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james-bucky-barnackle · 3 months

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I mean?

Synopsis: On a press tour with your co-star Sebastian Stan, the interviewer asks you a question about another film he did and the answer surprises him.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Actress!Y/N

Word Count: IDK I'm too sleep deprived to count.

A/N: Bro I am on a resurgence. Might just fuck around and continue writing more fanfics or whatever.

It’s another busy day promoting your new movie with Sebastian, The Road Trip. It's a funny romcom about two best friends going on a long trip to see another friend who your character is dating. Interestingly enough, the guy who plays him is Chris Evans. The interviews are currently being done in pairs, and you're with Sebastian.

You've always been candid, speaking your mind without feeling shy. Deep down, you're a bit of a pessimist, accepting things as they are. When you first heard from your agent that you were cast in The Road Trip alongside Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans, you laughed hysterically. The idea that you, an unconventional beauty, were chosen to be on screen with those two seemed surreal. You never really think about dating co-stars, which helps with acting in general. The media is impressed with how chill you are around A-list actors, and even though it hasn’t fully sunk in yet, the industry has started promoting you to that list.

The interview has been going on for about 15 minutes when another journalist joins, mostly asking about the experience of working with the cast.

“It’s my first romcom, can you believe it?” you say.

“First?!” Sebastian stares in mock disbelief.

“I know, right?!” You feign surprise.

The interviewer continues, “How does it feel to do something lighter and a bit comedic for once?”

“You mean, a movie where no one dies?” Sebastian covers his mouth at your response.

“I mean essentially,” the interviewer laughs. “Wait, no one dies?!” They nudge you playfully.

“I mean, I’m not sure, no spoilers,” you say, breaking the fourth wall and looking into the camera. Sebastian cackles. “It’s definitely refreshing. It feels like going to school for some reason. Like I don’t want to miss a class just because I might miss something wild happening.”

“What?” Sebastian glares. “What school did you go to?”

“I mean, aside from the learning stuff…” You grimace. “It’s fun, honestly. I’d love to do more romcoms. It’s very down-to-earth and just resonates with you so much. I don’t wanna get too cheesy, but I’m such a hopeless romantic—this is my jam.”

“Sebastian, how’s your experience working with Chris again, this time outside of the Marvel universe?”

“Wait, this isn’t in the Marvel Universe?!” you butt in. Sebastian again, fakes a loud gasp. You two laugh. This interview feels like it’s going nowhere.

“It’s totally fun, as Y/N mentioned—it really is like going to class. But most of my scenes are with Y/N, so she’s like the lab partner I’ve never had. Chris was always texting us, checking which location we’re going to be at, making sure we’re scheduled on the same day. It’s fun when we’re both on set.”

You nod in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve got a good rhythm going. It’s like having a little family on set. Plus, Chris is always the one who brings snacks, so that’s a bonus.”

Sebastian laughs. “Oh, absolutely. Chris and his endless supply of trail mix.”

The interviewer chuckles. “Sounds like you all have a great dynamic. Was there a favorite scene you both enjoyed filming together?”

You think for a moment. “I really loved the scene where we’re stuck in the car during that rainstorm. It was so chaotic, but we had a blast improvising and just playing off each other.”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that was a good one. The rain machine was going full blast, and we were just trying not to crack up the entire time.”

The interviewer smiles. “It sounds like it was a lot of fun. And the chemistry definitely shows on screen. Speaking of different roles, Y/N, Sebastian’s been in the movie Fresh where he plays a sociopathic killer who preys on lonely women pretending to be a genuine guy.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you say, laughing, as Sebastian shakes his head.

“Would you, like Noa, fall prey to Steve’s antics?” This question gets a louder laugh from Sebastian as your face shows pure shock. You hold him back with your hand and say,

“I’ve thought about this, to be honest,” you start, looking at Sebastian as he raises his eyebrows, impressed.

“Oh, you have?”

You laugh and continue, patting his thigh and looking back at the interviewer. “Me and my friend talked about it a while back. And it’s frightening because I would’ve probably ended up on a chopping block.”

“Noooo!” Sebastian shouts, “I was rooting for you.”

“No! But, like, you are incredibly good-looking and charismatic. It would be hard not to give my number at the grocery aisle.”

He tilts his head at your response. “Surely not good enough to get yourself killed?!”

“You’d be surprised how far I’d even go,” you say, as the interviewer laughs with you both. “Oh god, I need to call my therapist,” you add, ending the topic with the three of you gagging.

“Might just have to talk to mine too, after hearing that.”

You can already feel TikTok saving this clip and turning it into a meme.

You notice, after you call Sebastian good-looking, he’s been eyeing you sideways and biting his lip. As if he’s suddenly gone bashful. You can’t help but feel a boost in your ego. Could it be that Stan is shy? You make it a point to tease him for the remainder of the interview.

“What’s something funny or unexpected that happened on set?”

“Oh, there were so many moments,” you start. “One time, we were filming this really serious scene, and out of nowhere, a bird flew into the set and landed right on Sebastian’s shoulder.”

Sebastian laughs. “Yeah, I had no idea what to do. I just froze, and then Y/N started making bird noises to try and get it to fly away.”

You laugh, nodding. “It took a good ten minutes to get back into character after that. Everyone was cracking up.”

The interviewer grins. “That sounds hilarious. It’s great to hear that you all had such a good time. Speaking of moments on set, were there any funny or awkward moments while filming the more romantic or intimate scenes?”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, plenty. Like the time we were shooting that kiss scene in the rain, and Y/N kept slipping on the wet pavement.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Hey, it was slippery! You were the one who can’t stop laughing during takes.”

Sebastian laughs. “True, true. But come on, we both know it was because you were so nervous about kissing me.” You notice him biting back.

You gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me, I was not nervous! I was just...distracted by how ridiculously good-looking you are. It’s hard to concentrate when you have that face right in front of you.” He smiles uncontrollably again, feeling defeated by your nonchalance. He wonders, how are you so good at this?

The interviewer laughs, clearly enjoying the banter. “So, who do you think had the hardest time keeping a straight face during those scenes?”

You both point at each other simultaneously, then laugh.

Sebastian leans back, shaking his head. “Definitely Y/N. There was this one scene where we were supposed to be having this deep, romantic conversation, and she just couldn’t stop giggling.”

You nudge him playfully. “Well, you weren’t helping with all your ad-libs! You kept whispering things like, ‘Is that your stomach growling or are you just happy to see me?’”

Sebastian laughs. “Hey, I was trying to lighten the mood! And let’s not forget the scene where we had to stare into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. I swear, Y/N, you blink more than anyone I know.”

You smirk. “Only because I was trying to avoid getting lost in those baby blues of yours.” At this point, Sebastian was laughing hard, but feeling nervous at your jokes. He secretly wished it were all real, his ears were red and hot. He’s already thinking of how to approach you after the interview and get himself out of the friend zone which he didn’t even thought he’d be in, having found a new interest in you.

The interviewer looks between the two of you, amused. “It sounds like you both had a lot of fun with it. Do you think all that chemistry will translate to the screen?”

Sebastian nods. “Oh, definitely. I think our off-screen dynamic really helped make the on-screen relationship feel more genuine. Plus, Y/N here is an amazing actress. She made it easy.”

You smile, feeling a bit bashful. “Well, Sebastian’s not too bad himself. It’s hard not to enjoy working with someone who’s so talented and, let’s be honest, ridiculously attractive.”

Here she goes again .Sebastian grins. “Right back at you. But let’s be real, we’re both just incredibly good-looking people trying to make a movie here.” The internet is gonna have a field day.

The interviewer laughs. “Sounds like a tough job! Any last funny or romantic moments you’d like to share?”

You think for a moment. “There was this one scene where we had to dance together. Neither of us are professional dancers, so there were a lot of missteps and toe-stepping. But it ended up being one of the sweetest scenes because it felt so real and unpolished.”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that was a great scene. It was supposed to be this perfectly choreographed dance, but it turned into us just goofing around and having fun. I think it really captured the essence of our characters' relationship.”

The interviewer smiles, clearly delighted by your stories. “Well, thank you both for sharing these wonderful moments. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

As you and Sebastian leave the interview room, you head towards the lobby where a few other cast members are mingling. The energy is still high from the fun and laughter of the interview. Sebastian nudges you playfully as you walk.

“Hey, remember in the interview when you called me incredibly good-looking and charismatic?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes, grinning. “Oh, come on. Don’t let it go to your head, Stan.”

He chuckles. “Too late. I’m pretty sure I’m going to bring that up every chance I get now.”

“You would,” you laugh, shaking your head. “ It’s not like I was lying.”

Sebastian stops walking, turning to face you. “Well, thank you. And for the record, you’re pretty incredible yourself. Both on screen and off.”

You feel a warm blush creeping up your cheeks, putting a palm to your chest as if to continue the gag. “Thanks, Seb. That means a lot.”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “No, really, it’s been really great working with you. I think we make a pretty good team.”

“I think so too,” you agree, feeling a flutter in your stomach, you realize he’s actually serious now. There’s a moment of silence as you both just look at each other, the playful teasing from earlier now replaced with something more tender.

Sebastian breaks the silence first. “So, what do you say we celebrate wrapping up the promotion tour? Maybe dinner tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, teasingly. “Is this your way of asking me out, Stan?”

He grins, a little sheepishly. “Maybe it is. What do you think?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, then nod. “I think it sounds like a great idea.”

“Perfect,” he says, looking genuinely pleased. “I’ll pick you up at eight?”

“Eight it is."

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #sebastian stan fanfic #actress!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader

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thebibliosphere · 1 year

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From what I've seen, I think the Batkids would like your book.

Hunger Pangs? You flatter me.

But also, yes thank you for this particular strain on self-indulgent brain rot. I am going to be absolutely abnormal about this.

I’d like to imagine Dick picks it up at an airport somewhere on his way back from a trip and becomes hooked on the “clever, pretty, jumps-from balconies-for-the-thrill-of-the-fall vampire and goes, “oh, same.”

The fact that it’s got a rugged, soldiery werewolf with a heart of gold who enforces self-care as a form of kink-play is also doing stuff to his brain. (That’s a thing? He can… he can ask someone for that? Who does he ask for that? It’s been weeks since he slept more than a few hours and ate more than cereal for dinner. Seriously, who does he ask? How much is it? He’s got money. He’ll pay.) The uh, the need for validation and the budding praise kink is also hitting a little too close to home.

As is “all powerful witch with the power to pick you up with her mind and throw you around like a rag doll.” (LiStEN, he spent a large chunk of his formative years surrounded by tight spandex suits, villains with sexy mind control pollen and getting kidnapped and tied up every other week. It’s not his fault he’s Like This.)

He’s not mad about it, though.

Babs catches him re-reading it during downtime. She’s not even that interested, more asking what it is to be polite, but the way Dick jumps and turns red, like he didn’t even realize she was in the room is… intriguing.

“I can see why you like it,” she says, several days later, casually drinking her coffee while Dick stares straight ahead, willing the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “Magic, politics. Saving the world from certain doom with the power of knowledge and ecological preservation.” She glances sideways at him. “Vlad’s got some interesting quirks.”

“Shut up.”

“Are we sure you’ve not been compromised?”

“Babs, I mean it.”

“Mean what?” Tim appears in the kitchen as though from nowhere, pouring a red bull into the coffee pot.

No one tries to stop him.

“Dick’s reading a new book,” Babs says, ignoring the murderous look Dick sends her way.

“Oh? What book? Is it any good?”

“Uh, yeah, uh.” Dick rubs at the back of his neck, glaring daggers at Babs as she rolls out of the room, cackling. “It’s uh, romance. Kind of silly actually…”

“Oh?”

Dick nods. “It’s got a vampire and a werewolf. Two guys. And a… well she’s just sort of magic. They break into a library to save the world from ecological disaster. They’re all bi. Together. Or they will be in the next book. This one’s more about the vampire and the werewolf getting together. Um...”

Tim’s gone very still in the way he does when his brain has caught hold of something and he’s absolutely about to let it consume him. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Dick shrugs. “It’s got some kink in it,” he warns, not wanting to expose his younger brother to something he’s not ready for. Which is ludicrous because he’s Robin. And from the way Tim’s not drinking his ‘coffee’ he can tell this is only going to go one way no matter what he says. He brightens, remembering something. “But there’s, like, a non smutty version too? Or a less smutty version, I guess? I don’t know, I haven’t read it yet. I could, we could go to the bookstore, maybe stop at the art store too…”

“I’ll meet you in the car.”

“So,” Jason says, and Dick can already tell where this is going by the shit-eating grin on his face. “Vampires, huh? Or is it more the werewolves you’re into?”

“Who told you?” Dick bemoans. “Was it Babs?” He bets it was Babs. Fucking Babs.

“Oh, no one told me anything Boy Wonder. Tim found out the author has a go-fund-me for some medical shit that exceeded his monthly allowance and he’s been harassing Bruce to “fix it” for several days now. He’s down in the cave making a nuisance of himself right now. Apparently he quote “needs more of the bisexual monster books Dick told him about” unquote, and the author can’t do shit if she up and fucking dies because this country’s a fucking for-profit shit hole.”

Dick places his head in his hands. “Oh, God. Is Bruce mad? He’s mad, isn’t he?”

Jason shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you. Last I heard, Tim was playing him the audiobook over the bat computer to make his case.”

Dick let’s his head thump against the table. This is it. This is his villain origin story. He’s going to run away and join the Rogues. Or maybe he’ll go back to the Circus. Either option is better than the idea of having to meet Bruce’s eye later over the dinner table.

“Personally, I thought the plot was a little weak but the characters are compelling,” Jason says, sipping his herbal tea. “I liked the chill necromancer doctor. I feel like he’d be able to fix me.”

#batfam #hunger pangs: true love bites #I’m sorry #I am so sorry how self-indulgent this is #But also i don’t care

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blushweddinggowns · 7 months

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“Your boyfriend,” Chirssy sighed as she picked through Nancy’s clothes, “Y’know, Steve?”

Robin blinked at her, “You think I’m dating Steve?”

That was a silly question, “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? You guys are all over each other.”

They were. Piggy back rides, cuddling on the couch together, constantly invading each other’s personal space. The only person worse with Steve was Eddie, but Chrissy figured that just came with being best friends for over a decade. She didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for that, considering her first real friends were barely six months old.

Chrissy just hadn’t expected Robin to burst out laughing. Hard enough to double over.

Robin wiped at her eyes, barely managing to speak through her own cackles, “That’s-oh my god. How have we fucked up this badly?”

Chrissy could feel a flush creep up her neck, embarrassment kicking in. She hated when she wasn’t in on the joke. It usually meant that it was actually on her, “Don't be mean.”

“No!” Robin rushed out to say, effortlessly catching on to the look on Chrissy’s face, “No! I-I don’t mean- you’re not stupid! I am. We are. For… reasons. But we aren’t dating.”

That didn’t make any sense. Unless… was Steve leading her on? Was he the type of guy to do that?

Chrissy raised a brow at her, “So what are you doing? The two of you are attached at the hip. Unless he just drives you around everywhere for fun?”

Chrissy could tell Robin was still trying not to laugh. She was failing at it too, obvious as she hid it behind her hand.

“Stop laughing at me,” Chrissy grumbled.

“I’m not! I’m just laughing near you,” Robin said quickly. She turned to Steve, “Hey babe, can you come over here for a second?”

He came trotting right over, leaving Eddie to argue with Nancy in his place. He kind of reminded her of a dog, but in a cute way. Like a golden retriever boyfriend.

Robin wrapped an arm around his shoulder the second he was within reach. She grinned at him, shaking him the slightest bit, “How would you feel about us going out some time?”

Steve stared at her, obviously confused, “Huh?”

“You, me,” Robin went on, “The whole boyfriend girlfriend shtick. What do you say?”

