, moaning into your mouth as his hands roamed all over your body. One was placed behind your head, as the other found its way to your breast, massaging it. After a while his hands settled around your thighs, and suddenly you were being lifted up and carried to the bedroom.  

Ren gently set you down on the bed before stepping back and looking down at you with complete infatuation. "Strip for me." He ordered.  

You stared at him for a second, unsure of where to start. When you took a little too long for his liking, he quirked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to get started. You slowly pulled up your shirt, exposing your bare chest. Ren looked at you intently, watching you undress for him, his hand slowly rubbing the bulge in his pants. Once you were done with the rest of your clothes, you sat back down on your knees, waiting obediently for your next order.  

Ren stepped closer to the bed and put his hand on top of your hair and started petting it softly. "So obedient f'me. Such a good girl. Now open up." He put his free hand on your chin, and gently pried open your lips with his finger before shoving it in.  

"Ah- fuck." Ren moaned as you immediately started sucking. He took a few seconds to relish in the way you seemed so eager to obey his every whim, before pulling his hand back and ordering you to lay down on the bed. He slowly started making his way over to the bedside table, never taking his eyes off you. He opened the drawer, pulling out a rope. "Hands above your head. Wrists together."  

All you could do was silently obey as you felt your arousal dripping down your thighs. Ren bound your wrists to the headboard and stepped back for a second, admiring his handiwork.  

"Mine." He whispered to himself quietly. A shameful thought crossed his mind, at the sight of you tied up beneath him. What if he kept you here permanently? tied up like this, in his bed. You sure seem to be enjoying yourself. Maybe you'd like this too. 

 Ren's heart raced at the thought of having you all to himself. Being the only one who gets to see you like this, the only one who gets to speak to you, the only one who gets to touch you, the only one who gets to receive your attention forever and ever and ever-  

"Ren?" The sound of your voice softly calling out his name made him snap back to reality.   

No. He’d never do that -except as a last resort of course, but he wouldn't let it come to that- he wants to share every single second of his life with you. He wants to watch the stars reflect in your eyes every night, he wants to take you on expensive dinners and shopping trips, give you everything you ask for, visit new places together, and make every single dream of yours come true. Because just as much as you were his, he was also yours. And if others tried to get in the way of that, he would simply have to get rid of them. It's going to be just the two of you for eternity, no matter what. He will make sure of that.  

He smiled at the sound of your voice, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Patience, angel.” 

He undressed himself, stroking his cock a few times before sitting down on the bed next to you. He softly cupped your face in the palms of his hands and kissed you. His hands slowly made their way down your body, making sure to not leave a single inch untouched. His hands came to an eventual halt a few inches from your soaking entrance. You bucked your hips against his fingers in an attempt for him to continue. He chuckled at your desperation, before sliding two fingers inside of you. 

"God, you're soaked for me already. I don't even think you need any prep." He pumped his fingers in and out a few times before retracting them completely, and slowly licking them clean with a moan. He straddled your hips placing his cock at your entrance and gripping your waist firmly.  

"Tell me how badly y'want it, angel. Tell me how badly you want me." The words escape your mouth before you can even think about it. "Please Ren. I need you."  A sly smirk appeared on his face. "Please what? What do you need? Use your words baby."  

"I need you to fuck me Ren plea-" before you could even finish your sentence Ren was already thrusting himself inside you, groaning loudly at the way your soft walls hugged his member. He waited a few seconds for you to adjust and started moving –at a pace a bit rougher than his usual- after you gave a confirming nod.  

His fingers dig into the plush of your hips, as Ren continues fucking into you roughly like his life depends on it. He whimpers every time your walls clench around his cock.  

Ren shamelessly moans out your name, while moving one hand to cup your face, and the other towards your clit, using his skilled fingers to rub it in circles. He's being so rough, yet so gentle at the same time.  

"Keep making those pretty sounds for me f'me baby. Fuck you feel so good." He moans into the crook of your neck before gently biting into the skin there, leaving marks all over you.  

He continues thrusting into you, searching your eyes after he decides he's left enough marks on your throat. His eyes glisten with something so utterly intense and passionate it leaves you speechless.  

You close your eyes for a while, getting lost in way his cock slams in and out of you, and the way his slender fingers work on your clit, until you hear Ren calling out your name again. "Look at me baby, you're close, aren't you?" You try to answer him, but all you can manage is a nod and more jumbled moans. "Then cum for me angel." 

The knot in your stomach tightens, and before you can even think about it you can feel yourself falling over the edge.  

He works you through your orgasm, making sure you get to ride it out entirely. Once you start to shake from overstimulation, his hands move back down to grab your hips again on the same spot where marks are already beginning to show from his previous hold and 

Ren's movements become frantic. "That's it baby, fuck." Ren lets out a mixture of whimpers and mumbled "I love You's" as he reaches his own peak and fills you up. 

Ren pants into the crook of your neck while you both come down from your high. He doesn't back up. He clings to you, as if he fears you might disappear the moment he lets go, pushing his face a little further into your hair, his fingers tightening around your waist. After a few seconds, he takes a moment to quickly undo the bindings around your wrists. He massages the area that was bound, placing the softest kisses onto it before settling his head back in its prior spot. 

Everything seemed peaceful, but you could tell something was off. He was somehow holding you even tighter than usual and the soft exhales of breath gliding down the side of your neck held something unspoken. 

You reach up, one hand softly stroking through his hair, as you put your other on his face in an attempt to get him to look up to you. His face remained buried deep into the crook of your neck, a few quick sobs escaping his lips. You kiss him temple, waiting a few moments, knowing he usually doesn't like to show this more emotional side of himself, let alone talk about it. "Ren, what's wrong?" You ask him in the softest, most angelic voice.  

He tries to choke back a response but ends up a stuttering mess. You place both your hands on his face now, making him look up at you with teary eyes. "It's okay, I'm here Ren, can you take some deep breaths for me?"  

Ren does as he's asked, and eventually his breathing steadies. You wipe a few stray tears that still lingered on his rosy cheeks. "What's wrong?" You whisper again, so quiet he almost missed it.  

"I- I just-" he begins slowly. "I missed you so much." He hesitates for a second, but a quick encouraging nod of your head makes him continue. "When you're not here with me, when you're with someone else, it feels as if all the air is ripped out of my lungs. It's like the moon and all the stars have disappeared from the sky and I'm left in complete darkness. I-” He looks up at you. “I just need you angel. I love you so much.”  

Your eyes start to tear up at his words, you pull his face to yours and kiss him. “I love you too Ren, more than anything. Please don’t ever doubt that.” You wipe away the tears that fall from his eyes. “I’m not going to just disappear if I'm away for a few yours. I'll always come home to you. Please just let me know whenever you feel like this, okay?” Ren nods and kisses you again, before rolling onto his side and pulling you into his chest. 

There are some more kisses and quiet words exchanged between the two of you before you both drift to sleep, dangled in each other's arms.

[mysticheathenn]

What Kind Of Love Do You Need?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is a Patreon All Tiers reading about what kind of love do you need. This can be romantic, self-love, platonic, or even familial.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Extended Patreon Includes:

How will this love change your life?

Extra Messages

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: The Lovers, Ace of Cups, Ace of Pentacles, 6 of Wands, Hanged Man, & Page of Swords.

Romantic. "I want a real love, dark-skinned and Aunt Viv love, [Redacted Part Of Song], That leave a toothbrush at your crib love, And you ain't gotta wonder whether that's your kid love"- J.Cole & Real Love by Mary J. Blige played in my head as I was shuffling pile l. You are in need of a healthy love. The kind of love where you both celebrate each other's wins and even losses, being each other's cheerleader, a shoulder to cry or lean on when life knocks you down, a love where there are no games just pure love, communication, and peace. There is a heavy sense of peace and fulfillment for you, with the kind of love you need. You probably have dated people who wanted nothing but to waste your time, and energy, or even unfortunately use you. You are now working on yourself and if you aren't I feel a glow-up is coming soon where you do work on yourself to help manifest this kind of love into your life because you want a partnership. A true soulmate that was ordained by stars (God, Allah, etc) themselves. There will be no confusion with this kind of love. I'm hearing Greenday- Broken Boulevard but only the part of " I walk a lonely road The only one that I have ever known Don't know where it goes But it's home to me and I walk alone" I feel for some of you those who aren't working on themselves yet you have some ways to go before this kind of love comes into your life. You may still be hurting from your previous relationship or if not still hurting you're in the energy of "Everybody ain't shit and you're better off alone." For others, it's not too far but it's also not going to show up tomorrow the window I am intuitively feeling is within the next two years. This is a long time coming for you pile l. I can feel it's something special. Patreon Post Link

Pile ll:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: 5 of Pentacles, The Fool, The Hierophant, Ace of Cups, Awakening.

