#anyway I'm so happy with this coat!!! I will not take it off until next spring

[nipuni]

I got a new coat! So I had to style it 😆 which outfit is your favourite? 🤔

[osachiyo]

✧˚ 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐗 — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, atsushi & tetchou .ೃ࿐

˚➶ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — female reader, n/sfw content (mdni), fluff + crack some of y'all will get second hand embarrassment, prolly the only thing i'll write about period sex, breaking the bed, spicy cunnilingus, accidental anal, reader hits her head in one of these but dw it's fine, overall just some silly stuff ! wc for each character is like 300-400 words long :) not proofread !

˚➶ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — i've been putting this off for too long 💀 anyways, happy reading and enjoy ! also is it tetchou or tecchou idfk how to spell this dude's name 😭

"Nghh - fuuck— you're s'good at this, angel—" Dazai moaned, encouraging you to bounce on him faster. He had you in reverse cowgirl— watching your ass bounce on his pelvis as you jumped up and down on his cock, desperately trying to chase that release you've been working for.

"Feels— feels so g-good!" You cried out, pretty nails digging into his thigh, making him let out a pornographic moan - which made you clench on him even more.

Dazai groaned, grabbing handfuls of your ass and spreading them apart to see the mouthwatering view of your cunt greedily swallowing his cock. That's when he saw little streaks of blood coating his cock - mixed with your slick and his precum... and he realized that you must be starting your period.

If Dazai was being completely honest - he didn't really care about the blood, and no way he was stopping right now— when you're riding him so deliciously and looking so fucking sexy while doing it - he'd be insane (like he isn't already) if he were to stop you now. Plus, he didn't want you to get embarrassed— no, that's the last thing he wanted.

He definitely told you after sex, though. He was like, "oh yeah, you're on your period, by the way." It kind of shocked you how casual he was about it - which he noticed, of course. He'd laugh at your bewildered face, chuckling as you ask him if he's not grossed out. He'd wave you off, "sweetheart, do you think i'm a boy? Trust me, a little bit of blood doesn't bother me."

You were about to reply when a cramp hit you straight in the guts - making you hiss out and curl into yourself in pain. Dazai frowned, quickly sitting next to you to brush your hair out of your face - "you alright, sweet girl?" You groaned in response, "mm - yeah, j-just these damn period cramps are killing me."

Dazai pretended to think for a bit, even rubbing his finger on his chin to add the extra effect, making you roll your eyes at his silly antics. he looked deep in thought for a moment until you heard him snapping his finger, pointing at you with a wink - "aha! I know exaaactly how to get rid of your cramps." Your eyebrows pinched together at his words, knowing it's gonna be something dumb.

"Let's go for another roun— oumph!" You threw a pillow at him, resulting him falling backwards on his butt. "I knew you were gonna say that!" You groaned, kicking your legs - snickering at the way he rubs his bottom. "Gosh, you are just the meanest, aren't you?" He whined - making you giggle, "oh? well, that would make you the horniest!"

"Hey! I was serious - it really works— oumph!"

You were currently face-down, ass-up on Chuuya's lavish bed— as he pushed your face further into the pillow, cunt greedily sucking his fat cock in. He didn't even bother with taking off your clothes— just ripping them and grumbling about buying you new ones when you went to protest.

"Argh— shhiiiit- takin' m-me s'well, babydoll," growling, he pulled you up by your hair - back against his chest and fuck, you could feel him in the deepest part of you - hammering inside of your puffy pussy while reaching a free hand to play with that tiny clit. "Chuuya— C-chuuya!" You squealed, face landing on the pillow with an "oof!" as he pushed you back against it. "S-shut it, fu—ck! 'yer so tight," he almost whimpered, hand untangling itself from your hair to pinch and tweak at your nipples - before landing a mean smack on your ass.

He was speeding up - almost at an inhuman pace, as the headboard continuously slammed against the wall. But the both of you failed to notice the cracking noise - too lost in the pleasure, before the bed came crashing down.

'fuck, you're doin' so good ba— whAT THE FUCK—?!" Chuuya screeched as you both fell on the floor along with the broken bed. "Shit - are you okay, baby?" He quickly checked you for any injuries— only to see that you were still dazed, your mouth agape and eyes glossed over— too cockdrunk to even process that the bed broke.

“Argh— fuck it,” he thought, just going back to pounding your cunt as if it didn’t just break down. Making his pretty girl gush all over him was way more important— and plus, he could easily buy another bed.

You scolded him after getting your back blown out. But he couldn’t care less, if he was being completely honest.

In reality, it actually turned him on even more— his new goal from now on is breaking the bed everytime while fucking - from the sheer force of it. So um.. goodluck walking..?

You were cuddled up on the couch with your boyfriend of 6 months, watching a cute movie when you suddenly felt something stiff poking against your ass— how cute, you thought - biting your lip as you ground back against him, earning a sharp gasp from Atsushi.

Things escalated from that to you being on top of him— fervently making out, shy fingers digging into the plush of your hips as you continued grinding on his dick— moaning into each other's mouths.

Eventually you ended up on your back, with Atsushi rutting into you fast and hard as you threw your head back. He was inexperienced— but you had to say, what he lacked in technique, he made up for in enthusiasm. His face was buried in your neck, letting out puffs of hot air as he suppressed the urge to bite down on your shoulder and mark you up— he didn't want to hurt or scare you off.

"Oh— god, 'sushi that feels so—" you moaned, lips parting as you silently begged for a kiss - to which he gladly complied. "Fuck— yes, s'good—!" Atsushi moaned, eyes rolling back slightly as you clamped down on him further, you were close and so was he.

But somehow, he managed to slip out of your tight cunt— making him whine and quickly try to push it back in, desperate to feel your warm walls around him again. He slipped in with some issues— it felt like you had gotten tighter but he didn't mind. Holy shit though, it felt so much warmer and tighter no— "OW OW—! ATSUSHI!"

He immediately jumped upon hearing your pained shriek, "what's wro—" "Pull out - right now!" You sneered, glaring at him as he complied. "That was the wrong hole— you idiot!" You scolded, but your gaze got softer when you saw him sulking - he didn't mean to hurt you!

"I- I'm so sorry— it just accidentally slipped out a-and then I tried to push it back in and—" he was speaking really fast, trying his best to explain himself before you put your hand up, palm against his chest.

"I get it— sorry for yelling at you," you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you climbed onto his lap. He nodded, still sulking because he felt so guilty— god, he just can't do anything righ—

"Don't beat yourself up for it, okay? It wasn't your fault," you spoke as if you could read his mind, making him relax his tensed shoulders as he nodded.

..You two just decided to continue the movie and cuddle the night away.

Akutagawa had you backed up against some large shelves inside a storage room, while you two were on a mission. He'd normally prefer to have you somewhere else— somewhere more private and comfortable but you just had to be a damn tease the whole fucking day, and now he's finally got his hands on you.

"So— fucking— desperate—" each word that fell from his chapped lips were accompanied by a mean thrust, the tip of his cock brushing against that one spot inside of your walls. He had you completely trapped against the large set of shelves with rashōmon— leaving you with no ways to escape him. "Haah— d-did a little bending g-get you this worked u-up?" You added fuel to the fire— making his right eye twitch in annoyance, what a lousy mouth you had.

He said nothing, though— only speeding his pace up, as heavy breaths and pants left him— an unusual flush spread across his cheeks. "You really— shit!— d-don't know when to shut the fuck up," he growled, as a pale hand found your tits— slapping the jiggling fat before landing a harsh slap to each.

Your back arched with each pound of his hips into your gooey cunt— both of you feeling lightheaded from the pleasure circulating through your veins. So lightheaded in fact, you both somehow failed to notice the heavy book on top one of the shelves inching closer and closer towards the very edge— a small impact against the wood would most likely make it fall.

"oh— AkuOWW—!" And fall it did— right on top of your head before it bounced off and fell on the floor. You yelled in pain, the dull pain making you head throb. Akutagawa just...paused— eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn't know what to say— should he ask if you're okay? He's never been good at this stuff — so he just.. kinda... stood there and stared.

Made sure you're alright after he was over the initial shock, though — telling you that you should've seen it coming, earning him a few curses from you.

Tetchou had you spread on the couch, strong hands holding your thighs against your chest, giving him a perfect view of the soaked cunt he was about to devour.

"You look so pretty between my legs," you cooed, running your fingers through his burgundy locks. "Yeah? Well, I wish you could see my view, gorgeous girl," he spoke while nibbling the insides of your thighs— placing sloppy, open mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach. His face was lightly flushed pink — your praises always made him hot and bothered, it encouraged him to do even better — make you feel even better.

A small moan caught in your throat when your boyfriend slowly peeled away the slick-soaked panties from your juicy cunt, pulling them down your legs before flinging them off somewhere. The cold night air hitting your bare sex made you try to clench your thighs back together — but to no avail, as Tetchou kept them apart firmly. He felt himself salivating at the sight of your exposed cunt — wanting to dive right in.

And dive right in he did, licking a fat stripe up your cunt, collecting your juices on his tongue before smearing them all over your clit, feeling your thighs shake and tummy clench at the stimulation. "Don't hold them back f'me," he let out a muffled grunt. "Your moans — don't hold 'em back," he clarified, before shamelessly shaking his head back and forth on your cunt — causing you to arch your back as your fingers tightened their grip on his hair.

"A-ah, Tetchou—" you threw your head back with a whine, trying to lift your hips up to grind into his mouth, to which he responded to by pushing you even further into the couch, "don't move," he panted, basically growling into your pussy. He couldn't help but hump into the couch — way too turned on by your pleasure.

It was all going great — amazing even, until you felt a light burn on your cunt, confusion lacing all your features. It didn't take long for the burning sensation to build up — the pleasure slowly disappearing, as discomfort kicked in.

"W-wait — Tetchou," you panted, trying to pull his head away from your aching (literally) cunt. Tetchou only growled in response, latching onto your pussy harder — you knew better than to interrupt him during a meal.

But it fucking burned! So you just yelled out, "it burns!" And felt him immediately pause — slowly lifting his head from the spot between your thighs and looking utterly confused, "what?"

"I — I don't know, but my pussy fucking burns," you snapped, worry laced all over your features.

Then suddenly, a look of realization mixed with mortification fills your boyfriend's face. You cocked an eyebrow at him, "what is it?"

"... I forgot I ate those... spicy noodles and... some of the sauce was probably still on my lips...."

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

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[whorekneecentral]

Winter Wonderland

Toto Wolff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: toto would do anything for reader, some friendly teasing, alcohol and the consumption of, a bit of an age gap (reader's late 20s/early 30s), handsy toto, the two of you are kinda drunk, daddy kink, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slight edging, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie.

Word Count: 1,772

Author's Note: this one goes out to all the dilf lovers.

merry smutmas series

--

Your husband skips out on Christmas every year due to work but this year, he ends up in London. You make it your mission to introduce him to some holiday fun.

Toto had one last work engagement to do this week before he's officially off for the holidays and it took him to London. So by extension, you made it to London as well.

Your husband had left you in the hotel, promising you that he'll be back in a few hours after doing his final work meeting before he was on holiday break.

When he returns, he finds you in the same spot he left you, on the couch. "Babe, have you not gotten up all day?"He asks, shrugging his coat off.

"I did, I ordered room service so I had to get it from the door," you tell him, eyes glued to the TV.

Toto laughs, making his way over to sit next to you. You lean into the man, his arms wrapped around you and you can still feel the chill on his skin despite him wearing a coat when he was outside. It takes him a second to realize that you weren't in your pyjamas, but you were dressed as if you were going out.

The man looks at you with raised eyebrows, there's a hint of a smile on your face. "I know that look, what are you up to?" He asked.

"Okay I know you're probably tired but we leave for home tomorrow and I really wanna go!"

"Go where?"

"Hyde park," you tell him, showing him the pictures of their winter wonderland on your phone. "I saw the ad already for their winter wonderland today and then I looked it up and I fell into a loophole, so now we have tickets." You smiled sweetly at him - if there was one thing more important to Toto than work, it was you and your happiness.

"Are you serious, y/n?"

"Yes, now come on," you get up, trying to pull him up. Toto huffs, "I have emails to answer." He reluctantly follows you to the door.

"The emails will still be here when you get back," you handed him his coat before putting your own on. "Let's go."

Toto drives, of course - not like he ever lets you drive anyways. The first half hour was just the two of you trying to find your way around, it was a lot more packed than you were expecting but to be fair it was a week until Christmas, so it was to be expected you suppose.

You grab his hand and pull him towards what seems to be a circus tent. Toto looks at you a bit unsure for a moment, "is this.. an actual circus?" He followed you in and his question was answered; it was.

He sits next to you in the back row, the two of you waiting for the show to start. "Are you 5? Why are we at the circus ?"

"I mean, in comparison to you, I basically am." You smiled and he chuckled, his hand in yours as you two watched the show.

He would never admit it to you but he enjoyed doing things like this with you, it was nice to see that you kept a bit of your childishness alive.

After the circus, you made your way around the park once more, taking a million photos and trying out all the games until Toto was lugging around a big bag with stuffed animals.

"Do you think that's enough?" He asks, walking towards the car. You shrugged, "I guess but I'm hungry now."

"Dinner then?" He suggests, nodding to the busy street. You're not, fingers interlocking with your husband as you walk down the street towards no actual destination in mind. You were just hoping to stumble upon a place that wasn't too busy.

And eventually you did, a little restaurant tucked away between all the madness. You and Toto sat at a table by the window, the table covered in junk food and a bottle of cheap wine.

"Did you have fun tonight ?" You asked your husband, popping a fry into your mouth. He shrugs, taking a sip of wine. You can't help but roll your eyes, "you totally did! Don't lie."

Toto laughs, a grin on his face. "Yeah, okay. I did have a little fun, but maybe next time find an indoor activity?"

"Nope," you popped the P, "as your wife, it's my job to make your life unnecessarily complicated, just for fun."

He rolls his eyes, taking some fries off your plate. "You'll be the death of me."

You two ended up topping off the bottle of wine, Toto pays the bill and his fingers interlock with yours as you walk back to the car. The streets have calmed by now, but there's a few people walking around on their way to wherever.

Your husband pulls you into his side, your arm wrapped around his torso as you make it back to the car. The man has you leaning on the hood, his cold hands cupping your cheeks before he kisses you. His hands wander and you blush, stopping him.

"Not here."

"Don't tell me you're getting shy on me." He kisses along your cheek, the tip of his nose cold as it rubs against your skin.

You giggled, giving him a slight shove off of you. "We're in the middle of the street, it's more like stopping you from getting arrested for public indecency."

He laughs, opening the car door for you and letting you get in. Toto's hand rests on your thigh the entire drive back to the hotel and he can barely keep his hands off of you to make it up to the room.

His lips on your neck, arms wrapped around you from behind, the two of you giggling as you attempt to open the door.

"It's not opening," you grumbled, trying to unlock the door.

Toto pulls on the handle a bit, pressing the key to it. "Finally," he says when the lock clicks, "let me unwrap my gift."

You giggled, rolling your eyes at your husband's cheesy use of the words, but you let him drag you into the room and drop you on the bed.

He's careful, even though he's drunk - his movements are exact as he undoes the buttons on your shirt, tossing it into the pile of clothes that's developing on the floor.

"Move your legs, baby." He whispers, moving them up to rest on the edge of the bed as he drops himself down onto his knees. You’ve propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him and Toto drags his fingers up your thigh, moving to your clothed pussy. 

“I like this,” he tells you, fingers rubbing over the red lace that covered your cunt.

You smile, “I know. Wore it just for you, daddy." The name makes the man smile.

Toto can feel your eyes on him, he reaches for the red lace you’re wrapped up in and tugs it down your legs, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He shifts to lay on his stomach between your legs, leaving a trail of kisses as he works his way up to your cunt. 

Your eyes meet his, he knows you’re looking. He wants you to look at him. 

Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping on his hair. He knew you like the back of his hand, gripping your thighs to keep them in place as his tongue lapped your clit. Your hips buck, your way of saying you want more.

Two fingers pushing into you, he glances up to see your head tossed back onto the pillows, eyes fluttering shut and your free hand groping your tit. 

Between his fingers and his tongue, your orgasm was teetering on the edge; he knew that much. 

He's sick and twisted and pulls his hands away, the sticky fingers wiped on your inner thighs. A whimper leaves your lips at the loss of fullness. 

"I hate you," you grumbled, your husband smiles as he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "You love me."

"Sometimes."

He smiles, standing up to undo his pants. Toto pulls you back to the edge of the bed, one of your legs hitch on his hip as his hand wanders.

Your eyes fixed on his hand that was moving down your chest at the moment. Toto's lips follow his fingers, kissing and leaving little marks as he goes along his way. His tongue brushes over your nipple, your back arches involuntarily; your body betrays you. 

Your eyes find his and his hand rubbing along your thigh before pulling you toward the edge of the bed a little more before he pushes into you. The other ankle is over his shoulder now.

He fucks you the way he knows you like it; rough.

You were a sight to see; back arched off the bed, hair sprawled out in perfect curls, eyes closed and your head tilted back, his name tumbling from your lips for what felt like the millionth time.

He’s never seen a prettiest sight.

He feels you clench around him, the hand on his shoulder digs in, your nails leaving behind their own set of marks. His hand reaches between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit once again.

“Oh my god,” your hips bucked, his fingers matching the pace of his hips, your body rocking back and forth to get the most out of him.  

“C’mon pretty girl, want you to cum for me.” he says, knowing it won't be long more, especially not after him leaving you on the edge earlier.

