#love that drawing this old man's ass confused the shit out of me and ended up having to be censored to be posted here lmao

[nite-starry]

old man yaoi (for real this time)

uncensored versions of my art can now be found on my cohost!

[scoutswritingcorner]

More Papa Headcanons!

PLATONIC Papa!Alastor & GN!Child!Reader

Angst Flavored~

First Part

TW: ANGST- Just a teeny tiny bit. For the soul. Oh and Susan is mentioned.

A/N: Enjoy~

I usually leave this part up to you guys, the readers of my ramblings, but what if you were born out of wedlock? You are technically Alastor’s bastard child. Especially during that time period? That was greatly frowned upon and you never knew who your mother was! But despite all of that, Alastor and his Mom adored you. (Don’t get me wrong she probably chewed his ass out for it but she adored you.) 

Now, as you grew older people started saying it to your face, even kids at your school. But everytime you brought it up to Alastor he got angry, not at you, so he teaches you how to defend yourself and makes sure that you know to never start a fight. 

But once in hell, the name still sticks. Susan once overheard Alastor and Rosie’s conversation about it and called you that to your face. (Mean ass old woman right there.) And to say you were upset was an understatement, you knew better than to get into adult’s business but you just ran to your Papa sobbing cause you had thought you escaped that treatment. Despite being in Hell. You’re just clinging to his pants as you try your darndest not to cry but gosh the words keep echoing, both Rosie and Alastor are immediately worried about you. Cause you never cry or cause too much trouble!

Once they hear what Susan said? Rosie has to keep Alastor from flipping his lid. You stay by his side the rest of the day too scared to go play with the other kids in Cannibal Town. It shouldn’t bother you too much but you’ve been called that your entire few years of living and now it’s followed you down to Hell? What if the others start doing such a thing? 

Not to worry, Auntie Rosie shuts the whole thing down if she even catches a whiff of it. 

NOW ONTO NICER THINGS-

Full credit to @aceblaze01 for the idea of Vox being in Child!Reader’s afterlife! Especially when he and Alastor were hanging out(idk if I should call them partners). He was like an odd Uncle to you! Also 100% would let you watch kids cartoons on his screen, but you were so confused by it that you stood there staring at him before finally getting comfortable to sit down and watch those weird picture shows your papa talked about. He would totally put on Disney films for you. 

You watched Bambi once and ended up crying. He had to hold you and calm you down before Alastor was alerted. After that he stuck with everything else but Bambi. 

You sometimes go with Alastor to Overlord meetings and sit next to him drawing, not paying any mind to what’s going on either. You mostly draw your Papa and Auntie Rosie but you’ve started to draw Vox and that man cries when you hand him the drawings of him with very shaky handwriting and misspelled words. He loves it and keeps it hung up on his wall framed and everything. You gave a drawing to a lot of the nicer Overlords as a thank you for letting you join with your Papa. You gave one to Zestial, Carmilla and many of the unnamed ones that didn’t look too scary..you gave those to your Papa so he can give it to them. 

Even after all those years and Alastor’s falling out with Vox as a whole, he kept your drawings still safely framed. He doesn’t have the heart to get rid of them. Valentino said one bad thing about them and got the shock of his afterlife. That’s the last time he brought it up. He still checks up on you, makes sure you're alright. Even though he can’t physically be next to you cause Alastor would lose his fucking shit, he makes sure he has people check up on you. 

Vox has killed people who even thought of putting a hit out on you before Alastor ever caught wind about it. He’s not a man to play around with when it comes to you- his little niece/nephew/nibling (gender neutral term for niece/nephew).

During exterminations? Alastor stays with you the whole time. He doesn’t need anything hurting you. He keeps you in his room with books and anything else you want to bring. When you're in the hotel and extermination is around the corner, while the hotel is relatively safe. He still makes sure you stay far away from any doors leading to the outside. 

Oh boy, you are the only one able to sit in his tower with him while he works! He has a chair designated for you and will answer any and all questions about his work (even if they do get silly and repetitive). You’ll fall asleep sometimes when he’s on air and he doesn’t miss a beat wrapping his jacket around you as he continues to talk.

Taglist: @littledolly2345, @aboyscriminalrecord

[crimsonxcloverr]

there’s so many talented people in this fandom, dale would think highly of us. i know, i yap about it all the time, but it’s so fucking true. even if you don’t draw or write, dale would think you’re hot shit for loving him in the first place. we’re all so cool. i love it.

ANYWAYS! also pls ignore mistakes, this was a random post LMAO

writers- dale would definitely buy you journals and pens from the family owned store nearby. he’d be very supportive and tell you how he thinks you should get your work published, throwing a little fit if you tell him they aren’t worthy enough for publication. he’d force you to sit on the mattress and push yourself to write whatever it is you desire while he worked on his dolls. i feel like once in a blue moon he’d allow you to write at his work table. he would definitely come cuddle with you and lay next you while you worked, help you figure out what to write next if you end up with writers block! he’d give you so much love and support, rub your shoulders and such while you take a break. you want a snack or drink while taking a break? both? dale has it covered. he also keeps all your finished work tucked away safely on the massive media shelf against the basement steps. you know exactly what shelf i’m talking about. and don’t get me started on the nsfw stories or writing about him in general! WHEW! his ears will turn red and he’d blush, which is comically noticeable due to his pale skin. but then he’ll either have you read it out loud while he fucks you or while he jerks off. regardless of the style of writing, he would be so, so, so excited about sharing your work with the world. he’d even encourage ruth to read them as well, who would also enjoy your writing btw, minus the nsfw stuff. i think dale would be so inspired by your work, he may even dabble in writing himself. even if it’s just diary entries or stories about The Man Downstairs.

artists (fanart included, AU) - man, oh man! dale would be gawking over your shoulder impatiently waiting for your art to be finished. he would definitely have a collage of your art all around the basement. he’d even beg ruth to frame some of your art for upstairs (digital, he’d print your art out). of course, he’d be so supportive, probably adding his own little touches himself and smiling for your approval. this man would definitely pick you up some paints and brushes/markers and pens from the hardware store. he’d also deliver you drinks and snacks if needed. and if you’re busting your ass too much or being to critical, he’d tell you to take a break, rub your shoulders and tell you to come back to it. but don’t you dare touch his paints or paint brushes! not even his pencils or pens he uses for his codes! those are his and he’d definitely make that quite clear. for digital fanart, he’d probably be so confused on how the hell any of it works. he would sit and watch, definitely asking you a million questions on how the technology works cause he’s ✨an old fart✨. you’d help him make his own fanart of him and Satan at some point, which he begged for over and over. or being the perv he is, he’d probably make you draw something hot. you rubbing his cock or something. but if your device ever decided to take a shit, he’d do all he could to help you figure it out. he’d probably nag ruth for her disability check to pay for a new device. goddamn it dale. even if it was something minor like an ipad charger, pen too, he’s got it covered!

supporters in general- you just loving on him is enough. he’d admire you regardless, artist or not. the way you spend time with him and give him the love he deserves makes him feel so, so good. he’s YOUR number one fan! he’d definitely peek over at you while working on his dolls just to steal glances and take in all your beauty. he would treat YOU like a work of art, making you model naked for him while taking polaroids of you. not just to jerk off to, but he finds you immensely ethereal. his slender fingers would trail down your body as if you were a marble statue of a greek goddess. he would cup your face and just stare at you, admiring your beauty and wondering why you’d want someone like him? he’s so flattered, he could burst. although… sometimes he gets him hard when he randomly thinks about you. he’d mind his own business, working on a doll, then need to adjust himself cause he thought about your tits or pussy/ass the night before. also, don’t ever be mean to yourself in front of him. he’s scary. not in a “i’m gonna hurt you” type of way, but an authoritative “don’t say that again” way. he’d look at you from under his eyebrows, telling you not to say anything mean about yourself again. he’d make you feel better by playing guitar or singing a song in his karaoke machine. IM CERTAIN HE HAS ONE BTW! or you guys would take turns getting each other dolled up, squeeze each other into corsets, and having a little concert downstairs while blasting T.Rex. or if you were having some sort of mental health episode, he’d run you a bath and bathe you. he’d even lotion you up and help you get dressed, brush your teeth too. he’d suffer the atrocious sounds of meditation music so you could relax, unwind while he loved on you. and if you needed space? he’d give you just that, but would definitely keep an eye on you to make sure you’re safe. he’d eat meals with you if you asked him to. you probably wouldn’t even need to ask him. he’d just bring the food down and eat, telling you how much he loves you and appreciates you.

overall, i think dale would be flattered with all the love and support we’ve given him. giving us the support he’s never gotten <3

[starlight-time-machine]

Week in Review

05/12/2024 – 05/18/2024

Sunday

Week 14 of missing Cipher Academy

Not much to say about Girl Meets Rock except hell yeah Hatocchi get his ass!!!!