Self-Love. Singleness. Adventure. You are in desperate need of some self-love pile ll. You have been on a wild ride when it comes to allowing others into your life whether platonic or romantic and it's time for you to go into hermit mode for a while. The Tiktok audi "Be by yourself, get to know yourself" which is said in an island accent is coming to mind. You need to figure out who you are pile ll. I feel you have some sort of sense of who you are but you aren't sure if this is actually you or the you that has been crafted by social media, others and their idea of you, or your survival mode you where you crafted parts of yourself and chose the "safe" is to show others who don't like to see your full light because it dims there. There is also a need to let go of some people in your life. I didn't ask Spirit who because if this part resonates you should know. It's typically the first two names that popped in your head when you read the sentence but it's time to let go of people who are not good for you or add any kind of value to your life. Not only getting rid of people but getting rid of the old you. It's time for you to walk into a new light where you are glowing, thriving, and enjoying life how it is meant to be enjoyed instead of barely getting by day by day. You were meant to shine and not follow what everyone else is doing. You were meant to be authentic pile ll. Figure out who you are. Do things you never thought you would never enjoy and do them. Learn some new skills and hobbies. Take an Eat Pray Love trip even if it's just a trip to New York, Miami, Atlanta, Los Angeles, or even fucking Houston Texas if that is more your speed. Get out of your comfort zone. Shed your survival mode personality and shine. It's time for a new adventure. It's time to release this old story you keep playing over and over and start something fresh. What are you waiting for? Patreon Post Link

Pile lll:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: 5 of Cups, Queen of Swords, 10 of Wands, Knight of Wands, 3 of Pentacles.

Friendship.Self-Care. There is this feeling that you pile lll are the type that likes to do everything themselves without bothering anyone. You may also like to say sorry a lot even when you didn't do anything as well as just not tell people how you are really feeling going through your struggles alone. Please stop. If you have people around you who truly care about your well-being please do let them know how you really are doing. There is nothing worse than having a friend going through things in silence and later on axe themselves off (speaking from experience). You do not have to suffer in silence pile lll. There are people in this world who would or do care about you and your well-being and want to take the load off of your shoulders. Stop being the strong independent cap that social media keeps trying to feed people with the whole grind and stay silent. Stay silent when it comes to goals until they happen, not your well-being. For others of you the kind of love you need is self-care other than taking better care of yourself this is more so having to do with your skills, abilities, and even your career. Some of you want to do more in your career whether it's at the job you are currently at, in the same field, or wanting to do something differently and this is the time to do so. Start learning and sharpening up your skills. Even sharpening up your mind whether it's reading more books maybe by Robert Greene on Mastery or Art of Seduction, learning languages, or whatever it is that you want to do to sharpen your mind ow is the time to do so. Patreon Post Link

Pile lV:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: Ace of Swords, The Hermit, Awakening, Page of Cups, 3 of Cups

Singleness. Self Love. You may have been drawn to pile ll because they have received a similar reading to what your reading is about to hold on being by yourself, yours is just a little different. Pile ll reading was more so on finding themselves and getting to know themselves while your pile is more focused on loving yourself. Loving who you are and who you have become as a person because I feel a sense that it wasn't easy to become who you are today. You had to fight along the way to become the person you are because many people have probably tried to turn you hard, cold, assertive, or just overall mean and you had to fight to maintain a little bit of kindness, compassion, and some love you feel for others because you know that what others say and do to some people is not a reflection on you but them it's how you respond that is a reflection on you. This is a season of celebrating who you are and loving every inch of yourself. Whether you have body fat, a temper, watching weird shit, whatever it is that others try to put you down for and you somewhat have allowed to let those thoughts creep in this is your time to rebuke them and go forth in loving who you are and what you like. This is a time to go inward and really hone in the ability to not waver on what makes you you. Basically setting boundaries more so for yourself than for others while still remaining loving and kind to yourself. Your pile may also be a bit short like pile lll because it's quite straight to the point with no extra messages. The love you need is the love from yourself. Loving everything about you. Whether you hate your skin tone, voice, body, your interest, whatever it is embrace your flaws, embrace the many things people have been trying to put you down for, and let your beacon shine bright. You were meant to be who you are and nobody else. Don't let the ugliness of the world change who you are. Patreon Post Link

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay Safe and Be Blessed

[galacticncrazy]

Loid Forger and Weakness (Analysis)

I was watching gameplay footage of What Remains of Edith Finch and towards the ending I thought about the idea of memories, and one thing led to another and I thought of Spy x Family, specifically Loid. It made me wonder if he ever did confront his past and what exactly weakness means to him.

(These thoughts may not be organized since it happened so late at night but bear with me.)

Initial Thoughts

I always thought about being taught that the idea of, "you have to be strong" which often goes hand in hand with this idea of "you can't show emotions". I feel like Loid constantly tells himself he can't be weak, buy what does that mean if his idea of being strong is to not show any emotion?

Memories

I don't believe it being so long ago is the reason he doesn't remember his parents faces, I want to believe he purposefully forgot what they looked like, and this probably applies to his actual name too. His home was destroyed, any and all photos of his family were lost in the debris, he burned his identification papers so there's also no record of him ever having existed. He said it himself that there is no one left who knows his name.

I should also mention how he remembers the faces of his friends and croquette lady. Loid remembering his friends faces are a given since he believed they had died during the first bombing but he later reunited with them when he was a teenager, only to lose them during a botched military operation, leaving nothing behind but dog tags.

While it may be random to include the croquette lady I feel that remembering her face is still significant given that she was the last person he spoke to before the bombs dropped, as well as being the first casualty he saw.

Memories (continued)

It may not mean anything but find it interesting that his name is hidden like this, maybe I'm thinking it about it too much but it's almost as if it were blocked out, much like how classified files have certain sentences edited out because of their sensitive nature. If he had forgotten his name it liked would've been blurred but instead it's redacted, this paired with not remembering his parents faces, it's almost as if he made himself forget, but why?

Weakness

I think his parents faces specifically his mother and his actual name are all that connects him to who was before, he likely still remembered up until he joined WISE where he was possibly taught to let go of the past, not because they didn't care about what happened to him but because it likely would've had an impact on his work, and he passed on that same mentality to Fiona, about spies not showing emotion, to stay alert and not be ignorant, because to him those two things are what make someone weak.

I find it interesting to believe that Twilight wasn't always this way but rather he adapted his own experiences and the mindset he was taught into him and realized that his emotions and overall ignorance is what led him to participate in a war, without even knowing why. The reason he did so was because of those weaknesses and that he needed to discard them. So it's no surprise that during his fight with Wheeler, but mostly Yuri, that he came to terms with the fact he's getting weak, because instead of doing what he would normally do if it was anyone else, he instead chose to spare him. If he was the Twilight that he was prior to Strix then he absolutely would've killed Yuri because he wouldn't have any reason not to, but he does, and in doing so that decision to spare him almost cost him his life.

"You're getting weak"

It all comes to a head when he recalls the event, he acknowledges that Wheeler is for lack of a better word, perfect. Someone that he himself used to be but somewhere along the away something changed. Twilight acknowledged that he was getting weak and the source of that weakness, was his small but still very present feelings for Yor, if those feelings weren't there and if Yor was just another person to use for the sake of the mission, then he wouldn't have spared Yuri but he did, for her sake.

While he may have been thinking about doubting himself while thinking about the encounter with Yuri I believe the panel still holds some weight, Loid knows he's starting to slip up and this time was too close of a call, he knows he's experiencing.

It may have happened long ago but it still relevant to how Loid is as a character thus far, that being Fiona's observation that his smile had a shred of genuineness to it when she visited, that bit of emotion being a result of spending time with his family, and learning to form connections again so it's only a matter of time before he actually expresses his own emotions directly in some capacity.