He watches as your eyes flutter shut and he reaches you with his other hand, holding your jaw and pulling you up a little, your elbows holding up the weight of your body.

"Open your eyes, baby, look at me." He whispers, kissing you softly.

A few more sloppy thrusts and between that and his fingers, you’re over the edge.  He kisses you, muffling the noise you were making. The wetness wrapping around his cock, and with a few sloppy thrusts, he follows behind you. 

It takes you a second to gather yourself and register that your husband has collapsed on top of you. Your hands rubbing over his back.

"You okay?" you asked him quietly and the man nodded, moving so you two could lay comfortably.

Your leg draped over his, his arm wrapped over your shoulder. You catch him staring at you and you smile, nodding. "What?"

"We should come to London every year."

"Yeah," you nod, resting your head on his chest. "I'd like that."

---

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[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 8

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 8: Invitation

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 10.3k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food, AA meeting mention, jealousy, alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, internal conflict, suggestion of sexual assault, trauma response, verbal argument, we're gonna pretend i know what i'm talking about w the criminal justice system but lets be real i don't

Notes: HEY HI! First of all big thanks to @frannyzooey for beta reading for me, I appreciate you with all my heart. Ok so up until a few days ago, this chapter was going to be this plus the birthday party. But I made an executive decision I think it will be better. So here's this and just know I already have a pretty solid head start on the next chapter lol. ANYWAY let me know what you think, ok love u bye.

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“…Happy birthday, dear Sarah, happy birthday to you!”

Sarah’s pudgy little feet patter in place on the seat of the dining room chair. Frankie rubs her back and says, “Blow out the candles!”

“Wait sweetie, let me just,” Angie scoops Sarah’s long chestnut curls into a bundle, “Ok go ahead.”

She leans over the small, two-tiered cake and blows them out one at a time.

“One… Two… Fwee… Four!”

All three of them cheer as the ribbons of black smoke dissipate into the air. Sarah claps her hands and squeals, looking up at her parents with big, sparkling eyes. Frankie can’t wipe the smile from his face. His heart aches with adoration.

While Ang plucks the spent candles from the cake and cuts it into sixteenths, Frankie takes a seat next to his daughter and asks, “Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes,” Sarah nods, watching her mom slip a chef’s knife under the biggest slice of cake and plop it onto a plate. Angie slides the plate in front of her and gives her a fork.

“What was your favorite part?” he asks.

“Ummm,” Sarah stabs the chocolate sponge cake with her fork and manages to tear off a wobbly chunk, “The penguins.”

“The penguins! I never woulda guessed,” Frankie chuckles, glancing up at Angie when she hands him a plate, “Thanks, hun.”

Sarah carves a line into the air with her nose, a smile digging out dimples in her chubby cheeks.

“Got to stay at the aquarium for a long time today, huh? What kind of penguins did we see?”

“Mmm,” she pauses her attack on the cake to scrunch her face up and think about this, then resumes as she tells him, “King penguin… rockhopper penguin… emperor penguin… little penguin…”

“So many penguins!” he grins.

She giggles, “Yes.”

“And then we got pizza, and opened presents, and now we’re having cake.”

She wriggles around in her seat and giggles some more, “Yes.”

“That’s a good birthday, huh?”

Sarah nods and plunges a finger into the pink strawberry frosting.

“Use your fork, sweetie,” Angie reminds her, taking a seat adjacent to Frankie. 

Sarah sticks her finger in her mouth to clean off the frosting, then obediently picks up the fork.

“What should we do after cake?” he asks Sarah before taking a bite. 

The little girl hums thoughtfully, tapping one confectionary-coated finger to her chin, “We can… watch Happy Feet?”

Her big, dark eyes sparkle, a mirror of his own, and Frankie grins from her to Angie, “What do you think, Mama, should we watch Happy Feet after cake?”

She checks the smartwatch on her wrist and shrugs, “Sure, we can watch it for a bit before dropping Daddy off.” 

A pleased smile spreads across Sarah’s face as she digs her fork into the cake. Frankie turns his attention to his own plate, and a content silence falls over the table as the three of them eat. 

The silence is broken when Sarah asks, “Daddy, why don’t you sleep here anymore?” 

He stops chewing and looks over at Angie, who just tilts her head at him like she, too, would like to know the answer to this question. 

“Well,” he swallows a mouthful of cake and clears his throat, “Daddy, uhh… Daddy did something bad and got in trouble with the police.” 

She frowns at her cake, seeming to consider this, then looks up at him,  “Like when you and Mommy were fighting?” 

The response zaps him. Stuns him. His lips part to respond, but he finds himself speechless. 

What the fuck is she talking about? 

He combs through his memory and hits a snag. 

They just got back from some kind of a trip. Ang was giving him the cold shoulder. He recalls drinking in the garage, fuming by himself, trying to work up the courage to confront her. Yelling. Not just him, though, Angie too. Both of them just fucking screaming at each other. Blue and red lights outside. Doorbell. Cops. 

The scraps of his memory bind together and he remembers… it wasn’t a trip they all went on together. It was just Angie and Sarah. Not a fun vacation, either. More of a spur-of-the-moment trip to her parents’ house in Texas, inspired by his recently uncovered infidelity. 

Wasn’t Sarah sleeping? How the fuck does she remember that? 

Frankie shifts in his seat, glancing at Angie, whose face is inscrutable, then back to Sarah, “No. Well, kind of, I guess. Except worse. They took me to jail.” 

Her dark eyes go wide, “But bad guys go to jail.”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

Leaning forward onto the table, he presses his fingertips to his lips and watches her sponge-like brain absorb this information. He’s getting into the weeds. Keep it simple. 

“They let me go, but now I have to have a babysitter like you do. That’s why I don’t sleep here,” he reaches over and tucks a loose ringlet behind her ear, “Does that make sense?”

Her brow furrows, “Is Chacha your babysitter?” 

Jesus fucking Christ, this kid. Asking all the right questions to make him squirm. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah, she’s pretty much my babysitter now—”

Angie scoffs. 

He shoots her a sharp glance, “Until we know how much trouble I’m in, at least.”

“I saw Chacha at the park,” Sarah informs him, as if he wasn’t there. 

The nickname makes him chuckle. She hasn’t used it in forever, now twice in one night? 

When he thinks about how your face will light up when he shares this news with you, warmth sparks in his guts. 

“You did see Chacha at the park,” he gives Sarah’s arm a playful pinch, “She told me she was happy to see you, and that she misses you.”

At this, Sarah giggles, dimples and all. 

And, at this, Angie shoves her chair out behind her and stomps out of the kitchen. Like a fucking child. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

The thought strikes him square between the eyes. Brief, but distinct. He sweeps it under the rug of his mind to deal with later. 

“Mommy don’t like her,” Sarah tells him in a loud whisper when the bedroom door slams closed.

He has to stifle laughter. 

“Don’t worry about that, princesa,” he waves off the petulant outburst, leaning in to ask, “Would you like it if Chacha came to your birthday party?”

Sarah studies him for a moment. When the question registers, she smiles wide and nods, “Yes.” 

“I’ll talk to Mommy about it later, ok?” 

“Ok.”

“Whaddaya think, should we finish our cake in the living room? Put on Happy Feet?” 

She giggles, hopping off the chair to spin in circles and clap her hands. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he snorts.

Once the birthday girl is sufficiently distracted, Frankie follows his wife’s warpath to their bedroom. He pauses at the closed door, hand hovering over the shiny knob, grimacing at what will follow. 

Did Sarah hear their whole argument that night? 

What else does she remember? 

Does she remember the days he’d call off work to take the two of you to the butterfly house? Or how he would sneak up behind you when you were cooking and kiss your neck? Does she remember you scrambling out of the house, half-naked, gasping for air, while Frankie held Angie back?

Probably not. 

Hopefully not. 

He takes a deep breath and twists the knob, pushing the door open. 

Inside, Angie is sitting at the foot of the bed, texting furiously. Frankie enters the room, closing the door behind him. He approaches cautiously and sits down beside her. Brings his hand to the small of her back. 

She doesn’t acknowledge his presence. 

“Amor,” he murmurs, sliding his palm up and down her rigid spine, “You can’t get pissed at me every time she comes up in conversation. It’s not—” 

He cuts himself off with a thick gulp. 

This catches her attention. She tosses her phone aside and blinks, “It’s not what? Not fair? Is that what you were gonna say?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know, Ang,” he shakes his head, leg bouncing, “It puts me in a weird spot. Whether you like it or not, she’s a part of my life—” 

“Oh, for fucks sake—”

“And—and Sarah, she picks up on that, you know? That you don’t like her—”

“I don’t give a shit if she knows I hate that bitch, Francisco,” Angie spits, “Why shouldn’t I, huh? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t.” 

Answers deadlock his throat. 

Because I care about her, and Sarah cares about her, and she cares about us. Because she has helped me more than any other human has, more times than I deserve. Because she saved my life, and you should be fucking grateful. 

The thought makes him shiver as it replays. 

You should be fucking grateful.

He tries to bypass the question, clearing his throat before taking Angie’s soft hand and meeting her eyes, “I know this arrangement has been hard for you.” 

Her features sharpen. She pulls away and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Unease rings out his stomach. 

But a sense of familiarity dawns on him, too.

It reminds him of conversations he’s had with you the past two months. Those “State of the Union” discussions that loom, dark and terrifying, but end up making him feel ten pounds lighter when they’re all said and done with. 

And, fuck, he wants this to feel better. Wants to be in the same room as his wife and not feel like he’s walking on the razor’s edge. 

“Hey,” he takes back her hand, “Stick with me, ok? We can talk about this.” 

Angie glares at him, but waits. 

“We are friends. That is it. Just like Santi and Benny and Will—”

“Remind me, did you fuck any of them?” 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

He stares back into her piercing gaze, with pleading eyes, “Ang.”

Her jaw clenches and she shakes her head, but doesn’t storm off or start screaming at him, so he continues. 

“I know I fucked up by having sex with her. It was—It was a mistake.”

Angie’s features soften. Relief floods his veins, warm and buzzing and sedative. Like the first drink at the end of a stressful day. 

And, much like when he would finish his first drink, he aches for more. 

“It was impulsive. I was so fucking numb, I needed to feel something, and she was around. I’m not, you know, into her, or attracted to her—”

Angie scoffs. 

“I know it sounds like bullshit. I know,” he squeezes her hand, “But if I could go back in time and do anything over, it would be that day.”

She studies him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

“It didn’t mean anything, amor. I love you. I mean, fuck, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying.”

Her shoulders slump. She swallows hard and looks down at the floor. Her nails twitch against his palm and the rush it gives him flips his stomach upside down. 

“I’m sorry, Ang.” 

“You’re sorry you got caught.” 

“I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry I broke your trust. I’m sorry I was so fucked in the head I found comfort in someone else. I took you for granted, and I’m so sorry.”

Angie lets out a little sob. He should feel remorse. At the very least, he should feel something other than sick satisfaction at her finally breaking. Just a little bit more. Almost there. 

“But that day is behind us now, and what I have with her is entirely platonic. She has Rory, and I have you, and we are friends. She’s helping me out right now by giving me a place to live, and driving me places while my license is suspended, and just being… a really, really good friend to me. I know that’s hard for you, and I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable, but I promise that’s all it is.” 

“I hate it.” 

“I know,” he nods, pulling her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “I know, baby. I just need you to trust that I’m doing this for you and Sarah. The two of you are everything to me. I love you.” 

Angie sniffles and straightens her spine, then looks over at Frankie, “Can you promise me something?” 

Her warm gaze is glossy and full of emotion. He leans into it, answering, “Anything.” 

“When the trial is over, and you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.” 

It sobers him instantly. 

He pulls back, shaking his head, “Ang, I can’t—”

A fire comes to life in her eyes.

“If you give a single fuck about our family, you can and you will. You told me your friendship with her is a means to an end. Is that still true, or no?” 

Slowly, he nods, but it feels wrong. The dull blade of guilt rips his belly open. 

This isn’t what was supposed to happen. 

“Then you cut ties with her when this is done. Do that for me and I will put my feelings about her aside.” 

That’s what Angie tells him, but what he understands is this is a reprieve. A stopgap. It buys him some time to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do because—

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

He swallows the thought down with a thick gulp and says, “Alright.” 

Angie blesses him with a peacemaking smile. 

Despite his churning stomach, he returns the smile and squeezes her hand, “Can… Can you do me a favor, though?” 

“What?”

“Let me invite her and Rory to Sarah’s party.” 

She stares at him like she doesn’t understand, then scoffs, “No.” 

“Why not?” 

Jumping to her feet, she shouts, “Because she fucked you in our bed, Frankie, do I really have to explain that?” 

He stands too, “You just said you’re putting those feelings aside, and she’ll be with her boyfriend, I don’t understand what the big deal—”

“Why does she even want to go?” Angie crosses her arms and scowls. 

“She misses Sarah. And Sarah obviously misses her, too. I mean, you heard her at the table earlier.” Frankie approaches her, placing his hands on her waist, searching her face, “I’m with you, amor. I promise. This would just mean a lot to both of them. Especially if they won’t be able to see each other again.” 

She softens a little. Her jaw ticks to the side, then she sighs, “Fine.” 

He represses the smile from his lips and murmurs, “Thank you,” before pressing a kiss into her forehead. 

She hooks her hands behind his neck and drops her eyes to his mouth. His pulse jumps as she captures his lips in hers, alive and wanting. The sugary sweetness of strawberry frosting makes his taste buds perk up and want more. 

Her long, red nails work into the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching that deep, aching itch for her favor. That’s the thing about Angie. She gives her affection sparingly, and when he earns it, it feels so fucking good. 

He can’t remember the last time she touched him like this, with enthusiasm and hunger. 

It was before he quit drinking. Before the failed attempts at marriage counseling. Before Angie came home from work early and caught her husband fucking the nanny.

It’s strange how something as trivial as early dismissal can alter the trajectory of so many lives. His own path seems to be an infinite freefall, always bracing for impact but never meeting the ground. 

Drinking more. Fighting more. Pushing you away again and again and again while trying to transplant these feelings into the right relationship. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Especially now, when Angie kisses him, and all he can think about is your lips, your tongue, soft and slick and writhing on his. The heel of your hand kneading against his stiffening cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, eyelids fluttering open to meet her gaze, not yours. 

He wishes it was you. 

But he closes his eyes and lets her guide him back to their bed, settling for the next best thing. 

Frankie hears the buzz of an incoming text message from his pants pocket. He kisses Angie’s sweaty forehead and departs from her body, snatching the discarded jeans off the floor. 

> MARIPOSA:  > Rory is over here fyi, let me know when you’re on your way 

A nagging, confusing spring of jealousy bubbles up in his chest. Something else, too. Like guilt, but deeper. An infection festering away inside him. 

“I should get going before the birthday girl falls asleep. I don’t wanna have to wake her.” 

“Can’t you stay?” Angie asks, stroking his arm, “I mean, really, Francisco. Your PO won’t ship you off to jail for spending the night with your wife, will he?” 

Her gentle touch is a branding iron on his skin. Searing. Territorial. He has to stop himself from lurching away. 

He slides his pants back on and shrugs, “I don’t really wanna find out.”

“So fucked up.”

“I know, baby,” Frankie fishes his shirt off the foot of the bed, tugging it over his head, “I have to, I’m sorry.” 

She releases a sigh and pulls her shirt back on, “Oh, don’t forget, on Thursday my parents will be here.” 

Nodding, he stretches his arms above his head. How could he forget? 

“Try to get along with my dad.” 

He rolls his eyes before turning to face her, “Tell him the same, yeah?” 

She snorts and fastens her jean shorts, raising an eyebrow, “I will, but you know how he is. Don’t take his bait.” 

Frankie grunts in response while buckling his belt. Fully dressed, they meet at the door. Angie looks him over, giving him a rare warm smile before telling him, “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

She kisses him, and he places that rotten feeling: shame. 

Frankie walks up the cement path, craning his head up towards the cloudless sapphire evening sky, admiring the way it contrasts the tangerine siding of your post stamp of a house. The sun hangs just at the horizon, and its absence lends relief from the stagnant July heat. 

It’s a nice night, but he’s still a little surprised to find you and Rory are sitting out on the front porch swing, his arm draped around your shoulder with you all tucked into his side. Sure, it may be better than coming home to your closed bedroom door, with just the indistinguishable murmur of your voices to drive him crazy, but still… not ideal. 

The sight causes something deep within Frankie’s chest to clench and pulse, growling, “MINE.” 

Fuck, he couldn’t be more a hypocrite. 

“Whatta we have here, a couple of swingers?” he jokes while climbing the front steps.

It’s a bad joke, and in poor taste given the circumstances, but the sneer on Rory’s lips gives him a rush of satisfaction. 

Conversely, you light up when you see him. Your smile is fucking luminous. A goddamn heat lamp. He feels himself melting into the floorboards. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

You sit up and put a little space between Rory’s body and yours, “Hey! How’d it go?” 

“Good,” he crosses his arms, leaning against the banister with a shrug, “Went to see the penguins, had pizza, presents, cake, all that.” 

“Did she like her gift?” 

“She loved it. She said she’s going to sleep with it tonight—Oh, that reminds me—Ang gave the green light for you two to come to her party on Saturday if you still want to.” 

“Holy shit, really?” you ask, eyes widening, then chuckle and shake your head, “Sorry, I’m just surprised. She really said that’s ok?”

“Yeah,” he smiles despite the guilt condensing in his stomach, and asks Rory, “Know if you can make it?” 

Rory’s head jerks back a little, and he frowns, “Well, this is the first time I’m hearing about it. But, yeah. I have nothing else going on,” he looks at you, “If that’s ok.” 