UNDEAD UNLUCK IS CRAZY GOOD THIS WEEK WOAGHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHH This battle was predicated on the idea of “imagination”, but now it has developed into the idea of “conviction”, given how Feng’s determination helped power the cannon and plant the seed of doubt in Lang’s mind. BUT ALSO NICO OPENING THE WORMHOLE TO THE MASTER RULES ROOM IS AMAZINGGGGGGGGGGG I LITERALLY SCREAMED OUT LOUD LMAOOOOOOOOO it’s simultaneously the funniest shit ever while also being a genius move, and seeing Soul being absolutely flabbergasted is so incredible. But then seeing him appear to feel genuinely frustrated and sad at Lang’s defeat is also really interesting…of course Tozuka would give the villains compassion and care for each other…love is one of the central themes of UU after all…and this makes this war all the more compelling… That last spread is genuinely so beautiful…Lang conceding defeat and granting her foe some happiness in her final moments…NicoIchi marriage…it’s just so peak… I don’t know how UU manages to top itself every week but god it feels good to be a part of the journey.

Obligatory beach episode in Oshi no Ko is fine, there are some fun jokes in there. And the love triangle seems to be resolving itself…if not for the Ruby thing LMAO

I’m glad they got that guy out of the air in Dandadan, because the drawings of hand to hand combat are just gorgeous.

Damn, the information drop in One Piece is actually insane…it feels surreal to be finally hearing history that I first got hints about literally ten years ago…

Ahghhrhghghaeujglhgeayhgj the new SpyFam chapter…Martha/Henry is so so so so so so sooooo good…SpyFam is so good when it’s a genuine war drama because it doesn’t shy away from how war permeates and affects society…the kids going through air siren drills and the talk of drafts and everyone’s futures…Martha suffering the loss of her dream and taking control of her life by enrolling in the army and confessing to Henry, only for the bell of war to toll once more and shove a wedge between them that will last for most of their lives…agh… I really hope they get together, and not just at the end of the manga like a lot of shounen manga like to do because I want to see them explore their new dynamic in their old age… If only every manga was as proactive and caring about romance as Undead Unluck is…

I reread Hoshi Dake ga Shitteru to see if I would want to buy it when the officially licensed book comes out and I think I will…! The writing in this was always pretty refreshing to read, and it’s fun and realistic to watch Kengo and Sora slowly orbit around each other and read each other’s intentions until they finally concede that they’re in love. And the astronomy theming and all this talk about dreams is just the cherry on top because it reminds me of Twin Spica. It’s an 8/10 for me, and I’m looking forward to picking up the physical version.

Finally finished reading If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late… I’ve harped on about my issues with this series enough, so I’ll just say that the gist of my problem with it is that it’s a fairly shallow narrative. I’m sure that kids enjoy it, and I probably did as a kid myself, but it’s not particularly rewarding to revisit as an adult because there’s no added depth to be found. Just a quirky series banking on punny humor and the allure of a big mystery and a secret society that lets kids work for them for whatever reason. Unfortunately I’m committed to seeing this series through to the end, so you’ll probably get a lot more griping from me.

Man…I think I’m genuinely too stupid to understand Monogatari. I finished Nekomonogatari Black today and I just feel confused… Monogatari’s trademark of long-winded conversations just leave me always playing catch up as I try to understand the line I just heard while the next line is being said. I went to go read some essays about Nekomonogatari and I think I get it more now, but I don’t get Araragi at all…I rarely do… Maybe I should read the books, at least I can control the pacing there…but I feel like Monogatari might just not be for me, because I can hardly feel emotionally impacted by it when I can’t tell what’s going on. I really wanted to like Monogatari, though…it seems to mean a lot to a lot of people and I love Cipher Academy by the same author so much so I don’t know why this just isn’t clicking for me…

I watched the second episode of Smartypants and it was about as mildly entertaining as the first. Jess’ presentation felt the most straightforward, just straight up facts rather than jokes lol. Jacob’s was solid and genuinely funny at times and came to a satisfying conclusion, much like Trapp’s in the last episode, but I think my favourite of the three has to be Katie’s for her sheer commitment and enthusiasm. I relate, as an egg lover myself…

Monday

Living Dead…Sleeping Dead… Having now read the ending, the name of the manga hits like a truck… Both can refer to Sada, of course, but I’m also inclined to believe that Living Dead also refers to Mamiya in a way… He was aimless in life, only chasing the one ambition he knew and leaving behind the rest of the world in the process… But Sada brought him back…and tried to keep him there, even using up his last moments to try and impart that message to him… Meanwhile, the Sleeping Dead moniker makes me want to die because it’s what Mamiya desperately wanted for Sada in the end…but of course it couldn’t come to pass… This story was never going to end happily… I was surprised to see Mamiya just straight up admit his feelings, but I suppose it was the last chapter so the mangaka wanted to get things moving along. But god, seeing them being intimate and Mamiya slowly opening up to happiness was so incredible…and it only made the ending all the more tragic. Narratively, I think the story was a bit all over the place and not always in control of what direction it wanted to go in, but that last conversation somehow tied everything together and illuminated the themes of the work so beautifully that I can’t even be mad. But god I feel so miserable…8/10…

At least the new Oni to Tengoku chapter cheered me up somewhat…Aoki and Tengoku’s tentative relationship and its down to earth writing is always fun to read about…

And then I read Koisuru Psycho no Shirayuki-kun lmao It seems to be a quintessential edgy “get revenge on your cartoon bullies” escapist power fantasy, but the BL theming and excellent figure art have intrigued me… I normally wouldn’t read a story like this but sure, I’ll watch the “crazy” guy kill some kids for his crush, why not. Everything about this story is so over the top, though, so let’s see if I get annoyed enough to drop it before it concludes.

Tuesday

I’d been itching to read another Sammy Keyes book so I picked up Sammy Keyes and the Art of Deception today and finished it in one sitting lol I love this series so much that I’m trying savour them and not read them all at once, so it’s always a treat when I do get to read one. This entry was pretty cute, with some musings about the value and purpose of art in a way that a younger audience could appreciate and some more progress on the Sammy/Casey romance front, but the highlight for me was definitely seeing Rita take more of an active role in the mystery. It’s nice to learn more about her and see her step out of the “worried guardian” role for a bit, and the old people love quandrangle was really fun to watch play out. Personally I think Rita deserves to have a fling with Lance before marrying Hudson but that’s just me. The mystery was kind of the weakest link here, given how 80% of its runtime was less so about a specific crime and more “things seem suspicious, better investigate”, but it was still decently interesting.

Wednesday

I tried reading Moju by Edogawa Ranpo, but the translation was a little off and filled with typos and grammatical errors that I couldn’t really get into it (and after looking up the translator, it seems like this wasn’t a one-time occurrence). The intro itself was also meh – it seems a little ridiculous that after two run-ins with the blind man, Ranko wouldn’t connect the dots right away that the weird guy wearing sunglasses at her show is the same guy??? And I’m sure the ero-guro stuff was shocking for 1931, but now it just reads as edgy slasher stuff. So yeah, no thanks.

Thursday

DunMesh with a side of excellent spicy noodles today – I used水煮鱼 broth, shanxi noodles, ricecakes filled with cheese, spring onions, and some meatballs I made yesterday and oh my god it was so good. Possibly the best “throw stuff together” meal I’ve ever made for myself. I felt very immersed in the dungeon cooking experience. Watching Izutsumi learn how to actually relate to people and be a part of a team is very cute! Also a nice lesson in learning how to deal with things you don’t like in order to move forward in life.

Friday

Drag Race All Stars 9 huh… I have to be honest…I’m not really feeling this season… I’m glad that they’re competing for these great causes, but now it feels like Drag Race is trying too hard to be a “feel good” activism season and the vibes are just way off. This overly positive tone was fitting when it was the winners season and we were celebrating the girls’ achievements and how skilled they are at their craft, but it’s not really working for me here. I guess part of the issue is that there isn’t anyone I’m particularly rooting for in this group? And then not having eliminations sucked a lot of tension out of the room… I think I’ll actually skip this season entirely. I’ve been watching every main Drag Race and All Stars season since 6 and 3 respectively, but I’m just not compelled enough to continue with this one. I did watch the first episode, though, and it was alright. The song performance was weirdly good in a way where I feel like production stepped in to help (it definitely felt like they were trying to avoid turning the charity song into a meme if one of the verses flopped), but then the sudden perfume themed runway threw me way off. This is something that would’ve been its own main challenge back in the day (flashbacks to that extremely weird animated sidekick challenge from season 9??), and seeing it thrown in here for seemingly no reason was so weird. At least the voiceovers were all pretty funny, and the outfits were nice…except for Gottmik’s. Literally what was that…the placement of the chains was so weird and random and unflattering, and the base was just a basic black dress… Gottmik was a favourite of mine on season 13, so this was a bit of a disappointment. Plastique’s outfit was pretty amazing, I was marvelling at the mechanics of having two sets of wings that closed over each other…it’s definitely a step up from the Courtney Act wings, though those still have a special place in my heart. But yeah, the vibes are just off and I don’t want to watch the rest of the season.