Chrissy didn’t expect to Steve physically cringe, like the idea completely disgusted him, “Ew, no.”

Robin scoffed but she didn’t look very surprised, “Fucking rude.”

“No!” Steve said, raising his hands to placate, “I don’t mean you’re gross! I mean it would be like banging my sister!”

It was Robin’s turn to cringe, “Dude, ew.”

“See!”

Chrissy didn’t understand what was happening. She stared at them, blurting the question out, “You guys aren’t together?”

Robin did a set of jazz hands, “Nope. Absolutely zero attraction between us. See?”

“But why?” Chrissy asked, looking between the two of them, “You both seem so perfect for each other.”

“Hey Eddie,” Steve called, a weird smile on his face, “What do you think? Are Robin and I perfect for each other?”

Suddenly Robin had that same look, “Yeah. He knows Steve better than anybody. Let's have him weigh in.”

Eddie groaned as he came over, clearly eavesdropping the entire time. He left Nancy to dig around her closet, walking up next to Steve with a sigh, “Are we really doing this? Really?”

Robin gasped, faking a faint, “Are you implying that I’m not good enough for Steve?”

Steve gasped right along with her, joining in with the dramatics while Chrissy was still lost, “I think he might be.”

“As fun as this little game is,” Eddie sighed, “I think we should just tell her. I’m tired of keeping my hands to myself anyway.”

Steve looked at him, head cocked, “You think so?”

“Why not?”

Steve shrugged, his eyes landing back onto Chrissy. His voice dipped down, more serious then before. He was talking like he was speaking to Eddie, but Eddie wasn’t the one he was staring down as he spoke, “It makes sense. I think the chances of it going badly are pretty low. The alternative wouldn’t be very wise.”

Chrissy was reminded, not for the first time, why she thought Steve was the scarier one of the best friend duo.

But then Eddie was clamping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer as he mumbled in his ear, “Put the claws away angel. I highly doubt she's like that. Plus she's been through enough for one day. Don't you think?”

It was actually pretty impressive, how easily a few words had Steve’s face transforming from scarily defensive to pleasantly neutral. It nearly looked like the words made him shiver, “I-you're right. Sorry Chris. I'm just… sensitive about it “

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Chrissy said, completely unable to accept an apology that she didn’t understand, “What is happening?”

And what did Eddie just call him?

Eddie went on, “Well… we kind of have this thing when we’re in a near death experience. Or at least adjacent to it. Where we, well, kind of let loose? So we might as well warn you about what you’re going to see beforehand.”

Chrissy stared as Steve leaned further into him, nearly too close. No, definitely too close. He was basically nuzzling the side of Eddie’s face as he spoke, “You’re making it sound like we’re going to commit public indecency in front of her. And I’m the one who needs to calm down?”

Chrissy still didn’t get it. But her brain was still trying to work it out, fitting the weird pieces together. The way they were leaning into each other. The fact that Steve, for some bizarre reason didn’t want the best girl in the country, despite the fact that Robin was right there. How Eddie was instantly able to calm him down.

Angel.

Oh.

OH.

“Uh, you okay there Chris?” Eddie asked, watching right at the realization hit her.

She was not okay. Not because of Eddie and Steve, but because this meant Robin was single. And she had been the entire damn time.

Chrissy shook herself out of the stupid thought, just because she wasn’t taken didn’t mean she had a chance-

“Yeah, we’re kind of the queer trio over here,” Robin added, effortlessly grinding Chrissy’s train of thought back to a halt, “I um, probably should have told you sooner but piggybacking on their coming out seems appropriate.”

Nancy snorted, her outfit choices formalized as she walked over, “If you’re the queer trio what does that make me? The straight fourth wheel?”

They were all talking about it so casually. Like the thing that has plagued Chrissy’s mind for years, filling her with guilt and doubt, didn’t matter. It was normal, it was fine, and Robin liked girls.

She was pretty sure she was going to faint. But before she could her mouth was opening, “That’s- I - Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

Her voice came out more forceful than she expected. Though in her defense, she just found out that she had a real shot with her best friend the same day her life was in danger. She was feeling frazzled, but she corrected herself when she was met with silence, “I-I’m fine with it! Really! I j-just wish I had known.”

Nancy looked at her sympathetically, “Did you have a crush on one of them too? I get it, Steve got me the first time we started getting close. But I promise it’s not that hard to get over it.”

“No!” Chrissy said quickly, again with too much force, “I’m just surprised. T-That’s it. Everything’s fine.”

“Think you got the wrong category there Nance,” Steve mumbled under his breathe, yelping when Robin pinched his arm with a sharp glare.

“Ignore him,” Robin said with a sad smile, “He doesn’t get everyone doesn’t have the gay gene.”

Chrissy nodded, her eyes trailing the flush that was going up Robin’s neck. Suddenly her mouth felt dry, the urge to correct her coming out full force. She shouldn’t tell them, right? It was wrong, it was bad, it didn't make sense. Because she knew they weren’t wrong. They weren’t bad. And Chrissy was so, so, tired of other people’s words invading her own thoughts.

Nancy was laying the clothes out, the only one capable of getting everyone back on task, “Since it looks like neither of you were actually looking. I picked these out for you-”

“I have it,” Chrissy blurted out, her eyes still on the clothes on the bed. She refused to look up for any of their reactions, “The um, what you guys were talking about earlier. Me too. And I like the blue skirt.”

Nancy was the only one who didn’t miss a beat, “Ah, so now there’s four. Good for you. And I agree with the skirt, it will make you look a little taller with the heels and the elongation. We can get you to pass for a college student for sure. Robin, what do you think about the pink?”

from the next chapter of this fic

#steddie #steddie fic #buckingham fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #steddie childhood friends au #the universe trapped in your skin #preview #im trying y'all #queued

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gffa · 2 months

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I'm about a fifth of the way through Star Wars: The Rise and Fall of the Galactic Empire and I am chewing so hard on this book. It's my favorite genre of "fictional history told through an in-universe lens" (sort of along the lines of the Propaganda book or the Scum & Villainy book) and so far it is working so hard to pull everything together and put it into one coherent narrative and doing a surprisingly good job of it so far. There's so much going on that all has to be woven together--not just the events of any given novel/comic/game/show, but the unreliable nature of Star Wars as a universe, that the Empire didn't just erase knowledge of the Jedi, they were erasing anything they didn't want people to know about, so how can you parse out the truth of things? You can't, not fully, but you can make your best guesses, based on the evidence you do manage to dig up. It starts off by looking at Palpatine as a man (and has a really great take on him that I feel fits with what it means to be a dark sider, where you can see the cackling villain that Ian McDiarmid clearly had a blast with, but also the dissatisfaction and desperate dark hunger for something more and how he seemed to have a surprisingly thin skin on certain things, like you see how this guy was a brilliant villain, but also how he was not living a satisfying, happy life), as well as an Emperor, it theorizes about how he wanted to rule the galaxy and yet seemed completely uninterested in actually ruling it, and tied it together really well with the sequels. I'm now getting into the minutiae of how the various Moffs and Admirals and Governors ran the Empire, how it was set up to make them compete against each other, and showing how it sucked even good people in (by forcing them into impossible to choose circumstances, so that they would be complicit in the actions of the Empire) and I continue to want to chew on every single page of it. It's written by a historian--and you can tell, there's so much affection for the process of trying to understand the shape of the history of the galaxy--and really shows Star Wars as one big continuous narrative, from the prequels to the originals and to the sequels, and does some deep fucking diving, like I recognized characters from the Titans Rebels comics even! Like, goddamn, Dr. Kempshall, did you actually read all of this stuff or did you lean hard on the story group? Because, either way, this book is trying to pull in absolutely everything of the story of how the Empire rose, how it operated, and how it fell, and why that's important as a story.

#lumi.txt #star wars #novels #meta #novels: the rise and fall of the galactic empire

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meanbossart · 18 days

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LORE ASK COMPILATION: "Still not banging Halsin, Squid Games, Sun King, Failing at love quizzes, Bottoms, Tops, and Cats" Edition

He didn't, Halsin wasnt around for act 3, too busy healing land and saving ghost children or something!

THANK YOU/I'M SORRY, I'm surprised there isn't more Bhaalist Dark Urge/Spawn Astarion stuff out there. Don't get me wrong, I love a good evil power couple, but who can resist the good ol'heartbreak of a vicious unending cycle brought on by your own senselessness!

That wasn't something I was interested in previously just because acquiring the slayer form isn't part of his canon, but I've been looking at enough fromsoft games' monster designs that I might be a little inspired to try LOL

Also I am just a fan of the canon design and never before thought it needed altering. But I'll let it cook ;)

God damn it.

DU drow was VERY antagonizing towards the emperor since the moment he dropped the facade, which made the attempt ESPECIALLY hilarious - that poor guy is so, so lonely.

I don't recall the exact wording in-game, but once the emperor took his shiny squid pecs out and shot his shot, DU drow recoiled and called him disgusting. After having the visions of Stelmane forced upon him to make whatever baffling point the emperor was trying to make, DU drow smugly asserted that he had finally let the mask slip and their very terrible date ended with the Emperor enforcing their reluctant need for one another, for the time being.

In-prose, that would honestly be pretty much it. DU drow would have reacted with absolute revulsion at the prospect of being hit on by a mindflayer, and taken the Emperor's (miscalculated) moment of lashed-out vulnerability as a win - as proof that he was exactly as duplicitous as he always assumed the Emperor to be.

I can assure everyone that I am as entertained by the thought as the rest of you and it is in the cards for future art, I just have... So many prompts... I have at least 5 different mini-comics I want to make, BESIDES singular pieces, BESIDES the fanfic... I wish I had more time and more hands.

But DU drow's unlikely semi-success as a parental figure is hilarious to me. I think about it constantly.

I haven't entertained that thought much because its antithetical to DU drow's character. Whether "good" or evil, he wouldn't allow Astarion to ascend because of his fear of no longer being needed and his reluctance to watch his partner be consumed by out-sourced power and changed into something he despises. Realistically, in a world where Astarion is allowed to ascend they could only break up and inevitably kill each other soon after.

That said, I am fascinated by the Sun King and the implications that path has for his character. So far that is an arc that I can only really see Astarion taking on alone, though - that might change in the future, might not. We'll see!

IF I CAN MAKE IT NOT ENTIRELY MISERABLE, I JUST MIGHT.

He got 2 out of 3 questions wrong - which is to say he was way too honest and Astarion didn't like that.

Except for the "when is he the happiest" question, which he correctly answered with "when he's neck deep in gore".

This is not even a lore-embelishment, this is actually how that scene went for me and I cackled about it for ages.

He would love to get tied up for old-times' sake. I doubt he knows much about fancy knots but Astarion might (though I might be in a minority that doubts his enforced "sex life" was actually that interesting at all.)

Thank you so much!

You are mostly correct. Bhaalist drow, both pre and post tadpole would be much more keen on the idea of having people around who fulfill their every desire - EXCEPT for killing. That is a joy they take on for themselves.

"Canon" DU drow values his independence a lot, on the other hand. He's neutral on the idea of slavery (what a sentence) and wouldn't be opposed to temporary servicing, but the idea of having someone around waiting for orders doesn't attract him at all, or at least would get on his nerves quick. He much preffers to do things himself and makes sure that other people see how much he does not need assistance.

The answer is yes, basically LOL.

DU drow both adores and despises Sceleritas presence and he doesn't know why. It very much reflects the type of relationship they used to have prior to DU drow's memory loss, and it's one of those things that he has conflicting feelings about but not any context for them.

I sadly doubt that the boys would become parents during Shadowheart's lifetime (it's for the best, they have a lot of work to do before I would trust them not to drop a baby), but honestly she strikes me as really liking kids as long as she doesn't have to, well, have them LOL.

And thank you so much for enjoying them and humoring me!

I think it is less about bottoming-topping and more about enjoying a more submissive role during sex, as well as in other scenarios. He believes that giving control away is, in a way, a show of devotion that goes both ways - his own for the willingness to do so, and his partner's for not taking advantage of it despite his wanting them to do so.

With one-night-stands (which he occasionally had pre-tadpole) he would still bottom without any of the submissiveness. This is because he didn't have the capacity to understand what it was about bottoming that attracted him, and led him to feeling constantly unfulfilled and frustrated (he just isn't build for no-strings-attatched type of arrangements, lol.)

This means that he really could operate either way depending on the partner as long as he got that fix of docility, whether it be from the bottom or top.

I think of Astarion as being similarly versatile but leaning more in the opposite direction when it comes to power-dynamics - though it being less about dominance itself and more about being pampered and catered to - and, of course, getting to do what he wants. Though he's willing to try most things a partner is particularly enthusiastic for just to see how he feels about it.

That said with DU drow he does prefer to top for a plethora of reasons.

I didn't have this piece of lore thought-up at the time, but I should have made them look like the lady he lost his virginity to.

Him and Astarion were gobbling those things up until the emperor reveal, then they both quit it cold-turkey after DU drow stomped the astral-tadpole dead (and back then you didn't have to roll any dice to do it, because otherwise we would have weird veiny DU drow to deal with for sure because he would NOT have suceeded that save.)

DU drow's feelings towards animals is a constant in every iteration of his character. They are organic little pieces of art wandering about the world that act upon their own laws and regulations, ones which humanoids aren't privy to - except for when they intrude into that world through magic and try to understand it through their overly-complicated systems and concepts. If a cat made the temple it's home, it can stay.

#ask compilation #du drow and astarion #bg3 spoilers #du drow lore

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luxurychristmaspudding · 1 month

Text

Mi Amigo | On Call

part iii

summary: summer arrives at last - and along with it, care, confessions, and a bbq.

pairing: neighbour!frankie x f!babysitter!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, more smutty thoughts, drinking and smoking. grinding and kissing. kind of dubcon (they're very drunk) but we know they're obsessed with each other. frankie comes in his pants cos that's all i ever want him to do. bug jumping to conclusions. one good boy. a little praise kink.

reader is a teacher and has hair, but is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 9.4k

an: to probably absolutely no one's surprise, what was supposed to be the last chapter of these fools is now split in two. i am a yapper at heart, and a yapper i will always be. i really hope y'all enjoy the last bits of this story <3

huge love to @schnarfer, @jolapeno and @toomanytookas, who held my hands through all my wobbles and questions. you guys are three in billions.

before we begin - if you haven't already, catching up here and here will be useful before these chapters <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

I've got a friend Helps me to get up again Showers me in boozes Tells me I got a big old dick And she wants my ass home

- mi amigo, kings of leon

series masterlist | main masterlist

It’s six o’clock when Frankie knocks on your door, tool box in hand.

He squints at you from your porch, all chocolate curls and sunkissed skin and a big, silly gin. You give him a once over, a similar smile stretching across your face.

‘Well. Isn’t this like the start of a bad porno?’

He laughs as you step back to let him in, leaning to give you a swift peck on the cheek.

‘Evenin’ to you too, teach. Heard you needed your pipes checked.’

You snort, cackling as you close the door behind him, and he’s laughing too, body bowed towards your amusement as you lead him through to the kitchen.

Your kitchen table is tidier than normal, plants blooming in the summer sun.

‘You want a drink of anything?’ You ask. He shakes his head, placing the tool box by his feet.

‘You can ply me with alcohol later, Bug. I need good eyes and steady hands for this.’

You tut at him.

‘Wasn’t going to be alcohol, Morales. You want water? Juice? Pepsi?’

He’s grinning again as he kneels by the sink, opening the cupboard beneath it.

‘Sure. Pepsi would be good.’

You head to the fridge to grab him a can as he eases himself into the cabinet, the cool aluminium sweating in your hands as he tinkers for a moment.

‘How bad is it, doc?’

His face reappears from the gloom, wincing, and you hand him the drink. He cracks it open with a fizz and takes an audible sip.