“Yeah, of course.”

Your words come out airy and unconvincing. Rory studies your face.

Frankie calls your attention back to him, “Guess what she called you earlier.” 

You avert your gaze from Rory’s, tucking your hair behind your ear before you chuckle, “Oh god, did she learn it from her mother?” 

He laughs at this, shaking his head, “No, she called you Chacha.” 

“Shut the fuck up, did she really?” you gasp.

Frankie nods, “Hand to god.”

You sit with this for a few gleeful seconds before your smile falters, and you say, “I miss her.” 

“She misses you, too,” he tells you, “She’ll be happy to see you this weekend.”

You nod, then look to Rory, whose mouth is flattened into an unamused line. He stares at you a beat too long for comfort. The air around the porch swing seems tense.

Frankie glances between you and Rory, then clears his throat and says, “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.”

You mumble a brief, distracted, “Oh, ok,” before he walks into the house. 

As he closes the door and leans back against it to untie his work boots, he hears you ask, “What?”

Both the sharpness in your voice and its volume make Frankie halt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the curtains rustle from a light breeze. Quietly, he pulls his boots off and sets them on the shoe tray. Morbid curiosity keeps him rooted in place, barely breathing as he listens in on your conversation. 

“You didn’t tell me we were invited to his kid’s birthday party.”

“He said he would ask, but I wasn’t going to invite you until I knew for sure whether or not we could go.”

More silence, then your voice again, “Oh my god, what is your problem?” 

“I don’t like how you are with him.” 

“How I ‘am’ with him? What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.” 

“I really don’t, could you explain it to me?”

Rory pauses for a beat, then says, “You’re flirting, both of you, right in front of me. I don’t like it. And—and I want it to stop.”

“What am I doing that you think is flirting?” 

“It’s not just you—”

“What he does is irrelevant, he is his own person—”

“It’s fucking disrespectful.”

The silence that follows writhes under his skin. 

This is private. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But he can’t bring himself to move. Some fucked up part of him wants to hear what you say to Rory about him. How do you defend yourself? Do you throw him under the bus, too? 

Are you just as bad as me?

Your voice comes through the window again, metered and firm, but shaky. 

“What am I doing that you consider flirting?” 

Rory scoffs, then says, “It’s the way you look at him and talk to him. Always smiling at him, and joking with him, and asking him how his day went—”

“Wow, how dare I ask my roommate—my friend—how his day was.” 

“That’s not what I mean. It’s—it’s—I know it when I see it, ok? There’s obviously something going on between you two.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan, “Because I smile and joke with him, and ask him how he’s doing, we are so obviously fucking. You’re totally right, Rory. You caught me.”

“He’s a fucking loser, you know that, right?”

Another long pause. 

“I want you to leave.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously, get the fuck off my porch.” 

“I don’t have my—”

“I’ll get your shit.”

Frankie hears the porch swing creak and his heart jumps. He launches himself forward and manages to collapse on the couch as you swing the door open. 

You freeze when you see him. Your eyes flick from him, to the open window, then back to him before you scoff and stomp off to your bedroom. 

Rory steps into the doorway, standing at attention with his hands shoved in his pockets. Frankie stares at him. Something protective and instinctual, almost paternal, wells up inside him and fine tunes his nerve endings.

From the back hallway, you holler, “What the fuck are you doing? I told you to get the fuck off my porch.”

Frankie can’t stop himself from laughing.  

Rory glares at him, “Fuck you.”

You steamroll into the room wielding a backpack and shove it into Rory’s chest, “LEAVE.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“I sure am. Get the fuck off my property.”

Rory holds your gaze for an intense moment before turning to go. You slam the door behind him and deadbolt it, then go to the front windows and do the same with them. 

“I’m—”

You hold up a hand to Frankie and exit the room. A few seconds later he hears your bedroom door click shut. 

After scrubbing his skin raw in the shower and changing into pajamas more comfortable than he deserves, Frankie tries to go to sleep early, but finds himself restless. 

He stares at the ceiling, at his phone, at the walls. When he hears running water in the bathroom, he wonders if you’re getting ready to go to bed. Wonders if you’re ok, and if you would accept his company. 

He thinks about his wife. Her nails digging into his shoulder blades, her hot breath on his cheek. The electric squeeze of her cunt as he came inside her. 

What would you do if you knew? 

Would it tear you apart, or could you care less?

Fuck, why does he feel so guilty? 

For the sex just as much as the tentative agreement he made. 

You know he intends to stay with her, and there’s nothing going on between the two of you. Not really. Nothing certain, at least. Right?

Sure, there was the slip up the week after he moved in. And the panties. And, yeah, some flirting. Not intentional when Rory is around, despite what he may think. And maybe you got off next to each other once. Then there’s the cuddling, and the hand holding, and this deep, aching, maddening desire to spend every ounce of his free time with you. To know all of your favorite things, and your life story, and your ticks. To make you feel happy and appreciated and safe and loved. 

And loved. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

His muscles and tendons vibrate with anxious energy. 

It brings him to his feet and compels him to wander through the dark, silent house, into the living room, confirming its vacancy. He starts off towards your bedroom. The light from your open door slices through the dark back hallway like a beacon. Floorboards creak under his step as he makes his way towards it, and when he arrives, he leans against the door frame. 

You’re stretched out horizontal across your bed, belly-side down, facing away from him, hovering over a thick book. He studies the curvature of your body, lingering on the generously exposed swathes of soft skin that lead to the hem of your shorts. 

“Are you just gonna hang out in the doorway like a weirdo?” you glance over your shoulder, then back at your book. 

“Sorry, I, um... I wasn’t sure if I was interrupting.” 

“You’re not,” you sit up and crawl to the head of your bed, tapping the empty pillow beside you, his pillow, his spot. “Come on in.”

While he walks over to the furthest side, you plump the pillows on your side of the bed and stuff them behind your back, then resume reading. 

“What’s that?” he asks as he stretches out across your bedspread.

You lift the cover to show him and sigh, “Still chipping away at Doctor Sleep.” 

“It any good?” 

“Terrible, that’s why I’m reading it.”

Frankie snorts and shakes his head while digging his phone from his pajama pants, “Are you doing ok?”

“Wow, you’re full of great questions tonight, huh?” 

“Maybe you’re just full of sass tonight, ever think of that?” 

“Doesn’t sound like me.” 

He raises his eyebrows and murmurs, “No comment.” 

“That’s, like, actually a comment though, in itself—”

“Weren’t you reading?” 

“Weren’t you—I don’t know, reading the news or whatever dads do on their phone?”

“Looking for car parts,” he corrects. 

“Same thing.”

Frankie drops his phone on his chest and looks at you, “Not even close.”

You peek around the corner of your book, “It’s like, equal levels of dad-ness, though, so basically, yeah.”

“Levels of dad-ness,” he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head, “You’d know something about that, huh?”

“About what, how daddy you are?” you laugh.

He shrugs, meeting your eyes. You hold his gaze, mouth cracked open in a mischievous smile, then shake your head and look back at your book, “No comment.” 

Grinning like idiots, you both go back to reading and browsing, respectively, although Frankie can’t concentrate for shit with you next to him. His skin aches with the heat of your body so close. 

He listens to every breath you take, every wet swallow, every microscopic wiggle bringing you closer. Minutes go by, but he doesn’t hear your page turn once. 

Eventually, you let out a powerful yawn, and it spreads to him. 

You grab the bookmark off your nightstand and tuck it between the open pages before closing it, “I should go to bed soon—” another yawn interrupts you, “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” he sits up, stretching his arms over his head, then looks back at you, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your features melt and soften, lips parting as you meet his eyes. This invisible force keeps him anchored there, tugging at his chest, urging him to move closer to you. He glances at your mouth, at the pink flash of your tongue wetting your lips. 

He doesn’t want to go. 

He wants to stay and kiss you breathless, to fall asleep with the warmth of your body lining his, to wake up in your bed and never fucking leave. 

He wants to take back everything he said to his wife earlier today, to defend your honor like he should have, like you would do for him, like you did for him. 

Fuck, he doesn’t deserve you. The hole he dug for himself is a just punishment. He needs to let you go and allow you to find peace with someone else who won’t hurt you like he has. Like he will inevitably do again. 

You reach out and place your hand on his arm, thumb grazing his tingling, heated skin, “Do you want to stay?” 

The contact floods him with feel-good chemicals that his hungry synapses gobble up. 

“I, umm—”

His throat swallows around his thudding pulse. It fucking hurts how bad he wants you right now. He finds himself leaning back on his elbow, gravitating closer to you, resting his hand in the dip of your waist as you roll on your side to face him. 

“Is that a good idea?” he asks. 

“Probably not,” you search his face, your gaze catching on his mouth.

His heart skitters and he doesn’t really notice that his fingertips dig into your side until your whole body shivers in reaction. Doesn’t really notice he’s been inching closer to you until your breath grazes his lips. 

The sound of your ringtone cuts through the thick air between your bodies. 

You sit up and shake your head, trance broken, then reach for the source of the noise with shaky hands, “It’s Rachel. She’s full bridezilla mode, this might take a while.”

“Ok,” he nods, “I’ll go.” 

You look over at him, apologies written all over your face. An impulse yanks hard on his body and urges him forward. Before he can talk himself out of it, he slips a hand behind your head and pulls you into a kiss. 

Your lips are soft and warm, fucking perfect, just how he remembers. They barely have time to respond before he draws back and tells you, “Goodnight.” 

You watch him crawl out of your bed, stunned silent for a moment, then answer the phone, “Hey, Rach—what’s wrong?” 

Frankie glances up at you as he closes the door behind him, and sees you tracing the dumbfounded smile on your lips. 

When he turns out the lights in his room and crawls under the covers, even though he knows damn well he won’t find sleep for hours, he does the same. 

Frankie is at work, elbows deep in the engine compartment of a Bell 407, when the call from his attorney comes. 

“Your case is on the docket,” the voicemail tells him when he returns to his small, shared office space, “Trial is scheduled for Wednesday, September 6th. We might still be able to find a favorable plea deal, so I’ll get working on that, but either way, I’d like to set up a call with you early next week to discuss your options moving forward. Give me a call when you get this, thanks.” 

He takes a seat at his desk and stares at his phone for a minute, then replays the message to make sure he heard correctly. He did. 

The earth tilts. 

Everything seems to crumble as reality dawns on him. All he can see are cold steel prison cell bars and stiff orange jumpsuits. Angie’s words from the other night echo in his head:

“When the trial is over, when you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.” 

A vast, unshakable hollowness overtakes him.

Or… or maybe it’s the opposite. 

Maybe he’s so heavy and full he’s just sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, endless pit of his mistakes, down, down, down… 

He unlocks his phone to return his lawyer’s call, but pauses when he tastes the salt of his own tears. Confused, he wipes his eyes and stares down at his damp hand.

Frankie just sits there for a moment, watching tears splatter onto his palms, stunned. When did he start crying? Why did he start crying?

He knew it was just a matter of time before the consequences of his actions became real. Now it’s happening and he’s blubbering like a baby. 

I need to get my shit together. 

He stands and shoves his phone in his pocket, shaking out his hands.

A string tugs at his chest, leading him to Michael’s desk. He watches the closed door as he carefully pulls open a drawer. Inside, he finds a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The string pulls taut, urging him to do it. 

He thinks about Angie. How her sour attitude always poisons his mind. How this thing between them feels so distant, so vacuous, he doesn’t know how he will ever restore it. 

He thinks about Sarah. How much he’s failed her as a father. He thinks about his own father and wonders if it’s pointless for him to keep resisting fate. Was it always going to be like this for him? Does it matter if he tries to be better, or is this all futile? 

He thinks about you. His chest aches and he feels tears burn behind his eyes again. He wishes you were here. You’d know what to say or do to make him feel better. 

Frankie takes the cell phone from his pocket and dials your number. He glances up at the door again as the line rings. 

“Hey,” you answer, sounding slightly confused, “What’s up?”

Kids squeal in the background as he tries to find his voice. Words catch in his throat, the only thing that comes out is a rasp. A sob. He’s fully crying now. Staring at the whiskey. 

“Frankie, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” 

Your concern is audible. It reaches through the phone and coaxes him to speak. 

“I, um,” he swallows hard and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I’m kind of freaking out right now.” 

“Why, what’s going on?” 

“I just got my court date,” he sniffles, clears his throat, then says, “I feel… hopeless.” 

“Where are you?” 

On your end of the world, Frankie hears a door click shut and the chaotic background noise becomes muted. 

“In my office.” 

“What’re you doing?” 

He pauses, so you repeat the question. 

“I’m staring at a bottle of whiskey,” he admits quietly. Just a whisper. 

“Ok,” you breathe, and he can hear your mind start to whiz into action, “Ok. Did you drink any of it?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Thank fuck,” a sigh of relief crackles in his ear, “Ok, that’s good. Good job. Can I come get you? I—I mean, do you want me to come get you now? Because I can—”

“No, sweetheart,” his eyes flick to the ceiling, trance broken, and he pushes the drawer closed, “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I will—”

He turns towards his desk, “No, really, it’s ok—“

“Oh my fucking god,” you huff, “Look, I am responsible for you. Not only that, but I—I care about you, Frankie. I need to know that you’re safe. And dry.” 

Warmth sprouts up beneath his sternum and branches out under his rib cage. 

“And—and it’s ok if the answer is no, because I can just come get you and bring you h-home,” you stumble a little on the last word, but you recover quickly, “Are you safe?” 

“Yeah. I just needed to, um,” he turns and leans back against the desk, pressing his fingertips to his mouth, then drops them and says, “Thanks for picking up.”

“You promise you’re not falling off the wagon?” 

“I promise.” 

“Good,” you say, your sweet, soft voice tinged with a smile, “If you’re lying to me, though, I’m gonna break your thumbs.” 

“Break my thumbs?” he chuckles. 

“Yeah, you know how many bottles you can lift with broken thumbs? None.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “Alright, alright. Don’t get out your vice grips just yet, buster.” 

You laugh and Frankie feels his heart swell with adoration. There’s a bit of an awkward pause when your laughter fades out, then you murmur, “Thank you for calling me. Instead of… you know.” 

“Yeah.”

“Still need me to pick you up from your meeting later?” 

“If that still works for you.”

“Of course it does,” you coo, and he can hear the smile in your voice again when you say, “So, about my movie pick for tonight...”

He grins, “Uh-huh. You got a good one?”

“Well, the thing is, I was going to pick The Shawshank Redemption, but that seems a bit too topical now—”

Laughter bubbles up Frankie’s throat, and he shakes his head, “Hey, maybe it’ll give me some pointers for tunneling my way out of a prison.” 

“That is so true. In that case, maybe I’ll keep it. We’ll see,” you chuckle, “Ok, well… I’ll see you tonight, then?” 

“I’ll be there.” 

When Frankie sees your car pull up to the strip mall coffee shop that holds his Friday night meeting, a few thoughts populate his head almost instantaneously. 

At the very forefront is the reminder that he kissed you. 

It was a peck, really, just a quick kiss goodnight. But for three days, the first thought on his mind when he sees you or thinks about you or breathes or does anything really is that he fucking kissed you. 

After being notified of his court date, Frankie should only be thinking up ways to see minimal jail time. But every time he finds a still moment, before anything else, he pictures you sitting on your bed, rubbing your lips and smiling as he leaves your room. 

The thought that follows this one, on par for the past three days, is that he fucked Angie. 

Has anyone ever felt this fucking terrible about having sex with his wife?

Then, on top of that, he said shitty things about you and let Angie do the same. He knows he didn’t just betray you, but he betrayed himself, too. It wasn’t just wrong, it was disingenuous. That knowledge fills him with a heaviness so profound, at times he thinks it might break him. 

Which brings up the last thought that shotguns through his head following the kiss, then Angie: 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

What “this” is, he hasn’t quite figured out yet. His marriage? His obsession with you? Sobriety? Life itself? 

Fuck, all of the above? 

All he knows is he means it, and that “this” is not sustainable. 

He built a timebomb with no countdown. If he concentrates hard enough he can hear it ticking in his bones, whispering in his ear: 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Frankie opens the passenger door to your car and sits down, closing it behind him, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” you throw the car into reverse, craning your neck around to check for oncoming traffic, “How was your meeting?” 

“It was… good, actually,” he stretches out in the seat and shrugs, “Yeah. I, uhh, I think I needed that today.”

“Yeah?” you glance over at him, “So your opinion that it’s, and I quote, ‘total bullshit’ has shifted a bit?” 

He chuckles, “I guess so.” 

“Wow, look at you. A changed man,” you smirk, “You’re almost two months sober, you know that?” 

“Feels like centuries,” he taps his lips, then tells you, “But also days, sometimes. I don’t know. It’s weird.” 

“Is it getting easier?” 

Not at all. 

The thought surfaces from the hungry part of his brain. The beast that just wants and wants and wants, regardless of the cost. But that’s not necessarily accurate, even though it’s the loudest part of him. 

“Sometimes,” he admits, “Sometimes I can’t imagine being that person again. And—and sometimes all I want to do is drink until I don’t care about anything anymore.”

“But the meetings help?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“What step are you on?”

“Well… I haven’t actually started the steps. So, zero.” Before you can ask, he adds, “I don’t know why. I should. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it.” 

You nod in acknowledgement, then a few seconds pass before you tell him, “Last time I talked to Ralph, he suggested I check out an Al-Anon meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“I’ve been thinking about doing it,” you glance between him and the road, “Would that be weird?” 

“I don’t think it would be weird at all,” he answers, tapping his fingers against his knee. 

“Really?”