Closing Thoughts

This entire post came as a result of What Remains of Edith Finch, which I highly recommend people play as it has a nice mystery element to it as well as its overall themes of death and memories and being presented in such a unique way. The concept of keeping your emotions hidden and locked away is something I relate to which is all the more reason as to why I'd like to see Loid be more open about the way he feels or genuinely breaks down and lets all those bottled up emotions out, allowing himself to fall apart be vulnerable around people, specifically his family. There's this really nice artwork I saw once of Yor and Anya hugging a child Loid, and I always thought that externally Loid is a grown man but internally he's a child wanting someone to lift him up and tell him, "it's going to be okay".

[aggro-my-beloved]

Shaw Pack HC’s (1/?)

note: I promise after this I’ll get some sleep…and dream about more redacted audio HC’s, that is

• Sweetheart has made it their mission to teach Aggro the most random tricks, without Milo’s knowledge. We’re talking fetch, speak, high fives galore. Sweetheart still isn’t sure how Milo hasn’t noticed the cat’s recent weight gain from all the treats he’s been given for “motivation”. It wasn’t until one fateful night that Asher and Baaabe were invited over to break in their new house and Asher left his mode of transportation lying around (him and Baaabe arrived separately since she was working late) that the result of their secret training lessons were exposed.

“Uh, sweetheart,” Milo begins, voice curious and steady.

“Hmm?” His mate hums, craning her neck to peer at Aggro flawlessly passing over the hardwood floor of the living room. It’s yet to be adorned by a rug of their choosing.

“Why is our cat on a skateboard?”

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Baaabe has never encountered a physical fight in their life. Always one to stay out of trouble, they keep to themselves and never enter any altercation that involves a clean uppercut or south paw, because they’d surely fail.

Or so they thought. Hell, even Asher did when he begged them to join him in his adventure to the arcade and purposefully led the two of them up to the Boxing Punch Game. It’s the first time Baaabe is seeing the name of the machine, but they are familiar with it. The player decks the red punching bag dangling before them and watches the score tally up to deduce whether they are as strong as they thought or indeed a weakling.

Too afraid of what their results may yield, Baaabe volunteers Asher to go first, which he does without complaint. The sound of his fist colliding with the bag echoes across the arcade hall and perks a few ears, and his score grazes the seven hundreds. Baaabe feels her toes curling in anticipation while Asher keeps on encouraging them to just give it a shot, and that “the score doesn’t matter. You’re unempowered after all, I have a bit of an advanta—“

The rest of his sentence gets caught in his throat, his jaw slack as her numbers climb and climb to over a thousand total points. But even more shocking—to Baaabe’s total disbelief and Asher’s amusement, the punching bag lie on the floor, disconnected from its machine.

Yup. Baaabe broke the fucking game. All from a single hit.

It made Asher hard a little scared of his mate’s true strength. He did the dishes that night without complaint.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Clumsy as they may be, I think Angel is secretly good as secretly good as sewing. Perhaps they worked as a part time seamstress for a past job, maybe a uniform store that involved hemming a measurements. This is a wonderful tool to have for emergency instances, like that broken zipper on Baaabe’s wedding attire which Angel resolved with ease. Baaabe would claim the rest of the night that Angel really is a saint sent from higher deities out of our control. Everyone will blame these babbles on the mate’s alcohol intake.

But in the comfort of their home, Angel uses this power for pure, ungodly chaos. Including, but not limited too:

1. Slightly hemming Davey’s tank tops to fit him slimmer around his waist. His mate loves how it shows off his physique.

2. The clothes he hasn’t worn in a while will be cropped to better fit Angel. How they gaslight David into believing his security hoodies keep shrinking in the wash and he needs a better vendor who uses less cotton is still a mystery.

3. Three Words: Ugly. Matching. Sweaters.

4. The entire pack has one designed by Angel personally and almost everybody loves them. Milo pretends not to be offended when he is gifted his sweater that’s two sizes too small. David rarely wears his unless Angel pulls out the puppy dog eyes, which he can never deny pleasing. Baaabe and Asher wear theirs religiously, even if it’s the dead heat of summer.

[broken-glass-puppet]

Ok so Miguel request

Whar about Miguel (or basically just the spider team form atsv) x male reader that acts like a jumping spider and kinda look like it too

So the reader is small and very quick in his feet, he can also jump way farther than any of the rest, but he also has the other spider abilities. And I just imagine the reader being an anomaly and accidentally being teleport to HQ and they try to capture him, but he's all skiddish and nervous and just jumps away from them every time. In the end someone manages to calm the reader down (you can decide how, maybe with food or some shit) and the talk to the reader. And the reader just answers in very short very quick answers, and he's still very nervous

Aahhhhhhh I'm sorry I wrote this, this is so long!!! But I hope you do mangage to write it, but no pressure, I don't want to force anything

Okay, im going to use this for my spider sona

Fast and nervous, not good combo

You runned and jumped for...one, two, three...then multiple for two...damn you weren't good with math, but what can you say?! If someone had a lot, and I mean A LOT of Spidermans running after them, they would run too, I mean, they don't look friendly... specially that one with the red and blue suit...a bit more specific?...the one with the talons...so you runned and jumped and...did what a spider would do! You thinked you managed to get them away when suddenly-

"There you are!" Someone grabbed you and tied you to a chair with spider web, it was that man...hmm...tall, tan skin, hooked nose, deep cheeks...is that a Mexican accent? "Now.talk"...you started hyperventilating and squirming and moving "hmm...if you keep moving it will stick to you more chiquito" you looked at him and started breathing slowly

"yo dude, you shouldn't be like that" another voice said, he was...goth? No...Punk? Yeah that kinda looks punk...oh he has a guitar...

"I'll ignore the fact that you just called me 'dude', now...back to you.Name"

"[redacted]"

"where are you-"

"earth [insert here number]"

"how did you-"

"I was in my dimension, in my room and suddenly I saw this big portal and one thing went to another and here am I..."

Miguel sighed, pitching the bridge of his nose "are you always this nervous...?" He said looking at you up and down..."i have to admit...you jump and move really good...you are slippery and quiet..." He said while walking a bit closer to you "I'll untie you...don't you dare try to scape you hear me cariño?" You nodded, he untied you, you got up immediately, oh...oh he's tall...you are kind of small compared to him hehe...you looked around...you looked back at him...and runned away, in part it was for fun...what would he do...he sighed and chased after you...you giggled...this was REAAAAAAALLY fun...he's almost as fast as you!...you runned for...half an hour? And hour?...you stopped and took a deep breath...you looked around.. oh...oh is that...a burger...a bit wouldn't huuuurt...

"coño, where the fuck is-" Miguel cutted his sentence and looked at you devouring the burger, hmm, okay... nervous? Check, fast? Check, jumps a lot? Check, likes food? Check...he walked behind you quietly "boo" he whispered in your ear

You almost dropped your hamburger, you gulped the rest that was in your mouth and looked at him "hey?" Miguel smiled sarcastically "you know what was the only thing I told you not to do?" "Y-yes?" "What was it?" "To not...run?" You said smiling nervously "yes, and what did you do?" You looked at him nervously "I runned?" He smiled sweetly but it was a sarcastic smile "exactly...now..." He tied both your wrists and putting you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes...food thing you finished your hamburger...

He went to his...office? Would you even call it that...he sat in a chair near by and sighed, you still in his arms..."look kid-" "don't call me that, it's weird" "why would it-" "I'm sitting in your lap and you call me kid?" He looked at you and sighed "okay, what should I call you" "[nickname]"..."okay okay...now [nickname], will you let me finish a sentence for Once?" "Yes..." "I want you to join me" "after you chased me all over here?! Yeah, no" he chuckled seeing that you were refusing "feisty one...i like that..." You couldn't help but smile at that

Oh boy, you two were going to be REAAAAAAALLY close

Please i loved this type of reader, please z person who requested it, please use this type of reader, i want to see more of him

[keiicom]

Yjh things the Webtoon 'forgot' to mention or to point out bc they hate novel yjh

Warning for vague webtoon spoilers ig?? No spoilery names are named and no unreleased scenarios are mentioned/specified btw but I thought I'd add this warning just in case :)

He waited three days on the bridge for kdj to resurface after he dropped him in the Ichytosaurs mouth. Just. Waited there.