‘Awful. You’re gonna need a whole new kitchen,’ he pouts. You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs, winking. ‘So easy you could have done it yourself.’

You roll your eyes at him, popping yourself up to sit on the counter, hand idly drifting through his toolbox.

‘How was today?’ He asks, heaving himself up to gather a handful of tools. You lift your shoulders.

‘Aw, all good. Happy it’s Friday. Happy summer’s almost here.’

He smiles.

‘How was yours?’

‘Quiet. Well, apart from Luc. I don’t think she’s ever been this excited for something before.’

You scrunch your face up, ahhing as he disappears back into the cupboard, starting his work on the pipes below the sink.

‘Do you think she’ll be alright?’

‘Yeah,’ he grunts, ‘She’ll be fine. Got Herman - y’know, her little dog - so she’s well prepared.’

You swing your feet a little, pulling your lip between your teeth.

‘Still gonna keep your phone on you at all times?’

His stomach jumps with a laugh.

‘You got it, Bug. I won’t sleep.’

You tip your head at his torso, watching him work. The concealed movement of his arms, the slither of skin revealed to you as he stretches to reach something. Perfect to run your fingertip along, your tongue -

Frankie groans. You wet your lips.

‘Everything alright, boss?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighs, ‘Picked up the wrong one. Hand me that 36.9mm wrench.’

You freeze, staring down at the toolbox beside you, the jumble of metal. Sure, you know what you’re looking at, and he’s joked about it before, but -

‘Quickly.’ He says, making blind grabby hands in the direction of the box. You scrabble around, picking up three different types of wrench, scouring them for clues. He says your name, exasperated.

‘I am going quickly,’ you protest, ‘I just have to read everything. There are so many sizes -’

‘See, I knew you didn’t know what a wrench looked like.’

You drop one of the tools, flipping him off even though he can’t see it, before fishing out another.

‘Keep being smart, Morales, and I won't help at all.’

A disgruntled ha! sounds from beneath the sink.

‘This is your sink I’m fixing -’

‘And it’s not my fault I don’t have an engineering degree, or a maths degree, or whatever the fuck -’

Frankie makes to sit up, grumbling, but promptly smacks his head on the inside of the cabinet with a loud thump. His Jesus fucking Christ is almost drowned out by your laughter as he edges himself out, rubbing at his forehead.

‘Don’t laugh at me, pendeja.’

‘That’s karma, Fish.’

‘How is that karma when I’m trying to help you?’

You shrug, finally holding out the right wrench.

‘The dildo of consequences rarely arrives lubed, my friend.’ You snicker.

He takes the wrench from you and ducks back under the sink, barely repressing a grin.

‘That doesn’t even make sense,’ he grumbles, voice tight with the effort of holding back his laughter.

You watch the flash of his elbows as they work beneath the counter, loosening, tightening, before he finishes with a huff.

‘Done.’

You check your watch as he wiggles out, and he makes to throw the wrench at you.

‘Record time.’ You grin, and he rolls his eyes, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. The front of his shirt is stained a darker grey than it was before, and he grimaces at it as he rises from the floor, knees popping. You hop down from the counter, grabbing the dishcloth from the oven handle, moving closer to pat at the damp fabric. He catches your wrists in his hands.

‘It’s no use, teach,’ he says, ‘I’m done for.’

‘You’ve got a real taste for the theatrics tonight, Morales,’ you scoff at him, ‘I’m starting to see where Luc gets it from.’

He releases one of your wrists to give a swift pinch to your cheek, and you gasp dramatically, holding your hand to the small sting.

‘How very dare you!’ You cry, and he laughs, shoulders jumping, mumbling something about your theatrics. You take the chance to step back and whirl the towel around itself between your fists, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

‘Hey now,’ he says lowly, ‘There’s no need for that.’ Raising his hands in surrender, a slow smile stretching across his lips. You watch each other with bated breath until you lurch forward and he spins giddily, running away as you chase him around the kitchen table.

He clamours against the chairs, bumps against plant pots, giggling all the way. A high-pitched, careless little laugh that you like to think only you can elicit from him.

You’re calculating, breathless; tilting your head, his legs in sight, towel held taught in your hands. Close enough. You release one end of the cloth in the direction of his calves - weak, barely even a flick of your wrist - and lightning fast, Frankie turns and grips the free end, yanking you towards him through choked huffs of mirth.

‘Do not whip me, Bug.’

Your only response is a barely muffled hehehe against his chest, and he levers his spare palm against the forearm still holding the towel. He takes it from you easily, efficiently winding it into an actual dangerous looking weapon, before chasing you back around the furniture in the opposite direction, you shrieking out your protests as he bounds behind you. You make three rounds of the table before he screeches to a halt directly opposite you, and you still, both clutching chairs, chests heaving.

‘You have to let me get one. You owe me one.’ He says, eyes narrowed, levelling a finger at you.

You bark a laugh.

‘I owe you nothin’, Morales. You were too slow.’

‘Fair’s fair -’

‘Grown man, talkin’ ‘bout fair’s fair -’

‘Bug -’

‘Frankie -’

‘Bug -’

‘I will bite you.’

He gives you a baffled look, one that quickly melts into amusement. A lop-sided grin, one eye dropping closed in a wink.

‘Do you promise?’

For a second, he swears you falter. Like something short circuits, the same way it did on his sofa, the same way it did on his porch. And then you smile, wide and lascivious, striding round the table to stop in front of him.

He almost drops the towel when you lift a hand to his chest, tracing one finger over the water stain, up to the round collar at his neck.

‘I promise, Frankie,’ you coo, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

His mouth is parted, panting slightly. Eyes wide with surprise, darkening with a kind of hunger he’s not sure how to hide.

You rip the towel from his hand, bouncing backwards with a cry of aha!

Frankie rocks on the balls of his feet, swallowing before echoing a pale shadow of your laughter, heart thumping painfully behind his ribs.

‘Alright,’ he rasps, ‘You win.’

You grin at him again, and his chest squeezes tight as you loop an arm around his waist, pinching his side.

‘Bastarda.’ He hisses, and your lips stretch even wider.

‘Alright, Morales,’ you crow, patting his chest. ‘Go get changed. I’ll get us dinner.’

When he opens the door, freshly changed into sweatpants and a new t-shirt, you’re stood outside. One fist raised, the other holding the neck of a half-full bottle of whisky.

‘Y’alright?’ He asks, looking you over - fresh-faced, in your own sweats, hair a little wet.

‘Yup. Was just gonna check you hadn’t fallen in.’

‘Fallen in,’ he repeats, closing the door behind him before picking you up in his arms. It’s a death grip, the air in your body squeezed out like bubble wrap as your spine pops. He swings you about a little, until you thump on his back with your spare fist, wheezing.

‘Put - me - down - asshole -’

He drops you unceremoniously on his porch, and you bend, hands on your knees, as you catch your breath. He chuckles down at you, and you flip him off.

‘You know,’ you pant, ‘I never liked you.’

‘Whatever, Bug.’ He smirks, hopping down his porch steps. You straighten, bounding after him.

Cool grass at your feet, warm air in your lungs, you catch up to him easily, watching his broad back in the moonlight. He says nothing as you glance at him, strong nose, scruff, plush lips. But his growing smirk tells you he’s noticed.

A heat rises in your cheeks, and you take the moment to jog ahead of him, hopping the fence.

When you turn back, he's watching you with his hands on his hips.

‘I thought we were walking together.’ He pouts.

‘Thought we could hop the fence together instead.’

He stares at you for a moment, considering. Glares at the fence, then shakes his head. You snort.

Feigning defeat, Frankie begins to walk towards the front of his lawn, but you take a step back towards your house.

‘Ah-ah. Hop the fence,’ you say, waving the bottle. Frankie sighs.

‘I’m not hopping the fence.’

‘Hop the fence,’ you giggle, ‘And I’ll give you a cigar.’

‘A cigar?’

You waggle your eyebrows at him.

‘Yes, sir. A cigar.’

He chews his cheek, still thinking. Decides to call your bluff, takes one more step -

‘Nuh-uh. Hop it.’

‘I’m old. I’m not hopping shit.’

‘You are not old,’ you say, scowling at him, ‘You’re too serious. Hop the damn fence.’

He sighs again, jaw working around a clever comeback that never materialises. He looks up to the heavens, and then closes the distance between you.

You watch with delighted amusement as Frankie settles himself at the white pickets, hands in the position to launch himself over. He waits for muscle memory to kick in.

Nothing happens.

‘You good, buddy?’ You goad. He grimaces.

‘Yep. Just… gearing myself up.’

You scoff.

‘Hop it, Fish. Or I’ll have them both smoked by the time you’re here.’

You watch as he mumbles a fuck it before jumping up and flinging both legs over the top slat - and just when it seems he’s about to land gracefully, the tip of his foot catches the wood. He sprawls to the ground, all flailing limbs, with a muffled mmph.

The cackle you let out is long and loud, and you clap a hand over your mouth to try and stifle it. He stays motionless, huffing on the grass as you gasp, trying to regain your composure, and when you’re sure you won’t wet yourself, you come towards him and drop to your knees. You grip his shoulder to turn him on his back, his eyes scrunched shut against your smirk. The corners of his mouth curl when he hears you snort again.

‘Come on,’ you giggle, ‘I’ve got just the thing for geriatric patients.’

He moans and tries to turn himself back over, shoulders rounding, but you keep your hand firmly where it is.

‘Leave me,’ he grumbles, ‘I’m no good anymore. Take the kid. She prefers you, anyway.’

You laugh anew, settling on your butt, before pulling him roughly to lie flat. You pull the cork from the whisky bottle and take his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

‘Open up,’ you say, ‘This’ll help your strength.’

You bring the bottle to his open lips and tip it. He winces when the whisky hits his tongue, coughing it down, shoulders lifting from the grass as he hacks. When it begins to sputter out the sides of his mouth and dribble into his beard, he sits up, narrowing his eyes at you as he splutters and wipes the spill with the back of his hand.

‘You’re a bad influence.’

You roll your eyes and begin to stand, holding a hand out for him. He eyes it sceptically.

‘If I had a dollar every time I heard that,’ you say as he takes it and you pull him up with a groan, ‘I’d have at least three dollars.’

‘Goes to show.’ He mutters, swiping his hands on his jeans as you lead him to your porch.

You clap him on the back as he staggers forwards, keeping your palm plastered to the warmth of his shoulders as you guide him up the steps, handing him the whisky and settling him on the bench facing the garden before disappearing back inside. He’s still nursing achy joints when you reemerge, two tumblers pinched between fingers, a lighter and a cigar case in the other hand.

You plop next to him with a sigh, handing him the glasses as he pops the cork back off the bottle.

‘Ordered pizza.’ You tell him, picking a cigar out from the case.

He smiles, eyes sparkling as he holds a filled tumbler out to you. You take it, fingers brushing his.

‘Pepperoni?’

‘Of course.’

He sets the bottle down as he watches you deftly cut the end of the first stogie, picking up your lighter and letting it warm the darkening end. He accepts it gratefully, letting it rest between his fingers as you cut your own, rotating it over the flame. The silver of the lighter catches the moonlight, and in it, he can see the intricate carvings engraved on its surface. Flowers and leaves, a tiny bee. Your initials at the bottom.

‘Cardinal sin to just let it burn.’ You murmur, nodding to his hand. He chuckles, lifting the cigar to his lips for the first, rich drag. He peers at you through his eyelashes on the exhale, and you smile at him as you inspect the burn on yours.

‘Nice lighter.’ He says as you flick the cap back over the flame.

‘Thanks. Was my dad’s,’ you say. ‘The cigars were my graduation gift from him. Last two.’

Frankie pauses.

‘Last two?’

Mhm.

He lowers his hand.

‘Bug, if these are your last two, I don’t wanna -’

You cut him a look through your first puff of smoke, and he stops.

‘Frankie, honey. I wouldn’t have invited you over if I didn’t want you to have one.’ You hold your glass out to cheers him, and he clinks it gently. ‘Consider it payment for the sink.’

He scoffs at you.

‘You don’t owe me anything for the sink.’

You twist your body to face him.

‘What kind of friend would I be if I didn't get you back for the sink?’

He shakes his head.

‘You already do enough for me with Luc.’

You regard him for a moment, so long that he’s forced to meet your eyes. Something moves through them. Something deep and warm, a little sad.

‘You know I’d do anything for you two.’

You’d meant it to sound casual, but it slips from your lips and lands heavily on the bench between you. It sits there for a moment, a sentiment beyond its words, its presence ballooning so quickly that you scramble for some quip to say to make it smaller.

Frankie’s eyes don’t leave yours.

‘I’d do anything for you, too, Bug.’

He says it with such sincerity, such understanding, that it takes your breath away; his eyes so deep, so round, you feel you might fall into them. Pupils so blown they’re almost black, mouth parted to release a breath before he clears his throat. Your eyes flick to your hands, the last cigar your father gave you, before finding his again.

‘School breaks up on Friday.’ He says.

‘It does.’

You wait.

‘Luc gets picked up Friday evening. Vanessa’s back. I’m, uh - I'm having a barbeque on Saturday. The boys are coming,’ you raise an eyebrow at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. ‘They want to meet you.’

The small smile pulls into a grin.

‘You been telling your friends about me, Morales?’

He scoffs.

‘Told them about you the day you moved in. They know all about you.’

You chuckle a little, taking a puff of the cigar.

‘All good things, I hope.’

‘Everything about you is a good thing.’

You cut him a look.

‘You'd better stop that before my ego gets too big.’

He laughs this time, taking a drag before asking you -

‘Do you wanna come?’

You knock your shoulder against his.

‘Course I do.’

He nods, head dipping low.

‘Good. That's good.’

You’re grinning still, leaning so your knee touches his.

‘So, what else do you tell your friends about me?’

Frankie freezes, hand stopping halfway to his mouth. Only a second, but you don’t miss the way a blush begins to bloom up his neck.

‘Nothing else.’

You grin wider.

‘Nothing else? You sure?’

He stammers on his words when it should be easy. How great of a friend you are, how good with Lucia you are, how I almost kissed you on the porch, how much I wanna kiss you all the time, but nothing. Nothing -

From within the house, through the open back door, there comes the short blast of the doorbell. You suck a breath in through your teeth, still amused - oblivious.

‘Saved by the bell, mi amigo. Hold this for me.’ You say, handing him your half-finished stogie.

He sighs as you stand and vanish into your home, knocking his head against the back of the bench, gazing up at a moth fluttering around the porch light. He closes his eyes, counting to fifty in his head to try and sooth his pounding heart, before you appear again.

You hold a box out to him.

‘Don’t go falling asleep on me now,’ you sing, ‘The night is young, and so are we.’

He chuckles.

‘Speak for yourself, asshole.’

Several more moths are scrambling above your heads by the time you finish eating. Hot, greasy cheese, scarfed down between sips of whisky and the dregs of the cigars. You leave the boxes stacked clumsily next to the bench, your legs intermittently slung over Frankie’s lap, or your heads knocking against each other's shoulders in laughter as conversation wanders from work, to family, to stories of friends. It’s a rare night that you get to yourselves - no hushed voices for the small person upstairs, no muffled laughter.

When an almost imperceptible chill begins to settle, you stand from the bench. Frankie raises an eyebrow at you.

‘You wanna dance, Fish?’

Inside your living room, you hand him your phone, busying yourself with turning on your speakers. Frankie’s eyes stay glued to the slope of your back as you crouch down, a little fuzzy around the edges, before dragging his attention to the device in his hand. He presses his thumb to it, and the screen alights. Something warm pulls and floods in his gut when he’s faced with a picture of him, you, and Lucia at Pride, one of the selfies you took. He’s still smiling dumbly when you stand and look at him expectantly.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ He says, gesturing to it.