“It might be helpful, talking to other people in similar… situations, I guess.”

“Ok. Well, yeah, maybe I’ll check it out.”

“You should,” he gives your arm a playful pinch. 

A smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Your hand moves towards his, then the fingers curl back and you mutter, “Sorry,” before returning it to the steering wheel. 

Frankie studies your face, watching your jaw gnash around like you’re chewing on your goddamn tongue again. He lays out his hand, palm facing up on the center console. 

You look at it, then release your white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to place your hand in his. 

Once you do, he interlaces your fingers and pulls your clasped hands to rest on his leg. His thumb absentmindedly works against your skin as he looks out the window at storefronts and restaurants rolling past. And, for the first time all day, he feels sated and calm, like he knows everything will turn out ok.

As the end credits to Moulin Rouge! run, Frankie looks down at you sleeping peacefully with your head on his lap. He rubs your arm, murmuring, “Sweetheart.”

You wake with a start, jolting upright, and clamber to the other end of the couch. Your wide, frightened eyes glow with the ambient light of the TV. Every muscle in your body is rigid and guarded. You look like a cornered animal. 

“Hey,” he holds up a hand, “It’s just me.”

It takes a moment for you to recognize him and your surroundings, but when you do, you slacken, burying your face in your hands, and release a sob.

He stares at you, afraid to move, not wanting to rattle you further. A minute goes by like this, while you cry and he sits there frozen and uncertain. 

“Sorry,” you sit up and wipe your eyes, shaking your head, “That was fucking weird I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t apologize. It’s ok.” 

“Ok,” you stand on shaky legs, “Well, goodnight.”

When you walk past him, he calls out, “Hey, wait,” and grabs your hand, “Are you ok?”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t pull away, either. For a moment he doesn’t even think you’re breathing. When your breath returns, it’s a sob that racks your body. You shake your head and choke out, “No.” 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” 

You nod, so he stands and follows you to your room. The lights stay off as he crawls into bed beside you, ushering you into his arms. You feel so warm there, fit so perfectly, even with your stuffed panda bear cuddled into your chest. 

When he thinks about your nightmares, your panic attacks, the times like this when you seem stuck somewhere far away, he desperately wants to know who did this to you. 

He can connect the dots. He doesn’t need you to tell him the gory details. If he could put a name and a face to the scars in your psyche, though… 

He cuts his thoughts short, not wanting to see all the methods of vengeance his volatile brain can come up with. Not with you right here, safe in his embrace, drifting to sleep. 

The long, slow breaths expanding and contracting your rib cage lull him into a hypnotic state, and sleep comes to him easily, the way it only does when he’s with you. 

Frankie wakes in your bed at dawn.

Eyes still closed, he frowns when a breeze slices through the thick, stagnant air and cools his skin.

He mutters to himself, “You stole the goddamn blanket again, didn’t you?”

One eye peaks open and confirms his suspicion. At some point overnight, you managed to twist yourself up into a cocoon on the opposite side of the bed. 

“Hmm?”

The noise is muffled and groggy. He chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing. Go back to bed.”

The heap jiggles a little. Your hand pokes out from underneath it and grabs around for him. He scoots closer, peeling back a poofy duvet layer to reveal your serene, still mostly sleeping face. You wince at the dull light of day, but a smile ticks across your lips when you make contact with him, smoothing your palm against the heat of his chest before worming your way into his arms. He pulls the blanket with you, draping it over himself, even though the air is hot and soupy, just to feel your warmth because it’s yours. 

You mumble something into his shirt. The words all stick together when they dribble from your comatose lips and he can’t make out a single one. 

He smirks, “What’s that?”

This time, you tilt your head to the ceiling, notching the crown of your head between his collar and jaw, smacking your mouth a few times before repeating yourself. 

This time, he understands. 

“IIiii love you.” 

His heart skitters electric through his fingertips. 

He tries to keep his countenance calm when he peaks down at you. Your eyes are closed, breath passing through your slack lips in long, halting strokes. One foot in the door of consciousness, if that. 

Fuck it. 

“I love you, too.” 

Every synapse in his brain shoots off like the grand finale of a fireworks display when he says it. A sweet, sleepy hum sounds from your throat as you feel around blindly for him, patting up his arm like you’re searching for a light switch in the dark. 

When you reach his face, your wobbly fingertips twitch a little. They graze his stubbled cheek, then follow the curve of his smile. Your eyelids flutter open, and it takes a moment for your eyes to focus, but when they do, you don’t go to move or push him away like he was half-expecting. 

No, instead, your gaze slides to where you trace his lips, your own parting with a sharp breath. 

If he says anything, he’ll fuck this up, he’s sure of it. And he wants to squeeze every last drop from this moment. So he just watches you and tries to subdue the wildfire scorching his bones to dust.

“I had a dream about you,” you tell him in a hoarse whisper, as if someone might overhear. 

His pulse surges. He feels his limbs wiggle a little closer to you as he asks, “A good dream?”

You nod.

“What happened?” 

The answer tucks into the corners of your mouth and spreads across your face in a big party banner smile, “I dreamed that you, um…”

You lick your lips and shrug, raking your nails along his jaw, reeling him in closer. He doesn’t want to be the fool that makes the first move. Not unless you want him to be. 

“That I what?”

The question leaves his throat in a rumble. Permission, he needs your permission, baby, please—

Then you kiss him. Delicate and hesitant, like a question: “Do you want this?”

“I do,” every cell in his body cries, aching with restrained force when his lips move in response, pressing hard against yours like a declaration, “I don’t just want this, I need this. I need you.” 

A moan bows your vocal cords, vibrating onto his tongue as you yank on his shirt and roll onto your back, pulling him on top of you. It’s like second nature, how his hips arch into yours, the dull edge of your pubic bone grinding against his already stiff, throbbing length. 

He keeps expecting you to come to your senses and shove him away, but you don’t. You keep kissing him, pulling him closer, tongue rolling soft and wet against his—morning breath be damned, thank fucking god. If you tried to shoo him now, he might die, too much inertia from this pulsing, maddening energy rippling beneath his skin, it would tear him to shreds. 

Your lips part from his and you peer up at him through your lashes, studying his face as you tug at his cock over his shorts. His whole body shudders, a groan spilling from his chest, and you smirk, “Take them off.” 

“Are you sure?”

You glance at his lips, then meet his eyes, “No, but do it anyway.” 

Frankie sits up and strips off his clothes, watching you do the same. You pull him with you as you lay back on your elbows, lips meeting again and again in frantic, desperate kisses. His cock nudges against your slick entrance, and you whine, “Please—” 

He pushes forward, swallowed up by your tight, wet heat, catching the whine of “Fuck yes,” that escapes your mouth. A thick wave of pleasure rushes up his spine, and your hips work against his, taking him faster, the shared movements quickly escalating. 

“So fucking good,” he pants, nipping at the column of your throat as your head falls loosely back, “Sweet girl, you take me so well, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding up at the ceiling, mouth hanging open slack, eyes pinched shut, “Oh my god, yes, Frankie—”

“That’s it, baby, say my name,” he growls, this insane gush of hot, writhing ecstasy flooding his body, “Look at me.”

Your head snaps up and you meet his eyes. He slips a hand behind your head and cradles your skull, holding you here, fucking you in deep, long strokes, asking you, “Whose pussy is this?”

“It’s yours, Frankie,” you gasp, nodding, “It’s yours, it’s always yours, fuck—”

“Fuck yes it is,” his voice sounds far away, babbling all on its own as he grapples with the fire growing inside him, “Does your little boyfriend fuck you like this?” 

You let out a pathetic whimper and shake your head, “No.”

“Do you think about me when you fuck him?”

A nod, continuing frantically when he asks, “Think about how you wish it was me to make yourself come?” 

“Fuck, holy shit, Frankie—oh my fucking god—”

You’re so fucking close. His muscles start to clench at the overwhelming pleasure. 

“That’s it baby, come on, let it go, it’s ok, be a good girl let me feel you come on this dick—”

Your moans grow louder, matching his fervid thrusts, and he feels you suck him in, the spasming squeeze of your plush, hot walls yanking him violently over the edge. Liquid static condenses, then pulses through him, and he lets out a guttural noise as he fucks his load into you. 

The rhythm of his hips slow, then come to a stop. 

He looks down at you, panting, and brushes his thumb against your cheek, searching your face for signs of regret, and notices you’re studying him in the same manner.

You smooth your hands over his shoulders, then pull him into a sweet, lingering kiss. When your lips depart his, you release a heavy sigh, dragging your nails through his damp bed head as you ask, “What time do you have to go?” 

An old, familiar ache returns. Reality setting in. He realizes what the day holds in store for him. Sarah’s birthday party. Spending the day with family and friends, playing pretend. 

When he thinks about being around you and Angie simultaneously, how he will have to act neutral or even cold towards you, his stomach twists and a sour taste rises in his throat. He’s been here a million times and it always leaves him nauseous with shame. It doesn’t feel right. It never felt right. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Everything seems to click into place. He understands what he has to do. 

“Pablo is picking me up around 9.”

Your throat bobs and a crease forms between your brows as you avert your gaze, fingers still working through his hair, “Today’s gonna be a fucking nightmare, isn’t it?” 

“Mmm,” he presses a kiss into your forehead, right on the little worry lines, mumbling against your skin, “It’ll be ok.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “We just fucked, now we’re gonna spend the day with your wife and daughter, what could go wrong?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he chuckles, but you don’t find it funny. 

You flinch and look down, hands curling to your chest. Frankie tilts your chin up. When he meets your eyes, they’re bloodshot and watery. He opens his mouth to say something, frantically searching his brain for some kind of band-aid, but the box is empty. He’s not sure what to say to comfort you. All that comes out of his stupid fucking mouth is, “I—fuck, sorry.” 

“No, it’s ok,” you wipe your eyes and sit up, so he draws back, watching you scramble to put your shorts back on, “I, um… I’ll go make some coffee.” 

He wants to assure you it will be ok, that he’s going to fix this, make things right. Something he should have done years ago. But the words lodge in his chest. What if he can’t fix it? What if it’s another promise he can’t keep? 

So he just sits there and lets you walk away for the millionth time. 

After taking a shower and getting dressed, Frankie pours a cup of coffee and walks into the living room, where you’re scribbling in your notebook, limbs twisted up into a tight knot. Uncertainty paralyzes him in the archway between rooms. He takes a step back, pauses, then steps forward. 

You smack the notebook and blink at him, “Oh my god Frankie, just sit down, you’re making me nervous.” 

He nods and strides over to the couch, lowering himself onto the cushion beside you with a groan. Meanwhile, you return your attention to the notebook, furrowing your brow as you write.

Curiosity flips his stomach. Is it about him? About what just happened? 

Desperately, he wants you to share your feelings on the matter with him like you would your journal. The unfiltered truth. 

Do you want this like I do?

He takes a big, burning sip of coffee, then asks, “What’re you writing about?”

Your eyebrow arches and you continue to scribble as you narrate, “Dear diary, he’s gonna be super fucking weird about this now, isn’t he?”

Frankie snorts, shaking his head while you spear your pencil down the notebook’s wired spine and smirk at him. He tugs at one of your ankles, and you welcome the invitation, stretching your legs out across his lap and he scoots closer. 

“Am I being weird about it?” he asks, glancing down into his steaming mug. 

You exchange the notebook for your coffee and raise it to your lips before shrugging, “A little. But I think I am, too, so…” You take a loud sip, then lower your mug and ask, “Do you regret it yet?”

He doesn’t even think about it. The answer barrels from his heart to his mouth. 

“No.” 

A timid sort of smile curves your lips. It reminds him of the way a neglected animal would react to an outstretched hand. Cautious. Not sure if he’ll slap or pet you, but hopeful. 

“Really?”

He nods, searching your face, “What about you?”

“No. But—” your smile falters, eyes dropping to your coffee cup, “But I’m scared.” 

Guilt pools icy cold in his guts. His throat bobs on its own accord. He takes your hand, weaving his fingers with yours.

Your face twists into a pained expression and you croak, “What are we even doing here?” 

“I don’t know yet,” he shakes his head, “But give me some time—”

“I can’t be your mistress again,” you whisper, shaking your head as tears pool in your eyes, voice escalating, tinged with panic, “Please don’t ask me to do that again, it would kill me, Frankie, I fucking can’t—”

“Hey—no,” he sits up to place his mug on the table, takes yours and does the same, then scoops you up onto his lap.

You bury your face in his neck. Sobs work through your body with violent force—a horrible, tortured sound that pulverizes his heart. All he can do is squeeze you tight and do his best to restrain his own tears. It barely works. Self-loathing bubbles under his skin. 

His voice cracks as he tells you, “I won’t do that to you again, mariposa, I promise. I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll fix it, ok?” 

He clenches his eyes shut, cradling you as a few more strangled noises burst from your chest, each one driving the thought deeper: I don’t want to do this anymore. 

“Give me some time,” he rasps into your hair, “I promise I’ll fix it—”

“You’re just saying that because I’m crying,” you choke out in an accusatory fashion, then take a big, wet, gasping breath. 

“No, I’m not—hey, look at me.”

He pulls back to meet your eyes, but you shake your head in protest, covering your face, “I don’t want to, I’m ugly crying.”

“Ugly crying?” Frankie snorts, “I don’t know about that, let me see.” 

Your shoulders bounce with a soggy, muffled chuckle, “Shut up.”

He smirks at the spunky response as you sniffle and drop your hands, shooting him a glare he knows you don’t mean. Feigning seriousness, he pinches your chin to inspect your damp, puffy face. 

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue and sighs, “Just as I thought. Too goddamn pretty for your own good.” 

To this, you roll your eyes and chuckle, “You’re a liar.” 

“Maybe,” he shrugs, thumb sliding across the plush of your bottom lip, “But not about this.”

Your gaze softens as you search his face, “Which part?” 

“All of it.” 

“Really?”

Frankie nods. 

You study him, brow furrowed, eyes welling up. Everything is so silent and still, he wonders if the world stopped turning. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you croak out, “You better not be fucking with me, Francisco.”

“I’m not—”

“Because, I swear to god, if you’re lying—”

He cups your cheeks and holds your gaze steady on his, “I promise, ok? I’ll tell Ang later this week. But today…” He trails off, shaking his head, “I don’t know.”

A few tears break loose, so he wipes them away. 

The column of your throat bobs and you ask, “Do you still want me to go?”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, “Do you still want to go?”

“You first.” 

“I’d like it if you did. And it would mean a lot to Sarah,” he slips his arms around your waist and leans back onto the couch. You follow, laying your head on his shoulder, melting into him as he pets your hair and says, “But it’s up to you. It might be hard.”

“Because you’re still… with her, right? Like this?”

His chest aches. You flatten your palm against his heart and he tells you, “Yeah. Well, kind of. It’s different, but yeah.” 

“Different how?” 

I don’t love her. Not like this. 

“I, um… I don’t know how to explain it. She’s just a different person. Our relationship isn’t like this. It’s kind of like it was, but, you know… worse.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then ask, “Do you still fuck her?”

“No.”

The lie slips out automatically. Immediately, his stomach drops to the ground. He wishes he could take it back, and for a second, he considers it. But, at the same time, you don’t need to know about a one-time fuck up. 

He shifts a little, looking down at you, “But we’re still… affectionate sometimes. Which could be hard to see. So, it’s up to you.” 

You smooth your hand up his chest, to his neck, and sit up to meet his eyes, “I’ll go.”

Frankie nods, searching your face. 

“We can behave, right?” your eyebrow quirks, and you glance down at his mouth. 

“Uh huh,” he leans closer, inhaling your breath, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. 

But when his lips meet yours, and sparks ignite under his skin, he knows it’s just another lie. 

[maggplays]

Bio? Something like that.

How did I start modding? Literally no one has asked this, but here's my story, don't worry it's not long... I guess that depends on what your definition of “long” is, haha! Hang on, here we go.

On a random day in January, 2024, a few days before my birthday, I might add... I woke up to stars in my right eye. A few days later, I was told I had a very rare injury and it would never heal. Those are not words an artist/gamer wants to hear! Long story short, I am now legally blind in my right eye. If you think, oh that's not a huge deal, you can still see. Humor me, get a cheap pirate eyepatch, put that on, then pour yourself a cup of coffee. Not as easy as you thought, right? Depth perception. It’s a thing. Anyway, on with the story. Suffice it to say, I was depressed. Majorly. Then, through some random conversation somewhere, I found Stardew Valley.

Perfect! 2D animation, cute pixel art, story that's not sugar-coated anime, I love it! Got to year 3, TBH I've never played past year 3 because ADHD, and realized the dialogue was quite lacking. Then I discovered mods. What the-, it's a freakin' goldmine! Downloaded a lot of things, mostly dialogue, and tossed half of them. While playing through a Sebastian run, I saw it. Oh. My. God. It's a coding error glaring at me in my dialogue box. This is NOT acceptable. I tried to ignore it, but then it happened again. Okay, time for some investigation. I opened the folder and found... json files. Interesting, I wasn't entirely clueless since I do know HTML code from back when the internet was a baby, Facebook had no ads, and dinosaurs roamed the earth. Okay, okay, the internet was more like a spoiled toddler. Yes, I'm old. Shut up. But I digress. It didn't take long to discover the misplaced punctuation and go on my merry reality-avoiding way. Until I got bored again.