He smiles when Kdj tries his food and says it's good (it's more like a tiny smug smile tbh)

He is a WORRIER. Man worries about everything, but sucks at expressing it through actions bc that's when he's most easily misunderstood. It is EXTREMELY easy to misunderstand his actions unless the other characters ask him what he's doing and why [after he explains, he turns out to be actually really thoughtful tbh]

When he tells 41st round shin yoosung to "quit her blabbering"...he wasn't that harsh in the novel. The line was changed (still don't know why) but originally he said something about not having enough time, and wasn't a complete asshole.

Also during that same arc/scene it was revealed that he woke her up because he genuinely didn't think she'd attack him/be mad at him iirc, so it wasn't him being stupid, just somewhat naive

When Iris called KDJ ugly he actually stepped forward and intimidated her by glaring so she'd stop talking :) because he sensed fighting spirit in her and he decided to react lmao

His eyebrow moves similarly to a caterpillar when he's about to make an important decision (note: kdj points this out in the novel because he's always staring at yjh I swear to god there's proof)

Yjh puts on a 'cool' face when he's been caught or called out after trying to be sneaky (he's SO BAD at being sneaky istg I love this man so much)

He sometimes uses his skills for stupid and petty shit *said lovingly with heart eyes*

He's more likely to give someone/an NPC a quick death than to make them suffer until they die

He always goes along with KDJ's plans, even though Kdj barely tells him ANYTHING about them ever 😭 He glares but still goes along with them I NEED Y'ALL TO UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS- /lh

He drags his sword on the ground when he's happy/satisfied with something, or generally in a good mood. Also Loves to clean his sword (I think the webtoon added a scene of him cleaning the sword like. once)

He loves his sister more than anything (we haven't seen a lot of scenes with yoo mia AND yjh in the webtoon yet but I have high expectations for those knowing how much he adores her in the novel)

Mans RUNS to help every time kdj is in danger, unless he genuinely thinks kdj 1) can handle the situation himself or 2) deserves the punishment

He has MONOLOGUES in his head even though he only ever says like two sentences thakrhsjfjb, and is very eloquent when given the chance to explain his thought process/reasoning

[which kdj rarely lets him do. bc he's hellbent on doing the talking and most other characters don't expect yjh to talk anyway]

The hand holding scene that was turned into a weird wrist holding scene? Yes originally they held hands (he wasn't as angry then either)

He's a serial texter and will spam message people

He loves dumplings

He gets jealous when other people monopolize Dokja's attention for too long (also canon, ex: Sangah, [redacted 1], sometimes han sooyoung, [redacted 2], [redacted 3] 💀 and WILL glare at Kdj or demand answers depending on how severe the transgression is)

He's tired. So, so tired.

HE CAN LAUGH

he doesn't let Han Sooyoung live out of pride/not wanting to lose to kdj (???? what even was that). he lets her live because he doesn't want kdj to think poorly of him / alternatively he doesn't want to lose him as an ally. Not everything is about pride with him 🫠

he looks embarrassed after hearing yoo mia tell him he looks "happy when you talk about [kdj]". the narration also gives her statement some credibility, because "she knows him well since she's his sister". but of course they made him look angry instead of embarrassed 🙄 bc god forbid he shows any other facial expression ever

He's nosy (again: said lovingly with heart eyes). You'll notice how even when he pretends not to care, he'll still stick around to see how things develop/gather info on 'important' stuff. If he's not interested, he'll just leave, bc he's the kind of guy to just do that. So if he doesn't leave, even if he's pretending not to care... you see where I'm going with this

He has a sense of humor, believe it or not (though most of the time he's hilarious without meaning to)

When [redacted] asked yoo joonghyuk what his deal was with kdj and why he wanted him in his group he said "kdj is necessary for this world. I need him." but webtoon decided to skip that line 🫠

Yjh says "I guess your mother doesn't like me" instead of this "like mother like son" bullshit, because the second one implies dokja doesn't like him. which couldn't be farther from the truth

Yoo Joonghyuk actually looks distraught when he realizes he's the one that has to kill kdj. To the point kdj has to tell him to not make that face.

He holds him tenderly as kdj falls, and tries to hang onto him as he's dragged away.

I'd add more but the rest is spoilers fhajhrjeka so yeah I'll just wait to see what webtoon does first and I'll update this as they go

[boom-butterflyeffect]

mhmgmhg, nsfw alphabet for mike munroe for the soullll.... please and thank youuhh!!

LETS FUCKING GO, MY MAN MIKE

Mike Munroe NSFW Alphabet

A - Aftercare

Mike is surprisingly affectionate, very cuddly. He'd be the big spoon and would rub little circles on your hip with his thumb, mumbling about how gorgeous you are.

B - Body Part (His favourite body part on himself and you)

Mike really likes his arms, including his hands too.

He likes his biceps, and just how strong his arms are in general, he also has big strong hands, perfect for [redacted].

Is Mike an ass or tits man? The answer is yes. I feel like his favourite body part of yours would be one of the two, or maybe potentially your waist because he likes how it feels to have his hands on your waist.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside. Always.

D - Dirty Secret

Jacks off to the thought of you a LOT more than you realise

E - Experience (How experienced he is)

C'mon. We know.

F - Favourite Position

Basic, but missionary. He gets to kiss you as much as he likes with ease, and gets to see your expressions, so he knows just how good he makes you feel.

G - Goofy (Is he more serious in the moment?)

We've seen the amount of "buns" jokes this guy makes, he's making dumb sex jokes and then fucking you so hard you can't form sentences to tell him how stupid his jokes are.

H - Hair

Happy trail happy trail happy trail happy trail happy trail happy trail happy trail happy trail happy trail-

I - Intimacy

I think he can be pretty intimate, even if it's just a quick hookup he'll still make it feel intimate and personal, he's too charming not to.

J - Jack Off

A lot more than you realise. You'd be shocked by how often this guy has sex on the brain.

K - Kink

Begging. Is begging a kink? He just really wants that ego boost that comes with hearing you tell him how desperate you are for him, his touch, his body. Drives him wild. ("C'mon, gorgeous. Tell me what you want.")

L - Location

I feel like he would like being a little more risky in public, nothing like a full on porno out in the open, but sneaky touches.

M - Motivation (What turns him on)

Specifically, seeing you wearing his clothes.

N - No (Hard limits)

He's fairly soft, and likes to keep it that way. I don't think he'd really want anything too deep or heavy into the bdsm/kink scene.

O - Oral

Loves receiving. Will run his fingers through your hair, head tilted back, eyes closed, panting and cursing. "Fuck, atta girl/boy." Might hold onto your hair to guide your head too. I don't think he'd be too big on giving.

P - Pace

I think it would entirely depend on the circumstances, like where, when, and how horny he is. More often than not, he's charming and slow, taking his time, and making it intimate, but there could be the rare occasion where the sexual tension is unbearable, and he needs you NOW.

Q - Quickie

I don't think he would do these as often, instead he would just give little touches and stuff to tease, and get you all riled up, then when you're both free and have the time LATER, the sex will be more satisfying after being pent up all day.

R - Risk

Mike doesn't mind some risk, and can enjoy a thrill, but nothing too extreme.

S - Stamina

Oh jesus. Your poor legs.

T - Toys

I don't think Mike would own any, or use them in the bedroom.

U - Unfair

Oh he teases. Then when you're whining, he acts like he has no idea what you're whining about.

V - Volume

Mike is VOCAL <3 Cursing, panting, constant praise and encouragement.

W - Wild Card (Random NSFW HC of my choosing)

He loves leaving hickeys but does not like receiving them.

X - X-Ray (Size)

I'd say like 7.5 inches?

Y - Yearning

Honestly he's very touchy. He loves at the very least just having his hands on your waist or kissing you.

Z - Zzz

Mike will usually fall asleep not long after, with you tucked in his arms.

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!

[aristocratic-otter]

 Thank you to the people who don’t forget me when I’m gone for weeks (and I think there’s more, I noticed @moodandmist tagged me when I was scrolling Tumblr earlier, but I didn't get the notif. It’s this damn “only five tags” issue on Tumblr. So if I’m not mentioning getting your tags, that’s probably why) : @monbons, @rimeswithpurple, @artsyunderstudy, @roomwithanopenfire,

@best--dress, @whatevertheweather,

@noblecorgi, @alexalexinii,  @hushed-chorus, @larkral, @nausikaaa,

@blackberrysummerblog, @cutestkilla,  @thewholelemon, @youarenevertooold.