Saturday

To be honest I was sad today but then a four hour video essay I’ve been anticipating for two years got posted just as I was about to eat dinner so I spent most of my day watching that instead of anything else

[sporadicarbitergardener]

October 3, 2023

Even as a woman who knows how to rap and sing holding your head up means each day trying something new. Learning natural remedies to get by and survive.

Letting go of the past helps to rebuild a future. Love will never have a title, or even a label on it. Love covers multitude of sins because well love is a big thing and everyone wants soemthing from you.

Your own family will even take from you for their own blessings. Nots a child's father though because well not even for a new woman. My life will Never go into another womans pockets to benefit her. Thats what you call a string theroy. Another female will do anything she can to build a case on a man or even manipulate about a mans past as well. Its crazy. Females lie and do as they are coached by even their own mommas because of groups, packs etc. I raised alot of wolves, thats the oath as a God mother. No matter what anyone says to me . I know my life and I view things . Sometimes we all do a job without getting paid because well even working 2 jobs with a child on my hip was easy for me. Truth women are suppose to stay home. RIght now its the year for women to reflect and fall back and chill out because alot of women like to be messy and evil. To get back at ex boyfriends or even the baby mommas of a cukoo babys father. Lawyers are drawing up and even sueing and talking shit because money became the rue of all evil. Sometimes you have to even watch your exboyfriends back . Love is there with loyalty. Loyalty is huge. Bigger than what any check can buy. My father always carried a wait on his shoulder and well im carrying it as well.

Love is confusing but reflecting on my dads past back with Mrs. Karen Smith my old counselor Mrs. Katherine Blankenship "found". Who always kept notes of my life she translated my way of expressing how I seen ghost to my father.

Momma Kat even looked at him worried as well. He looked at me and said "Her momma played with playing cards."

Glenn Ray Seymour never raped me or used me he actually always gave me money behind momma cats back because she kept his ass straight and always in check. She always felt that I hated her when I didn't maturing and getting older before he got arrested July 22, 2009 I remember seeing her lock herself in the room because my dad was having addiction issues. He broke her heart, and trust. When they investigated his case she asked me if I wanted to stay in her custody because she did love me. Now that I am off the meth and being very honest not caring anymore because at the end of the day truth is needed. Love is seen differently now and getting older. Looking into how I see things differently getting older it brings pain I never realized because sometimes its amazing that my dad had her as a wife as well she was trying her best to keep him away from things that felt toxic best of her knowledge. I was a asshole back in 2017 when my grandmother " Jackie Lachney died and I blew up on this women as well. Her wisdom she taught me really has hit me again. I was always wise with my father's money because I even thought about my two other baby brothers future.

Thats love from a far. Money can't replace a father.

Or even a mother. Really realizing blood will never matter when I reflect. If my daddy wasn't silly and trying to be something different he would have never got in trouble. Before the age of 12 children can see ghosts. Yeah, when a women says she can feel spirits or see ghosts makes the eye of even men look at women crazy because of spirituality reasoning.

No matter what we do even as a baby momma , your suppose to watch from a distance over family because knowing alot of people can be scary . Now when its blood. Noone has the right to say fuck because family is family and man or woman either need to learn to adapt to the family or get the hell because as life goes on love will never be forgotten. I was always taught keep your head up. Pain hurts and emotions over turmoil alot but that is why there is techniques that you pick up on life to let that pain out because no matter what anyone says. Family means no matter what . Vengeance is evil. Thats why as life goes on . You learn to let things go because you never really know who really has your back behind a screen.

[pdaliceliveblogs]

So. That happened. 

Belos is less dead than I thought, though who knows how much power he can actually have in about a cup-ful of phlegm. I’ve wondered before if this little shack was originally the Wittebanes’ house— it doesn’t look old enough, really, but it could be built on the same site— which means he might have an equivalent to his old home as his new home base. Oh boy. 

(This might be a little scattered; I’m careening headfirst into finals and I have a shitload to write some of which I probably should have done over the course of the weekend I was at the con oops)

Eda’s lost an arm. That’s gonna be permanent; the arm disintegrated. I wonder if she’ll get a prosthesis? Probably, right? Plus she’s right-handed, going by the shot of her writing her to-do list in Requiem, so drawing glyphs is going to be a pain in the ass for a while until she gets used to the prosthesis. Ow. Not that it’s clear there’s going to be an opportunity to get one, while outrunning a child chaos god.

Actually, that gives me a thought— when the Collector says they want to play Owl House, everybody’s kind of gonna turn to Eda to figure out what the fuck that means; they all know she’s the Owl Lady. So at least she’ll probably get to give King a hug at some point. 

Raine… god, Raine. I don’t think they’re dead, but I do think they’re in a bad, bad way. All the Head Witches are, probably. I know we all whiffed it real hard on expecting Raine to be scarred and fucked up from the cocoon Kiki put them in, but I do think that probably all the Head Witches are going to have some lasting effects from this. 

Darius putting his hands up when the Healing Head threatened Eber… ow. That hit me harder than I expected it to. That’s his best friend. And Hunter going immediately to check on him, too… goop man and his family matter a lot to me, and I didn’t expect that to happen. 

Hunter… has been through a lot lately. I mean, everyone has, but holy shit. In the past couple weeks he’s gone from fully worshipping his abusive uncle to finding a better father figure and making friends for the first time, discovering he was never loved by his uncle (who’s also a genocidal maniac), discovering he isn’t even the species he thought he was, nearly getting killed multiple times, being homeless, being kidnapped, losing said better father figure to the draining spell and not knowing if he’s alive or dead, watching said abusive uncle be splattered on the wall right before his eyes, and now he’s in a completely new world with only four people he knows. 

On the slightly lighter side, he was probably confused as fuck when Belos saw Flapjack and suddenly roared out… his flyer derby alias?

Assuming the Palismen made their way to the Human Realm with them (and we know they’ll function there bc Owlbert did), Flapjack can probably fill him in on some things, possibly with Gus’s assistance seeing as he saw some of Belos’s memories when he was using the mirror. 

God, Gus breaking down. That broke me. He’s so young. They’re all so young, but damn. And Hunter with his arm around him at the end, full on big brother instinct, just going to take care of that kid even though he really needs some taking-care-of himself. 

Luz trying to take on all the pain herself, and then King turning that around on her— that hurts a lot too. King might be a Titan, but he’s just a little guy. He’s taken so much on, playing along with the Collector. 

The Collector themselves is so fascinating to me. I mean, I already have a soft spot for jester/clown imagery and also sun/moon imagery, so I was well set up to enjoy him as a character, but holy shit. This casually cruel but also very honest and forthright little godling, immensely powerful and not really cognizant of how much harm their play does. Or, rather, they know it does harm, they just don’t really have a concept of why they should care. The musical theme that came on when they popped out into the physical realm, too! Fantastic stuff. 

Camila’s suddenly gonna have six teenagers in her house. Good luck, Camila. 

(My weird headcanon that Hunter has a human style digestive system and that’s why he’s so scrawny… what if he fills out and has a huge growth spurt on Earth bc he’s finally not malnourished anymore)

This is a hell of a place to end a season. 

They’re going to be fighting like hell to get back. 

[sweet-by-and-by]

Heart on Your Sleeve- Arthur Morgan x John Marston

summary: Arthur spent 20 years working his ass off to become the top artist at Van Der Linde Ink, the high-end traditional shop founded by Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews. Who does John think he is, showing up with his ignorant style and calling it art? A modern tattoo shop!AU

pairing: Arthur Morgan x John Marston

a/n: Did writing this make me want to get another tattoo? You bet your ass it did. Inspired by the same art by StrawBaby as my 2021 Reverse Bang x, along with the incredible art of Veradia x. Tattooed John just seems to awaken something in me. Love as always ❤️

AO3

The buzz of a tattoo machine always riled John up.

The thrum of the coils vibrating sent electricity down his spine; filled him with a rush that no drug could ever replicate.

He had found tattooing young, having spent most of his youth in shitty basements listening to even shitter music with friends. Bouncing from house to house, desperately trying to find something that made him worth keeping around.

So when someone thrust a machine in his hand and told him to draw, he did his best. Luckily, they were both so fucked up that neither of them minded how terrible it had turned out. 

But even luckier for him, he had found his niche.

Tattoos were everywhere nowadays. Having grown from the prison ink he knew as a kid in the streets to a real, viable career path if he played his cards right.

The first step was to get himself clean. After being turned away by as many shops as he entered, dismissed as “just some junkie”, he found someone to take him on. On the condition that he quit all the shit that had led him there in the first place.

He’d been six months sober, and had been tattooing for just as long. Worked to make himself a place at Van Der Linde Ink, a high-end name in these parts of the city. Why on earth Dutch and Hosea, the owners, had given him a shot was beyond him. But he knew he didn’t want to let them down and throw all of this away.

Drawing had never been one of John’s strong points. He’d barely even doodled since his days in middle school. He was just as confused as anyone on the day that machine was shoved in his hands. After finding a love for the act of tattooing, no matter how badly the ink had turned out, he struggled to reconcile his abilities with his dreams.