I looked for more Seb mods, but there were like seven. Three were yandere, not my jam, and only 2 were updated for 1.6 and were dialogue-only. Solution? Make my own mod for myself. I spent six weeks downloading mods, learning code, Googling to very little effect, writing dialogue, learning how to make an event, discovering I knew nothing, and on and on. The perfect distraction from the whole eye thing. I finished a decent draft, loaded it up, and praise Yoba, it worked! And on we play. At some point, I saw a comment complaining about the lack of Sebastian dialogue mods. Huh, yep, they're right. Too bad. Oh. Well, I guess I could load this thing I made, it's really just my own internal story monologue while playing the game, I'm NOT a writer, and most people probably won't get it. But I did spend a lot of time on this, and maybe someone out there will like it. Heck, no skin off my nose since it's free. So I took a deep breath, made peace with my inner demons, and threw it out into the void of Nexus, expecting it to be swallowed up and ignored. That... didn't happen.

In the first few hours, several people downloaded it. Huh, Nexus must have a decent search algorithm. That was literally all I thought about it. The next day, 300 downloads. And comments! Mostly positive with the exception of one wild demand I subsequently ignored. At one week, it had 3,000 unique downloads. I was floored, 3,000 weirdos downloaded my mod. Add to that, people seemed to actually like it! I've never gotten so much positive feedback for anything in my life. Seriously. Apparently, my oddball internal monologue, thanks ADHD, is quite entertaining. Heck, might as well make another one... and here we are. Yes, I've gotten negative comments and unreasonable demands, but I do my best to ignore them and practice staying positive. Trolls be damned! It's a lot harder to do that for yourself than for other people, turns out.

So, bottom line, found something interesting? Try it! Does it make you happy? Keep doing it! Even if it's only for yourself, do the thing and let it make you smile. Share it with the world if you're so inclined. Get out there and kick ass!!

[untitled5071]

your drabble of taffy meeting the creature earlier on the film makes me want to see those two being friends. but also taffy realising the creature likes lisa but lisa is too focused on michael to notice. catch her putting some colour on his face and painting his nails. she makes him watch romantic films to give him ideas on how to win lisa over

I'm glad you liked the last one! I have no idea of you meant for this to be a request but I took it as one anyway, please enjoy some Creature/Taffy bonding time!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

“Okay, the next thing we have to work on is your nails, because no offense, but judging by these cuticles I can absolutely tell that you were in the ground for a century and a half.”

The corpse across from her grunted in indignation, but the effect was skewed by the blush that dusted his cheeks and the fluffy pink scrunchie that was currently holding his hair back. 

Taffy rolled her eyes teasingly and held out her hand, gesturing for the creature to give her his. He complied, and she grabbed the manicure kit she had gotten for Christmas the year before and got to work, pushing his cuticles back gently and cleaning up his nail beds as best she could while her TV announced the next music video it would be playing behind her.

They were sitting on the floor of Taffy’s bedroom; Lisa had gone out for a snack run and left her step sister alone with her secret undead companion, and Taffy hadn’t hesitated to use the opportunity to give the creature in her sister’s closet some much-needed pampering.

 He had protested the idea until Taffy had told him it would make him look more presentable for Lisa, and soon he was reluctantly sitting cross-legged in front of her on her bright teal carpet while Taffy tried and failed to find a foundation shade that matched his pallid skin. 

The process of applying makeup hadn’t lasted long since the creature wanted to remain as natural (unnatural?) as possible, and soon Taffy was taking his hand in hers and applying a base coat of nail polish onto his left hand while he watched curiously. Her TV was tuned into MTV, and she could see Creature stare at it for short bursts at a time before looking away, slightly overwhelmed by the colors, sounds and images he was being exposed to for the first time. 

Taffy hummed along as she fixed up his nails, and when she finished up the left hand she mimed blowing on it and told him to copy her, which he did as she moved onto the right hand, ignoring the stitches as she got started. 

A few minutes of silence lapsed between them; the creature was probably still a little unsure of whether or not he should be hanging around with her; they had a shaky introduction, but he seemed harmless enough to Taffy and she was just happy that someone was around for her sister in a way she herself had never quite been able to despite her best efforts, so he was okay in her book. And Taffy was clearly the family member that Creature had the least amount of disdain towards, so they had formed a tentative friendship, one that Taffy was currently trying to strengthen with this little makeover. 

Deciding to break the silence, she looked up into the corpse’s bewildered eyes and smiled, tearing him away from his staring contest with Billy Idol in the “Rebel Yell” music video.

“Don’t even think about getting bleached, buddy. Blonde would not be a good look for you.”

He grunted again, slightly offended, but she waved him off.

“Let’s rap. When did you first get the hots for Lisa?”

His grunt pitched up in surprise, and he gave her a look that was somehow sheepish, guilty and mortified all at once. 

“Dude, it’s totally obvious. You aren’t subtle AT ALL, I think everyone but Lisa herself can see that you’re totally smitten.”

His cheeks darkened under the artificial blush she had given him, and she nodded sagely. 

“Told you. So, when did it happen? When you got reanimated?”

The creature shook his head and pointed out an arched path with his left hand. 

“Oh, before? When you were still in the ground?”

He nodded, and Taffy whistled, impressed. 

“Damn, that’s some dedicated crush. Who knew grave tending was such a good way to meet guys?”

The creature snorted out a laugh, and Taffy raised a well-plucked eyebrow inquisitively. 

“So when are you going to tell her that you’re head over heels, huh? Frankly I think she should have noticed ages ago, but she’s always needed a bit more help in matters of love than most people and she won’t take my word for it, so you’re probably going to have to do some show and tell before she gets it.”

He hummed distractedly, his blush still very much present as he thought about ways to woo Taffy’s stepsister. She finished up his right hand and took his left again, his brow sill deeply furrowed in thought as she picked up the bottle of black nail polish that she had gotten for the Miss Tristate Teen Halloween pageant and began applying it to his now-dry nails. 

“I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head, you know. If you need any help we can go raid her VHS collection, I know she’s got some rom coms in there that you could get some inspiration from.”

He groaned in agreement, eyebrows still scrunched together. Taffy rolled her eyes fondly at the lovesick, oblivious idiot in front of her. 

“But you know, you probably don’t need much help. She may not realize it yet, but I can tell she’s got feelings for you, too. I don’t have to be an I.P. for that, I just know. I haven’t seen her talk or smile this much since I met her, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’s turning heads in the hallway. That’s all you, and I’m sure she’ll realize it eventually. Just so long as you keep doing what you’re doing and practically worshiping the ground she walks on, she’ll figure it out. I promise.”

She switched to his other hand as the creature absorbed her words, and when she looked up he grunted, the words lost but the message clear. 

Thank you. 

She beamed at him. 

“You’re welcome. Just don’t break her heart, or else I’m going to put you back in the ground for good this time, okay?”

She said it brightly, but her eyes were anything but joking. Creature’s own widened in turn and he shook his head vigorously and with complete conviction. Taffy nodded, satisfied. 

“Now hold still or you’re going to mess me up.”

The corpse complied, letting Taffy get back to work. She hummed along to the music video playing behind her, and she was just about to put the finishing touches on his thumb when the front door opened and shut under them, and the sound of combat booted feet trampling up the stairs caught their attention. A few seconds later, Lisa poked her head into Taffy’s bedroom door, arms laden with candy bags and eyes bright. 

“Oh, hey guys! Are you doing makeovers?”

“Yep! Come join us, though I should warn you I require payment for my services in the form of Bottlecaps.”

Lisa smiled and walked into the room, handing the previously mentioned candy to Taffy before plopping down next to her corpse, patting the top of his head before taking a look at the spread of self-care items before them. 

While Lisa was absorbed in her examinations, Taffy absolutely did not miss the absolutely adoring eyes the creature was turning her way, nor the way his longing practically radiated off of him in waves. She grinned, and the corpse looked up and caught her eye. She winked at him and gave him a quick double thumbs-up out of Lisa’s view, and his eyes widened, before he relaxed slightly and gave her a shy, conceding smile. 

The moment was interrupted by Lisa straightening, her hands wrapped around the same bottle of nail polish Taffy had just finished using on the Creature. 

“Oooh, can you do mine? I didn’t even know you had black in your collection and I’m awful at doing my own right hand.”

Taffy smiled, utterly delighted at the idea of helping her sister out with a fresh coat of paint. She stretched out her hand and Lisa took it, fingers spread as she bounced a little. The goth looked over at her undead companion as Taffy began painting, and when she noticed his nails her smile widened. 

“Hey, look at that. We’re gonna match!”

He beamed at her in turn, his devotion lined in every crease of his face, and Lisa scooted slightly closer to him, their thighs pressed together. 

Taffy turned her attention to her work, just barely keeping the smile off of her own face. 

They’ll figure it out. Eventually. 

[avocado-writing]

Hello, writing req prompt if you're up for it: Aziraphale x reader first time intimacy

Btw I'm eating your every fic they so good!

notes: my fav thing is when people eat my stories. Reminds me of that Maurice sendak story. Anyway hope you enjoy!!!

pairing: aziraphale x reader

rating: E, minors dni

The first time he touches you it’s totally without realising. His mail got delivered to your shop and you’re bringing it over, grateful to have an excuse to talk to the man you’ve quite fancied since you met at the last Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association. As you pass him the small pile of letters your fingers brush together and you feel a little spark of electricity. You’re not sure if it’s static, or something… else. 

He offers you a cup of tea, and you accept it happily. He’s very easy to talk to. Before you realise, the day has slipped into evening. 

The first time he touches you on purpose it’s because you’ve walked into his shop and slipped over, falling heavily on your arse. It’s raining outside and you apparently brought in a puddle with you. The only thing bruised is your pride but he rushes over and offers a sturdy hand to get to your feet, all worry and care. 

“My dear, are you alright?”

“Yes, sorry! I didn’t mean to get your shop floor all wet. I can always mop…”

“Don’t be silly. You need a cup of cocoa and some biscuits on the double. Sit down, I’ll get you both. Oh, but let me take that wet coat first.”

It’s nice to have him fuss over you. You only came round to ask if he could see about getting a book in and, if you’re honest, that was just an excuse to say hello. He helps slip your raincoat off of your shoulders and he must also realise how intimate an action it is, because as he goes to put it on the coatrack his cheeks are flushed pink. 

Another lovely chatty afternoon. He reveals he’s never seen Notting Hill, and you simply can’t allow that to continue unremedied. So the two of you sit on his couch (he seems more than happy to close the store early) and enjoy the movie as much as each other’s company. 

The first time he holds you, it’s on one of the film nights you’ve scheduled with him. It’s your favourite part of the week, closing up your shop and scuttling to the bookstore with a dvd in hand. You’re watching the 1995 Sense and Sensibility, and he seems very tense the entire way through. For a while you’re not sure why until he finally gathers up the courage to put his arm around you. Your heart leaps up into your throat at the gesture, but you snuggle in tight next to him, letting him run his thumb up and down your shoulder in a little caress. 

And the first time he kisses you is as he walks you back to your shop that night - you live in the flat above it, so he doesn’t have to accompany you as it’s just over the road, but he insists it’s the gentlemanly thing to do - and, at the door, you spin and give him a quick peck. He seems dazed, but manages to get ahold of his senses enough to bring you back for a second, proper kiss. 

At your next movie night, you don’t pay attention to Four Weddings and a Funeral. You’re too busy snogging. 

And now, here you are. In his lap. The kissing has gotten hot and heavy, he’s unbuttoned your shirt nearly all the way down; you’ve stripped him of his waistcoat which makes him seem positively nude. His hands slide under your thighs and grip you tightly, moving a little closer to your arse as you breathe hotly into the shell of his ear. 

“Aziraphale…” you gasp, stretching your legs open wide so that he might fit between them better. Your hand runs down his beautiful thick chest to the front of his trousers, where you rub the strained tent. He gasps and his head rolls back at your sure touch. 

“Can I…?”

“Yes. Please,” he chokes. You make quick work of his fly and reach in to take him in your hand. He’s hot and heavy in your palm, throbbing with need, and you give him a couple of pumps just to hear the little overwhelmed noises he makes. 

He slips his fingers away from where they dig into your soft skin and presses them at the sweet point between your thighs. You moan and keel into him, letting his deft and precise movements sweep over you with pleasure. You kiss him again, moving only so that you can take off enough of your clothes to return with your lower half naked. To disrobe further would mean you’d have to stop touching him, and you can’t stand that thought. You need him close. As close as he can possibly be. 

Aziraphale settles his hands on your waist as you take him once more into your grasp. You line him up with your entrance and, checking that he’s ready with sultry eyes, sink down on him. He moans, bloody moans, and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard; you want to bottle it and keep it for yourself so you can listen to it again and again. He fills you, stretches you, makes you one with him. You’ve never felt so warm and complete in your life. 

Hands on his shoulders you tip forward to be able to rest your forehead against his. You’re both a little sweaty, both a little breathless, but both more than a little elated. His soft curls tickle your face as you begin to ride him with gentle but deliberate motions. You roll your hips and he squeezes you tighter, your name falling from his lips like he’s offering up a prayer to you. 

As the London rain pelts the windows, you make love to the bookseller in the back of his shop, and it’s perfect.  -

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan

[sleekervae]

New York Romantic .5

Masterlist

a/n: Happy new year everyone! I'm so sorry I've been MIA in recent weeks. I've been going through a depression spell over the holidays, but I'm trying to come out of it. I promise I'll be updating my other stories, slowly but surely as always. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this update!

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: a soft snow day in new york

word count: 5181

taglist: @watercolorskyy @carolanns-world @alana4610

The hallways were relatively quiet, a handful of students were cleaning out their lockers and studio spaces for the winter break. Tom didn't have much in his own locker, just some loose papers and a couple of text books. He wasn't too pressed to notice somebody walking upon him until the lockers thudded and shifted under the weight of someone's shoulder ramming into them. Tom glanced up to find Daniel staring back at him, sharp almond eyes reminding him of a cat with a mouse narrowed in his gaze while sidling up beside him with a disarming smile.

"Hi!" he greeted cheerily.

"Hi," Tom nodded back, "You're... Daniel, right?"

"Yeah! You're an acting major, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm Tom," Tom put his hand out for Daniel to shake, though the spindly dancer shrugged him off. Tom didn't think anything of it and continued to sort his things.

"Nice to meet you. I don't wanna be brash right before the break, but I've noticed you've been talking to Noelle quite a bit lately," he said.

The mention of her name caused Tom to pause; he straightened his posture and turned back to the dancer.

"Yeah... she's my neighbour," Tom replied cautiously, sensing an unspoken tension in Daniel's words.

"Do you like her?" Daniel asked.

Tom shrugged back, "Yeah. I mean she's very nice," he replied, itching to get to the point of why Daniel wanted to talk about this.

Daniel's smile faltered, a touch of protectiveness entering his voice. "Look, man, I've had feelings for Noelle for a while now. We're kind of a thing, you know?"

Tom fidgeted uncomfortably. Not once had Noelle, Bianca, or anyone in her circle mentioned that she had a boyfriend, "She's not your girlfriend, though,"

Daniel's expression turned stern, his tone more forceful, "Not officially, but we're getting there. It'd be best if you didn't get too close. Just to avoid misunderstandings,"

Tom hesitated, struggling to articulate his thoughts, "I-I'm just -- I didn't mean to —"

Before Tom could finish, Daniel's demeanor stiffened, a hint of displeasure flashing across his features, "You kissed her at Josh's party, didn't you?"

Tom's gaze faltered, "Well, yeah... but it was truth or dare," he shrugged back, discomfort tingling up his spine.

Daniel refrained from scoffing, "Well, next time either pick truth or take the shot. Because you may be all cool with your British accent and your Shakespeare, but I saw her first,"

At that, Tom's discomfort turned to a subtle anger, "I haven't done anything wrong. She's not your girlfriend and she can do as she pleases," he replied.

Daniel was about to rebut when his friends called for him at the end of the hall, "Daniel! You coming?"

Daniel straightened up, his expression firm and his lips feigned a smile, "Just mind your business, man," just to add insult to injury, he reached out and popped the collar of Tom's button-down before sauntering away. Annoyed, Tom adjusted his collar back into place, trying not to glare a hole into the back of the dancer's head.

School was out for the winter, Julliard's halls were empty and students had taken off from the break. Tom woke up two days after school's end and found the city glittering absolutely glittering. Overnight, a gentle blanket of snow had delicately wrapped itself around the towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, transforming the usually hectic urban landscape into a picturesque winter wonderland. The snowflakes continued to gracefully fall from the heavens, painting the cityscape in a pristine coat of white. The delicate snow-covered branches of trees along the sidewalks added a touch of ethereal beauty, creating a breathtaking contrast against the steel and concrete structures. As the city stirred to life, there was a palpable sense of awe and wonder within Tom at the enchanting transformation that was downtown Manhattan.

Sunny had left the day previous, fearful that the snow would hinder his flight to Birmingham, so Tom was left to his own devices in the apartment. Noelle's family was supposed to arrive today as well, just in time for her department showcase in a couple days. Tom hadn't spoken much to her after that party, he wasn't sure what to say -- if he should say anything at all.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought back to that kiss, replaying moments in his head as he laid awake in bed. He could still feel the ghost of her soft lips imprinted on his, the tang of her cherry lip balm against his tongue, how easy and natural it felt to have her in his embrace. The giggling and snide comments afterwards didn't phase him so much as his own fears did. It was a dare after all, it wasn't supposed to mean anything.

So why was he still so affected after a few days? And why was Daniel so suddenly possessive of Noelle?

He went about his day as per usual, oatmeal for breakfast and lounging on the couch with Netflix. Despite the heavy snow, he could still hear the cacophony of traffic blaring just outside his window, the pane itself was covered in beautiful, delicate curls of frost. He checked in with his mum as well and she spent about fifteen minutes showing him all the decorations she and his sister had put up. She reiterated that it wouldn't be the same Christmas without him, but as long as he was safe and having fun with friends then she wasn't worried.