It’s been a really rough start to the work year, and this was the first weekend in a while I got significant words written. And, as always, I can count to six, but I just don’t care. So here you go, some amount of sentences from each of my current fics :)

From Saving Simon Snow 

My wings are slapping gracelessly at the air as I climb. They burn. The air is thin this high, there’s not as much for my wings to catch on, to push me higher. I force them to pump harder. I’ve got to get away or I’ll go off. 

But I can’t go off.

The feeling bubbling under my skin is the same, though.

From Snow Fox: 

“Why aren’t you blinded by prejudice?” I want to know. Even I had trouble with the concept of two men in love, right at first. How was my mother more accepting than me?

Now my mother’s smile is sad. “Did I tell you I had an older brother, when I was a child in Hindustan?”

Her phrasing is ominous.  ‘Had’ an older brother…”What happened to him?” I ask quietly.

From Cupid’s Shield

I made the decision, while Baz panted into my ear after his second orgasm, that I was done being a passive partner. So when he starts to shift his hips again, I plant my left foot onto the mattress and use that leverage to flip him under me. 

He stiffens for a minute, caught unawares. His hands claw at my sides, trying to bring our bodies back together. 

He’s going to succeed in a moment. I’ve got no illusions about my ability to win against Baz in a battle of strength. So I have about two seconds to put my plan into motion. 

From Stars, Flowers and Children

My breath hitches in my chest as I sob from the pain. I gave up being brave about the second hour after it happened. It’s actually less painful now, but it still throbs, sending stabs of pain that arc through me. My foot has swollen up and turned red, but that’s not the worst of it. I’m going to die, I think. 

I’m going to die alone, and Simon will never know, unless he finds my body.  

From TikTok Dancer: I’m in a very smutty scene right now, so my new strategy is this: lots of [redacted]s

All of a sudden, this whole scenario strikes me as faintly ridiculous. I bark a laugh into the (hopefully) empty night. 

Snow gasps as [redacted]  “Wh—what? What’s fu—funny?” His voice wobbles [redacted]. 

“Is there,” I grunt, pausing to [redacted]  “Is there,” I repeat, “a reason we’re outside, when I’ve got a lovely, expensive, and very empty hotel room we could be fucking in?”

From The Rat and the River 

One moment we’re in the middle of the jungle, and the next, we’re standing in front of the village. Though there’s not much separation between the two. Other than a slim tributary of the Amazon river snaking through the centre of the town, where houses built on stilts are lining the edge, most of the homes have been built right up against the forest. It’s an eclectic mix of huts, with wood walls, but thatched roofs, and bigger, more modern houses, with steeply sloping metal roofs. 

We take in all of this in seconds. What takes us longer to notice is the nearly complete absence of noise from the town.

From my Visitor Baz AU (still working on a title)

I’d thought that how it works is, a visitor passes on his message and then passes through the veil, never to return. At least, that’s how it works in every account I’ve ever read on the subject. And I’ve read a lot of accounts–I’m a vampire child of a murdered mother. Few people would have more reason to cross the veil than Natasha Grimm-Pitch. And few children would have more reason to doubt that their own mother would want to visit them. 

I’m one of the creatures that killed her, after all. 

At least, I was. 

Believe it or not, I’ve (willingly!) signed up for two more fics and am deep in the planning stages for them. They’re for CORB and I’m super excited for them! I’ll probably have an excerpt from each next time I manage one of these updates. 

Tags and air kisses to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, 

@frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, 

@mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am,

@whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer,

@nightimedreamersghost, @angelsfalling16, @mooncello, @shrekgogurt, @cosmicalart, 

@theearlgreymage, @Iamamythologicalcreature, @ileadacharmedlife, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @j-nipper-95,

@letraspal, @facewithoutheart, @wellbelesbian, @martsonmars, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe,

@ic3-que3n, @thewholelemon, @bookish-bogwitch, @skeedelvee, @prettygoododds,

@ivelovedhimthroughworse, @messofthejess, @emeryhall, 

[adventuringblind]

Drive with you Forever

Chapter Twelve: New Beginnings

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri (I added a fifth because why the hell not)

Chapter summary: reader is clueless, Oscar recounts his time with alpine, Daniel is still a menace, someone is kidnapped… again

Warnings: talks of abuse, toxic workplace, blood, gore, kidnapping, drugging, sexual innuendo, no actual depiction of smut but it’s talked about and alluded to what their doing, dom/sub themes for a second, passing out, panic attacks, alcohol consumption

Notes: this is a long chapter and I did not intend for it to get as dark as it did but like… I swear it just happens. Also I apologize to the Alpine fans I needed them to be the bad guy.

Previous <-

Masterlist

Life is filled with highs and lows. Vast new experiences to explore with those you love.

Something she never thought was an option for Seb came and rescued her when she was fifteen. Now it’s something she experiences almost daily.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. Their group chat had been going nonstop for the last hour. Everyone stuck waiting for interviews and other media duties.

Except for her. She was lucky enough to be curled of in a chair with a tablet, data rolling across her screen.

Lan: *image*

Lan: I made Oscar blush again

Maxy: you’re going to kill him if you keep going like this

Charlie: what did you do this time?

Lan: this time was an accident! All I did was bring up y/n!

Y/N: me? Why would I make him blush.

Charlie: sometimes I know I’m oblivious, but this is ridiculous

Lan: the poor kid is crushing HARD

Y/N: he’s so sweet

Y/N: he brought me water while we were in Miami with a cute note attached

Y/N: you three should take notes

Maxy: do you need a reminder of why you love us so much?

Y/N: previous statement redacted

Lan: no! Don’t redact! It could’ve been fun!

Charlie: you’re just tired of being the only one who gets in trouble

Lan: am not!

Lando looks at the Australian next to him. “Looks like we’re going to have to try something else.”

“Listen, I appreciate the effort, but have you considered your girlfriend doesn’t like me back?” Oscar grimaces at his own sentence. The concept not new. He’s been around long enough to understand. But it sounds weird coming out of his mouth.

“Well she almost got herself in trouble talking about you. I’d take that as a sign.”

“What about the other two?”

“Listen mate, they know I like you- well y/n does because I tell her more then everyone else. And this whole thing wasn’t simple at the start.”

“What do you mean?”

Lando thinks back on the memories of the interesting dynamic they had at first. “Apparently when two became three, it took ages for Charles to figure things out. He wasn’t sure how to act around Max. So they determined maybe he’d just do more with y/n. An agreement they were all comfortable with. Until the first time they did the devils tango.” Lando wiggles his eyebrows and the Australian flushes again.

“What about you then? Was it easy for you?”

“Absolutely not.” Lando laughs about it now but at the time he was stressed. “I lived with them during Covid. I had fallen head over heals for y/n, but I thought since I wasn’t there yet with the other two that it wouldn’t work.”

“Obviously you were wrong.”

“It took time but I figured it out. Them also. It’s not like this happened overnight.”

Lando looks at the boy next to him. He’d admittedly been crushing on him since the start of the year. His calm demeanor a stark contrast to his own. It was… refreshing, in a way.

Oscar also liked him, which helped, and the female he was currently trying to win over also does. The hard part is she hasn’t figured it out, and the red and blue guard dogs were hesitant to let him get close. Which sucks in its own way because who the hell wouldn’t be crushing on Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

~

The McLaren garage is one of her favorite places to be. They always had the best snacks here. She often found herself sneaking into Lando's room just to raid his stash.

She opens the door to his room and is met with Lando standing above Charles and Max.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No, I'm attempting to explain my predicament."

She looks between the three. The Monegasque and Dutch just look completely unfazed.

"Is this a hard on type of predicament? Or an Oscar predicament?"

"You knew?" Max and Charles both yell at the same time.

"Did you forget I can see the future? I just wanted to see how long it would take without me."

"Lando, we're glad you found someone, but we hardly know the guy."

It's not that they don't like him, but after everything they've been together, it can be hard to trust new people. Especially when their female partner is straight from a movie.

"Can we invite him over then? For dinner or something?"

Max and Charles relent. The Brit smiling like an idiot when they say yes.

~

Oscar knocks on the door to the hotel room. Nervous is not how he would describe his feelings. More like petrified.

Lando is the one who greets him. His signature goofy smile on his face. He basically bounds in to the room, excited to welcome Oscar into their home away from home.

The female is nowhere in sight, and Max and Charles are sitting at opposite ends of the small table with their arms crossed.