And then shitty tattoos came into style.

It was perfect timing that he couldn’t have planned even if he tried. People heading to shops for tattoos that any idiot with Amazon could do in their basement, minus the hepatitis. Instagram loved his ignorant tattoos, and Van Der Linde Ink had been looking to bring themselves into the new age of trendy ink.

So he landed a station within a lineup of history. The traditional shop was trying to break away from their uptight, rigid image, and their hope lay with John and the slew of new artists they had brought on. 

A shout from across the shop dragged him back to reality, breaking his concentration on the leg he was currently tattooing.

“Yer’ lines are lookin real sloppy there, Marston!” Arthur jabbed. John could hear the smirk in his voice, and didn't need to bother glancing up to confirm that Arthur was heading his way.

“Don’t worry about him,” he assured his client, who had shot upright at Arthur’s critique. “He’s just bored since no one wants his old man style today. You’re doing great, we’re almost finished here.”

The client huffed before resting back in his seat, grimacing as John returned to his work.

“Aww, don’t be sore, Marston. It’s good to get opinions from all the artists here. Even if your work barely falls in that category,” Arthur continued, his sarcasm cutting straight through to John’s nerves.

“Yes, but maybe we can keep our opinions to ourselves until the artists are finished,” Hosea interjected, glaring at Arthur from over his newspaper. “And perhaps until the clients have gone,” he whispered harshly, only audible to John’s listening ear.

It was wise to heed Hosea’s warnings, so with a roll of his eyes and a grumble under his breath, Arthur grabbed a cigarette from his shirt pocket and stepped out for a smoke.

John relaxed at his departure, trying not to let the older man’s comments get to him. His linework wasn’t perfect, but what artists’ was? John may not be the best in the shop, but he was damn good at hiding his mistakes. Besides, he’d never had a client complain.

Not yet at least. Today might be a first, if Arthur kept at it.

He glanced up at Hosea as he came to stand beside the client, leaning back to take a break and give the man a better view. He tapped his foot nervously when Hosea leaned in to study the piece closer and give his own critique.

“It may not be my taste necessarily, but your technique is good. Your hand is steady and your line weight is consistent. You’re doing a fine job, John. I assure you, you’re in good hands sir,” Hosea schmoozed the client on the table, clapping John on the shoulder and appeasing his customer with a reassuring smile.

The corner of John’s mouth quirked up in thanks, the praise bringing back some of his confidence. He finished the tattoo with no further interruption, Arthur choosing to spare him even further humiliation. He wiped down the tattoo, snapped a quick shot for his portfolio, and sent another happy client on their way with an aftercare sheet and his thanks.

“I ain’t never met someone so grateful for every tattoo they do,” Arthur ribbed, returning to his teasing now that the customer had left the building. “I swear, you look this close to blowin’ every client before they leave.”

John stammered at Arthur’s crude comment, speechless and flustered. He stomped back to his station to resume cleaning up, eager to get away from Arthur’s sharp tongue.

“Yeah, well at least I still like doin’ my job. Why you always gotta be such a sourpuss to all of your clients?” John glowered, busying himself with re-capping his ink bottles.

“A sourpuss?” Arthur asked incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as his lips stretched into a cheshire grin.

“Yeah, a goddamn sourpuss,” John snapped back. Arthur couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at the phrase. 

“Well I’m sorry, Princess,” he chuckled, “I’ll make sure to get you some salt to cut that sour next time.”

“And maybe some tequila if you two don’t shut the hell up,” Karen interjected, rolling her eyes at the two bickering men. She tipped back in her chair, crossing her arms and shooting a glare at them from across the room.

John finished cleaning his station and packed his tools away, grabbing his sketchbook and throwing himself onto one of the waiting room couches. The big comfortable cushions all but swallowed him, and he stretched his long limbs over the arm to make himself comfortable as he settled in to work on some flash. Abigail, the shop receptionist, watched on with an arched brow, clicking her tongue as she busied herself at her computer.

“You know it’s my job to clean between clients, you didn’t have to do all that,” she mused, stealing a glance at the lanky man.

“Didn’t feel much like standing around and gettin’ berated,” John muttered.

“Oh, you know he just does it ‘cause it gets you so riled up. He’s like a school yard bully; just don’t give him a reaction and he’ll leave ‘ya alone,” she teased, trying to keep the smirk off her face. Anyone with sense knew that Arthur was picking on John more than any other artist that had come through these doors. Most blamed his style, not seeing his scribbles as the same breath of fresh air that Hosea and Dutch did. 

But Abigail knew better. She’d been here long enough to see all kinds. Had heard enough whispers when people thought no one was listening.

Arthur Morgan was sweet on John.

And he had no clue how to show it.

--

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, clients rolling in and out for their scheduled appointments. One by one the gang folded up their stations and took off for the weekend, excitement buzzing as they discussed their plans. Abigail was the last to leave, throwing John a pointed look as she locked the front door and said her goodbyes to Arthur, insisting that he finish up and get himself home at a reasonable hour.

Arthur liked the quiet of the shop at the end of the day. It gave him a chance to relax, to work without prying eyes and the commentary of his coworkers. This place had been a home to him for close to twenty years, and in its quiet moments gave him the peace he needed to get his best work done.

Half an hour deep into a drawing for an upcoming session, a sheet of paper was shoved angrily in his face. He was startled by the intrusion, deep in focus on meeting all of the appointment’s needs.

Arthur righted himself quickly, taking a better look at the page pushed at him. John grinned as he watched the older man take in his latest design, satisfaction fuelling him even further as Arthur’s lips fell into a frown.

“Really?” Arthur tsked, his brow furrowing as he looked over the piece.

“Really,” John replied cockily. “I’m thinkin’ it’s my best work yet.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, but said nothing to contradict John’s statement. He took the sketchbook page from John, careful not to smudge the wet ink as he examined the piece.

The dark image of a black cat, its face screwed up in a wince, stared up at Arthur from the table. Big bold letters, encased in a crude rendition of a traditional banner, spelled the words “SOURPUSS”.

It was certainly no American-traditional panther, but Arthur had to admit that the design was at least legible. There was no question of its subject, and even Arthur would give credit where it was due.

But of course, never to John.

“You know, this actually ain’t your usual lineup of terrible scribbles,” he admitted, the compliment sounding too good to John’s ears. “Too bad you couldn’t tattoo it if ‘yer life depended on it,” the older man jeered.

John scowled, fuming at how easily Arthur had turned him around. “I can so!” he protested, “I reckon’ that’d be the best tattoo I ever did!”

“Prove it then,” Arthur challenged, pushing himself away from the desk and gesturing towards his arm. “Why don’t you show us all just how great of an artist you can really be, Johnny.”

John prickled at the suggestion, snatching the paper from Arthur’s hands and shoving him out of the chair. “Fine,” he conceded, “go sit yourself at my station, and don’t touch any of my stuff!”

–

It wasn’t long before John had the stencil completed, determined as he stormed across the shop. Arthur rolled his eyes and stood from where he was lounging across John’s chair. 

The older man gestured towards a gap in his sleeve that the design could go, tucked away in a barely visible space on the back of his left bicep.

“This ain’t much room to work with,” John complained, but applied the stencil anyway.

“Yeah well I ain’t putin’ it anywhere the world gets to see it,” Arthur snipped back.

“Could’a put it on your ass for all I care,” John muttered, the comment slipping out before he could give it a second thought. Arthur averted his gaze as his cheeks tinged red, surprised by his reaction to John’s boldness.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched John smooth down the stencil and graciously ignore Arthur’s fluster.

Once the design was on, John adjusted the chair to lay flat and instructed Arthur to stretch out at his station. The older man huffed as he lay face-down across the saran wrapped leather, settling into position so that they could get started.

John rolled his stool up beside the makeshift bed and set to work, the buzz of his machine making Arthur’s heart lurch as his body caught up with what was going on. No matter how many times he’d gone under the needle, nerves still flooded him before every tattoo. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, letting his thoughts wander to keep his mind occupied.

He hadn’t really thought that John would have such a strong reaction to his teasing. For all of his prodding, the kid had come a long way from his first days in the shop. He was excited to learn and worked twice as hard as the rest of the artists in the shop, something that Dutch and Hosea must have recognized when they decided to bring him on.

He also hadn’t exactly thought about the location he’d chosen; on the back of his bicep directly beside a poorly drawn heart with the word “Mary” inside inked by dainty, inexperienced hands.

Apparently he was developing a habit of offering himself as a practice canvas.

John’s touch was light, gentle in a way he would never have predicted. He wanted to criticize the man, poke him and tell him that the ink wouldn’t stay if he didn’t go deep enough. But he knew he was reaching, and that John’s touch would make the process less painful.

He quickly halted that train of thought and let his eyes roam around the room. It had been a while since he’d been tattooed there, and it was strange to see the place from the eyes of a client. Bill’s collection of animal skulls nailed to the walls, Karen’s grotesque watercolours pinned around her station. The details that he missed in his day to day, but the ones that showed off the shop’s misfit personalities.