‘You’re supposed to connect -’ You cut yourself off, rolling your eyes a little. ‘Here, I’ll do it.’ You say, taking the phone from him, unlocking it and opening the bluetooth settings. Frankie sways a little in time with the swell of his heart.

‘Your lockscreen.’ He says.

You smile broadly at him.

‘It’s you guys.’

‘It’s us guys.’ He chuckles, sweeping you up into his arms in a rush of affection. He kisses the top of your head as you press the phone into his hand, Spotify already open.

‘Pick something,’ you say, ‘Anything you want. But make it groovable.’

So he does. Leading you in a romp through his expansive taste, interspersed with your own picks. Queen, Bowie, Pet Shop Boys, Incubus, Dire Straits. He surprises you with ABBA, Soft Cell, and Daft Punk. Leads you through Blue Öyster Cult, wields a dramatic air guitar through Aerosmith and AC/DC, sings Noah Kahan with full lungs, dances to La Bamba with his whole chest. Wails through Livin’ On A Prayer and More Than A Feelin’, drops to his knees for Pour Some Sugar On Me, bops around the room to Groove Is In the Heart and Earth, Wind and Fire.

He pulls you close during Springsteen, closer still when Fleetwood Mac pours through the speakers. You’re laughing through it all - pressed against his broad body or dancing on opposite sides of the room, arms free and wild, feet never still. Mouths breathlessly close during You Make Loving Fun and Gold Dust Woman, howling at each other through The Chain and Go Your Own Way. Theatrical during Silver Springs, singing to him as you dance on top of the sofa. Close again as you croon Dreams to each other, your head pressed against his chest, moving in time with him as he wraps his arms around you.

You’re drawn, time and time again, to the way his eyes crinkle with his near permanent smile. The way his hips move, the way he sings, unburdened, unbothered, the way his hands search for you. Spinning and twirling you, pushing your arms with his in time to the beat of the music, one hand cradling your head as you slow dance, one clutched to the small of your back, moulded to the curve of your waist. The press, subconscious grind, of your bodies moving together. A low, sticky state of arousal, easily pushed aside by bright laughter and off-key singing.

And it feels so natural, this night, to be with each other. Uncaring and sweaty, time passing without you realising, your breath continuously caught in your throat by the way he looks at you, how easy it would be to press your lips to his. You itch with the possibility of it all, the way your heart would once batter against your ribs in fear of him discovering the way you feel drowned out by the drums and guitars and whisky.

You could spend the whole night - a whole lifetime - alone in your living room with Frankie like this.

The light from the lamps is low and warm now, bathing the room in shadows, the leaves of your plants sinking into a darker green. Outside, it is utterly dark.

You slip through each other’s arms like molasses, giggling uncontrollably. Frankie only breaks his firm hold on your waist, your hands, to reach for the bottle again, pouting when he finds it empty. He tips it up to his eye level, emptying the last few drops onto his tongue before swinging it around like more might magically appear.

You plant your hands on his shoulders, squeezing the firm muscle there. He meets your eye, trying - and failing - to balance the bottle on your head.

‘Ya want more?’ You ask, a grin slipping across your face.

His answering ‘Yup,’ is emphatic enough to have you bounding into the kitchen, the walls softening the sound of Fleetwood Mac as you stumble to the cabinets on the far side. Frankie watches, slouched against the doorframe, as you struggle on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf where another bottle sits, label glinting gold. There’s a soft grunt as you sway a little, before starting to scale the kitchen units. He starts towards you.

‘Bug, let me get it.’

You relent immediately, kneeling on the countertop, eyes glassy as you watch him. He’s so fucking handsome you could cry. His curls, his smile, his arms, the little slither of tummy that’s exposed when he reaches up -

You barely catch the noise you were about to make in your throat as he lowers the bottle and shuts the cupboard door.

You’re still watching his fingers as he pops the cork and inhales deeply. He hums, deep in his chest, and you want to press your ear against his ribs to hear it better.

‘That’s good stuff.’

‘Always for you, baby.’ You smile, tongue poking against your teeth.

He knocks your shoulder with his fist, apparently oblivious to the blush that spreads right to the tops of his ears.

‘Stop that.’ He chuckles.

‘Mm-nope.’ Is your reply, and he’s still grinning as he swaggers out of the kitchen, taking a great gulp as he walks. You stay knelt on the countertop for a few seconds more before you manage to process that his warmth is no longer beside you.

‘Hey!’ You call, scampering down, running back through to the living room. Frankie is dancing again, but the sway of his hips is easier to ignore when he’s drinking your liquor.

‘Hey!’ You protest again as he lifts it back to his mouth, raising his eyebrows at you - teasing.

‘Give me some of that -’ you crow, trying to swipe it from him. But he's so fast. ‘Frankie, that’s mine,’ you whine, a petulant child, as he easily dodges your grabbing hands. ‘You fucker, I want some -’

And he’s giggling, ‘Come and get it, then.’

You move so quickly you surprise even yourself - climbing up onto the sofa beside you and launching yourself at him. He catches you on instinct, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders as you fight to get the bottle back, him swinging himself in circles to try and dislodge you. The collision knocks whisky from his mouth, the air from his lungs.

‘Fuck - Bug - get off - my back -’

You manage to pry the bottle from his fingers, taking great glugs as he spins and you laugh maniacally.

‘Bug,’ he pants, ‘Please -’

‘Oh baby,’ you coo in his ear, a shit-eating grin on your lips, ‘What’s wrong?’

He stills briefly, the blush returning, his heart hammering against your palms. You lick your lips, pulling yourself a little closer, a little tighter, hitching your head over his shoulder so you can nibble at his ear lobe.

‘Tell me, Frankie. What do you want?’

His breath stutters, eyes flutter shut.

‘Baby -’ He croaks.

Something warm curls in your belly, wetness beginning to dampen your underwear. Baby.

You lean forward again, this time pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. He staggers like you’ve swept his feet out from under him.

Frankie lurches, grunts, heaves you around to his front, and drops you on the sofa beside him.

Still smirking, you drink from the bottle again, watching as he drops heavily onto the loveseat adjacent to you. He’s breathing deeply, lifting his hips to adjust himself in his sweats.

‘Fuck. You.’ He breathes, levelling a finger in your direction. You smile wider, lascivious.

‘Is that a promise, or a threat, Francisco?’

He groans, low in his throat, a hand scraping over his jaw, and you’re moving without thinking about it. Drawn to him so easily, the neck of the bottle hanging between two fingers.

He watches you, eyes heavy lidded, fingers twitching where they rest on his thighs. You bite your lip, a quiet whine working from behind your teeth as you process the growing bulge against the grey.

He hasn't broken your gaze. You stop in front of him, between his spread legs. The air is thick, warm. You’re not even sure if the music is playing anymore.

‘Promise? Or threat?’ You repeat, softly.

He leans forward. Big, calloused hands trail up the back of your calves, the backs of your thighs. So slow, so sure, you’re positive your knees might give way. Your breath stutters as he presses a kiss to your stomach, brown eyes wide, looking up at you.

‘Promise.’

You bury a hand in his soft curls, tugging his head back softly, before trailing the backs of your fingers down his stubbled cheek. You pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

‘Open.’

He does. Slowly, so slowly, you pour the whisky into his waiting mouth. Big brown eyes patient, wanting.

‘Close.’

He swallows as you bend to place the bottle on the floor, watching a dribble of liquid flow from the corners of his lips.

Good boy, you murmur, and he moans again. One hand pressed to his shoulder to push him back into the cushions, you drop a knee onto the sofa on one side of his narrow hips, and he uses his hands on your thighs to guide you the rest of the way to straddle him.

‘So good. Wanna make you feel so good.’ You whisper, half delirious, crowding him, settling your core over his growing hardness. Tangling a hand in the curls at the nape of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. You lean closer, and his eyelids flutter as you flatten your tongue against his chin, licking the whisky from him, rocking your hips slightly at the same time. It’s delicious, and you can’t tell whether it’s the taste or feel of him that cracks your mouth open with a moan. You lean back again, and he’s staring at you - pupils so blown they're black. Searching his eyes for permission, as if he would have ever let you get this far otherwise.

He beats you to it, leaning forwards again, your eyes just closing at the first press of his lips to yours - soft, sweet, gentle. He holds his mouth there for a moment as your heart catches up with your body, dropping dizzyingly into your stomach, your breath suddenly hard to find.

You open your mouth, and someone so different to the Frankie you're used to - desperate, hungry - claims it as his own.

His hands are everywhere. Cradling your cheek, gripping the hair at the back of your head, squeezing your ass, your thighs. Halfway between grounding and ravenous as he kisses you, all tongues and teeth and desire. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, and you fist your hands in the hem of his t-shirt, wondering whether you should pull it up and off, thinking about the slip of skin you’d seen earlier, the scar and broad chest you’d admired at the beach. He releases your lip and ducks his head, kissing and nipping at your throat, and your body is so numb with feeling, goosebumps all over your skin, that you wonder whether this is what it should have felt like. All this time, everyone you’ve ever wanted. Even Annie. You’re gasping, moaning, a high pitched whine slipping from your mouth as he sucks a mark into your pulsepoint, your hands grabbing at him, pink half moons carved into his shoulders.

‘Frankie,’ you gasp, ‘Frankie -’

He mumbles your name against your skin, and then again, lower, growling.

‘Want you.’ He presses just behind your ear, and then his hands are squeezing at your hips, rocking you back and forth slowly. His head falls back against the sofa as yours tips forwards, fighting the urge to shut your eyes against how good it feels. You’re soaked, panties sticking to your damp folds, so wet you’re sure it’ll show through your sweats. So wet you’re sure Frankie can feel it, the way he looks down between your bodies. You follow his eyeline, groaning again, a fresh wave of slick pulsing out of you when you see how hard he is, tenting against the soft material.

You slant forward, bumping your forehead against his as you whimper, the seam of your clothing catching perfectly against your clit, head spinning. Frankie licks his lips, mouth tacky from breathing so hard.

‘So good, baby,’ he groans, ‘Fuck, you feel so good, moving like that.’

And you’re hot all over, heavy with arousal. Dipping your head low to kiss at his neck again, letting your tongue trace his skin, biting at the tendons there. He groans above you, puffing breath through his nose as he paws at your ass, urging you to arch your back more as though he knows you need to chase more friction. You whine into the crook of his neck, letting him drive the pace now as you clench around nothing, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

‘Fuck,’ you breathe against him, ‘Fuck, Frankie.’

‘Yeah?’ He rasps, ‘You like that, princesa?’

You moan again by way of an answer, scrunching the neck of his tee in your hands, squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t know how you’ve gotten there so quickly, knot pulling tight in your core, burning through your insides, but the hours of thinking about it probably haven’t helped.

‘’M gonna come.’ You mumble against him, and his breathing falters.

‘You gonna come like this?’

‘Mhm.’

You tip your head to suck at his neck again, and he presses you harder against him, moaning out.

‘Okay,’ he gasps, ‘Good girl.’

His praise goes straight to your aching cunt, your orgasm blinding as it approaches even faster than you thought. You stagger out a gasp, a moan, a broken cry of his name as you grind against him, hips twitching, one hand flying out to tug at his curls. Frankie grunts your name, something like a warning, and then the heat between your legs gets warmer, wetter as he spills inside his boxers.

‘Fuck,’ he gasps, ‘Fuck me.’

You giggle, dazed, as the grip of his hands soften, and you take the moment to grind against him a little more with the aftershocks. You keen at the sound of his overstimulated whimpers, the feel of his cum soaking through your clothes, until you can no longer resist the urge to draw back to look down at him.

He’s wrecked. Flushed and sweaty, curls a little tighter where they’re damp. His eyes are wide, deep and sparkling, lips wet and swollen from your kisses. Blissed out, a little faraway as he gazes at you. He looks beautiful.

You lean down to take his mouth with yours again, slower this time, relaxing into it as you come down from your highs. You lick along the seam of his lips, and he lets you in, tongues tangling lazily with each other. You run your fingers through his hair, twisting his soft curls around your digits, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted. He’s all you’ve ever wanted.

He’s all you want, and suddenly you have no idea where you stand.

All at once, the music is too loud, the rest of the world too still. Your legs feel too heavy, your hands shaky, a queasy feeling in your stomach. A spiral of something, a crushing weight of dread. You’re fucking this up.

He’s all you want, but what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if you’re just drunk - what if this is a one time thing? You won’t be able to look at him, won’t be able to sit at the table drawing with Lucia now you know how he sounds when he falls apart. And you will not break your own heart by getting into something casual, something where he’ll inevitably find someone else -

You try to push it away, swallow it down, focus on the press of his soft, full lips, the firm feeling of his body against yours, but your mind is screaming at you -

What the fuck have you done?

Fleetwood Mac falls into silence. Your eyes fly open, mouth quickly detached from his.

‘Bug?’ He says, too softly.

You can’t breathe. Can’t say anything as he watches you, one hand still at the nape of your neck, the other wrapped around your hip. There’s a prickle in the back of your throat, a burning at the back of your eyes. Whisky sits heavy in your blood, and yet you’ve never felt more sober.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asks, and you shake your head.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, voice strained, ‘Frankie, I’m so sorry -’

He sits up properly, adjusting you on his lap. Your hands drop to your sides. Frankie’s stay at your waist.

‘Bug, why are you sorry?’

His words are rushed, pitching higher. He’s worried - he’s panicking.

But you’re searching his face for regret, for clarity, for shame.

‘I -’ the words are too thick, too heavy to come out. Impossible to tell him now what he means to you, when it seems so clear he got caught up in the moment.

He’s still watching, still waiting. His hands squeeze at your sides, offering comfort. You close your eyes, shake your head, lips trembling.

‘I don’t know if you wanted this - if - if - you just did it because it’s something to do - or -’ you choke off with a shuddered breath, clenching your jaw, trying so hard not to cry. The wetness from both of you is cooling between your legs, and it’s too much, this whole thing is crushing, too much -

‘You don’t think I wanted this?’

You shake your head again, lips pinched together against a sob. Your chest aches. Frankie’s warm palm settles against your cheek.

‘Baby, look at me.’

You tip your head back, inhaling deeply through your nose, before tilting it back towards Frankie and opening your eyes. Warm, deep brown, frantically checking you over. Eyebrows crinkled in a frown. He breathes your name, mouth working around the words he’s trying to find.

‘You have no idea,’ he begins, ‘No idea how long I’ve waited for you. Not even since you moved next door. I’ve waited my whole life for you, do you understand that?’

You shake your head, refusing to hear him, unbelievable, a sob clawing out your mouth. He holds you closer.

‘I have. My whole life. God, Bug. The only thing I wish was different is that I’d bought the pizza so I could say I got you dinner first.’

A watery chuckle escapes you, despite yourself. Relief trying to bloom in your chest, a smile teasing at your lips.

‘You’ve made me dinner plenty of times -’

‘Mm-mm,’ he hums, smiling now, too. ‘Doesn’t count. I wanted to take you on a date, get dressed up, have some wine -’

‘No,’ you laugh - it’s so incomprehensible, ‘No you did not -’

‘I did.’ He rasps. ‘I just could never find the words - the fucking nerve - to say it.’

You take him in. His sweet, soft face. Every line and freckle you know so well. You could draw him from memory, starting with the little heart-shaped patch in his beard.

‘You mean it.’ Not a question, a confirmation. He takes your hand from your side, brings the knuckles to his lips.

‘Of course I do.’

You twist your hand in his, kiss his palm. Words tangle on your tongue but are swallowed, catching on their way down.

‘What do we do now?’

He laughs, head knocking against the back of the sofa. He looks down between you.

‘Get a change of clothes.’

You giggle, shifting again. His grip tightens, a sigh shifting past his lips. Your hips twinge.

‘After that?’