"Don't let them intimidate they're just a but... protective." Lando seems to shrug them off like no big deal, but Oscar is shaking out of his clothes (figuratively).

"Lan, last time we invited someone in it didn't end well." Reminds Max in a tone that makes Lando almost halt to attention. Which is weird because as far as Oscar knows, the Brit listens to no one.

"That was different."

Charles is shaking his head in disbelief. Whatever happened last time must have been bad. He definitely dosen't want to make them uncomfortable with this. "I can go if this is uncomfortable. I promise I'm not meaning to start drama or anything." Oscar manages to slip the words past his lips, but the unease doesn't go unnoticed.

"It's not that. I'd just rather bit see Lan have a breakdown and y/n unconscious like that again." Explains Max.

Okay, so whatever happened was bad. Oscar now has no idea what to do and had thrown every plan he had out the window.

Thankfully, he's saved by the bell as the fourth part of the quartet comes through the door. "Sorry, I ran into Seb, and he said his coffee pot in his room isn't working, so I offered to go fox it, and -" She abruptly stops her rant and stares at Oscar for a second. "Hello, Oscar." She greets warmly.

The takeout boxes she'd been holding now neatly set along the table. Lando now moving to sit at the table and gesturing for Oscar to sit with them. He does so hesitantly. Taking a spot between the female and the Brit.

"Are you going over tonight?"

"If I have time, yes, or I'll just go early in the morning."

"Seb seems more like a tea guy. Are we sure that he's not been possessed?"

"As his child, I can assure you he drinks coffee more then you might think."

Oscar listens to how the conversa flows so easily between them. He feels awkward and out of place. They fit so well together. Even if they let him in, how's he going to fit? What if he ruins it?

It takes him a minute to realize they are all looking at him. Lando is attempting to get his attention. "Hello? Earth to Oscar?"

"Sorry, I zoned out for a minute."

"Oh, I just asked how you're feeling with McLaren after the whole alpine mess. We don't have to talk about it, though." The female smiles warmly at him again. Maybe she pulled them all in with that smile because he's certainly struggling to not let it consume his thoughts.

"No, it's fine. Like I said, my head just spaced. I definitely like McLaren better if I'm being honest."

"Bet it's because of your amazing teamate." Lando send him a suggestive wink.

"Well, yes, but Alpine did some things I'm not proud of sharing...." He trails. His mind whirled about what he's saying. He can't just dump his trauma on them!

"What do you mean by that?" Probes Charles. It's not mean or prying. It's gentle and caring. There's a concern in his eyes that he's not seen someone have when he brings up the Alpine situation.

"Being a third driver sucks and it feels mostly like assistant work at times." He sucks in a breath through his teeth. Lando had moved his hand over the top of his, and he couldn't help but feel thankful for the contact. "I was definitely used and overworked before the contract stuff, but it got so much worse after."

The female is looking tentatively between her counterparts. Like asking permission for something.

"It's up to you if you tell him, but please don't scare the poor kid like we did Lando." Chuckles, Max. It's almost unerving to hear such things

"Oscar-" starts the girl as she fumbles around for her words. "There are things I can do, aren't you exactly... normal." She looks around the table for support, and the three boys nod her on with encouragement. She gently grabs Oscar's hand and sets it on the table face up. "If you'll allow me, I can see those memories without you having to talk about them."

He's skeptical, to say the least, but the way the other three are looking at her makes him think she's not lying. "Sure." He shrugs. The curious side of him winning out.

She sets her palm against his. Her skin is so hot it almost burns him. He can feel the back of his brain tickling, and then he loses focus of the present moment.

He's at the Alpine Headquarters. But he's watching himself stride into the room instead if doing it. He's watching his own memories.

"Kinda cool isn't it?"

"Wha?- how?-"

"I can explain more later, but for now, you're in control of what we see."

"This is a week after I signed." He almost wants to run away as he sees himself aproach his team principle and other various staff.

He listens as he gets berated and made to feel selfish. Threats of him always being in debt to the team make him shiver.

Then, the scene changes. The colors and scenery morphs before his eyes. He knows exactly what this is.

The woman beside him offers him her hand, which he gratefully takes.

"We can stop at any point." She reminds him gently. But this is easier. Showing her instead of talking makes it so she can see without him having to listen to his voice crack every thirty seconds.

It's cold outside, the November air hitting his face. His superiors are yelling at him again, just outside the paddock entrance.

He remembers the feeling of holding back tears well. The lump in his throat, trying to break free as he fights it back.

The hand that comes down on his cheek still surprises him. Even at twenty-one it hurt when he felt like it shouldn't. This had been the routine for awhile now. They blame him for the teams mishaps since he created so much drama.

He was so fed up at this point that he just let it continue like it had been since he confirmed that he signed with McLaren.

He was nothing more than a toll before, and he was still one now. He hated every minute of it.

Then nothing.

He's pulled abruptly from the scene like he's awaking from a dream. He wakes up with an oddly comforting sensation running through his body. His hand still entwined with the females.

But she's not awake, and his brain still feels like it's prickling.

He disconnects himself from her, alerting the other three boys that he's once again conscious.

"How'd it go?" Asks Lando, his eyebrows quirked with curiosity.

"If therapy was like that, I think the world would be a better place. Like... I feel oddly warm, and my body feels amazing. Not like- in a weird way."

Charles halts all movement. "You mean you feel good? Like someone took all the ailments your body might have had and made them go away?"

"Uh yeah- exactly that. How do you know?" Then Charles is bolting to get Max, who had just walked into a different part of the room.

Lando hands Oscar a tissue. "For your nose." he hadn't even realized the his nose was bleeding.

Then Lando gently moves back the girl's body. Carefully making her head sit upright. "Oh god." Oscar breathes as he catches a glimpse of her.

"Don't worry, she'll be alright. This is a newer thing to her so she's still testing the limits."

"You mean this has happened before?!" Oscar won't deny the panic rising in his chest. The girls eyes are stuck in the back of her head, bloody tears roll down her cheeks. The same crimson color pooling out of her ears and nose. Her forehead is slick with sweat dampening her hair.

Did he kill her?

"Yeah, in the past more. It's better now because she can find the limits. But again, this is new."

Max and Charles return with rags. Then they move her to their bed and get to work cleaning her up. Lando moves to her side and starts speaking to her, and after about ten minutes, Oscar feels the prickly sensation in his head vanish.

Was she stuck in his head?

Her eyes roll back and close completely. Her chest now heaving in a steady pattern. Oscar releases a breath he didn't know he was holding at the sight.

Charles offers him a reassuring smile. "She must trust you."

"Why me? What makes you say that?"

"Because you're now a part of the 'I know y/n is a superhero club.'" The comment sends the three into a fit of laughter. It makes Oscar able to relax.

Then they just talk while waiting for her to wake up. Staying nervous in case something happened.

They explained everything to him. Her vulnerability with her powers and what they'd been through in Abu Dhabi.

No wonder they're so protective.

As they talked, he realized more about their dynamic. He doesn't have to fit into the puzzle in some specific way. He just needs to be himself and communicate with everyone.

When the girl finally opens her eyes, she looks for him immediately. A warm smile appears on her face when she finds him.

Then he explained what happened with Alpine. The entire reason she'd gone into his head was so he didn't have to talk about it. Yet, the comforting and supportive atmosphere made it easy.

It was late, and they offered to let him stay. He accepted the couch at first before Charles and Lando were just shaking their heads no.

"Listen, they roped us in with the sleep. I swear to you, it seals the deal." Lando winks, and he can't retell if it's suggestive or not.

And he's right. Somehow, wearing a mixture of comfy clothes provided by them and laying peacefully in bed, enjoying each other's presence makes him wake up feeling the best he's ever felt.

"I think I'm sold if you are."

~

The funny thing about Max's first championship title back in 2021 is that they tried to come out, and people collectively said no. Deeming the moments as a burst of energy from Max and that the four are 'best friends.' Which is ridicoulus considering the fact they've been caught kissing each other on different occasions after that.

Some got it, some didn't understand it, and others decided to slander them for it.

The four blamed the PR teams for doing their job too well. It wasn't bad, it just makes things difficult from time to time.

This is one of those occasions.

They aren't saying anything about Oscar yet. Mainly because people are going to say what they want. Oscar is still a rookie, and he could get slammed if people found out. Claiming it as an attempt to get a better spot in the sport.