He caught a glimpse of John in a mirror hanging on the opposite wall. He was hunched over Arthur’s arm, working diligently for his chance to prove himself. Arthur couldn’t help himself from staring. John’s hair hung low, the shaggy cut framing his face and complementing his sharp features. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his piercing catching the light when he cocked his head. Deep scars added intensity to his slight frown. He looked serious and passionate and beautiful, and Arthur couldn’t look away.

A flash of pain dragged him from his thoughts as John worked towards his inner bicep. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensitive spot, tensing involuntarily against the needle’s touch.

“It’s okay,” John soothed, his voice gentler than Arthur was used to. “I won’t be here long.”

Arthur only nodded in response, favouring silence to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach and the tightening of his chest. He cursed his body for betraying him. For making it impossible to deny the impact John had on him.

The rest of the tattoo went smoothly and quickly. Arthur could feel the smug grin John fixed him with as the younger man leaned back in his chair, declaring his masterpiece finished as he shut off his machine.

“Think I was right,” he boasted. “This damn well may be my best tattoo ever.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the chair, crossing the room to examine the finished product in the mirror.

He twisted himself around to get a better look, picking it apart as he eyed the tattoo. He scowled and opened his mouth to let his commentary roll, but stopped when he caught sight of John in the mirror.

The man was beaming with pride, cocky as all hell and wearing it well. His confidence only added to the attraction Arthur always felt, and he couldn’t find it in him to tear into John like usual.

It was a ridiculous style that Arthur loathed to call art, but the linework was clean and free of blowout. The design may not have been some show of all that tattooing could be, but it demonstrated an improvement in technique that Arthur couldn’t ignore.

“It ain’t terrible,” he finally said, his face softening as John’s smile grew wider. “I ain’t waxin’ poetic, and I’m still glad it ain’t anywhere anyone’s gonna see, but you’ve gotten better. Seems like you’ve been absorbing some wisdom through that thick skull of yours after all.”

“I told you, I’m not awful!”

“And I’ll tell you that you’ve still got a lot to learn. Your design is sloppy, that’s barely what I’d call shading, and I can see where your hand got tired halfway through. But I’ll take you on, show you what Dutch and Hosea showed me.”

“You’ll what?” John’s smile faltered dumbfoundedly, his expression turning to one of confusion.

“I’ll teach you how to draw, you idiot,” Arthur huffed, turning to face John. “We can practice after work when the place clears out. Can’t hardly learn a thing with all those morons running around, and you’ve sure as shit got some hard work ahead. But we’ll make an artist of you yet, if you’re willing.”

The younger man’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide like a deer stuck in headlights. Arthur fought back the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, refusing to acknowledge how adorable John looked in that moment.

“I…I don’t rightly know what to say,” John remarked, wary as he seemed to mull over Arthur’s proposal.

“Why don’t you start with ‘thank you’,” Arthur scoffed sarcastically. “Now get this thing wrapped up and clean your shit before I realize what the hell I let you do to me.”

John rolled his eyes as Arthur returned, reaching for his alcohol bottle to clean him up. He wiped away the blood and ink just as gently as he tattooed, and Arthur felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at John’s tenderness.

“Thank you,” he heard John say, voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t control the shudder that went down his spine, making him freeze in place as John bandaged his arm.

Arthur all but ran away once he was finished, turning on his heel and fleeing to the draft table to collect his things before John could notice the red colour in his face. John watched him dumbfoundedly, his own blush rising to turn the tips of his ears pink.

Abigail was definitely going to have to explain this one to him.

[levworship]

Okay but I just read what the other anon requested and that was so good?? I didn’t think I had a thing for receiving oral but wtf 😭🤚could I maybe request smth if you got time?? Could it be a reunion between volleyball teams from miyagi and tokyo? So nekoma, fukorodani, seijoh, Johzenji (terushima’s tongue piercing PLS), karasuno, itachiyama You were the old manager of nekoma and was friends with literally everyone, during the talk kuroo somehow mentioned that in the nekoma reunion like 2 years ago it somehow ended with the main guys all taking turns eating you out and that pisses off the rest of the guys because that was their fantasy?? This ends up with you (with consent ofc) being sat down on kuroo’s lap as the guys also take turns eating you out (inspired by the other anon because 😩) I understand if you obviously can’t mention everyone, but pls mention terurshima, sakusa (who would only let you make a mess on his face) and bokuto if you could <3 ALSO the idea of two people eating you out at the same time, maybe bokuto and terushima?? IM NASTY OKAY BUT PLS DO THAT

Ty in advanceeee

i’m usually pretty fast but this took me a whole two days to write smh i’m sorry anon. hope you enjoy tho <3 i wanted it to be a lil longer but i’m so tired and i rlly wanted to get this out for you.

cw: group sex (like.. big group), hella sub reader, also fem reader, anal lol, oral (fem reviving), kuroo is the ringleader, humiliation ig, reader kinda into it doe, dirty talk, degrading + praise, squirting, overstimulation

summary: basically everyone wants to eat out/fuck y/n. explicitly written in here is kuroo, oikawa, sakusa, bokuto, and terushima. the rest is implied.

word count: about 1.9k

your face was buried into kenma’s stiff shoulder, your whole body feeling hot as your group of friends continued to talk about you as if you weren’t even there. but clearly they hadn’t forgotten about you too much considering the way their eyes burned holes into you from all around so indiscreetly that you couldn’t even sit your ass still.

you weren’t quite sure how the previous conversation had shifted so suddenly, but kuroo seemed more than happy with the subject change as his signature asshole smirk never left his features. “- yeah, ‘bout two years ago i’d say. she was a good fuck too. poor thing was so eager to make us feel good that she passed out.” kuroo continued to drag his story as if to intentionally provoke the others, and the staring at you only got worse. your nerves were shot.

you looked and felt like a precious bunny being stared down by a bunch of wolves. and honestly? it was hot as fuck.

which is why you didn’t bother to argue when you were practically dragged into the locker room of the old gym, daichi hurriedly locking the door behind all of you. you couldn’t help but feel bad for just a second. ‘didnt some of these guys have girlfriends? couldve sworn i saw terushima enter with some girl.’ but how could you possibly focus on that when your clothes were being literally ripped off of you and disregarded to who knows where?

your legs felt weak, both out of shock and nervousness from being handled so roughly. “bring her here, bo. sit her down on my lap.” bokuto (for perhaps the first time in his life) was silent as he dragged you over to the other ex-captain, setting you down in his lap on his spot on the bench just as he’d requested. kuroo snickered and raised a hand to cup your cheeks, squeezing them together like you were a little baby before releasing.

“ease up, will ya? so damn tense i can feel it from here. you know we’ll take good care of you.” he spoke so lowly and reassuringly that you couldn’t help but to nod like a fool as he turned you around in his lap to fit the others. he tapped your thigh once, twice, and you quickly picked up on the hint and opened your legs for their viewing pleasure. you tried to put your face down as you were smothered in shame from just how quickly you got wet from their rough handling, but kuroo gripped onto your face once again and forced you to look up.

“look up, baby. so many big strong men dying to make you cum so fucking hard. be a little more thankful, yeah? say it.” “thank you.” he shook his head with a small laugh before releasing your face, but not before lightly tapping your face twice with soft slaps. still, you remained out of it even as oikawa settled himself between your legs, looking up at you with the same lazy smile you frequently saw him wearing around you.

“smells so damn good. finally gonna let me get a taste, cutie?” he spoke lowly as if he were to himself before diving in and holy shit. you figured he’d be pretty experienced. the guy was a literal chick magnet. but damn, this exceeded your expectations by far. your body threatened to curl over itself if it hadn’t been for kuroo’s sturdy grip on your twitching thighs. the way he sucked vigorously at your clit while swiping his tongue along your folds to capture more of your essence had you drawing nothing but blanks up there.