Frankie tips his head. In the quiet, you can hear birds through the glass of your windows. Without bidding it to, your mouth stretches in a yawn. Frankie quickly follows.

‘We go to sleep.’

‘And then?’

He smiles, plays with your fingers. A dusting of pink across his cheeks.

‘I tell everyone we’re seeing each other. And then, maybe one day, I tell them you’re mine.’

Your heart swells to double - triple - its size. Everything that felt heavy before now floating, light as air, as though nothing tethers it to the ground.

‘Sounds good to me, Morales.’

You lean forwards, press your lips against his. Feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. He pulls away minutely, just to mumble against you.

‘If it sounds good to you, baby, it sounds perfect to me.’

‘Holy fuck.’

You scrunch your eyelids tighter together, trying to stave off the pounding of your head, how the room is spinning even in the darkness. Frankie is warm against you, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he groans.

‘I know.’

He laughs, a deep rumble vibrating through your ribs, until you’re joining him, cut off with a sharp intake of air.

‘Don’t,’ you mumble through clenched teeth, ‘If you make me laugh, I’ll puke.’

‘Mm. Yep. Not what we want. Water, that’s what we want.’

The mattress shifts as he does, and when you muster the strength to roll over, you’re faced with his bare, broad back, perched on the edge of the bed. You reach out a finger to connect the freckles on his shoulders, dipping low to the dimples above his boxers. You watch as his muscles tighten, as goosebumps flare over the skin you’ve touched. He swivels his hips to half face you.

‘Morning.’ He smiles. You answer with one of your own.

‘Morning.’

His lips stretch wider, mischief twinkling in his eyes. He gestures to your rumpled sheets.

‘Last night, did we…’

You snort, rolling your eyes at him.

‘Oh, fuck off, Fish -’

He leans over, chuckling, crawling back towards you. Your lungs freeze as his gaze drops to your lips.

‘I know,’ he breathes, ‘But I wish we did.’

He pecks you, gently, catching your eye before leaning closer to do it again. You return them, quick, gentle, peppering them all over his face. He hums, coming closer still, one arm braced over your body.

‘You know, you’re making it very hard to -’

His ringtone chimes loudly through the room, and you squeeze your eyes closed against it as it rattles through your skull. You knock a fist against his arm.

‘Frankie - please -’ as he groans, retreating, grabbing his phone from the bedside table. He answers the call, holds it as far away from his ear as possible.

‘Hello?’

You listen to the murmur of the conversation, piecing it together, trying to save yourself from the doze threatening at the corners of your body. When quiet returns, you crack an eye open to find him watching you.

‘Luc?’

He nods.

‘Duty calls.’

You smile, stretching your neck to catch one last kiss as he stands and leans over the bed. He stumbles around your room for his clothes - fresh sweats - yawning and stretching, scratching at his shoulder, and you can’t help how goofy, how giddily happy you feel watching him do it.

‘Are you safe to drive?’ You chuckle.

He squints into the sunlight streaming through your curtains. Pulls his t-shirt over his head, covering the chest you’d slept against. Looks down at you in the bed he’d held you in months ago.

‘Reckon I’m good,’ he grins, ‘See you later?’

You nod, biting your lip.

‘See you later.’

He swoops down again, seeking your lips, unable to help himself.

‘Later.’ He mumbles, puffing out a laugh as you push him off. ‘Get some rest.’

You hum as he leaves the room with soft footsteps, pulling the door gently closed behind him. Listen as he closes the front door, starts his truck.

I tell everyone we’re seeing each other. And then, maybe one day…

You roll back onto your side, one eye open, staring at the picture on the bedside table of you and your dad. A grin twists across your face, lip caught between your teeth as you point a finger at him. His answering smile, his arm always wrapped around you.

A ship in a harbour is safe. But that’s not what ships are built for.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’

You can hear his laugh all the way from here.

You spend the last few days Lucia is home playing the most entertaining game of nothing-has-changed.

School is exhausting, the kids bouncing off the walls as you strive to finish your final piles of marking, of grades, working to the bottom of your inbox. You catch Frankie and Lucia every morning, almost every evening. Stay for dinner twice, stealing kisses in the kitchen when Luc isn’t looking.

As the week drags on, hands get more desperate, the game gets riskier. He backs you up against his counter, one hand grasping the marble beside you, the other against your face, splitting your mouth with his tongue, licking behind your teeth. His thigh tangles between your legs, his quiet moans so close, but not nearly close enough, to what you heard on your sofa.

It’s never enough.

You spend the nights alone, hands buried between your thighs, soaked with the knowledge he’s doing the same.

It’s the last day of term when you struggle out of your truck, arms laden with potted plants and summer reading, to see a small, red car parked on Frankie’s driveway. A swoop of sadness in your gut, a tiny, guilty, twinge of excitement.

You’re trying to work out how to retrieve your keys from your pocket, worrying whether you’ll have time to say goodbye when she jumps down the porch steps to greet you.

‘Bug!’ Luc crows, sprinting across the grass before crashing into your knees. Your precarious pile of books wobbles dangerously as you laugh.

‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite Morales!’ You cry, peering down at her over the monstera. She beams up at you, jumping a little.

‘Mama’s here!’ She shouts, her arms still wrapped around your legs, squeezing them tighter.

‘Your Mama!’ you parrot back excitedly, ‘I have to meet your Mama, Luc. You’ve told me so much about her, all the places she’s been -’

Movement on Frankie’s porch catches your eye, and you look up to see a woman coming down the steps towards you. Beautiful - shining hair, a wide, genuine smile. Lucia’s smile.

Luc swivels against you, following your eye.

‘Mama!’ She shouts. ‘It’s Bug!’

You laugh again, and Vanessa laughs with you. She stretches an arm across your shoulders, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

‘Bug,’ she repeats warmly, squeezing your arm. ‘Vanessa. I’ve heard so much about you. Luc talks about you all the time on the phone. You’re her favourite person in the world.’

Your cheeks heat, a bashful chuckle leaving your lips.

‘She has awful taste.’ You whisper conspiratorially. Vanessa laughs loudly.

‘Hardly,’ she says, ‘You’ve been an angel. All the stories I’ve heard, the way Frankie talks about you -’

She cuts off as he emerges from the house. He spots you straight away, eyes shielded from the afternoon light, cap pulled down over his curls, smile as bright as the sun.

‘Hey.’ He says, softly, as he approaches the three of you on the grass.

Vanessa rolls her eyes at you.

‘Hey,’ she repeats, nudging you, ‘As if he's not been talking my ear off about you all afternoon.’

‘Making friends already, I see.’ He says, cheeks turning rosy as he catches the tail end of her sentence. You poke your tongue into your cheek.

‘You talking about me again, Morales?’

Frankie flushes an even deeper pink, and Vanessa giggles, delighted.

‘Oh, I like you even more than I already did.’

Frankie tips his face to the sky, exasperated, as you snicker. Lucia’s tinkle of laughter joins yours, and Frankie plants his hands on his hips, frowning playfully down at her.

‘You don’t even know what you’re laughing at, mija.’

Lucia sticks her tongue out at him, and you and Vanessa laugh again.

‘She’s clued in, this kid,’ she says, ‘Knew it from day one.’

‘Knew what?’ Lucia demands.

Vanessa ruffles her hair.

‘That Bug’s special.’

Something swells in your throat as you catch Vanessa’s eye. There’s such goodness there, an understanding. Gratitude, a kind of encouragement.

‘Are you staying for dinner?’

Vanessa shakes her head, smiling fondly down at where her daughter now stands between you.

‘Not tonight. We only hung around to see you.’

She smiles at you again, eyebrows raising. Your throat aches, and you swallow tightly.

‘Thank you.’ You say softly.

Vanessa scoffs.

‘Thank you,’ she says, ‘For everything you’ve done. I hope you have a really great summer.’ She pauses, nodding to your books. ‘You deserve it.’

You chuckle, bending down to lower them onto the lawn, arms sore. You swipe your palms on your pants. She pulls you close again, and you go willingly, arms wrapped around her.

‘I mean it,’ she says in your ear. ‘Have a really great summer.’

She winks at you as she pulls away, and your cheeks heat again, eyes darting to Frankie.

‘Shit stirrer.’ He whispers, chuckling over her shoulder as she hugs him too.

She smacks a hand against his bicep as she steps back.

‘Someone had to say it.’ She grins.

You bite your lip, squatting down to Lucia’s level as Vanessa pats her pockets for her car keys.

‘You be good,’ you say to her, hands on her arms. ‘Look after your Mama, do what she tells you. And I’ll see you when you get back.’

She nods solemnly.

‘Promise?’

You hold out your pinky.

‘Pinky promise.’

She joins your fingers before lurching into your arms, her little body bending into yours.

‘I love you, Bug.’ She whispers.

You squeeze her tighter, tears pricking in the backs of your eyes.

‘Love you too, bean.’

You rub her back as she tightens her fierce hold around your neck before backing away. She takes Vanessa’s outstretched hand.

‘Shall we go, Luc?’ She asks.

‘Yep!’ She says, taking Frankie’s offered hand in her spare one. He squeezes your arm as he passes you on the way to the car, dropping a quick kiss on your forehead.

You watch as he straps Lucia into her carseat, leaning over her to tuck in her belt, pressing kisses all over her face until she squeals. He murmurs more quiet goodbyes to her before reluctantly closing the door, hugging Vanessa again before she lowers herself into the driver’s seat. He steps back as the car starts, raising a hand to wave as they start to back out of the driveway. You step closer, standing at his side as you wave, too, until the little, red car shrinks to a pinpoint on the road.

You turn to face him as the first tear falls to find his own streaked with wetness. His mouth tightly closed, eyes watery, lips downturned before cracking into a smile. You giggle at each other, though your heart pulls low.

‘Gonna miss her little face.’ You whisper, before you blink and the tears start in earnest. Frankie crackles out a half-cry, half-laugh.

‘Me too,’ he says, pulling you into his chest. You wind your arms around him, breathing him in. His chest rumbles with another chuckle. ‘Jesus, look at us.’

The sun is low in the sky, glinting against your jewellery as you drape your arms around Frankie’s neck. It’s well past the hour you should have left, but each time you get close to stepping out the door, your lipstick manages to get smudged again.

You can’t begin to guess why.

His hands are incessant, grasping at your waist, the nape of your neck. Lips even more so, intent on undoing your work as you giggle at him, putting on a poor performance of driving him away.

‘Frankie,’ you murmur against his lips, ‘Baby, I have to go -’

He grumbles, hands gripping you tighter.

‘Don’t have to go anywhere. Should stay here with me.’ He mumbles, full mouth pressed to yours as you try to squeeze out your reply.

‘I’m new - I can’t - miss - my first - end of year - party.’

‘You’re not new,’ he says, scruff whispering against your neck as he peppers kisses below your jaw. ‘Been there for the whole year. Can’t believe the first chance we get at a free house - and you’re making your escape.’

He rolls his hips against yours, and you briefly consider sacking the whole thing off and pulling him into your bed. But you’d promised Rachel, promised Marie and Calum and Helen -

‘Tomorrow.’ You half-moan, and he grunts.

‘Barbecue tomorrow.’

A huff sounds between you, and you can’t tell whether it’s from you or Frankie. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stave off the arousal pooling between your thighs.

‘We’ll have the whole summer after this -’

‘Not long enough.’ He growls, and you laugh properly, if a little breathlessly.

‘And all the months afterwards. I need to go.’

You fist his hair, his t-shirt, a little rougher. He inhales deeply at your pulse point, dragging his nose against your skin as he pulls away.

‘You look beautiful.’ He says.

Your cheeks heat as you take in the way he looks at you. So intense, so honest in his truth and his want. It makes your insides gooey.

‘Thank you.’

He waits as you collect your purse, checking your lipstick in the mirror before the door. He kisses you again, soft, chaste, as he steps out before you into the evening air, a hand tangled with yours as you lock the door and come to the bottom of your lawn.

‘I’ll see you later.’ You smile, loosening your fingers for fear he’ll pull you back in and truly render your plans asunder.

‘Later,’ he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘Be safe. Text me if you need anything.’

‘I will.’ You murmur, unable, despite your best efforts, to fight the instinct to kiss him one last time.

Frankie keeps a vigil most of the night. You’d texted him to say you’d arrived, sent a couple more to tell him you were having a great time and that you’d told Rachel, who told everyone else, that you were seeing someone.

Somehow, they guessed it was you first time.

You been talking about me, teach?

Apparently I never shut up about you. Embarrassing.

Go to bed ;)

His eyelids are heavy against the glow of the TV in his bedroom, and more than once, his head droops so low that he starts himself awake with the sudden movement.

He doesn’t even realise he’s been asleep until the thud of a closing car door shakes him from his slumber, brain slowly processing the sound of your front door opening and shutting. He groans, rolling over to check the time on his bedside clock. It’s three in the morning.

He stands in a heavy-lidded daze, body weighted and warm with drowsiness, twitching his curtain to see your bedroom light on, standing there in the semi-darkness as the shadow of you moves across your window.

His heart lurches in his chest as the corner of your own curtain lifts, heart hammering at the peak of you just like it did that first day. There’s a flash of your teeth through the gloom, and then you disappear, the window covered again.

His phone buzzes on the bedside table, and he moves with slow feet towards it. He picks up on the second ring.

‘I thought I told you to get some rest.’

He falls heavily back against his pillows, free hand searching blindly for the remote to turn the volume down.

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

You snort down the line, and he can see your eyeroll.

‘I saw your scruffy hair,’ you tease, ‘You’ve been asleep already, Morales.’

His voice is more slurred than yours when he speaks again, and it makes you giggle even harder.

‘Wanted ta make sure you got home safe.’

He stifles a yawn against his hand, and you chuckle again.

‘’M home safe,’ you say softly, ‘All good.’

The line is quiet for a moment as he fumbles for more words to say, wanting to listen to your voice a little longer.

‘Didya hava good time?’

Your answer is a little more indulgent this time, and in the following silence he hears the click of your lamp and the rustle of your sheets.

‘A very good time,’ a pause, and then, with the sound of a smile, ‘I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’

He nods, although you can’t see him.

‘Mkay.’

‘Goodnight, baby.’

‘G’night, princesa.’

He’s out like a light, phone slipping from his hand before you even hang up.

Before he can catch the words that slip in a hush from your lips.

frankie and bug's whisky night playlist <3

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic: on call

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maikissed · 3 months

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post euro Kylian Mbappé oneshot :') yo, this supposed to be a fluff but then i started ovulating and it turned into a smut, tehe !warning: smut, +18

The bed was empty when you opened your eyes, rising up on your hands lazily to take a look in the direction of the bathroom, you realised that there was no light coming from under the closed doors. The clock on the nightstand showed 2:31 am, so you pulled the sheets away from your body, your limbs shaking slightly at the cool air that touched you after you stood up from the bed. A little yawn left your mouth as you reached the corridor, slowly turning to the stairs, your bare feet tapping gently on the wooden floors. Silence ringed in your ears as you reached the down floor, there was a dim light coming from the kitchen. Slowly, you approached the threshold, not fully entering the room just yet. Kylian stood leaned on his elbows on the kitchen island, his phone in front of his face, you could tell he was reading something but you were too far to deduce whatever reading might absorb his attention at this hour. You could have your guesses and it troubled you. You took a minute to observe him just a bit, his tired stance, stiff shoulders, upper lip bitten, fingers drumming gently on the surface when he wasn’t scrolling down to reach next lines of the article. He was desperate for a peaceful sleep and a proper rest, yet he wasn’t given one. You could tell. No matter the upcoming vacation, that you in a matter of fact were heading to tomorrow, this was the start of his silent contemplation days. Good thing he agreed to go instead of rushing to the training centre first thing he came back from Germany. Still, whatever he might have chosen, you would accept it. He needed his quiet, his stillness. But a third night without a full night sleep for him upset you even though you’ve already learned that it was inevitable when it came to him, and that you both had to give it time. He always struggled with sleep after games, the good ones or the bad ones, it was the adrenaline, the amount of incentives. However it was yet again the occurrence when his hard work, his passion and the absolute devotion burnt out on the last step to reach the longed for fulfilment.