And Tom wasn't going to be completely alone, there were a couple friends sticking around in the city he would hang around with; Jordan being one of them. And not to mention he still had Doris' dinner offer on the table if he felt so inclined.

It was peaceful, tranquil, and by the time the early afternoon rolled around Tom was close to falling asleep on the couch. That is until he heard a knocking at his door. Tom figured it might've been Doris checking in, but she would've been hollering for him. And then he heard it:

"Tom? Are you home?" it was Noelle.

Why was she still here? She should've been downtown with her family at this rate. Nevertheless, Tom threw on his slippers and shuffled over to the door, and sure enough he found Noelle standing in the threshold, bundled up in her coat, boots and toque.

"Hey. What're you doing here?" he asked, leaving against the door frame to offset his nerves, "Aren't you supposed to be downtown?"

"I was," she nodded, "But my aunt called and their train got delayed because of the snow and it's a whole mess right now. They're hoping to catch the one tomorrow," she explained, "But I mean -- I was wondering if you had no plans today... do you wanna hang out?"

His anxiety lessened, endeared with her big brown eyes and wistful smile, "Yeah, yeah I'd love to," he replied with a nod, "You're going out somewhere?"

"I'm getting some groceries at Paddy's. Leave it to Bianca to forget to stock up before she left," she chuckled, "I should be back in about thirty minutes, I just wanted to catch you early,"

"Well, how about I come with you?" he offered.

"Oh, it's okay. I'll be fine," she assured.

He scoffed back, "Well maybe, but you shouldn't have to take all your stuff by yourself. Not in this weather, anyway," he replied, "-- I'd feel better coming with you, I mean,"

Noelle pressed her lips together, trying hard to bite back her smile. His own lips held a half purse, his big blue eyes blown as he feigned a pout.

"If you're sure, then yeah! I wouldn't mind the company," she said.

He went to grab his snow boots and coat -- grateful his mum had shipped them over a month early -- and ventured out into the cold alongside Noelle. There was a moment of hesitation in the back of his mind, wondering if he should've taken Daniel's warning more seriously. But on the other hand Noelle wasn't his girlfriend, nor was she Tom's, and if she wanted to hang out with him then who was he to deny her?

If he thought he was cold within his apartment then he would've been laughing, a sharp cold wind immediately nipped at his nose and eyes. The usual walk to Paddy's was a little more chaotic then usual, snow had piled onto the sidewalks as high as mid-shin -- well, for Noelle at least. Tom was bemused as he watched her stomp heavily into the snow banks, almost hopping from foot-to-foot. Despite his entertainment, he offered her his hand, helping guide her along until they came to the already shovelled walkways. Neither of them bothered to unlatch their hands on the stroll over.

Stepping inside Paddy's was scarce with people, two store attendants were shovelling snow out of the entrance while another was struggling with a large bag of melting salts. Tom grabbed a cart and his hands stung at the frigid cold on the hand rail. Nevertheless he planted his foot on the bottom rail and sailed in right past Noelle.

Noelle quickly caught up to the young actor strolling down the baked goods section, having now collected a few necessities. Tom already had thrown in some fruit, vegetables, cereal, a gallon of milk and a bag of pretzels. His eyes were scanning over display case filled with cookies, small cakes, and croissants. They were a pretty decent size, dusted in powdered sugar and appeared flakey and soft. He had asked for two from the bakery attendant just as Noelle had come over with a plethora of goodies in her arms.

"What's all this?" he asked curiously, his eyes skimming over the packet of sausages and box of pancake mix.

"You ever do brunch?" she replied, her eyes glimmering in excitement.

"Not very often," he admitted, his intrigue spiking, "Do you?"

Noelle dropped her items into the cart, sporting a satisfied smirk, "Only when I don't feel like eating instant noodles for the third time in a week," the attendant had just placed the bag of croissants on the countertop for Tom, "What's that?"

"Croissants," he replied simply, "Would they be acceptable for brunch?"

"Is the pope a catholic?" she simpered, "We should get some jam, then -- rasp--"

"Raspberry?" they spoke in sync, bashful grins exchanged in tandem with lithe chuckles and blushing cheeks. Tom placed the croissants in the cart along with the rest of their goodies.

The snow had began to fall again as they trudged back home, hand-in-hand. Neither Tom nor Noelle mentioned it, both silently reassuring themselves that their joined hands were merely for stability on the slippery ground. But as they walked along sidewalks meticulously cleared of snow for easy passage, Tom wondered if that explanation held true at this point.

Nevertheless, Tom did his best to help Noelle as much as he could, keeping shells out of the eggs he cracked and doing his best to avoid grease spatter. Frost curled across the glass window panes, snow continued to pile anew across the cityscape, and yet Tom and Noelle remained safe and warm in their little sanctuary, the tantalizing smell of bacon and sausages wafting through the air while music drifted softly from Noelle's small speaker set up.

There was a jar of open peach jam on the table, to which Tom happily took advantage of to smear across his croissant. Noelle had settled for butter on her own, noting how Tom's face seemed to fall in disappointment after one bite.

"Is it okay?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah, not as crispy as I'd like it to be," he nodded.

"Probably because it sat in the bag for about an hour," she shrugged back, "Or grocery croissants don't usually tend to match up with the elite bakeries,"

"Probably," he agreed, "But I love them, anyway. My dad used to bring us croissants from this bakery on Saturday mornings -- and I swear to you, they were the most amazing croissants I ever had in my life!"

Noelle grinned, his enthusiasm rubbing off on her as she cradled her chin in her hands, "Most amazing croissants? That's a pretty bold statement, considering where you are," she chuckled back, 'But that's a really sweet memory. I bet he was a really great dad,"

"He was. When I saw him, anyway," Tom nodded, "He was always working on the show, even before my parents separated. But he did his best to make time for us, and every time -- even if we just stayed home and watched movies, we always had a great time," his voice harboured a lilt of sadness, ruminating for the things he missed most. He didn't want his face to betray his feelings in front of Noelle, though it wasn't hard for her to pick off his demeanour change.

Her expression softened, her chest tugging at the shift in his gaze, how his words drifted into nothing. Without a second thought Noelle's hand slid across the small dining table, at first her finger tips simply nudged his, then slipped over them. Tom was brought out of his headspace the second her chilled hand fell over his, so small and dry, but nevertheless her skin was so smooth, carrying a few blemishes in the form of paper cuts and unevenly filed nails.

"He sounds like he was wonderful man," she smiled, "I think I would've loved to have met him,"

He began to relax into her touch, it all felt so natural and cozy, although he began to remember:

"-- you may be all cool with your British accent and your Shakespeare, but I saw her first,"

And with that Tom pulled his hand away. Noelle's smile disappeared.

"I'm -- I'm sorry," he stammered suddenly.

"No, no, I'm sorry," she shook her head, "I didn't mean to overstep --"

"You didn't!" he exclaimed quickly, then brashly scolding himself for raising his voice, "Sorry. I just don't want to..." cross a proverbial line? Get his ass handed to him by a neurodivergent hip hop major?

"You didn't do anything wrong," she assured him, her fingernails began to scratch at the faded wood top, "-- I know we haven't really spoken since the party... but if that kiss made you uncomfortable --"

"Not at all," Tom shook his head, "I mean -- I mean, I knew it was for a dare. I just don't want to put you in any awkward position,"

Noelle cocked a brow, "How do you mean?" she asked.

He was a little uneasy as he blurted out, "... Well, I don't want to put you in an awkward position with Daniel, is all," he replied.

"Daniel?" she nearly scoffed, "What does he have to -- oh God," she sat back in her seat, her eyes rolling, "What did he tell you? That I'm his girlfriend?"

Tom shrugged, "In not so many words,"

She began to snigger, "Oh, he wishes. We went on one date at the beginning of the summer, but we didn't have a spark -- I didn't, anyway. And of course he didn't get the hint. I can't really avoid him because we're on the same floor, so I grin and bear it for a few minutes until I find an out. If he said something to you, I'm really sorry,"

Despite how selfish it may have been, Tom began to feel better knowing that. He too let out a chuckle, "He does seem like he's a little bit in his own world," he said, "You don't have to apologize for him, either,"

"I know. But I promise you he's harmless," she replied, "And he has no right going around to my friends and telling them off, either. I'll handle it,"

"That doesn't seem fair to you," Tom noted, "Have you thought of reporting him?"

"To who? The faculty?" she scoffed back, "What're they gonna' do?"

"Well, something if you report him for harassment," he said.

"Honestly it's not that big a deal," she smiled, hoping to settle his worry, "I'm a big girl, you don't have to worry about me, Tom,"

Tom smiled back, "I never doubted you could handle yourself, but I'm still allowed to worry," feeling cheeky, he reached over with his fork and stabbed into a grape, popping it promptly into his mouth.

Noelle gaped dramatically, then she began to pout like a grumpy child, picking up another grape and hucking it at him, "Stop stealing food from me! I'll fight you!" she cried defiantly. Tom simply laughed as it bounced off his chest.

Not soon after the dishes were placed in the sink and the table was cleaned. The pair settled onto Noelle's couch for another movie, with Tom insisting she could pick the movie this time. She decided on Die Hard -- the truest Christmas movie out there. She had also fetched a bottle of gin, from where Tom wasn't so sure, orange juice, and two glasses.

"Aren't you supposed to be twenty-one to drink here?" he asked, giving her a playful side eye.

Noelle glared back, smirking, "Who are you, my dad?" she quipped back.

"Certainly not," he chuckled, "And if you ever call me such, we'll see what happens to you,"

Noelle rolled her eyes, bumping his gently with her elbow as she poured them drinks, "Okay, okay," and she handed him his glass, " -- how would you feel if I called you 'mom'?"

He paused momentarily before taking a sip, eyeing her up and down as she tried to bite back her growing grin. The moment felt all too uncanny, though Tom had no complaints. His best form of retaliation was to reach over and tousle the top of her hair. Noelle whined and tried to push him away, shaking her hair back into place with one last glower thrown his way. Bear in mind she made no move to slide away from beside him.

The movie started as normal, and both Tom and Noelle had seen it a handful of times over to know how the fallout opens, how the terrorists take control of the building, how McClane shoots at the police car as his only form to get help. So it was any wonder Noelle couldn't find herself to focus.

Tom was -- in not so many words -- hot. Temperature hot. She couldn't deny she found him attractive as well, but his body radiated heat like a human furnace, it was near impossible for her to not want to come in closer. The warmth was taking its toll on her, and she had to wriggle out of her sweater to get some relief.

Her movement struck Tom's attention, he couldn't help but peak out of the corner of his eye. His eyes flitted over her chest, skin tastefully covered by her tank top but he still couldn't help himself. He blushed when he met Noelle's gaze, realizing he'd been caught and grinned bashfully. Noelle shook her head and made a face, diverting her eyes back to the screen but on the inside she had to fight to keep herself together.

Paying attention to the film at this point as near-impossible, Noelle's mind was somewhere else. Specifically focused on her friend; emphasis on friend. Thought nevertheless she noted how much bigger he was then her, slim physique overall but he bore broad shoulders, long legs stretched out in front of him. Tom appeared a little younger then twenty-one and despite that, he was so mature beyond his years. And old soul.

Her brain flickered back to that party, that damn kiss, all the same flustering as it was breath-taking. She hadn't kissed many guys in her twenty-years of course, but she had never been as electrified as she had been when she tasted the whiskey off of his lips.

Noelle sipped her gin and juice, hoping to hydrate her suddenly dry throat. Alan Rickman's character was suddenly commiserating on his first meet with John McClane, and she suddenly had an idea.

She turned to Tom, "Would you rather be the good guy or a bad guy in an action movie?"

Tom chuckled, "Bad guy, obviously. But it depends on what my goal is,"

"Okay then, what would motivate you to take over the world?" she asked.

"Power, of course. But I don't want to be a psychopathic trigger-happy, domineering villain. The good villains are slick, charismatic, and well composed, like this guy," he pointed to Hans Gruber, "That guy is so smooth and so compelling he could sell water to a fish. Lulling you into a false sense of security. I'd be that villain,"

Noelle simpered, "Remind me to stay on your good side if you were to go power hungry,"

"Well, how about you?" he asked, "Hero or villain?"

"Villain, of course," she replied, "I'd be an Ursula-type villain. Or Maleficent. Just bat-shit crazy magical and maniacal, and I'd get to turn into a giant monster if I so please,"

Tom cocked a brow, "You want to grow into a giant sea witch?"

"Well, yeah!" she nodded, "You think I asked to be this short?"

He laughed, shifting away ever so slightly as though she may grow at any instant. Noelle pouted back and crossed her arms; but she couldn't help but smile when he moved back beside her.

Tom couldn't lie, he was still nervous around Noelle, but she always managed to put him at ease. She was so laid back, and after all, it was hard to be intimidated by a beautiful girl when she was comparing herself to campy Disney villains.

As they watched the movie, Noelle's gaze darted to Tom now and again. She flitted over his sharp profile, and his cheeks and nose still held their tinge of soft pink, a delightful contrast against his pale complexion. And the curve of his lips was pure... temptation. The inkling struck her, she wanted to kiss him again, she wanted to kiss him so badly.

God, you're ridiculous, she chided to herself. He only kissed her because Iseul dared him to, that was all. And if Daniel was already giving him flack, chances were he wouldn't want to be wrapped up in that in any way. And who was to say he even found her attractive, for all she knew he had a girlfriend waiting for him back in England.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked suddenly.

Tom nearly choked on his drink, "No," he replied, "Why?"

"I'm just curious," she shrugged back, "... You met anyone you'd consider asking out?"

"In drama? Nah," he shook his head.

"What about outside of drama? The opera majors are gorgeous," she noted, why she was talking about this she wasn't so sure why. She blamed the gin for the most part, though her own inhibitions were playing their part.

Tom smirked at her, "Are you trying to set me up?" he asked suspiciously.

She simpered back, "Uh -- no. I don't do the whole match-making thing. Iseul on the other hand is like a friggin Korean cupid," she shook her head.

"Was that her intention at the party?" he asked, "Trying to set us up?"

Noelle refrained from rolling her eyes, "I don't know. I think she's just sadistic of something. But... if that dare made you uncomfortable,"

"-- It didn't," he assured her, his deep blue eyes meeting hers, "If it had I would've said something. So please, don't worry," he assured her with a grin.

Noelle pouted back, "I'll worry about you if I please," she retorted.

He feigned shock, his hand coming over his chest, "She worries about me, oh my gosh!" he mocked, much to her amusement.

"Don't let it go to your head," she poked at his nose just for good measure.

His nose twitched, his gaze falling over her again in a hot, lingering perusal crackling over her skin like a live wire. This time there was no mistaking the interest in his eyes.

Should she make a move?

Could she cross that line again?

Lean in closer, ask if she could kiss him, or better yet ask if he could kiss her. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn't even realized the credits playing over the screen.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

His posh voice startled her, and she realized she hadn't made a move to turn off the movie.

"No, I mean -- you're more then welcome to stay. If you can handle putting up with me any longer," she tried to joke. But it was reigning true, she didn't want him to leave.

Tom grinned bashfully, "As horrible as that sounds, I'll try to pull through," he replied.

"But if you're tired --" she began, "I don't mind if you want to --"

"I'm fine," he nodded, "If you don't mind having me over, that is," he found it odd how suddenly she seemed so nervous, perhaps he ought to take that as a good sign?

"I don't mind at all," she replied, "I like having you around. It's your turn to pick, anyway,"

She likes having me around, he hoped his face wouldn't betray how his chest swelled, the heat in his body suddenly elevated, "How about Elf?"

Suffice to say, another movie turned into another, and then another, and before neither of them could realize they had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up together as the snow continued to fall over the city.

All was quiet, peacefully so as the sun broke out over the Eastern horizon. The snow stopped at some point during the night, glimmering in sun rays like millions of Swarovski crystals bejewelling the skyscrapers and cars. And in that tiny apartment Tom and Noelle slept soundly, cozied up with arms wrapped the other, the laptop screen having gone black hours ago.

As the light peaked through the curtains, Tom couldn't help but begin to stir, blinking sleep from his eyes as he realized he wasn't in his apartment. The previous night came rushing back in a flood, and if he were more awake he may have jumped to find Noelle swathed in his arms. Though she continued to sleep, her button nose buried in his chest and her lashes fluttering as she continued to dream. He wondered what she dreamed about, if she enjoyed her dreams or if she slipped into a thick state of time-stopping nothingness.

It was Sunday, there was nowhere for them to be, no need to get up, no need nor want to move from that very position. The wall clock, though a few minutes ahead, indicated it was somewhere around nine. He wondered if her asking about his dating life was a ploy, or sheepish way in to test his interest.

Tom settled back into the couch, cradling her close to him, pretending for a moment that maybe, just maybe, this could've been his life; their life.. His eyes slipped shut and he inhaled sharply, unable to help but smile as Noelle wriggled to get comfy against him. He too would've fallen back to sleep, if not for the sudden knocking on the door.

Tom thought he was imagining things at first, but sure enough there was another knock. Perhaps it was Doris? Or Bianca? No, Bianca was out of the city and she had her own key anyhow. Nevertheless, Tom didn't feel it was right to answer Noelle's door.

As much as he hated to wake her, he nudged her gently, whispering her name until she too came to consciousness. Her head lulled from side to side, taking stock of the mess on her coffee table, the mess they were on her couch. She rubbed sleep from her eye as she yawned.

"What's up?" she grumbled groggily.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but there's someone at the door," he mumbled.