“haven’t even cum yet for us and already going dumb?” kuroo teased, planting a kiss just behind your ear, a shocking contrast to the way oikawa’s tongue worked against you just right.

the air around you was so thick you felt as if it could be cut with a knife. some of the guys surrounding you couldn’t figure out what to do with themselves, nervously shuffling their feet without taking your eyes off of you. others had clearly overcome any former shame, already slowly pumping their cocks in their hands as they hoped and prayed that they would get a turn soon. the whole scene made you feel so dirty— so wanted. the desire that leaked from their looks on you had your orgasm approaching faster than ever.

oikawa seemed to have noticed this, using his thumbs to spread your folds apart to make sure you felt him deep, muttering a quick “cum on my fucking mouth, princess.” the simple phrase alone made your orgasm crash down on you finally. your fingers tangled in his soft hair, which was now messy and tossed thanks to you.

you nearly passed out right there when he continued to lick you clean even as you violently shook in kuroo’s grasp, the black haired boy having to shove the other away forcefully just to separate his mouth from you. “that’s enough of that. did he make you feel good baby?” your eyes are still shut as you cling onto the leftover bliss, only offering a quiet “mhm.” “good girl. think you can give us another?” the question was clearly rhetorical, which should’ve been clear by the was he was already gesturing someone else forward. but still, you shook your little fucked out head ‘no’ and prayed upon some god that he’d have mercy on your poor quivering cunt.

but you knew better than to expect mercy from kuroo of all people. especially when it came to your body, when he kept whispering to you about how you were such a “perfect little toy,” and his “favorite doll to use.” before you knew it sakusa was diving into your pussy quickly without giving you time to do so much as muster up the energy to open your eyes again. his mouth was quick and desperate to get you off, moving with a sense of urgency as his hands busied themselves palming at his covered dick. he wasn’t nearly as precise or experienced as oikawa was, but his eagerness made up for it as he ate you out like a starved man.

your hips threatened to buck against his face wildly, cries of “please, please, please” falling from your mouth even though you didn’t even know what you were begging for. all you knew was that you needed more than what he was giving you right now. the man above you seemed to have read you like an open book once again as he released one of your thoughts to reach a hand around to your sensitive bud, pressing down on it softly. “see this?” he murmured, only receiving a small “hm.” in acknowledgement as omi continued his assault on your little hole. greedy fuck. “try touching her here. she loves that shit.” you cried out for more again, clenching tightly at the way he spoke of your body as if you weren’t even there.

the second sakusa tore himself away from your folds to wrap his lips around your clit, you were a goner for sure. there was a distant scream that you didn’t even recognize as your own until kuroo muffled them with his hand, body twitching and jerking more than it had the previous time. the room fell to a sudden silence even as you came down from your high, causing you to let out a confused hum.

kuroo’s chuckle broke the quietness, his large hand slapping your wet overstimulated mound and making you yelp. “didn’t know you were a squirter, baby. how come you didn’t do this for us the first time hm?” another rhetorical question. his hand trailed down lower, collecting some of your juices before he began to prod a finger at your other hole. “fuck- gonna let me bury myself in here again? want both of your holes fucked out?” and you couldn’t help but cry out because fuck yes! you couldn’t think of anything you’d want more. you nodded your head and panted like a sex craved mutt, and perhaps you would’ve been as humiliated as you were before if you weren’t so damn thirsty for it. every inch of you was begging to be ravished and destroyed, and you couldn’t help but grow more and more impatient as the time passed.

kuroo didn’t take his eyes off of you as he nodded towards the crowd once again, sakusa taking the hint and reluctantly scurrying off to palm at himself through his sweatpants just as he previously had. kuroo’s command must’ve been unclear though, as both of you were pulled away from your eye contact at the sound of a comical bonk followed by two grunts of “ow.” perhaps you would’ve laughed if the two aforementioned fools weren’t kneeling in front of your drenched pussy, ready to service you eagerly just as the other two had.

a chill ran up your spine as you surveyed each of their features. while both of them shared the same underlying expressions of lust and desperation, you couldn’t help but note how bokuto’s face resembled one of an excited puppy dog that perhaps would’ve been adorable in another circumstance while terushima’s was much more primal. “look at that” kuroo’s voice in your ear dragged you back out of your own head as he slowly sunk another finger into your tight ass. just because he was going to treat you like a whore didn’t mean you didn’t deserve prep. “making a fool out of themselves, all because they’re so desperate to get a taste of that perfect pussy. doesn’t that make you feel filthy?”

kuroo couldn’t do anything but shake his head at your lack of response, finally releasing your thighs for a moment to grab at both of their napes, silently demanding for you to hold them open yourself. “well? since you’re both so impatient, think you two can work together as a team? if i hear her complain even one time, i’m not letting either of you touch again.”

the two of them nodded obediently, and your eyes nearly rolled back at how demanding kuroo was being right now. it was clear that everyone knew who was truly holding the ropes here, and yet no one was complaining about the arrangement. seemingly satisfied with their responses, kuroo released their necks and his hands smacked yours away so he could replace them and hold up your thighs himself once again. “think you’re ready to take my cock now in here, y/n?” he smirked as he lined himself up. “gonna let me fuck this ass while you let both of them eat that slutty pussy? such a dirty girl. so fuckin’ good for us” he continued to spew filth at you as he lined himself up at your entrance, allowing you to sink down slowly.

you hissed at the stretch, but of course didn’t have much time to focus on the sensation because bokuto and terushima had finally decided that they’d been waiting for long enough. they worked diligently, the cool metal of teru’s tongue piercing flicking against your bud while bokuto slurped on your juices so loudly that the sound filled the room in the most embarrassing way possible.

yeah. you were in for it tonight.

sorry for mistakes or inconsistencie. requests for bnha and haikyuu are open.

[katsuflossy]

BeatBox/Junebugg Challenge

Pairings: Shouto Todoroki x reader, Kastuki Bakugou x reader, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Eijirou Kirishima x reader, Hanta Sero x reader, Denki Kaminari x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Tenya Iida x reader.

TW: just the regular obscenities

A/n: IK y’all may not know this trend but it’s funny af so this is the beatbox/junebugg challenge (sound by SpotemGottem) and yeah I hope y’all like my lil hc of the s/o doing it with the boys 💖💖

Taglist: @eharmonythotbot @lilsparkyswife @teddybearrx @angiebug101 @sesshomaruwaifu @blackweebtrash @minajkatsuki @cyans-bliss @myhoodacademia @mypimpademia @melanimed @peach-child @zombie-kun @xx-opaqued-xx @sunshineszn @prettybitch-ki @tsukkisukkii

🧊 He has the most aesthetically pleasing tiktok

🧊 There’s slime videos, drawing videos with lofi music in the back, your basic encouraging quotes

🧊 Who needs therapy when you got Shouto’s fyp? /j

🧊 He may be a lil...offbeat in your dance videos but he still tries. Thankfully this was an easy one to learn.

🧊 He out here thinking he got it until you buck at him.

🧊 You think he finna take that shit? He’s gonna buck TF back, on reflex, and scare the fuck out of you.

🧊 Immediately goes into protective boyfriend mode after seeing you flinch hard. You should expect a tight hug; he’s rubbing your back while the whole clip rolling.

🧊 “Love, I’m sorry but why did you move to hit me? I didn’t mean to scare you I’m sorry.”

🧊 “Baby, It’s okay that was the challenge.”

🧊 “Yes, but you looked so scared and it was my fault,” he wraps his arms tighter around you so you’re snuggled safely into his chest.

🧊 Post it with captions of what he said during the video and see all the comments talm bout “⚠️‼️WARNING‼️HAPPY COUPLE⚠️”

💥 It’s known Bakugou knows no fucking challenge on that app.

💥 Except for that buss it challenge. He’s keeping tabs on yo ass.

💥 His fyp is comprised of prisontok (thank mtha for this), mortalkombat edits, and recommendations for shoujo mangas DC comics.

💥 He already knows the drill, you teach him the dance, he does it with no care, you post it.

💥 This one is fairly easy… until you attempt to press him

💥 He runs up on you, chest puffed up, arms tense and hanging straight. That intimidation stance.

💥 “What you tryna do? We can tussle right now wassup.” Now you gotta deal with him pressing you as you finish the dance.

💥 When he realizes you’re laughing, he just sucks his teeth before lightly pushing you.

💥 “Why am I even dating you?”

💥 The biggest tsundere simp on the earth.

💥 He loves you so much but you always test him.

🥦 Umm All Might edits runs his fyp.

🥦 The occasional analytic reports on recent and past villain attacks are there too.

🥦 Only gets a smidge of alt tiktok so it ain’t that boring.

🥦 Doesn’t know the dance either but he’ll do it just for you <3

🥦 Never expects you to fucking buck at him tho.

🥦 Mans flinch mad hard omg.

🥦 He removes his hands from his face when he hears you laugh and continue the dance.

🥦 Now he stopped, looking at you with the saddest puppy eyes.

🥦 “Why did you flinch at me baby?” He’s just standing in the frame all pouty and shit.

🥦 “Prince(ss), please don’t do that again. You honestly scared me.” He walks off in the middle of the video, his fluffy duck house slippers squeaking with every step.

🥦 Go say you’re sorry right now 🧍🏽‍♀️

⛑ Crimson Riot edits duhh

⛑ But it’s a mixture of Bakugou’s and Todoroki’s with a sprinkle of popular dances down his stream.

⛑ Has Ski Mask edits as well

⛑ Still, he doesn’t know the dance at all

⛑ Baby boy is so sweet cause the second you buck at him...he just plants one straight on your lips thinking you went in for a kiss.

⛑ Shocked, bamboozled, frozen, he really kissed you as you tried to buck him?

⛑ Mans continued the dance like you’re not wide-mouthed behind him.

⛑ “Bro, I know you did not just kiss me when I tried to buck you.” The whole badman vibes just dissipate from the air, he smiling at you like it was cool.

⛑ “Babe,” he whined. “I thought you just wanted a smooch.”

⛑ Seeing you mad, he just grabs you up and launches more kisses on your face.