You took a few steps his way before he noticed your presence. You smiled softly at him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he questioned, his voice hoarse.

“The bed was empty” you whispered sneaking in between him and the counter, without a glimpse to his phone screen, with aim to interrupt his reading.

There was a little wrinkle that has formed between his brows so you reached with your fingers to gently smoothen it. He closed his eyes in answer to the delicate massage and after a moment you could feel his face relax.

“What were you reading?” you asked softly still caressing gently his face, moving from his brows to the forehead and then very gently, feather like touch with the tip of your finger down his nose.

“Some statistics” he shrugged.

“Mhm” you answered amusingly, knowing better, but deciding not to dwell on it.

That small wrinkle appeared back so you stroked it again, before bringing your hands down his nape. He let out a big breath with his eyes still closed when you massaged his neck and shoulders.

“I had this dream” you started, watching his face breaking into a little smile because your dreams tend to be the most astounding and loony. Made him cackle and question the state of your thoughts every time you were narrating to him the stories created by your own mind.

“Everything was blue or orange, that’s how I saw the colours surrounding me, and turned out I was this little funny dog with fluffy orange fur and petite face and paws. You know, the one that looks like a toy”

He chuckled.

“A Pomeranian?”

“Yes!” you nodded “And you were furious, because we had to take this flight and you didn’t know how to travel with me” you continued “So we went to the airport and the tiny man at the check-in, he wore a big straw sun hat you know, probably stole it from some poor old lady…” the smallest details made him laugh and you smiled brightly at him trying to bring back his full attention on you with a squeeze on his shoulders “He told you that you didn’t purchase the transport for me on your ticket and you furiously showed him my very own ticket. So then he picked out that it was in fact a ticket for a person, not for a little dog and that I have to travel in the luggage hatch with the rest of the animals, and you were so angry you wanted to fight him”

“That’s no surprise” he added rather seriously.

“Yes, and then it turned out that they have to place me in a different type of transport”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, in a fricking balloon!”

He burst out laughing at the resentment in your voice.

“So you put some obnoxious collar on me, too big and too heavy, but you said it’s a tracker in case I got lost. And you just let them take me to that horrific balloon!” you shrieked.

“I would never do that” he acknowledged with a hurt look on his face before he smiled at you again “You ate too much sugar yesterday and you should stop worrying about the trip”

“Sure, alright, maybe” you shrugged a bit stressed now as you reminisced your horrid dream.

He kept his gaze on you, delicate glimmer making his way back into his dark eyes, for the first time in few days.

“Do you want me to make some camomile tea?” you asked leaning into him, your hands connected behind his head.

“No, I already had one”

“Okay” you nodded “Should we go back to bed?” a whisper.

He kissed you gently before agreeing, then proceeded to bend down a little, his hands resting on the back of your thighs to pick you up. You nestled into his arms as he carried you back up to your rooms. Slowly, the drowsiness coming back to you. The truth was you never rested well when he spend his sleepless nights wandering around the house. As soon as he gently laid you down on the sheets, you reached for him with your hands to bring him back much closer.

“I’m not going anywhere” he reassured, the heat of his body coating you from above, you sighed as your eyes begun to accustom to the darkness.

“I know” you whispered looking into his eyes.

This moment you realised how you’ve missed him terribly for this last month, despite the fact you were seeing each other as often as possible. Yet never alone, never the two of you, no intimacy allowed. It came to you quickly, when he held you like this, touched you, moved above you, you were tired and you were aroused, two of these feelings mixing and fogging your thoughts, your body turning responsive even before he would touch you properly. You kissed him, your desirous fingers reached for the edges of his t-shirt to pull it off, your oversized tee quickly followed. Gentle, when you both were weary like this, it was the most gentle and slow and considerate. It’s been long.

Slow, deep kisses, he was the best at those you always admitted, made the next beat of your heart stronger than before. Breath hitching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers tenderly wandering around your breasts, ribs, between your thighs. The room filled with a sharp intake of breath of both of you as he entered you swiftly. You relaxed for a second and then he moved, your muscles flexed, your mind and your body tired. Your eyes closed, your lips quickly searching for his when he broke contact for a moment. His thrusts sloppy and lazy, his mouth precise, the kisses turning wetter. The pleasure build swiftly and you whined against his lips, your moans intensifying when it fumbled inside you without any intention to peak at any time.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” he asked against your skin, his lips tracing your jaw.

“N-no!” you panicked weakly, grasping at his back, going lower to push down at him.

Your hips rising to fuck back, making him groan, and goose-bumps spread all over your skin when the sensation added to your upcoming orgasm. That’s when he looked at you.

“My sweet girl” he breathed, his eyes sparkly “Needed my attention all this time”

That, that was what almost pushed you over the edge but you gulped hard, focused on it, tried to block it for just a little bit more time. And he saw it, knew what you were trying to do so he kissed you again, adjusted his hips to add more pressure to his thrusts, perfectly reaching the most responsive places. You didn’t see that coming but his fingers reached down to join the place you were connected, putting sweet pressure on your clit. You squirmed feeling your walls clench around him. The first sharp pull inside you told you the pinnacle was coming strong and you started to pathetically mewl under him. And more, and more, and gentler, but then stronger, almost like he toyed with you. You already felt worn out, still you fought him, wanted this feeling to last longer so he could join you at the end, but most of the times he aimed to break you before he came. He loved making this about you, stubborn fucker. He took true pleasure in it.

“Let go” he murmured, his voice deep and daring “I know you want to, don’t fight me”

You wanted to bit back, you did, you wanted to put up with this challenge, but you were too weak to even blink. You were at him mercy yet again. Easily he picked up your hips with his hand wrapped around your waist and you cried out at the new angle. He knew he had you there good. Always, like he wanted.

“Come on, baby, you’re done. Come for me” he cooed.

Your chest heaving, blood in your veins pumping quicker, your moans louder and you crashed, falling apart in his arms like this, frail, small and shaky.

ummm, chile, anyways, so.....

#kylian mbappe imagine #mbappe imagine #mbappe x reader #football imagine #football fics #kylian mbappe smut #football smut #football imagines #mbappe smut #kylian mbappe fic #kylian mbappe

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qu1cks1lversb1tch · 2 months

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Sinstagram | L. Morningstar

Warnings: Lucifer being a slight menace to society, Reader is also a fallen angel, fem reader, bestie Angel Dust, mother reader, older sister Charlie, kinda wholesome, Lucifer being a good dad and an amazing husband, semi suggestive(?)

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N — sorry if it's kinda all over the place, I've been stuck in a horrendous bout of writers block and just barely had the motivation to sit down and write for Lucifer, my love 😭

"No fuckin way!" Angel Dust cackled from two rooms over and immediately you heard his footsteps coming towards you. It could be one of two things — Val posted something weird as fuck or he uncovered pictures of the two of you absolutely plastered from three months ago.

"What's up?" You asked, looking away from the paperwork Charlie had you doing for the hotel, while she took her younger siblings out. Some of the stuff she didn't understand, even with the help of Vaggie or Alastor, so you stepped in to help as you were a manager at a hotel when you were sent to earth for work — it was a way to blend in that unironically gave you experience.

Angel stopped before you, a smirk falling upon his face filled with glee and suggestive glances. "You check your phone in the last few minutes?"

Confused, you shook your head 'no' and set down the small stack of papers that had been stapled together so you could view them with ease. "I've been working for the last few hours to make up for being gone with Lucifer all weekend, so it's on silent. . . Angel, what's going on?"

He leaned across the counter and turned his phones screen to face you. It was Lucifer's most recent Sinstagram post. For a moment, you were confused until your eyes scanned the caption.

'She calls me apple the way I be in cider 😏🍎'

Immediately, you blushed and covered your blazing cheeks with your hands. "Oh my." You breathed out. That blush immediately became a flush of mortification when Angel clicked on the picture and it showed that he had tagged you. Your Sinstagram username stared back at you.

"So, you and the short king got down and dirty on your weekend retreat, huh?" Angel Dust smirked, turning his phone back to himself to scroll through the comments that were rolling in by the second.

"Well," you began, unsure of where your words were going to go. "I am his wife. . . It's a natural thing that married and apparently unmarried people do. . . Yes, it's only natural."

Angel snorted. "You ain't gonna hear any complainin' from me, [Y/N/N]. . . So long as there ain't anymore little Lucifer's running around anytime soon."

"About that. . ." You trailed off.

Angel Dust opened his mouth to reply.

As if on cue, the front doors of the hotel opened, Charlie and Vaggie entered, each holding one of your children — the former exorcist angel holding your sleeping daughter. She had your hair but Lucifer's eyes and rosy cheeks.

Your son was wide awake, bearing a striking resemblance to his father and older sister, but with your eyes.

It was clear just by the way he was buzzing that they had gone to LuLu World. He was always energetic coming home from such an exciting trip, whereas your daughter was out cold halfway through the ride back home every time without fail. It was likely a sugar crash.

"Looks like someone had fun." You removed your hands from your face and stood from your seat, rounding the desk.

"We all did. . . Thanks for letting us take them out, [Y/N]. I wish you and dad could've come with us and made it a family day." Charlie smiled brightly at you.

"We will soon, I promise. . . Thank you for taking them while I got some work in."

"It's no problem! I love them — they're just the cutest."

Your son practically jumped out of his sister's arms when you got close enough for him to wrap his arms around your neck. He went on and on about all the fun stuff the four of them had while you finished up working, until he fell asleep mid sentence.

You chuckled lightly and asked Angel to bring your daughter out to the limousine that was waiting out front of the hotel. He arrived a few minutes later and your daughter acted as if she was beginning to wake up, until she was strapped into her car seat and the driver started the vehicle.

"One more Morningstar, huh?" Angel questioned before you could close the door behind you.

You smiled, chuckling slightly. "Just one more. He convinced me this time."

A couple minutes later you were on your way, watching the buildings fly past your window. You decided to check your phone finally. The post had over a million likes and had just over six thousand comments. You liked the post, the blush creeping up once again. At some point you had to stop caring — you were in Hell and there were people doing worse things than being romantically involved with their partners.

It wasn't long before three of you arrived home and Lucifer threw the front door open before the vehicle could even stop. When the driver opened the door, Lucifer was there to see his children after a long day.

"Look at my babies!" He gushed quietly, tears springing to his eyes as he watched them sleep so peacefully.

You snickered and he turned to you.

"And my beautiful wife! Hi! I love you so much!" He kissed all over your face while placing one of his hands on your belly — you weren't showing yet, but would be in the next few weeks.

"I love you too, Luci. . . Let's get them inside. I want them to be in bed before you and I have a talk about what we do and don't say on Sinstagram when we'll be apart for hours." You whispered the last sentence, caressing his cheek.

His eyes widened and he gulped before chuckling nervously. "You saw that, did you?"

"I sure did. . . Apple." You could've sworn he was gonna pass out from the tone of your voice, but he instead cleared his throat and unbuckled one child while you handled the other.

The two of you got inside and put the kids to bed, silently thanking Charlie for making sure they ate something other than sugar before they came home.

Then there was a lot of talking. Definitely just talking. . . Yeah. . . Talking. 👀

A few hours later, the two of you laid together, Lucifer laying his head on your lower abdomen. "I know I said one more. . . But what if we had more?"

You laughed lightly, raking your fingers through his hair. "How many more are we talking, Luci? I'd consider one more after this, but then we wouldn't have an even number. . . Charlie adores her siblings, but I think another after our littlest Morningstar would be pushing it."

"She always wanted a big family. . . Lots of brothers and sisters she could spend time with. She used to beg Lilith and I all the time for siblings, but I won't push you. I understand your concerns. I'll be happy regardless of what you decide." Lucifer declared, looking up at you with his pretty eyes.

"We'll see. . . I love you, Lucifer. You know that, right?"

"I know. I love you so so so so so so much." He replied.

The post in question and the image that gave me the idea for this in the first place (the first pic expands more, fyi 🙂):

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #fem reader #x reader #angel dust x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x female reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer headcanons #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne

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togrowoldinv · 1 year

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First Date

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

You pick Wanda up at her home for a date and learn a lot about the woman by the time she goes back inside that night

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, mommy kink (oops), thigh riding, oral (R receiving), Wanda’s first time with a woman

Note: Milf!Wanda, am I right? Y’all enjoy this one!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You take a deep breath and knock on Wanda’s front door. You fiddle with the flowers you bought her as you anxiously await for her to open the door.

The woman had agreed to go out with you after you met her in the coffee shop you work at. You weren’t usually one to ask customers out, but you felt drawn to her in some way. And she seemed to have felt it too.

The door opens and there’s a young child standing there.

“Hi,” he says to you. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m y/n. Is this Wanda’s house or?” You are asking the question when the woman finally makes her appearance.

“Tommy! What did I tell you about opening her door?” Wanda scolds him lightly.

“Not to do it,” the little boy says, his eyes avoid Wanda’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Mom. That’s not a piece of information you knew about the woman.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Try to remember, okay?”

“I will!” The boy promises. Wanda kisses his head and he runs off inside the house.

Wanda finally can turn her attention to you.

“Hi y/n,” she says. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” you reply. “These are for you.”

You hand her the flowers and she holds them to her heart in awe.

“Come on in and I’ll put these in a vase before we go,” Wanda says.

“I’m assuming that’s your son?” You make small talk as you follow her inside.

“Oh, yes. That’s Tommy. He’s my rambunctious one. Billy is much more calm.”

“Right. Okay, so two kids then?”

“Yes. Twin boys. Is that a dealbreaker?” Wanda asks, her voice only half indicating she might be joking.

“Of course not. I love kids,” you say. She breathes a sigh of relief. “Plus, that means I’m dating a total milf.”

Wanda laughs so hard at that comment that she can barely breathe. You smile at how beautiful she is even when she’s cackling.

“I needed that laugh,” Wanda says as she finally gets her breathing back to normal. “I just need to tell the boys goodbye and I’ll be back, okay?”

“Perfect,” you say.

You give the woman the space to go and tell her sons goodbye. You can’t hear much through the walls but you hear a chorus of I love yous as Wanda leaves the hall and finds you again.

She follows you to your car and you open the door for her. The car ride goes quickly and you’re at the restaurant and seated in record time.

The talk between you and Wanda flows easily and it’s like you’ve known each other for a long time. Dinner is a delight and on any normal date you’d want to take her home that night, but you don’t want to rush things.

Still, you park back in Wanda’s driveway and neither one of you necessarily want this night to end.

“Wanda, I had an amazing time tonight,” you say. You look over at her in the passenger seat. She’s absolutely glowing in the moonlight.

“Me too, y/n.”

Wanda leans in just a few inches closer to you, but she stops.

“You’re going to have to kiss me because I’m too scared to kiss you,” she admits, her eyes gazing into yours.

“You don’t need to be scared, baby. How long has it been?” You ask. She knows what you mean.

“Far too long.”

“Let’s fix that.”

You take Wanda’s face into your hands and kiss her. You put everything you have into the kiss and Wanda melts into a puddle from the feeling. Your hands and your lips and your tongue make Wanda feel like a brand new woman.

“Is it always that good?” She asks once you break for air.

“No ma’am it is not,” you reply.

“I really want you,” Wanda says. She gasps at her own bluntness. “Sorry, I just- that was amazing, but I don’t expect anything else.”

“Wanda, I really like you,” you assure her. “If you want me right now, you can have me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come here,” you say, moving your seat back and tapping on your lap.