The seemed to light a small fire under her, she sat up promptly and did a quick stretch, "Maybe Doris wants to collect rent before Christmas?"

"Is she allowed to do that?" he asked, his eyes never leaving her as she started for the door.

"Probably not, but she's also not supposed to be splicing cable from her neighbours and yet..." shuffling in her fuzzy socks, Noelle pressed up on her toes as she peered wearily through the key hole. Who she saw on the other side made her heart stop, "Holy shit!"

"Who is it?" Tom asked, vividly more awake now. The knocking continued.

"I'm coming!" she then turned to him, sheer panic befalling her face and she clawed her fingers through her hair, "Put the gin bottle behind my bedroom door and smooth out your shirt. You got here ten minutes ago and we're trying to decide where to go for breakfast,"

"-- What?"

"Just trust me! Go!" she waved him off. Tom didn't argue, snatched the gin bottle and glasses for good measure. He disappeared down the hall, figuring the open door was Noelle's bedroom.

Slipping the glassware behind the door, he paused momentarily to take a glance around her room. It was a small space, soft grey sheets and pillows were messed and unmade with a few clothes sitting untouched overtop. Papers and books were stacked and scattered across her little white desk, and Ikea special from the looks of it. There was a clothing rack of clothes hung up, a few more folded and sitting next to the line of the three pairs of shoes she owned that weren't ballet related.

Tom froze suddenly when he heard a loud exclamation from the door, "Surprise!"

Smoothing out his shirt wrinkles and tousling his hair, Tom wandered back into the main area of Noelle's apartment, finding her embraced by an older couple and another young girl. The older gent was bringing the suitcases into the apartment while the young girl was trying to upkeep some conversation with Noelle through the older woman's fawning and preening.

"What're you guys doing here? I thought your train wasn't coming until later?" Noelle gaped.

"We were able to get a late train last night, it just missed the snow storm coming in!" the older woman exclaimed.

"And checkin's not until eleven so we thought we'd swing by and surprise you!" the older man added.

Tom stood in the mouth of the hallway momentarily, just watching, bemused and taken with who he assumed was Noelle's family. The young girl suddenly turned, just to take a look around the space at first when her gaze fell on top. She nearly jumped out of her nikes.

"The hell are you?" she snapped, prompting the other's attention to turn to him. The fawning and happy reunions came to a sudden halt, with Noelle slipping out of the woman's grasp to get everyone acquainted.

"Uh -- right. Sorry, um -- this is Tom. He's my friend from school," she introduced, smiling assuringly at him, "Tom, this is my Aunt Franca, my Uncle Maurice, and my cousin Chiara,"

[xx-lemon-drop-xx]

Needed kisses with Silver x Fem Reader. Take your time and no pressure <3

Hey! Thanks for the request. Sorry for how long it took I've been suffering with lack of inspiration for a long while now. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this little fic!

My Kofi is here if anyone feels like donating. It helps a lot.

Warnings: Female reader, lots of kisses, short fic.

Request: Yeppers.

Words: 748

New chapstick was always something you favored getting, and you'd gotten quite a few various flavors this time. Really, it was all a plan so you could get some extra kisses. Really who doesn't like kisses?

Applying the chapstick across her bottom lip before rubbing them together she turned towards Silver, who was sitting on the other side of her bed cleaning off his magic pen after a day of training. Noting your pleasing stare he looked over at you, tucking the wand shaped pen away. “What is it?" He asked, noting the glossy texture of your lips.

“What flavor do you think this is?" You pointed to your lips, making Silver's eyebrows raise.

“I don't know. Blueberry?” He gave a guess, and you shook your head. "You're supposed to taste it and then guess, silly.” Silver gave a blank look for a moment, before a smile grazed over his face.

“You know, if you wanted a kiss or two you could've just asked," He shook his head, “I would've been more than happy to oblige, (Y/n)." But ultimately he decided to play into his girlfriend's little game anyways. Just for the fun in it.

Leaning in and sweeping your hair out of your face, Silver pressed a chaste kiss against your lips, before pulling back, licking his own after. It was a long pause before he answered.

“Is it apple pie?"

The smile that broke out across your face had him huffing in amusement. "I'll take that as a yes then.”

"Okay okay next one!” You rubbed a paper towel over your lips to get off the chapstick before applying another coat of a different flavor, motioning with your hand for Silver to turn away before he spied at the flavor which he'd obliged, glancing over at the wall until you were finished putting on another flavor of chapstick.

“Okay, ready!"

Silver hummed and turned towards you, cupping your cheek before guiding your lips together a second time that hour. His eyes eased shut and he ran a hand through your hair, gently rubbing fingers against your scalp until you hummed against his lips enjoying the pleasant feeling of him playing with your hair. Slowly he pulled away again.

“Hmm… Vanilla?” He guessed.

“Nope!"

"An ice cream flavor?”

"Nope!” You laughed as he leaned back in, delivering another kiss before pulling away. Silver found himself stumped. It tasted a lot like vanilla of some kind. A bit sweeter than that though.

"It's some type of vanilla flavor, right?” He asked, eyebrows knitting together when you shook your head no. If it wasn't vanilla what tasted similar to it. "Honey?” He guessed, watching as you shook your head yet again.

“What is it, then? I surrender."

“Marshmallow." A sly grin spread across your face. He'd been duped.

“Which has vanilla in it, you sly dog.” Silver pointed out, delivering a playful tug to your hair. "So I was correct about there being vanilla in it.” Silver tapped on your nose, a smile lifting on his face at watching you giggle and swat away his hand.

“You guess too easily. I had to make it harder.” You insisted, rubbing off the chapstick again. “Alright, last one." You motioned for him to turn away, which he did before applying the last selection of chapstick you'd purchased. “Okay."

Silver turned and this time gave you multiple little kisses, tongue flicking across your lip directly before he pulled away.

“This one is Watermelon."

“Watermelon what?"

“Watermelon lime. You bought this one before a few months back. Have you already used all of the first one?" Silver asked, watching as you nodded your head.

"Yeah, I had to get a restock. I'm surprised you remembered I'd already bought it once.” You said, a coy smile decorating your face. “Which one did you like best?"

Silver gave a hum in thought, tapping on his chin. "I think you'll have to apply them all again and let me repeat the process a few times before I decide. I have to be fair, don't I?"

"You just want some more kisses.”

"Says the girl that started all of this.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Clown reader ! What about yandere manager ?

Clown reader ! My second favourite from Jester reader ( i'm sorry )

( basically a yandere manager ;-;;)

They have their number one fan, whom will always be there at their shows and buying each and every merchandise that got released.

But what about the fan that's been with them for the longest of time ?

Their manager has always been there - since the first day of their debut. And going all the way with them until now !

So why not go grab a meal with their dear manager after the show ? After all, it's just for asking how both have been and some talking.

Nothing could go wrong..

..right ?-

( this is my first time sending an ask so :')) My apologies if it was too long! And i also apologize if I got anything wrong about the character cuz i don't have very good memory ;-;;

I hope this ask get through)

Sincerely,

🎠

You furiously scrub as your face with a wet paper towel as you exit the bathroom. If you had known they were taking you to such a fancy place after today's recording, you would've brought a change of clothes. Walking back to the table, wandering eyes follow the colorful corners peaking from your coat. You do your best to hide them. A fellow customer from a neighboring table lifts their phone to take a picture of you as you sit; camera lens blocked by a menu.

"Sweetheart, there you are! Kept me waiting, but you're lookin stunning as always. I can't tell if I like you more with or without the makeup. Get comfortable, order whatever you want.

You can't help but grin at the nickname. They've been using little pet names since the beginning of your partnership, but they feel more sincere now than the faux kindness that they showered everyone in. It makes you happy to know they see you as someone good to spend time with other than for the paycheck. Your manager hands you the menu; drilling in the notion you could have whatever your little heart decided. With a quick look at the menu, you notice there's no prices next to the entrees.

"Are you sure you don't mind paying? This place seems really high class. We can split it if you like."

Your manager raises their hand to stop you. "Y/n, please. I gotta treat my star player well, plus you deserve the finer things in life. It's my pleasure."

"If you say so... Just kinda feels like someplace you'd take someone on a date."

The thought slips out before you can realize what you've said, but it's no harm on their conscious. Quite the opposite in fact. They fold their hands together.

"Well, like I said, I wanna treat you right. Probably the only person in town who can. Not to mention, ratings for this quarter came in the other night and viewer scores are through the roof. You can think of this as a celebration."

"Really?"

"Would I ever lie to you? Got the papers right here." Your manager places a folder on the table. You don't have to look at it to believe them.

"That's great." You look at your reflection in an empty wine glass, paint smeared into the corner of your lips. "Makes saying goodbye just a little harder."

Your manager chokes on a mouthful of water. "Bye? You're not thinking about leaving us, are you?"

You raise your hands in surrender. "Course not!... Not yet anyway."

You tug on your frilly sleeves. You're happy where you are. That's something you know for sure, but you're not positive it's the life you want anymore. The word is your stage; audience far bigger than you ever could've dreamed, but it's suffocating. Your fans love you. Not just your character, but the face benath. Sometimes it feels like that love goes beyond the screen and fan letters. Sometimes - you feel like you're being followed.

"I... wanted to keep this private until I was sure, but I think I've been followed home before. Obviously I don't want to ruin everything for one person's actions, but I know it's more. On top of that I'm pretty well off financially. This was never for the money, but I just kinda miss things before I got big, you know?"

Of course they know. Your manager knows your story better than any of your little fans could ever imagine, even if they squeeze every detail of your life from everyone in it. They had been with you through it all. Your small failures, and your biggest leaps. It was an insult to think otherwise, and that they'd give up everything you built together.

"Y/n." Your manager reaches across the table to grab your trembling hands. "Everything's going to be fine. We'll get through this - together, and nobody's going to touch a hair on your head. To start off, we're moving you out of that shoebox you call an apartment and getting you a real place to live. You can stay with me until we find something."

You close your eyes, nodding along to their proposal. "Okay... that sounds like a good place to start."

Your manager draws closer, touch working up your arm. Someone taps on your shoulder before they can reach.

"Hi- I really hope I'm not interrupting, but can i take a picture with you? The kids I babysit love the show your costume is of."

You glance at your manager. They're already looking down at their phone. "Sure."

Taking photos with the stranger, your manager is left at the table alone; reliving memories of the past immortalized by old photos. Why did they ever agree to this? If you hadn't got so popular, they wouldn't have to share you with the world, but now they used the grounds of that success to remain stable in their own right. Maybe with you in their home they'd find a new start in your relationship.

Lord knows they'll never let you leave once you're inside.

[hwashotcheeto]

Incubus!San learning how to properly love his human partner 🥰 When his s/o doesn't want to have sex, he gets confused and doesn't know what to do, making him sad and starts thinking he's unworthy of their love but they teach him other ways of showing affection and San feels his heart swell up and tries to remember all of the other ways to love them :3

Aaaaah, yes! I love it!

This was an idea that @malldreamprincess and I came up with a LONG long time ago when we were obsessed with incubu/succubi, and I'm so glad it came back (Thank you my love 💜).

And before we get started, here's what I think "Incubus San" might look like

WC: 1k

CW: Fluff, really fluffy. Some crying, comforts, cuddles, honestly just really sweet

"Not tonight, San," you mumbled as you rolled over in bed. Your incubus boyfriend sat in confused, stunned silence as you went to sleep without him.

You'd been dating (or what one could consider "dating," since he was living with you) for a month now, and whenever you'd been stressed or sad, San had soothed the pain with sex. You'd thought it was for him, that he was the one tired and needed sex to feel better.

But in truth, it was all for you. He truly cared about you, but he didn't know how else to show it. Through sex, he was able to take care of you and make you feel better. He was unsure of how you saw it, but he saw it as therapy.

So as he laid back down that night, he felt powerless. He didn't want you to suffer alone. But he didn't know how to help you.

You slept in the next morning, not getting up until almost noon. It was your day off, who cared what time you got up?

You pulled yourself out of bed and made your way into the kitchen. San was in the other room, he heard you rummaging around in the kitchen for a sandwich. Just something to stave off the hunger that was gnawing at your stomach.

With sandwich in hand, you made your way to the living room and stopped when you saw him. He was curled up, hugging one of the pillows, his head down. When he looked up at you, his eyes were red and puffy.

"Are you crying?" You asked softly. San rubbed the tears off his cheeks and cleared his throat before he replied.

"I want to help you," he said, his voice hoarse. "I don't like seeing you sad, and I want to help, but I don't know how." His voice broke on the last few words, and he hugged the pillow tighter.

Your heart broke in your chest. "What do you mean you don't know how?"

"I don't know what to do to make you happy. Please, tell me, I..." The tears poured from his eyes again, with a little choke as he tried to continue.

You put your sandwich down on the table and went to hug San. The pillow was forgotten as you pulled him into your arms and he hugged you back.

When you decided to keep an incubus around, you weren't expecting this level of affection, this desire to make you happy. He's a sex demon, why would he care about anything besides, well, sex?

But San was clearly more than his title presented. He wanted you to be happy. He genuinely cared about you if he was begging to know how to make you happy.

There'd be a learning curve, definitely. But for the both of you, it was worth it.

A week later, you returned home starving. You didn't have the chance to get dinner on the way home, as you were low on gas, and couldn't afford either currently anyways.

But as you were taking off your shoes and coat, you smelled food. It smelled divine, your mouth watered and your stomach growled in need.

You went into the kitchen and stopped dead in your tracks. San was putting the finishing touches on two sets of foods, which again, made your stomach growl.

San looked up at the noise and smiled at you, his eyes turning into slits. "I knew I timed it right." He stepped back from the counter and motioned to the food, presenting it to you. "I tried to make it how you said you liked it."

It was the most gorgeous plate of food you'd ever seen.

You threw your arms around San's neck and hugged him tight. You hadn't asked him to make dinner, you never asked him to make you food at all.

But here he made you a food you mentioned in a passing conversation, not even thinking about it, and made it so you'd be able to eat it right when you got home.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Anything for you."

The two of you sat on the couch and watched a movie while you ate. It tasted better than you'd ever had it before.

You dropped your phone onto the coffee table and covered your face, tears springing from your eyes.

Almost like a dog, San heard you crying and came running, sitting next to you and hugging you tight.

"What's wrong?" He asked, but you shook your head as you leaned into him, hugging him tightly. You didn't want to talk about it, you just wanted to cry.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. "I'll be here when you want to talk, okay?"

You nodded, then pulled yourself up to sit on his lap sideways, your legs over his. San held you tight against him, keeping his hand on your head to hold you against his chest.

And there you stayed. For who knows how long, crying in the arms of your attentive, caring boyfriend.

You felt safe. And loved.

You were cleaning up after dinner when San came up and hugged you from behind. He kissed your head and nuzzled into your neck.

"Dinner was wonderful, angel."

"Yeah? I thought it could've been better."

"No, no, I really liked it." He squeezed your waist as he closed his eyes, breathing in your scent. You'd been gone for long hours lately, so San was extra clingy today.

All night, he found some way to touch you, hug you, be with you, anything. He wanted to be at your side, taking care of you, being with you.

And that's what he was doing. No lingering touches on your chest, no kissing on your neck, nothing with an ulterior motive.

San just wanted to hold you. To be with you.

To make sure you feel loved. And you did.

Your boyfriend had made you feel so, so loved.

You turned around in his arms and hugged him back, leaning into his neck. He squeezed you tight.

"San?" You asked softly.

"Yes?"

"I think I love you."

A smile spread across San's face, making his eyes turn to little slits again.

"I think I love you too, angel."

Aaaah, I love fluffy character development like this, it's so cute 🥰 I hope this was good enough for you @malldreamprincess.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

[uncannily-adroit]

the watch

eighth doctor x gn!reader

rating: g

warnings: none

a/n: i wrote this as a little comfort drabble for myself, i haven't written properly in over a year but i'm actually really pleased with this! eight certainly needs more love too <3

"Doctor, do you want me to wash your coat?"

He looks down at himself for the first time since he stepped foot outside the TARDIS. After a lively- or deathly, almost, in this case- adventure, his green velvet frock is covered in mud. He smiles a little, happy you noticed, because he probably wouldn't have until it was too late and there was dirt everywhere. "Thank you," he murmurs to you as he slips it off his shoulders. "Just empty the pockets, please."

You nod in response and head off, taking a few twists and turns down to where the laundry room usually is, setting the coat down on top of the washing machine to dig around in the nooks and crannies. You pull out his sonic screwdriver first- you set it aside to take back to him once you're done. Then a half-eaten paper bag of jelly babies. You swipe one- maybe two... maybe three, because that's the magic number. Then a yoyo, some lock picks, a spare TARDIS key in a funky shape on a ridiculously long chain, and lastly, a silver fob watch.

Something about it catches your attention. It's rather unassuming, honestly, a plain little thing, but you decide to open it anyways. The watch face is also pretty normal, but the noise that comes out of it isn't. Instead of ticking, you hear a tinkling sort of noise, like wind chimes. A pleasant chill runs down your spine, soothed in a deep way by it.

The Doctor's already made tea, yours waiting next to the comfy red chair, and he's preparing to start doing a bit of work on the TARDIS, making a move to grab his sonic screwdriver. He pats himself lightly multiple times, trying to find it, before he remembers he'd given you his coat. That makes him realize how long you've been gone. He figures you're wandering around one of the closets again; he found you one time practically submerged in a box of old scarves, happy as could be. He heads off in the direction of the laundry room, opting to check there first.

He finds you laying on the floor, thankfully with nothing wrong with you. Next to your ear lays his fob watch, open and playing its little songs. He can't help the smile that crosses his face. "What are you doing?"