⛑ You tried to look hard for the video only for him to soften you up quickly.

⛑ At least you got cuddles after.

🩹 His tiktok is filled with funny ass videos

🩹 They always come up on his fyp before going famous. Hence why his comments be having 30k likes (they funny as well)

🩹 Has the best cooking tutorials in his favorites that he makes to impress you.

🩹 Already knows the dance so you don’t need to teach him.

🩹 Y’all both tried to press each other with giant smiles on your faces before starting a round of play fighting.

🩹 “Can’t fuck with you no mo.” He turns to you before continuing the dance.

🩹 Alternating lyrics and shii...being the baddest couple to step in the game.

🩹 He wraps his arms around you before throwing peace signs to the camera at the end.

🩹 The coolest boyfriend award goes to this king.

⚡️ How...how is he in every part of tiktok

⚡️ Straightok, alt tiktok, beantok, frogtok. You describe to him the video and he either knows it or he can find it in seconds.

⚡️ If Pandora’s Box opened and escaped into somebody’s account, it would most likely be Denki’s.

⚡️ He did the challenge with Bakugou before but it ended in flames...but he won’t decline to do it wit you

⚡️ Why y’all buck each other and ended up hitting your foreheads?

⚡️ Spent the rest of the video rubbing your forehead while Denki laughing.

⚡️ “Why tf your shit so hard? Built like damn cement” you glared at him as he laughed even harder.

⚡️ “I shock my own brain everyday. I think my skull hardened as a result”

⚡️ The next day, you’re seen walking around with your forehead on swole.

⚡️ On the bright side, you get forehead kisses every 5 minutes.

🔮 There ain’t no Eraserhead edits so he makes them himself.

🔮 All his fyp got some led light show going on. Every. Fucking. Video.

🔮 But they’re all good vibes, great music, and nice ass comment section

🔮 Occasional gaming videos come up because he follows some twitch streamers on there

🔮 Doesn’t know the beatbox/junebugg challenge. You woke him out of bed to do it.

🔮 You’re vibing in the video before you buck at him.

🔮 He didn’t budge. He stopped doing the dance altogether to stand up and just glare you down.

🔮 He out here in his cow print moo moo pants and you do this shit to him?

🔮 Now you’re nervous, flickering your eyes to him as you continued the video dancing.

🔮 The minute the sound ends he stalks off back to bed. Using all the sheets to cover him.

🔮 Have fun sleeping in the cold. Just kidding, he can’t sleep without cuddling you but just remember he is mad.

👓 ...you think he knows tiktok?

👓 Thought it was slang for the actual clock app.

👓 Got it to see what the hype was about but doesn’t even bother to make an actual account.

👓 It’s really just the generic shit on there.

👓 So he’s excited to do a dance with you even though he only knows the tinman.

👓 Umm...failed to do the actual dance. It gives 60-year-old white man on a tropical cruise.

👓 And then you buck at him.

👓 All movements stop. He justs staring at you, his glasses hiding his actual eyes.

👓 The air around you feels real cold. Your premonition telling you to electric slide out of the room but nah, you continue to dance. The man, who tried to commit murder at the age of 16, just staring at you stoned face.

👓 The second he opened his mouth, you DIPPED out of the room, leaving your phone running and Iida just standing confused.

👓 Turns out, he wasn’t trying to end your bloodline, he was just confused if that was a dance step he missed.

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter One}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara's blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby's Masterlist

Tara's Masterlist

5 years later….

Nyx looked at his birthday cake and the lone candle that was lit atop the icing before looking up at Feyre with a confused expression on his beautiful, little face.

His mother laughed, quietly, before leaning forward and taking out the candle. She had just blown out the flame when Rhys barely pushed the cake closer to Nyx, who put his chubby, little hands smack-dab in the middle of the icing and dug in.

Everyone had come to celebrate, and even Nesta couldn’t stop her smile from showing. At least, she let it show when she was on the opposite end of the house from the one and only, and massively self-centered, Cassian Nazari.

Of course, he would be at Nyx’s first birthday party. He was Nyx’s uncle - maybe not by blood, not that blood mattered when it came to Cassian, Rhysand, and their other lifelong friend, Azriel.

He, too, stood across the kitchen, watching as Elain snapped picture after picture of the jubilant baby, the mess atop his high chair the largest Nesta had ever seen. She knew Elain was taking notes for their own daughter’s birthday party, though she was barely three months old.

Rhysand’s smile was as big as Feyre’s as they watched their son, listening as his giggles filled the kitchen. Nyx realized quickly that the cake was for him alone and after smashing it for a few moments, he lifted a large handful to his chubby face and took a bite. His eyes lit up and that started the giggling anew.

Nesta loved her nephew and niece, had loved him since the day they were born, but she didn’t envy her sisters and their happy families. Unlike them, she had remained perfectly content on her own, especially after the endless string of disaster dates she had been forced to sit through throughout the years.

And children? It wasn’t that Nesta disliked kids. Not all kids, at least. She loved her nephew and niece, anyway. Having one of her own, though? Having to be around one every day? Every night? Having to constantly try and make a tiny person content?

No, thank you. That was a challenge she had little interest in.

A deep rumbling laugh came from across the house and Nesta looked up to find Cassian entering the kitchen, still chuckling at something Mor had said.

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep her lip from curling slightly as she looked at him. It only infuriated her more when he caught sight of her as he raised his beer to his lips and winked.

He was absolutely insufferable.

After their catastrophe of a date years ago, which Nesta had made Feyre promise was a stunt she’d never pull again, she had only been forced to be around Cassian Nazari a handful of times.

One of which was during Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, only months after their date.

“You only have to walk with him for thirty seconds,” Feyre had sighed, while Mor continued to pin and curl her hair into place. “You don’t have to be happy about it.”

“Good,” Nesta said, draining the glass of champagne in her hand. “Because I’m not.”

As Feyre’s maid-of-honor, it was customary that she was supposed to walk out of the wedding arm in arm with Rhysand’s best man. She wished that he’d picked Azriel, but since it seemed the Cauldron hated her, it had to be Cassian.

Elain, who was harboring the world’s most obvious crush on Azriel at the time, was thrilled with how they’d be exiting the wedding. Nevertheless, she said to Nesta, “I think you two got off on the wrong foot. He’s a really good guy, Nes.”

Nesta shot her youngest sister a look of pure annoyance through the mirror’s reflection. “Have any of you ever been on a date with the guy? And not only a date, but the worst date of your life?”

Feyre snorted, fully aware of where this conversation was headed. “No.”

“Then you have no room to talk,” Nesta snapped, admiring herself in the mirror. “Mother’s tits, Feyre, he wore jeans to the nicest restaurant in Velaris!”

“At least he didn’t wear his boots,” Mor muttered, then she caught Nesta’s glare in the mirror. “Really? He wore his boots?”

“He was dressed for an all-night, summer bonfire,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “And he’s completely full of himself. And, he forgot his wallet!”

“Not like you can’t afford dinner,” Feyre said, and Nesta’s lips snapped shut. She was fully aware that the conversation had somehow become a let’s-pick-on-Nesta session.

Feyre added, “You have to walk back down the aisle with him, share an entire table during dinner, and that’s it. No one is asking you to dance with him, but be nice.” Nesta met Feyre’s eyes, her jaw set. Feyre sighed, “Fine, be civil.”

She scoffed, but nodded. “Fine.”

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch. It was beautiful and elegant and the perfect wedding Rhys and Feyre had always wanted.

She ignored Cassian’s unending looks the whole night, managed to give her maid-of-honor speech without snarling at him, and after that, took advantage of the open bar her sister and new brother had so kindly provided.

She was coming out of the bathroom, a glass of wine still clutched in her hand, doing her best not to trip over her own feet when she walked into a wall.

A wall of solid muscle that turned out to be Cassian’s back.

When he turned around and she looked up at him, his eyes were nearly as glazed as hers.

“Hello, Nes,” he said, smirking down at her.

She bit out, “Don’t call me that.”

“That was a pretty, little speech you gave,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I know true love exists cause I’ve seen it first hand. Poetic.”

Nesta scoffed, brushing off the skirt of her dress as if he had tainted it. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t referring to you. I was talking about Feyre and Rhys, in case you thought otherwise.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” he promised. “Honestly, I didn’t think you were talking about anyone. Just some fluffy shit that sounded sweet. Unless it’s that guy that showed up at the restaurant and ruined our date. Oh, wait,” he began, tapping his chin as if in deep thought, “You dumped him though, right? Poor bastard.”

“You’re a prick,” Nesta bit out. She refrained from saying that Tomas hadn’t ruined their date. It was sad that seeing her ex was one the bright points of her night, rather than seeing the Greek god standing before her. The pretentious, cocky asshole of a Greek god.

He only grinned. “But am I a liar?”

Nesta’s jaw locked. She eyed his tux. “I’m just glad you decided to clean up for your own brother’s wedding. No jeans?”

He scoffed. “Is that the worst you’ve got?”

“Do you prefer me to give you my worst?” she asked, brows furrowing. “If so, you may want to be careful what you wish for.”