So it was back to hiding in the small motor home rooms. Unless it's Max, whose room is actually a decent size. This is why all five have ended up here; an hour before the race and taking a minute to get ready. Unless you're the female who is still actively reading through data.

'Mon amour, you can spend two minutes away from your work." Sighs the Monegasque.

She just shakes her head. Almost looking like she's ignoring him.

Charles turns to Max, and the Dutch nods his head sending him a wink. Lando is practically shaking in his spot next to Oscar, and the Australian has no clue why. He just observes what's happening with an open kind, as he's done with everything the last month.

"Sounds like someone isn't listening." Smirks Charles. The female body halts movement at his words. She hastily scrambles to her knees in front of him and hands him her work tablet.

"'mm sorry." She mumbles.

Oscar gets it now. He'd watched them a few times and had participated in a few scenes. Needless to say it was the best sex he'd ever had and doesn't think he could go back.

But this is different. Normally, she doesn't need to apologize because she does everything right. She looks so disappointed in herself as she stares at the floor. They all knew work had taken its toll on her this week. Sergio is struggling to keep up with Max, which meant she had to help figure out where the problem is. She'd had little sleep trying to figure it out and was still working on it even before the race.

Charles bends down to her level. "It's okay Chéri. We’ve just know how stressed you've been and want you to take a break. So how about this: do you want to spend the next hour helping the four of us get ready?"

The way her eyes light up has all four of them melting. It takes approximately fifteen minutes for everyone's clothes to be discarded in a pile.

Limbs are sprawled everywhere, and everyone is enjoying it. Until a certain male comes to the door.

Daniel had a lack of understanding for boundaries. Which means he just opens door without knocking. Unless it’s locked, which is currently not the case.

“Hey Max, Christ-“

Everyone freezes. Daniel is staring like a deer caught in headlights, Max is yelling at him to get out, Charles is trying to shield the females body from view and Lando has Oscar wrapped protectively in the corner.

It not like they were all completely naked, aside from Charles and the girl now having his shirt pulled over her body, but the fact that Daniel won’t close the door is getting frustrating.

Finally, Daniel turns and walks away. Max determining he will be going through the Australians camera roll later today and have another talk about boundaries.

“Everyone okay?” A chorus of yes’ follow Max’s question.

“Doe he do that often?” Pipes Oscar, his head peaking around the corner.

“You have no idea.”

~

Lewis Hamilton notices things. He has a keen eye for detail. So despite their best efforts, he knew Oscar had joined in to make the quartet now a quintet.

It’s ridiculous, he thinks, that they can fight it out on the track and still go home to each other at the end of the night.

That’s what led him to this phone call. “I swear to you Seb, she’s collecting them.”

“And I swear if that’s anything less then a compliment I’ll force a Redbull can down your throat.”

“No need to get violent, I just don’t get how they manage. Aren’t you worried?”

“No.” The deadpan in his voice makes Lewis ishiver with the fear of an angry protective Seb. “For some reason I think it was meant to be.”

“And if one of them hurts her?”

“Then there are three others to make sure she knows she’s still loved.”

~

Oscar had caught on quickly to the less typical rules of the house. Like how Charles is not allowed anywhere near the kitchen and the unspoken shower schedule.

He’d found his place with them and now feels as though they are in step with each other. The white board on the wall by the door is littered with notes and reminders to keep communication flowing.

Tonight, however, is interesting because it’s just him and her. The other three having gone out to a club on their off weekend. The other two opting to stay home and chill.

Oscar grabs out their favorite snacks then climbs back into bed with her. He’d felt strongly for her after she was in his head. Something the other four have felt as well. This invisible rope pulling them to each other. Like she has bonded them by more then something as simple as love.

“Did you pick out something to watch?”

“Yep! I wish the boys would let us watch true crime when they’re home.” She curls herself into Oscar and hits play.

“They are just a little paranoid sometimes.” He kisses the top of her head. Another unspoken rule of the house: physical contact is the best way to communicate. Its something he’s used to already, three sisters who’s have similar love languages can teach you a lot.

“I don’t see why they would be. I can stop any intruder with my mind powers.” She snickers as herself.

~

The three boys stumble up to their apartment. All of them having to much to drink but are still able to walk- with the support of the wall, of course.

They fall through the door, kick off their shoes and fall into bed. The three so disoriented themselves that they didn’t see the disarray of the apartment on their way in.

Sleep taking over so quickly that they couldn’t see the hastily scribbled note peaking out from under the lamp.

~

The light from the room sears into Oscars eyes as he tries to wake himself up. His head is pounding and the white walls of the room are not helping.

Where is he?

He sits himself up in the stiff bed. His surroundings are entirely unfamiliar. It’s a cell of some sort. The mirror in the middle of the wall can tell him that much. Most likely somone is watching him from the other side.

But why?

They went to bed last night fine. The three were still at the club while the other two were curled up in bed. There was a knock at the door, loud enough to wake both of them. They assumed is was their, most likely, drunken partners.

Instead she had been greeted by the familiar face of the man who ran away during the Abu Dhabi incident. Her reaction time was much better then his. Oscar opened the door and was of the floor seconds later. A large needle now sticking out of his partners arm.

Yet she didn’t fall.

Most likely it was the same drug used in her before. She’d told Oscar about when her father got to her at a race. How he’d managed to knock her out in a similar way.

She’d protected him from the drug and now she needed to get them both away safely.

The apartment was in shambles when they’d finally sedated him also. The first guy having brought back-up with him. She could have managed one, but six made it difficult and she took a beating.

Not like Oscar got out unscathed either. He could feel where his ribs are most likely cracked and the bruises on his skin hurt when he puts any sort of pressure on them. There’s a few lines of dried blood from cuts and his lip is split from whoever punched him in the face.

He’d managed to scribble out a note while they were focused in her. He knew he wasn’t winning this and the phone is risky since it could take to long. He settled for a note he prayed they would see. Then they came after him.

Where the hell is he and where the hell is she?

She’s not here with him. The panic settling into his bones as he realizes that she’s not here with him.

His head is pulsing. His vision is starting to swim. He can’t even get a word out as sleep takes hold of him again.

~

Charles wakes up first. He smiles when he sees Lando and Max still snoring, assuming the other two who probably got decent sleep are up and about.

The room is an absolute mess. It looks like they threw their own party.

Nope, definitely not. Neither of them really like parties. Maybe they decided to have their own fun last night. If that’s the case then he’s already making plans for later.

He ventures to the kitchen for water. Something unnerving settling over him as he sees it’s not just their room, but the whole flat. Furniture has been flipped, shelves are knocked over, glass is broken, and the blood spatters in the floor make him want to vomit.

“Max!” He yells. His body paralyzed from the sight. “Max! Lando! Please you need to see this!”

The other two come around the corner disoriented. They have a similar reaction to the monegasque.

Max quickly gets his head straight and begins searching the house for any sign of their younger lovers.

Nothing.

Aside from a hastily scribbled note shoved under the lamp.

Three words and a name: attacked, drugged, help, Oscar.

Max feels his chest ready to explode. How could he have let this happen again? It makes no sense. They were supposed to be safe here. They were supposed to be able to move in and live without fear.

He supposes fate works in cruel ways.

~

The security footage was less then helpful. The authorities invaded everyone’s personal space. Seb is in a plane to Monaco but wouldn’t be here til later. And ti top it all off, the front security person lay lifeless in the security office.

It couldn’t get any worse and Lando is forced to watch it all. Watching his lovers, one of them also his teammate, get dragged down the fire escape stairs that run through the building was not in his bucket list.

So he sits and he stares and he breaths. His mind trying to explain the situation to him over and over agin.

The authorities had been taking them in for questioning. He’d gotten done first. The officer said he should get some water. He obviously looks distressed.

Maybe he deserves to feel like he can’t breath. Maybe that’s how they felt when they realized what was happening.

A figure slumps themselves down next to him.

Max.

“Is this our fault?” He mumbles out.

Max pulls Land into him. “My mind wants to think so, but I know it’s not.”

“How do you know?” Lando looks up at Max. The Dutch is staring off into the distance, pondering how to put it into words.

“Even if we were here and sober when it happened, they would have gotten us too. Her visions only provide so much information at given times and even though we’re fit and can surely hit hard, they are combat trained.”