Wanda moves to your lap and her skirt slips further up her legs. Creamy thighs reveal themselves to you.

“Wanda, you’re so beautiful,” you tell her. You run a hand through her hair and she shivers. Pulling her down for a kiss, you’re sure to let your other hand wander over her.

It slips under her shirt and up her abdomen to her chest. Wanda moans into the kiss when you fondle her breast under her shirt.

She pulls away and lets you pull her shirt over her head. You go for her neck this time, kissing and leaving bites that make her let out delicious sounds.

You notice the woman is desperate to relieve the feeling between her legs.

“Wanda, baby, ride my thigh,” you instruct her.

“Are you sure?” She asks.

“Definitely. Let me help,” you say.

You pull her skirt further up her hips to reveal her lacy underwear. You slip your fingers across the wet material and pull them to the side.

Wanda gasps at the sensation of her naked pussy rubbing against your pants for the first time. Once she gets a rhythm, she feels better than she has in years.

“I love seeing you like this, Wanda,” you encourage her. “You’re doing so well.”

“Fuck,” Wanda moans. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah I know it does, mommy,” the word slips out, but the way Wanda has to grip your shirt harder to keep herself from falling over with pleasure tells you that it’s okay. Even that she likes it.

“I’m going to come,” Wanda says, her words mixing with moans of pleasure.

“Come for me, Mommy,” you say.

Wanda comes hard against your thigh. Her legs shake as she leans against you.

“Fuck that was so good,” Wanda says. She grabs your face and kisses you passionately. It almost feels like a thank you kiss.

Wanda smiles at you when she pulls away. You swear you’ve never seen such a beautiful woman.

“Can I- do you need to-“ Wanda stumbles over the words.

“Only if you want to,” you say to her. “I’m more than happy to just please you.”

“No. No, I just haven’t- with a woman before,” Wanda admits.

“Oh, well you just did pretty damn amazing. You’ve got this,” you say.

Wanda chuckles and she situates herself on her knees in front of you.

“May I?” She asks, gesturing to your pants.

“Please,” you say.

Her deft fingers work to pull your pants down your legs with your underwear as well. Wanda hesitates, so you guide her to your center. She licks through your folds slowly, but once she gets comfortable she picks up the pace.

“Just like that Wanda, fuck,” you say as she keeps going. She gets the hang of what makes you feel good quickly.

When she uses her thumb to brush against your clit while her mouth is still at work, you grip her hair tight.

“Are you going to come for Mommy?” Wanda pulls her mouth away just enough to speak.

“Yes ma’am,” you reply.

She grins devilishly and puts her mouth on you again. She’s successful in just a few more minutes.

You ride out your high and Wanda climbs back up into your lap.

“Thank you for tonight,” Wanda says. “I haven’t felt this good in- well maybe ever.”

You kiss her lips softly. A reminder that you really like her.

“I feel good too, babe. Can I see you again?”

“Is tomorrow night too soon?” She asks.

“Tomorrow night sounds perfect.”

Wanda moves back to the passenger seat and you two get dressed again. With one more goodnight kiss Wanda goes inside her house, and you drive home with a smile on your face.

Best first date ever.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #milf!wanda #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff comfort

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lexirosewrites · 3 months

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Hey I’m the person that did the asmr/twitch steddie last time, and while I’m nervous to be off anon, I feel like you deserve nice things so I hope this one’s okay and that you enjoy it! Also I am not a good writer so please excuse any grammatical mistakes <3

Nerdy omega Steve that isn’t nerdy in the tech sense or even the book sense. No, Steve loves antiques and oddities to the point that he knows an absurd amount of history and facts about different eras from his research. It’s something he’s always been able to easily hide from the rest of the pack considering it’s not something that really comes up. The only one who even slightly knows is Robin, but even she isn’t privy to the extent of his interests. So when basically everyone has left Hawkins besides himself and Wayne, Steve decided that Roan county could use their own oddities and antique shop. He has more money he could ever imagine with the government payouts, so why not do something he’s actually interested in. This turns into him asking Wayne if he’d like to work at the store so that someone can be there while he’s out collecting and curating items for the shop.

Years go by and the store is actually really popular at this point, like hear about it in Chicago popular. Which is exactly how Eddie and Robin, who decided to live together in the Windy City, hear of it. They haven’t been back to Hawkins since they left, with Steve and Wayne coming out to visit them instead every time. Now however they are too intrigued to not make the visit, so on a whim they road trip back for the weekend, and to see if the rumors of a mysterious shop with an elusive and spellbinding omega owner are true. What a shock they get when they pull up to see Wayne sitting at the counter through the window reading a book. Despite their disbelief and quick work to get inside, the two alphas are floored when they finally walk into the shop. It’s absolutely beautiful, like it came out of a museum but without the stuffy feeling of one. And the smell, god the smell was so good, like old books, vanilla cinnamon with a hint of citrus. The smell definitely wasn’t Wayne’s calming soft lavender beta scent, but his scent also paired well with the other scents in the room. Amusement glinted in Wayne’s eyes only for him to start out right cackling at their faces when Steve comes out of the back dressed like an omega from the 1800’s.

Wearing a beautiful butter yellow floor length skirt his hair now grown out and pinned up, glasses askew on his face, Steve is too preoccupied with the small jar in his hands to realize his friends presence right away. After placing his jar, Steve finally glances up to see what’s got Wayne in such a state only to be so outwardly pleased that the smell in the room doubles. Eddie having been completely unaware of Steve’s designation is gobsmacked; Steve wearing blockers and his lack of talking about a heat or rut had him assuming he was just a beta. (Not that he wouldn’t have dated him either way but most betas prefer to stay with betas so he just assumed there would be no point). They spend the rest of their weekend trip getting filled in on all the ins and outs of the shop, how much of a success it’s been and how on the way Steve may have accidentally become the most sought after omega in the county. This seems to be a big hit on the head for Eddie making him rethink his hometown all together. Soon enough plans are made for him to start his own tattoo shop in Muncie now that he’s been in the industry for a few years.

After moving back and spending all of his extra time together with Steve and Wayne, Eddie finally gets the guts to ask Steve to court him. But of course he can’t do it like any other shlub, no it’s gotta be special. So he prepares and plans as close as possible to a historically accurate courting, the gifts, the gestures, the chaperoning, absolutely everything is tailored for Steve. Of course Steve was already head over heels for Eddie, but this was just the icing on top of it all. It takes a full year for the courtship to end. Which it does spectacularly, with a fantasy themed bonding ceremony in the spring. They are as happy as could be and both exited to finally start building their own little (it won’t be little but don’t tell them) pack together.

-💖🦇

oh this is so cute!!!🥺💕 steve and his dorky hyperfixation becoming his life and eddie happy to partake in order to be the alpha he deserves!! this is so beautiful, thank you for sharing with us!

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #my asks

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catiuskaa · 9 months

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clingy denials —bf!seungmin thoughts.

A/N: the bf!thoughts series is finished! I’m so happy I could finish it. I had so much fun coming up with these lil scenarios. Feel free to check them all out, they’re all linked in my masterlist!

(because i won’t ever recover from cover me. [simping])

suggestive/horny ending, [still absolute fluff].

seungmin, who sits with you on the sofa in the comfort of your shared appartment, covered from the snow and cold outside.

seungmin, who is mindlessly scrolling down his phone, but still paying enough attention to notice that you have finished your hot chocolate.

seungmin, who takes both his and your mug and leaves them on the small table next to the sofa, then ushers you to lay your head on his lap.

seungmin, who is back at his phone as you read one of your newly Christmas-acquired book.

seungmin, who is unable to focus when you giggle and kick your legs softly, squirming with a goofy smile.

seungmin, who lowers his phone, staring at you. “What’s got you all smiley?” He grins, his heart tugging fluffily in his chest.

seungmin, who pretends not to listen, halfly still looking to his phone, which you can’t see, but it’s turned off. “This book uses so many cliches, but it’s so good!” You laugh again, childishly, and he blushes softly at your happiness.

seungmin, who can’t help the sheepish smile on his face as he keeps passing his slender fingers through your hair. “What’s the catch?” he asks, and as stated before, failing to play his part of ‘uninterested bystander number 4’.

seungmin, who can’t deny you his attention when your eyes shine when you look at him, glistening, soft-coloured irises telling a million stories that he’d listen to, any day you’d like.

seungmin, who now listens closely. “He got injured and is in the hospital, and normally he has this black cat energy, but he’s being so clingy when she visits…! It’s so cute.” You giggle, and he snorts.

seungmin, who raises his brows when you do the same. “You’re one to talk.” You snort back, teasingly, and he pouted unconciously.

seungmin, who huffs. “Me? I am not clingy, you are.” He sticks his tongue out at you, snarkily, and you take his cheeks in your hand, playing with his face, your book laying open against your chest.

seungmin, who blushes. “Hello, I’m clingy puppy seungmin, and I am a liar.” You mock him in a high-pitched tone that sounds nothing like the man you love, yet you cackle loudly as he brushes your hands off.

seungmin, who puts his phone back in his pocket. “Whatever.” He’s joking, and you know it because he’s still flustered and all red and cute. “Jeongin texted. Some of the boys are going shopping for the Three Kings Day. We can go and then grab some drinks after.”

seungmin, who you know is offering you to leave and letting you choose, but your chest warms because you know if you didn’t want to go, he’d stay with you.

seungmin, who smiles at your nod, and quickly goes to take your and his coat, like a little puppy waiting for his late walk.

seungmin, who finds himself staring at you while you put your earings on, eyes soft as you look at your reflection in the mirror, lips slightly parted in concentration.

seungmin, who blushes when you apply lip balm before going outside. “Can I?” He asks, and you smile, handing it to him.

seungmin, who clearly isn’t clingy, yet he only uses lip balm right after you do, and still claims not to know what an indirect kiss is.

seungmin, who, isn’t clingy at all, but as you both walk down the street to meet the guys, he shoves the hand closest to you into your pocket. “What?” His fake deadpan would be perfect if he wasn’t blushing. “Your jacket is thicker than mine. Warms up sooner.”

seungmin, who can’t even try to lie, because his hand engulfes yours in your pocket, fingers interlinked, his cold hands in contrast to yours, always a bit warmer.

seungmin, who follows you, Jeongin and Felix after meeting the boys, not really interested in the clothes inside the cozy shops you browsed in, but tags along still.

seungmin, who just shrugs at any suggestion the boys try to make regarding what clothes he could like. “Why did you even come with us, hyung?” The younger one teases. Felix snickers, elbowing you cheekily.

seungmin, who blushes, ignoring the question. A while after, he follows you to the dressing rooms, and you start to hang your clothes inside, noticing him in the reflection of the big mirrors. “You can wait outside.”

seungmin, who just doesn’t want to wait outside, but it’s not because he’s clingy. Definetely not.

seungmin, who is pouting unconciously, trying to come up with an excuse. “Um. The sofa outside is full of people.” He starts. You’re sneakily waiting for him, almost a menace you are, considering the poor flustered boy just wants to be with you. But it’s ok. He’s as much a menace as you.

seungmin, who relaxes when his awkward excuse of, well, an excuse, actually ‘works’. He steps inside, only because you took a small bit of pity in him (a.k.a., you want to be with him too.)

seungmin, who expresses his love and want for you in soft, secret glances and lingering touches, struggling to keep his hands to himself as you try out the clothes, snickering to yourself.

seungmin, who’s almost sulking in the side of the dresser. “What’s wrong, puppy?” You’re trying out a party dress that’s more bold than usual, and when you bend down and stroke his cheek, he’s a weak mess.

seungmin, who sighs, so flustered. “…n-nothing.” He’s blushing so much it’s almost like how it was before you started dating,

seungmin, who takes his hands to your cheeks and prompts you forward, messily ending sitting on his lap as he kisses you.

seungmin, who bites your lip. “Fuck.” He whispers, and you have to hold back a shiver. “Fuck— yeah, I’m clingy. I’m a motherfucking sea limpet if you want to call me that. You’re stuck with me.” He breathes heavily.

seungmin, whose hands roam all over your body. “You’ve been wanting to do that all day, huh?” You pant teasingly, your forehead on his as his hands press you tighter against his body.

seungmin, who smirks, kissing all over your face and neck. “You bet I was.” He snickers, sending chills through your skin. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.

seungmin, who kisses you again when he sees your slightly confused face. “I still haven’t done what I’ve been thinking for the night.”

~kats, spontaniously combusting bc oh god i never planned for this to end this horny YET OMFG I LOVE IT qjifbwkfnsknfks

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theladycarpathia · 6 months

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Billy’s not expecting the call from his dad.

“Billy?” Hop sounds distant, the faint sound of an idling engine in the background. Billy blinks, because his dad is at work and as far as Billy knows that usually means sitting behind a desk at the station and arguing with Flo.

“Don’t you have paperwork to be doing?” Billy says and Hopper snorts. There’s the sound of background traffic that’s then shut out by the clang of a car door.

“Don’t give me cheek, I am still the chief,” Hopper says as though that means anything in a small town where the most crime that they get is some drunk idiot attempting to rob the gas station.

“Yes, sir,” Billy quips and changes the channel. No one else is home and he’s bored. Jon and Joyce are still at work, and El and Will are doing weird nerd activities. The diner didn’t have a shift for him today and he doesn’t have a date, so he came home. He’d half expected someone to be here, instead of getting stuck with a protein bar and old reruns.

“That’s more like it,” Hopper says and then clears his throat awkwardly. “I was just wondering…are you definitely single?”

“Dad,” Billy says, attention now fully away from the TV set. Hop’s called him before, to ask him shit like do they need milk and to take the trash out. He doesn't call to talk about Billy's love life. They never talk about that, not after that time Hopper came in his room without knocking. “What is your next question, because this could make the next family dinner a little uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Hopper gripes. There’s the sudden cackle of laughter in the background and Billy sits up.

“Are you with someone?” he asks and then sucks in a breath at the implications. “Did you put me on speaker?”

“I may have done,” Hopper says, sounding sheepish. “I just picked up a young man outside the movie theatre and he’s about your age…”

“I’m nineteen!” the mystery guy hollers from the backseat. Hopper keeps talking like the guy hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t know, I just thought he was your type.”

Billy presses a hand to his temple, unable to believe that his dad has just said those words. “What’s my type?” he asks, wondering if he’s going to combust right here and now. Hopper makes that little awkward throat clearing again, like he can’t believe the situation either.

“You know,” he says stiffly. “Sort of…pretty.”

Oh God. Billy can never look Hopper in the eye again.

“You think I’m pretty?” the guy asks curiously, and Billy can’t blame him for sounding a bit weirded out.

“I think you look like a lot of the doe-eyed pretty-boys my son brings home,” Hopper snaps. Despite his obvious discomfort, Billy can’t help the rush of affection at Hopper trying to be supportive. Neil would have beat the shit out of him. Hopper tries to hook him up with appropriately aged delinquents in the back of the police car.

“A lot?” the guy asks and Billy flushes. He then regrets it because he has no idea if he even wants to impress whatever guy Hopper has picked up.

“It’s not a lot,” he says defensively because Hawkins isn’t exactly big on the gay scene. His last boyfriend he met at Tina’s Halloween party and to be fair, if you wear a kilt and not a lot else to a party in October, Billy’s absolutely going to beg you to rail him in the downstairs cloakroom. The relationship hadn't exactly worked out.

“Look, I get the feeling I’m never going to hear the end of this so here’s the situation,” Hopper says, sounding tired. “This is my son, Billy. He’s about to finish high school, he likes cars and burgers and loud music. He has shit taste in men even though he’s attractive, clever and a smart mouth. Billy, this is Steve. I was on my way back from the mayor’s office when I caught him peeing in an alley. Judging by his big brown eyes and the fact that public nudity doesn’t seem to be a problem for him, I thought of you.”