"Vibing," you respond. "It's so pretty..."

He lets out a laugh on a breath and walks across the tile, settling himself on his back beside you. You look over at him and he meets your gaze, the smile still lingering on his face. His hair's spilling in his eyes; you push it away, and he captures your hand and presses a kiss to your palm before releasing you. "Do you want to know how I got that?" He nods his head at the time piece between you two. You nod. You always want to know more about him. You could listen to him for hours, and he can talk just as long. The chiming becomes background noise as he starts his story, still laid on the floor with you, the coat and sonic forgotten on top of the washing machine.

Eventually, your back does begin to hurt. You sit up, stretch and snap crackle pop. He grins, pleased by the sight of you from behind with an arched back. He follows suit, picking up the watch. He snaps it closed, looks at it for a moment, then takes your hand and presses it into your fingers, closing them around it. "Here. I've got plenty, and this one makes you happy. I'd like you to keep it."

Your heart skips a beat, fingers tightening around the cool metal and underneath his cold fingers. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

[eyelessfaces]

intoxicated

llewyn davis x reader

summary: you take care of a drunk llewyn knocking at your door :]

warnings: alcohol consumption and a drunk person, obviously

tags: gn!reader, fluff, mutual pining. mostly unspoken feelings

word count: 0.8k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

You sighed softly as you carefully helped him sit down on your couch, his arm around your shoulders and yours around his waist so he could keep balance. 

This was a first: you were fairly accustomed to Llewyn knocking at your door to crash for the night, but it was the first time he came in drunk. 

You had welcomed him because you couldn’t refuse him anything, and you certainly wouldn’t let him wander around Greenwich Village in the state he was in, who knew what would happen to him. 

He had already gotten beaten up behind the Gaslight once, and he wasn’t even drunk.

“I could’ve gone somewhere else but I really wanted to see you” he slurred as he pushed away the cushions on your couch, the smell of whiskey and cigarette obvious in his breath as you sat down next to him.

You scoffed, surprised. “Really? Why?” you smiled as you helped him get rid of his coat, unwrapping the scarf around his neck and grabbing his hands to take off his fingerless gloves.

He shrugged and gently squeezed your hand, making you look down at them.

“Because you’re my favorite friend in Greenwich Village” he declared, nodding. "No, that's not even true. You're my favorite friend."

You chuckled and gently caressed the top of his hand with your other hand before getting up.

“Happy to hear that. Did you drink water? Eat something?” you asked, walking to your kitchen to pour him a glass of fresh water in hope that it would prevent a terrible hangover. You highly doubted he could escape it, but some water wouldn’t do him any wrong anyways.

“No. I wanted to get properly drunk” he admitted as he sank deeper against the back of your couch, a grunt escaping his mouth when he laid his head against your plumpiest cushion.

You smiled when you came back into your living room and saw him looking comfortable on your couch. “Sit up. I’ll let you sleep soon I promise” you said sitting down next to him again, watching him as he did what you asked. You handed him the glass of water and gently rubbed his back up and down while he drank the entirety of it.

He handed it back to you and you put it down on the coffee table.

“Hey. I’m sorry I’m an asshole sometimes” he declared before a hiccup escaped his mouth.

You wanted to laugh at the fact that it was so sudden, but it seemed sincere so you tried not to. You put your hand over his shoulder, and smiled softly at him.

"It's alright" you shrugged, still smiling at him. "Everyone's an asshole from time to time" 

"I'm an asshole most of the time" he said as he looked up at you, and you tilted your head and shrugged again.

"You have reasons to be. Life’s not very kind to you" you shrugged again. "And I like you that way." you admitted, pinching your lips in a small smile.

He smiled at you, and his eyes were glassy from having drank too much. You did your best to not stare at them for too long, looking away and lowering your gaze to your floor until you thought about something.

"Oh I'm gonna bring my pain killers here for when you wake up tomorrow. You're probably gonna need them" you said standing up from the couch, and his gaze followed you as he nodded.

You came back with the pills and put them on your coffee table, and chuckled at Llewyn struggling to unbutton his shirt. 

"D'you need help with that?" 

“Yeah” he simply huffed out, and gave up on trying to persist with this task. You sat down next to him again, working on each button of his patterned shirt, your fingers more deft than his.

"If I wasn't drunk I would kiss you" he declared as he looked at you dazedly.

"Yeah sure, and you're saying this because you're drunk" you scoffed, looking back up at him, unbuttoning the last button, revealing his white shirt underneath.

“Whatever you may think honey” he groaned as you helped him get the patterned shirt off before he laid back against your couch, getting comfortable for the night. You unfolded the plaid resting on the back of your couch and laid it out over him, tucking him nicely while you felt your heart thumping in your chest.

"Here you go" you smiled, brushing away a curl falling over his forehead.

“Thank you dove” he muttered softly, his eyes struggling to remain open. You kissed his forehead, feeling his skin still so warm from the alcohol. “Love you” he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep before he finally shut his eyes.

You knew he was drunk, but you kind of hoped he truly meant it.

—

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[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi: 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 (2)

In which he doesn't realize all the things that are going to happen when going on a trip with you.

Tags/Warnings: Vampire!Yoongi, Human!Reader, mentions of 'being high' (drug usage in a way), friends to lovers, blood (duh), red haired Yoongi, Listen I am Jungkook focused but I will put Vampire Yoongi on the menu and you'll better finish your plate

Additional Chapter Warnings: consumption of blood, there's that sweet tension again, yes I will torture you on this ride

Chapter Length: short/mid

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"Alright- did you check everything?" He asks you again, knowing how forgetful you can be sometimes- and you nod while he opens the passenger door of the Campervan he'd rented out. "Here, let me help.." he offers almost immediately when he sees you struggle a little to get in, hands offering help to make sure you won't fall by accident.

All while simultaneously trying not to stare at your butt too much.

"Thanks." You beam at him now seated, and he tells you to be careful before he closes the door, walking around the van to get to the driver's side. He's both excited and also a bit unsure at the same time; you'll be sharing the same sleeping space for a week after all, compressed to the confined space of the campervan for the duration of the trip. And while he's internally very much happy at the thought of having you this close, he's also worried of something potentially happening that'll make you uncomfortable.

Though he's promised himself to stay respectful of your boundaries. He'd never try and persuade you into something you might not truly want, after all.

"You can sleep, by the way." He tells you as he starts driving, pulling out of the parking lot. "It'll be a while until we're at the camping ground." He informs you, and you nod, taking off your shoes for now. It's still early in the day, sun having not even risen completely- so you happily take the invitation to nap, trying to get comfortable. "Here- there's my jacket, you can put that, I don't know.. against the window, maybe." He mumbles, offering his coat towards you.

"Thank you, Yoongi." You say, doing just what he suggested- his scent on his clothes giving you immense comfort. "For.. the trip too, I mean." You say more quietly, and he shrugs.

"I needed some time off anyway." He tells you. "Can't really produce anything if I don't have any inspiration, you know." He offers, keeping his eyes on the road.

"How're you gonna.. you know, go about the whole blood thing by the way?" You wonder, watching him drive.

"I fed yesterday, if that's your question." He chuckles a little, though you seem awfully.. disappointed almost.

"Oh."

You're not sure why you're a little bummed out by that. Sure, Yoongi is a guy that isn't tied to you in any way, he can have fun with whomever he pleases. But still, it kind of makes you a little upset that he just isn't at all interested in you whatsoever. It's something that doesn't surprise you though- he truly seems to just see you as family maybe, a little sister of some sorts.

"I couldn't take the bag with me anyways, it was about to spoil." He shrugs, and you perk up at that- something he notices in the corner of his vision.

"Oh." You repeat again- but this time, a lot less upset.

"Did you think I bit someone?" He jokes, and you turn away from him at that, rather snuggling into his coat to avoid seeing his shit-eating grin he's got on his lips, gummy smile showing as he laughs to himself.

It's small moment like these that give him hope. Hope that you might see him like he sees you after all, hope that there is potential for something more down the line, that you're maybe just shy.

He hopes, at least, that that's what's actually going on.

"We're you hoping I'd feed from you instead?" He asks impishly so, and you squeeze your eyes shut at that.

"I'm asleep." You argue.

"You're not." He laughs, still concentrating on the road to make sure you're still on the correct road.

"I mean-" you ramble, pouting a bit as you speak, voice muffled but definitely clear enough for him to understand. "-if you, you know, wanted to- or needed, I don't know, I mean.." you shrug. "-I wouldn't mind. I'd let you, you know." You mumble, and he shakes his head.

"You shouldn't." He tells you. "What if I can't stop?" He lowly suggests, and you look at him intently.

"I'll kick you in the balls."

He bursts out laughing at that, absolutely amused by your honestly dizzying change of boldness every few sentences. You'll say the oddest things with a straight face sometimes, and it's just one of many things he truly fell In love with over the course of your friendship.

"That'll certainly stun me for a good moment, I'll give you that." He praises, making you giggle as well next to him.

"You'd be nice though." You nod, closing your eyes again. "You wouldn't hurt me." You say, and he nods to himself.

"Hmhm." He affirms softly, changing lanes while you slowly doze off next to him.

And as he continues to drive you to the camping ground, he avoids any bumps in the road to make sure you'll sleep just fine.

[alexanderlightweight]

Before prompting (which woo boi pushing through my anxiety to do this took a hot second XD) just wanted to say thank you for all the absolutely outstanding content, my first day off every week is Wednesday and your writing has become the perfect way to detach from work and destress my brain so again thank you!

I saw a tiktok today that I just went omg mobwife!Alec and I am sharing a screenshot but also more mobwife!Alec please?

i'm so proud of you! good job even though that must have been a lot pushing through the anxiety. i'm glad the days work well together and i'm happy you look forward to my writing! i was very happy getting your ask and prompt and just everything! i'm really happy to share wednesdays and writing with people!

here we go! more mob!wife alec and i hope you enjoy and i love this picture and image and he absolutely wears it and he also wears these a lot cause i realize i never added a picture

-

“You know he’s gonna bring Alec, honey.” Mari warns as she fluffs her skirt and pats down her waist. “There’s never a chance he’ll show up anywhere without him, but especially not a strip club. What were you thinking, anyway?”

“Jamie changed the venue.” Leo grumbles and he sounds as miserable as she feels. “You’re not gonna be able to pull him away from Bane, are you?”

Mari shakes her head, truly sympathetic and also filled with a little vindictive glee.

“Alec didn’t like that secretary touching Bane, you think he’s going to put up with girls hoping to score? He’ll be sticking close tonight.”

—

“When you said a strip club, this is not what I thought you meant.” Alexander admits and his nose crinkles in distaste as the vast amount of naked, mundane bodies on display.

“Would you have stayed home?” Magnus asks, genuinely curious and Alexander gives him a grumpy, petulant look and sighs.

“No Magnus, I would not have stayed home. I just wouldn’t have worn something with so much skin myself.” Alexander looks intensely uncomfortable, “it’s suspiciously sticky in here and for once, I wish it was ichor.”

Magnus muffles a chuckle in Alexander’s hair and uses his magic pass over his boy’s skin.

“Better?” He murmurs and Alexander nods against him in relief, his entire body coated with a thin layer of magic that will look like specks of glitter when he shifts.

“I love you.” Alexander murmurs into the crook of his neck and Magnus genuinely wishes they didn’t have to worry about a faerie aphrodisiac being leaked into the mundane world. If they didn’t, he could have Alexander back home where they could be reading together, in bed or having dinner just the two of them in some country across the world.

“I’m taking you to France, in the morning.” Magnus tells him, “we’ll go to that place with that little river you loved, the one you spent the morning hunting crayfish in.”

Alexander genuinely looks interested at that and he perks up a bit before he eyes the stage and deflates again.

“Just stay close.” Magnus tells him, because the last thing he needs is Alexander away from him and being swarmed by mundanes who think he’s pretty. Which is something that has happened before on the mundane levels of Pandemonium.

“Like I’m going anywhere.” Alexander scoffs and he steps even closer, letting Magnus wrap his arms around him and pull him flush to him.

Magnus hums and kisses his neck and lets his fingers play with the threads of Alexander’s corset and he wonders just how much it would cost him to bribe Alexander onto the stage.

“No,” his boy mutters, giving him an unamused but loving glare, “I can see something going on in your head, Magnus. I don’t know what it is, but no.”

“Next time.” Magnus promises, because that would be a little cruel to try for tonight and then he’s guiding Alexander over to the group they’re supposed to be a part of.

The start of it goes well enough, until the drinks start coming and then things go sour.

Alexander freezes from where he’s drinking his champagne and he eyes the cup consideringly before he reaches out and plucks Mari’s glass away from her and he instead drinks it.

To the increasing shock and horror of the man across from them all.

“Alec?” Mari asks, confusion and wariness in her voice as she eyes the glass Alexander is now holding.

“Magnus—” Alexander slurs, eyes going hazy almost instantly, “sa’ hot in here babe.”

“What was in that?” Magnus asks, voice furious and heated as he takes the glass from Alexander and sniffs it. He recoils a moment later and sends a vicious, seething glare to the man he was supposed to meet tonight.

“This is an extremely volatile aphrodisiac.” Magnus says lowly and he stares at the mundane, “it’s been known to kill half the people who consume it.”

Mostly because half of the people consuming it are mundanes and it will kill them with pleasure.

A little death still kills, after all.

There’s silence in their little section for a bare moment and then the man is being penned down by Leo’s personal security and Mari is being sat down by Leo into a chair.

“Leo, you will deal with this. Won’t you?” Magnus asks, voice cruel and casual as he gets an arm around Alexander’s waist. His boy is stable, even while drugged and listless and the arm he slings around Magnus’ neck is firm and sturdy, meaning Alexander is playing up the affects to a degree.

“Do you need a doctor?” Leo offers, shaky and worried, and Magnus knows that he means well but he scoffs and shakes his head.

“There are very few I trust with my husband, Leo. Especially on nights like tonight.”

—

“Why did you drink it, sweetheart?” Magnus asks when he finally gets Alexander to their loft and his boy is sweating and miserable and touch-hungry and grumpy about it.

“The dosage would have killed a mundane.” Alexander gasps out, “I didn’t recognize the scent, but I knew it wouldn’t kill me.”

“Not good enough!” Magnus bites out as he gets Alexander undressed and in the cool, tepid water of the bath. “You don’t put yourself in danger like that, ever. Especially not for something as reckless as this. “

Alexander pouts up at him and sighs and then admits, “I knew we’d have to leave if I drank it. Plus, it was evidence, someone is definitely leaking faerie drugs into the mundane world.”

Magnus hisses like a scalded cat and cups Alexander’s wet face between his palms. “I’ll make up a reason, if you’re going to be dosed with something like this, it should at least be a good experience. Not this!” Magnus sighs in exasperation and adds oils to the cold water that Alexander is shivering in.

“Honestly, darling.” Magnus chides as he lets his magic untangle the aphrodisiac and drugs apart from each other so he can purge the mundane drugs from Alexander’s body. It won’t be so easy with anything else, but mundane drugs don’t affect shadowhunters accept as a mild allergy.

“Love you.” Alexander slurs cheekily and Magnus uses magic to make him hold his breath and then dunks him, scrubbing his hair viciously before pulling him back up.  Alexander splutters and shakes his hair, water going everywhere as he pouts up at Magnus.

“Menace!” Magnus tells him, suddenly exhausted and relieved and far less likely to destroy half of New York’s criminal underbelly.

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

WE ARE FINALLY BACK Y'ALL WITH SEASON 2 EPISODE 1 (or episode 26) of the Spy X Family anime!! 😆

AND WHAT AN AMAZING EPISODE IT WAS!! 😆 I'm so happy to finally see the date chapter (or Extra Mission 2) animated after all this time, it was totally worth the wait...!! 😁 I mean, everyone finally got to see Agent Anya in action!! 😎

I'm so glad that CloverWorks and WIT STUDIOS decided to save this chapter and adapt it for season 2's first episode because it's definitely the perfect place to start things back up...!! 😊

I could probably gush about how good this episode is all day, but I don't always have that kind of time, so on to the difference, changes and additions that I noticed...!! 😁

There was quite a few awesome additions, but my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE ONE has to THIS:

You see, when Extra Mission 2 originally released, Bond was not introduced or apart of the family yet, so fact that they added a scene in the anime with him makes me SO HAPPY!! 😄 (Even if it was just a small scene...!! 😊)

Some other additions include a visual of all of Loid's date plans coming together and then falling apart...:

As well as adding Franky and Anya to the different locations in the date montage!! 😁

And speaking of the date montage, the only location that was cut from it in the anime was the bookstore:

Another small difference that I noticed was that Anya's trench coat didn't have the lines on them like in the manga:

But, I guess that one doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things...! 😅 I just like showing the differences that I can remember off the top of my head to anyone who might be curious about it...!! 😁

Lastly, I don't think this is a change per se, but in the manga, the explosion of Anya's peanut bomb looked a lot more... DEADLY, in my opinion...!!: 😵

But anyway, the was episode 26 of the anime!! Next episode has the scene I've been waiting for to be adapted, so I hope it is done amazingly...!! 😏

I'll see you all next week (depending when I watch the episode because usually do errands for the house on Saturdays) with another episode review!! 😆 So until then, take care, be safe out there and be kind one another!! 💗😊💗 LATER!! 👋😁

Edit:

I FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT THE AMAZING NEW ENDING WE GOT!

IT WAS BEAUTIFUL AND SUPER CUTE...!💗

Okay, now I'm done...!! 😁 Bye for real this time!! 👋😄