“So you’re saying we wouldn’t have made a difference.” Lando’s voice cracks at the suggestion.

“No, not at all what I’m saying. We would have had a better chance but things have played out this way. Now we have to get them back because we’re the only ones who can.” Max explains. His hands find Lando’s hair and comfortingly plays with his curls. “We’ll find them Lan, I promise.”

Both if them sit in silence for a few moments before they are interrupted by angry strings of French.

“I’ve lost my language! Nobody understands my French, my English, my Italian!” Shouts the frustrated monegasque. A less then happy officer just shakes their head in defeat.

“What do you reckon he’s on about?”

“Probably how everyone has been asking that same question.”

~

Oscar is pulled from his restless slumber by a new figure. A familiar face.

y/n.

He knows this is probably a dream. He only has so much time to bask in her warmth before he wakes up for real.

“Oscar please wake up. We need to go.” There’s a frantic urgency in her voice. She shaking his shoulders.

“Are you real?” Whatever they’d been dosing him with to keep him sedated after he tried to break the mirror had caused him to hallucinate a few times. They’d wake him up at set times to eat and use the bathroom, then would put him back to sleep. His arms now have small circular outlines from the constant jab on needles.

She cuts his face with her hands. “I’m real and can get us out but we don’t have much time.”

Oscar shoots himself out of bed. A discarded needle on the floor and the sore spot on his arm tells him she figured out how to wake him up from his unwanted slumber.

He takes a minute to asses her. She’s in new clothes. Well- not new, just different. A pair of basketball shirts and a t-shirt four sizes to big with holes taking up more then the fabric.

She bleeding in multiple places and it looks like she’s struggling to breathe. There is so much to process about everything wrong with the picture. She looks absolutely wrecked. But then again, maybe he doesn’t look that much better.

His ribs don’t hurt as he stands. Actually, he feels shockingly good and- “please tell me you didn’t heal me.”

She sets her eyes in the floor and takes his hand in hers.

He’s got shoes on and she doesn’t, he notes.

It feels oddly empty and he wonders where they are. It looks like some sort of old bunker. It’s dark and musty as he sets foot outside the door.

She puts him along with her. The girls head scanning everything for potential threats. He’d never seen her so focused.

There’s heavy footsteps echoing through the corridors. Shouts can be heard from down the hall. The girl leading him is getting more unstable by the second. He can see her body swaying.

He notices the blood spatters on the walls but doesn’t say anything about it. He just lets her guide him out, his head still foggy from everything.

Her steps get slower and his body reacts quicker then hers. She doesn’t touch the floor as Oscar scoops her into his arms.

He knows they can’t stay here. It’s absolutely freezing, both of them are shivering. He treks with her a while longer. Relief hits him as he finds a secluded corner.

He just needs to rest a minute. Why’s it so cold in here? He knows his body is exhausted. It’s not going to let him continue. It’s not like a race where he can keep the adrenaline flowing.

He holds the girl close to him. Her lips are trembling and blue.

Just a minute, he tells himself, then he’ll will them both out of here.

~

Search party’s became their best bet.

They’d ruled out them leaving the country. Monaco is a small place so it would be hard for someone to slip away unnoticed. Last time she was taken, someone caught them with her but didn’t know she was being kidnapped. They came forward with their information.

Similarly, someone said they recognized Oscar in the back of a car asleep.

Amateurs.

Sebastian has been searching for them day and night. Hanna and the kids have moved themselves to Monaco for the time being.

Two weeks.

The other three had to reluctantly go back to racing. It was only after lengthy discussion with their teams that they did. Lando was suffering from missing a teammate and now lover.

Oscars family had also been involved. They didn’t understand what was happening. So many questions that Seb wanted to answer but couldn’t for his own daughters safety.

He knew they would be okay. If only he could find them.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It’s close to midnight and the caller ID is unknown. He answered expecting the worst but hoping for the best.

“Dad.” It didn’t matter how static and broken the word was, he knew it was her.

“Y/N? Where are you love?” He wanted to ask if she was okay but that had to come later. After he finds her.

A static group of numbers is mumbled through. He grabs an writing utensil and scratches it down in the nearest surface. Disregard for their hotel the furthest thing from his mind.

Her heavy breathing fill his ears. “I’m gonna come get you, okay?”

She’s panting and he can hear her moving. Voices in the background speaking English. He can hear every second of her screams getting quieter as they drag her away from him.

~

Lando nearly dropped his phone.

He’d done a race without Oscar and it was the worst thing he’d ever done in his career.

He’d lost lovers for a second time in the span of two years.

Now Seb is saying he knows where they are.

It’s only Thursday meaning they can fly back. There is still time. But he needed to get to Charles and Max who reluctantly are in a press conference. Where most likely answering questions about the missing female and Australian.

Lando runs. He’s never run so fast but his legs a caring him at top speeds.

He bursts through the door. Everyone stares at him and he freezes for a moment before he remembers why he’s here.

“They found them.”

~

Charles had never been so cold in his life. These tunnels they’re meandering around in seem neverending.

The area had hopefully been cleared of everyone who wanted to hurt them and now they were able to join the search parties.

Seb and Hanna had gone a different direction then the three boys. Hopefully they would be able to cover more ground this way. Oscars parents would be here when they could. They’d flown back to Australia to take care of some things with his sisters and they would all be flying back together.

Max sent his jet for them so they didn’t have to wait on a flight.

Charles looks between his the Dutch and Brit. They’d had little sleep the last couple of weeks. Angry at the world for what it’s putting them through.

They’d been staying in the same hotel as Seb in case something happened. Their apartment is still trashed and it’s not like it’s safe there anymore anyway.

“Oscar! Y/N!” Lando is losing his voice from all the yelling. Charles could hear the lump in his throat that wanted to be let out so bad.

Charles shines his flashlight around looking for any sort of corridor they may be down. It’s dirty, the floors are wet, and in his head this is the sort of place to be haunted.

He notices a a gap in the wall. If he wasn’t looking so hard he’d have definitely missed it. He peaks his head around and shine his light around. His heart nearly bursting at the sight of two familiar figures.

“I found them!”

Charles steps through the gap and inches closer, praying they aren’t dead.

The echo of the footsteps wakes Oscar, his hands shielding his face from the light.

Charles is careful about approaching. He notices the way the Australian is scrambling to move them farther away. “Stay away!” His voice is weak and scratchy.

Lando and Max slide around the corner.

“Oscar it’s me, it’s Lando.” The Brit wastes no time sliding to his knees in front of them. The disoriented state of Oscar only making him more panicked and he thrashes, doing his best to keep the still unconscious girl behind him.

Lando gently holds his face. Almost forcing the younger to look at his face. Oscars breathing evens as he meets Lando’s eyes.

Then he breaks. The cracked wails bouncing of the wall.

Lando looks at Charles and Max. “He’s freezing.” They’re all shrugging off their coats and bundling up the two.

Then their walking out of that place.

The five of them.

~

Next ->

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[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. 

[shoku-and-awe]

Okay, so we are well into December at this point, but does anyone feel like doing an advent calendar? Because there's something I've always wanted to show you guys and never have: THE LATEST LITERACY WALLCHART FOR CHILDREN.

Redacted for suspense purposes.

It’s made of a brittle plastic that if you shake it goes wooba-wooba-wooba, and I imagine it used to hang in an English classroom somewhere in China. It has the conceit of being a poster OF a poster held up by a small child—you can see his little fingers and toes! It has illustrations of 25 different fruits and vegetables, all with their names and one "fun fact" each.

The fun facts are........ all I can say is that they are all over the place, in the best possible way. It's impossible to convey the unhinged joy of this chart, so I'm just gonna show you.

What a strong start! Honestly, I really can't decide which of these I like the most. In terms of important advice, you really can't beat "a potato is not same as a sweet potato." And, as both a linguist and a food person, I am always so charmed by the mismatched plural and deranged sentiment of "these cucumber are really tender." Tender?? Tender cucumbers??? Finally, the sentence "mum always orders me to have much chinese cabbage" has so much personality and flavor. It could be the first line of a novel! And it is also establishes an illustrious tradition of proofreading, where you get to call the same vegetable by two different names in the same breath. Very helpful for beginner language learners!

Anyway, that's the first four, so we are on track to finish by New Year's Eve EST. Check back to learn some really important fruit and vegetable facts and make your December a little sillier!