“Aww,” Billy drawls, sitting back on the couch. There are lights in the drive so someone has just arrived home. Which is good because he needs to tell everyone this story so they can give Hopper shit about it over dinner. “Pops, that’s so sweet.”

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Hopper says, like he hasn’t already done everything for Billy by getting him out, giving him a home. “I’ll take an extra polaroid when I process him.”

“I had to take a leak!” Steve protests and Hopper sucks in air through his teeth.

“There are public bathrooms, kid, I’ve heard those work pretty well. Billy, help your mom with dinner when she gets home.” Sucks for Hopper, it’s Jon heading up the path, keys dangling from his fingers. Billy can’t wait to tell him this story.

“Or what, you won’t bring me any more dates?” Billy asks, but he’s only half-joking. Hopper means well and kind of fucks it up a lot but this time he might have hit it right on the money. He thinks he might like Steve.

“Do I get a picture?” Steve asks. “Or does the Hawkins Police just pimp out young innocent men with full bladders?”

Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to like Steve.

“I have a picture on my desk,” Hopper admits grumpily. There’s the jangle of keys in the door as Jonathan lets himself in. “You can look at it if you’re good.”

“And what if I’m not?” Steve asks and Jonathan walks in just in time to raise his eyebrows at Billy.

“I can help punish him, if he’s not,” Billy suggests, and Hopper hangs up the phone just as Steve begins to laugh.

This has probably been done before because it's based on that famous tumblr post but it's so dull during school holidays I have nothing to do but write. And I have no in progress Harringrove fics which is probably a problem I should fix.

#harringrove #ficlet #billy hargrove #steve harrington #jim hopper #hopper being a well meaning but slightly awkward dad has my heart #he'll tell this story at their wedding #as revenge for billy telling everyone that hop set him up #seriously though I have a dozen fics in progress rn #not one of them is harringrove #what's wrong with me

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cobragardens · 1 year

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My Favorite Good Omens Moment:

An Essay on Why It Is Cool and Rad (Part 1)

There's this moment in Good Omens that makes me cackle every time I see it and leaves me full of warmth, so here's an essay on its context and meaning, because explication and analysis are how I show love. I will try to keep my thoughts as tight as possible, but they do have a tendency to spiral outwards, and I am very stoned. Come, sistren, and get nerdy with me.

My favorite moment in the series so far occurs in 1601. To approach it we will first need an assload of context. There's a TL;DR in bold at the end of the Context if you don't fancy reading the whole assload. Key arguments are in italics and bold throughout.

David Tennant gives Crowley a very consistent facial expression every time Aziraphale says something so outlandish Crowley can't quite believe he's hearing it. It's this one:

Chronologically, we see the Eyebrows of Disbelief twice before my fave moment in 1601: once (above left) in that scene on the Garden Wall that familiarizes the audience with Crowley's face before adding the dark glasses, when Aziraphale admits he's given away his sword; once when Aziraphale tells Bildad the Shuhite that he, Aziraphale, has Fallen because he lied to the angels to save Job's children.

The Eyebows of Disbelief always signal surprise and amusement with something Aziraphale has said or done. This amusement is sometimes at Aziraphale's expense and sometimes not.

In the gifs above, Crowley is laughing because what Aziraphale has just admitted to doing is fantastic and unexpected and frankly pretty gd punk rock. He's not laughing at Aziraphale, he's laughing because he is delighted with him. The only record we have thus far of Crowley laughing at Aziraphale is this one:

Crowley laughs when Aziraphale informs him--him, a demon who has personally been through the process of Falling--that Aziraphale is Fallen and must be a demon now. As though of the two of them Aziraphale is the expert on how and under what circumstances this occurs.

And yet when Crowley sees Aziraphale's distress--not his fear of being taken to Hell, but his heartbreak and lostness over the fact that his conscience has diverged from God's stated will--Crowley stops laughing, and instead he acts very kindly towards Aziraphale. He validates the gravity of what Aziraphale has done and assures him he won't turn him in. He sits with him so Aziraphale isn't totally alone (like Crowley probably was) as he goes through the loneliest moments of his existence to that point and picks himself up newly weighted with the secret he must now bear.

And after this scene (in canon as it stands thus far), we don't see Crowley laugh at anything Aziraphale says or does again.

And he really has to work for it sometimes. We talk a lot about the things Michael Sheen is able to convey with his face in Good Omens, and absolutely rightly so; David Tennant earns a chunk of his paycheck in this regard as well. If you haven't given yourself the treat yet, rewatch the scene in Will Goldstone's magic shop in 1941 and focus on Crowley's reactions:

youtube

Tennant takes great care to show, with precision, that Crowley is expending effort not to react to Aziraphale's nervous chaos Muppetry and lack of self-awareness. Crowley is self- and socially and contextually aware enough that he knows (better than Aziraphale, at least, which is not a high bar to clear) what's cringe, what's funny, what's ridiculous, how to behave. But whenever Aziraphale crosses a boundary of normalcy, or even sanity, and there is opportunity to laugh at him, Crowley very carefully doesn't react. He doesn't interrupt him, he doesn't try to correct him, he doesn't make fun of him, he doesn't even smirk; he just watches him, as stone-faced as he can manage, no matter how bizarre Aziraphale becomes.

We should be reading this lack of reaction to Aziraphale's social and rational transgressions as powerful positive action. Go watch the Doctor Who episode "Human Nature," or literally any episode of The Inbetweeners, or read or watch Regeneration, and reflect on what it shows you about English masculinity; then consider again the depth of significance in how English- and male-coded character Crowley treats English- and male-coded character Aziraphale in an England created by an English and male-codedpresenting author based off a book written by himself and another male-presenting author. Within its context of English masculinity, Crowley's lack of reaction is not a neutral stance; it is a very fucking loud show of support.

This is not even an inference; it's stated outright in the show. Crowley himself puts it into words 422 years after my favorite moment:

You know how Crowley calls Aziraphale "angel" because the factuality of the descriptor offers him plausible deniability to any Heavenly or Infernal agents who might be listening? Remember how Crowley is a great equivocator? Crowley is equivocating here, too: he's using the cover of what Maggie and Nina will take as a disparaging joke at Aziraphale's expense in order to make a perfectly sincere statement. This is his genuine perception of one of the relationship dynamics he has with Aziraphale and how he feels about that dynamic. Crowley thinks he himself is quite witty (an accurate assessment), Crowley thinks Aziraphale isn't sufficiently self- or contextually aware to hide how strange he is and therefore frequently says and does mad things (also an accurate assessment), and Crowley is Into. That. Shit.

Okay. Now let's look at 1601.

Chronologically it's been almost 1,000 years since we last saw Aziraphale and Crowley. In 537, Aziraphale isn't willing even to consider a labor-saving working arrangement with Crowley of fucking off home out of the damp of Arthurian Wessex; but by 1601, he's worked (and met, and Arranged) with Crowley "dozens of times now," Crowley says, and Azirapahle does not correct him.

In that millienium, Aziraphale has grown to care deeply about Crowley:

In fact he may be somewhat smitten with him:

Seriously, go back and watch Aziraphale here as Crowley approaches and starts speaking to him: he doesn't start smiling until he recognizes that the person speaking to him is Crowley (but he only smiles at Crowley while Crowley's not looking at him).

And Crowley is definitely become smitten with Aziraphale:

Our man(-shaped entity) is so allergic to work he sets up a meeting to weasel, cajole, or (as it happens) cheat a coin toss to get Aziraphale to do an easy temptation for him in Edinburgh, and then in the same conversation agrees to miracle a play into success because Aziraphale gives him a single hopeful look. Crowley's got it bad.

TL;DR: The Eyebrows of Disbelief happen when Crowley is surprised and amused by something Aziraphale has said or done. Sometimes that amusement is delight with Aziraphale; sometimes it is at Aziraphale's expense. Crowley is aware of this distinction, and when his amusement is at Aziraphale's expense, he suppresses it, even when it takes some effort on his own part, and remains stocially composed. This is equivocation on his part: to Celestial/Infernal operatives lacking knowledge of the intricacies of human behavior, this non-reaction would seem like neutrality; to Aziraphale, who shares with Crowley and the audience the contextual knowledge of English masculinity's utter viciousness, this non-reaction is a profound show of support; and in the safety of support from Crowley, Aziraphale lets his weirdness blossom.

As another meta points out [link if I find it again], we also see in Aziraphale's wordless request about Hamlet and Crowley's immediate understanding of it that by 1601 Aziraphale and Crowley have developed an unspoken, coded method of communication with each other.

Now that we have all of that in mind, here's my favorite moment in Good Omens:

Ixi of Fuck Yeah Good Omens has even kindly archived a closeup of the aftermath, for Crowley, of "Buck up!" In gif 4, above, you can see that the tiny smile is an involuntary reaction that happens as Crowley's eyes widen: for a fraction of a second, he's caught off-guard. In the closeup it's easier to see that he suppresses the smile and gives a tiny shake of his head, Eyebrows of Disbelief heading for his hairline.

There are a number of things Crowley's reaction could mean and what messages it could communicate (we'll get to that in a sec), but regardless, his reaction is, unquestionably, one of surprise and suppressed amusement. This is an aspect of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship and characters that I like very much, viz., that one of the reasons Crowley likes Aziraphale (though Aziraphale is judgy and occasionally, unintentionally, horrifyingly cruel) is that in addition to being one of the kindest and most courageous beings in existence, Aziraphale is mad as a bag of frogs. Crowley does not know what is going to come out of Aziraphale's lovely mouth next, but Crowley does know there's a good chance he will struggle to believe he's hearing it, and Crowley likes that.

That's what makes this my favorite moment. What makes this moment so cool and rad, though, is its ineffability. We know from the Eyebrows of Disbelief that Crowley is surprised and amused, but any of several things could be read in that almost imperceptible headshake. Like:

What are you doing? or

Why are you like this? or

How can you be aware that you say these things out loud and yet still say them out loud? or

How has my existence come to this? this moment of listening to such insanity?

each of which is a fair and just feeling to have/message to communicate to a man(-shaped entity) who is yelling "Buck up!" at Hamlet.

But that's only if we read Crowley's amusement as being at Aziraphale's expense. And I don't think we should. Because watch Aziraphale here:

He's doing it on purpose. He is shouting a hilariously inappropriate, 100% authentic Aziraphale-brand thing over arguably the gloomiest passage of Shakespeare's famously gloomy play--right after Crowley complains about its gloominess--and he is watching Crowley as he does it. Look at his smile! He knows he's being Deeply Uncool, and he is doing it literally right into Crowley's face.

Remember that we just talked about how by this point in the chronology Crowley and Aziraphale have learned to communicate with each other nonverbally through facial expression? So what does it mean when Aziraphale responds to Crowley's grumbling about Hamlet's gloominess by smiling his minxious Mona Lisa Aziraphale smile, looking right into Crowley's face, and yelling at Hamlet to buck up? Aziraphale, in a carefully coded, carefully Aziraphale way, is joking with Crowley. His silliness in this moment is for Crowley.

So with aaaaaaallllll of this essay in mind, what does it mean that Crowley's reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" is widening eyes, an involuntary twitch of his mouth toward a smile, and then, his eyebrows still showing surprise and amusement, a tiny shake of his head?

Once more, with inferences:

I do propose, y'all, on the basis of this web of evidence I submit for consideration, that what we are seeing here in my favorite moment of Good Omens is the ineffable equivalent of Aziraphale and Crowley sharing a laugh.

Crowley's amusement here isn't at Aziraphale, because Aziraphale is eliciting that amusement consciously and deliberately. Aziraphale, in good spirits and happy to see Crowley, uses his Aziraphaleness to offers Crowley not only an opportunity for amusement, but the opportunity to be in agreement with him about what in this situation is funny. They're on the same side of this joke.

And his humor lands just as he wants it to: Crowley, just for a moment, is caught off-guard, and tickled--

But remember, Crowley is worried in this scene about being surveilled ("I thought you said we'd be inconspicuous here"), and he worries about audio surveillance a lot ("Walls have ears"; "Don't say that. If my lot hear [etc.]," etc.), so he's very limited in what reactions he can show or voice. Aziraphale knows Crowley must be perceived by anyone watching or listening to disapprove of his, Aziraphale's, behavior (just as he must be perceived to disapprove vociferously of Crowley's). Both of them know this.

--so Crowley suppresses the smile almost successfully, and shakes his head at Aziraphale, minutely, to say Stop. What you're doing is working, you're close to making me laugh, and if I show how much you have just delighted me, it will blow our cover of "just an Arrangement."

I offer three final data points in advancing my argument that what we see in my favorite Good Omens moment is Aziraphale successfully attempting to joke with Crowley and Crowley recognizing that overture from Aziraphale and being momentarily surprised into a reaction of genuine delight before pulling his face back under control and indicating to Aziraphale that he must stop:

Datum 1. Nothing going on with Crowley's face in this moment is accidental. We know for sure we're not seeing David Tennant react to Michael Sheen here not only because of literally every other point of Tennant's and Sheen's performances in the show, but because Tennant is wearing opaque contacts and sunglasses under film lighting and therefore cannot be reacting to anything more compelling than a level-10-lift blur because Tennant cannot see shit. Crowley's reaction is a deliberate and careful performance choice on Tennant's part, and it's underscored by director Douglas Mackinnon's choice to film Tennant in 1/2 profile to keep Crowley's eyes visible and face readable to the audience. This reaction is supposed to be there and supposed to be meaningful.

Datum 2. The husbands in 1601 is not the only moment in Good Omens when we may be seeing an angel and a demon communicate the message Stop doing that, it makes us look too familiar between themselves with a little headshake:

Datum 3: There is another moment in Good Omens when Aziraphale offers Crowley the opportunity to enjoy a joke with him. There, too, his humor lands just as he intends, so we can use this other moment as a comparison to our 1601 moment. I don't have gifs for it, but go back and watch it, S1E6 49:27-42. Snips below.

Aziraphale says something that surprises and amuses Crowley (he asked Hell for a rubber duck while he was sloshing around in the holy water)--

--but what Aziraphale says makes Crowley smile long before it makes him laugh.

In fact, his laugh, though a genuine cackle, is quite delayed, and he laughs only after Aziraphale starts laughing too.

In other words, Crowley's reaction to Aziraphale offering him amusement they're both on the same side of is exactly the same as his reaction to "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" right up until he laughs instead of shaking his head. Here, after Armageddidn't, Crowley doesn't have to suppress his reaction, so he can let the smile bloom; he doesn't have to control his response, so, although it takes him a few extra seconds, he lets the smile turn into a laugh.

But in 1601, it's not safe to laugh at Aziraphale's humor. It's not safe even to smile at him. A single piece of evidence or eye/earwitness testimony that he and Crowley have anything more friendly than the most passing and acrimonious of professional relationships could mean death to either or both of them, and depending on what Falling is like, maybe something worse than death for Aziraphale.

But Aziraphale is so funny, so effervescent for Crowley, at Crowley, that it catches Crowley just for a moment. Crowley's eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches toward a smile.

And that's dangerous. If Aziraphale keeps acting so charmingly mad, Crowley is going to laugh, and they can't afford that risk, so he shakes his head at Aziraphale. Stop, or I won't be able to keep a straight face around you.

And Aziraphale apparently receives that message, because he immediately eases off. Less than 60 seconds later we learn that he's deeply concerned for Crowley's safety--and that it's not so much that Aziraphale has Crowley wrapped around his little finger as it is that Crowley has wrapped himself around Aziraphale's little finger like a snake arranging itself on the tree branch it calls home.

UPDATE 14/10/23: HOLY SHIT Y'ALL IT GETS EVEN BETTER! THERE IS A SEQUEL!

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens 1601 #good omens microexpressions #good omens headshake #angelfish #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens fanalysis

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