Cassian said nothing, just lifted the beer she hadn’t noticed in his hands to his lips.

Nesta rolled her eyes, brushing past him, and made a move to head back into the reception.

His voice called out behind her, “You don’t have to be such a miserable bitch, you know?”

She froze, looking back at him. He was no longer smirking at her. Instead, his eyes were intense. “Excuse you?”

“You’re so miserable that you won’t allow anyone else to have any fun, won’t allow yourself to either,” he said, still leaning against that damn wall. He crossed his arms over his muscular chest, his dress shirt tight and loose in all the right places. “You want everyone else to suffer, just because you’re forcing yourself to, for whatever reason.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she bit out, stalking back over to him. She was so close she had to look up into his face.

“I don’t,” he said, words clipped. “I tried, but you didn’t seem very inclined to let me get to know you during our date. You were more concerned with my attire and your ex than you were with me. You thought all I wanted to do was fuck you.” His eyes, still glassy and glazed, dragged down her body and back up again. “Besides, you’ve got that damn stick shoved so far up your ass, there wouldn’t have been room for my cock even if I’d really even tried.”

A blink was Nesta’s only reaction. Then her hand was moving of its own accord, splashing her full glass of wine directly in his face and all over that pretty, white shirt.

“Go fuck yourself,” was all she’d said before she walked back into the ceremony, leaving him there to drip on the venue’s fancy carpet.

“Nesta!”

She blinked, Feyre’s voice drawing Nesta out of her memories, looking over at her sister. She stood next to Rhys and Elain, who had her camera in her hands, and Cassian stood behind Nyx’s high chair.

“I want a picture of him with his godparents, come here,” she beamed and Nesta tried not to cringe.

She had been so proud, her heart feeling like it would burst when Feyre and Rhys had asked her to be Nyx’s godmother. There was no hesitation when she said yes, tears lining her eyes as she’d hugged both her sister and brother-in-law.

She tried not to think about the fact that when they’d told her Cassian was his godfather, she nearly asked them to give the distinction to Elain.

But she hadn’t, wouldn’t. Despite what others, especially Cassian, thought of her… Nesta loved her nephew.

She loved her family.

With a sigh, Nesta meandered over to Nyx’s high chair. “Alright.”

“Closer,” Feyre ordered, gesturing Nesta to move in closer beside Cassian behind the high chair.

Nesta’s lips pursed but she took another step toward the boys for her sister’s sake.

“I’m not poisonous, Nesta,” Cassian muttered, smiling at the camera as he spoke. “You won’t burst into flames if we brush arms.”

“You’d be so lucky to brush arms with me,” she muttered back, hoping the smile she was giving her sister was convincing - and knowing full well that it wasn’t.

Without another word, Cassian tossed his arm around Nesta and said, “Cheeeeese!”

Nyx was giggling, looking up at his godparents behind him. There was so much joy and adoration in those big, beautiful eyes that Nesta didn’t have the heart to storm off, leaving Cassian in her dust, no matter how much she wanted to.

The camera’s flash went off and Nesta pushed Cassian’s arm off her shoulder.

The rest of the party was perfect. Feyre took Nyx up to the bathroom to clean him off, while Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian hauled his many gifts out into the living room. Feyre opened them one by one, despite everyone knowing Nyx had no clue what was going on, though he did clap his chubby little hands and giggle at a few particular items. Nesta stood off to the side with Elain, holding a milk-drunk, sleepy Seph in her arms.

Azriel and Elain’s little girl had been a surprise, neither of them planning on Elain getting pregnant so soon after they got married. They both fell into the role of parents so seamlessly though, that Nesta knew another baby would be in their near future. They adored the baby girl, and she was the most perfect baby Nesta had ever seen.

Persephone hardly cried, only doing so when she was hungry or needed to be changed, and once whatever wrong was taken care of, she became a happy, smiley baby again.

Nyx, on the other hand, had been a hellion as a baby.

Which was to be expected, considering who his father was. Although responsible when necessary, Rhysand was just as much of a madman as Cassian...especially when infused with alcohol.

“You look good with a baby,” Elain crooned from beside her sister.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You can keep trying to push me down the marriage-baby road, but I just won’t take it. Wasting your time.”

Elain sighed, dramatically, with that little grin remaining on her soft pink lips. “As long as you stay such a good auntie, I suppose I can’t complain.”

Nesta looked down at the sweet, sleeping infant in her arms. She didn’t mind those little snuggles.

She did mind the diaper blowouts, constant spit-ups, and loud crying, though. That’s usually when she gave Seph back to her parents and blissfully enjoyed her independent life.

Feyre gasped and Nesta looked up. She was holding a little guitar that had Nyx’s name and the night sky engraved into the dark-stained wood.

Nesta’s eyes snapped to Cassian.

Cassian smiled, fondly, at Feyre. “I know he won’t be able to start messing with it for another few years, but I couldn't help myself.”

“He made that himself, you know.” Nesta’s eyes shot to Elain, who was watching the scene before them. She whispered again, “He doesn’t do it for a living, of course, but it’s a hobby of his, making guitars. He’s really good.”

She blinked, the information catching her off guard for whatever reason. But all she said was, “That’s nice.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon, ignoring the man as much as she could, as she always did. But as the guests began to dwindle, as Nyx and Seph went down for their naps, the three sisters gathered in the living room, while Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian went out back to inspect the small jungle gym Rhys was building for Nyx. Again, he was too young to use most of it, but the tiny swing and slide would be hours of fun for the little man.

Feyre brought two cups of coffee out to her sisters before collapsing next to Elain on the couch. “That could not have gone better if we tried.”

Nesta leveled her a look and raised an eyebrow.. “If we tried? You had a minute-by-minute itinerary for a one-year-old’s birthday.”

“Everything was perfect,” Elain smiled, cutting off Nesta, blowing on her coffee gently. “Nyx had a good time, neither he nor Seph had a blow-up, Cassian and Nesta managed to be in the same room without stabbing each other. All in all, a good day.”

Nesta rolled her eyes before throwing a vulgar gesture towards her sisters, who were both laughing.

“Fine, new subject,” Feyre grinned. “Oh! Before I forget, Rhys and I are going out of town for our anniversary in a few weeks. I was hoping you could watch Nyx for a few days.”

It took Nesta a moment to realize that Feyre was talking to her. She froze, having been blowing on her own hot coffee. “I’m sorry, what?”

Feyre laughed, quietly. “I was hoping that you could watch Nyx while Rhys and I go away for a long weekend. We’re going to the mountains for our anniversary. To his family’s cabin.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Elain said, looking at Nesta.

Who blinked, having only unfrozen to set her coffee down on the table between them. “You want me…to watch Nyx…for the weekend? Alone? By myself? Just me and him?”

“That’s what I was hoping for, yeah,” Feyre said, nodding as she sipped from her cup. “You can come here, where all of his stuff is in one place, and make yourself at home.” She shrugged. “I’ll leave money for takeout and the key to the wine cabinet.”

Nesta hesitated. “I’ve only babysat Nyx a couple of times…all for, like, an hour each.”

“It will be fine,” she said, a genuine smile on her face. “It will only be three nights, really. We’ll leave after work on Thursday and be home Sunday evening.”

Nesta stammered and shook her head. “I have to work on Friday, the restaurant-.”

“I’ll keep him during the day on Friday,” Elain offered. “I don’t have any shoots that day, so he can spend the day with me and Seph.”

“You could keep him the whole weekend,” Nesta tried, looking at her younger sister hopefully.

“Seph is enough of a handful,” she chuckled, glancing at Feyre, who was nodding as well. “I don’t think I can handle two at once for an entire weekend.”

“Please, Nes,” Feyre said, drawing her eldest sister’s eyes to her. “I know you can do it and it would be nice for you to spend some time together, just you two.”

“And you can call me, if you need anything,” Elain added.

Nesta looked from Feyre to Elain. “You two already planned this.” They at least had the wherewithal to look guilty. She sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Fine. But I’ll probably end up calling both of you every thirty seconds.”

“I can work with that,” Feyre said, just as Elain said, “Then it’s settled!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “But, I hope you know that I wouldn’t do this for anybody else.”

“Oh, I know,” Feyre grinned, “which is what makes you such a wonderful, wonderful big sister.”

“I am pretty damn wonderful,” Nesta agreed, grinning as she sipped from her mug.

As she drank, she peeked out the window, where the boys were putting together the playset. Once she did, only one thing caught her eye.

Cassian was already watching her.

And when he caught her gaze, that stupid little, cocky-ass grin appeared.

She hated that grin, hated it with every ounce of her being.

And she wouldn’t feel bad for it, no matter how much her sisters adored the guy.

She hated him, hated Cassian Nazari.

And she always would.

[dumdumsun]

And Dusk

A/N: Just a heads up, the sensitive content in this chapter will be marked "<<<<<<" as the beginning and ">>>>>>" to signify the end. The racial slurs used in this chapter were targeted towards African Americans (and still are) and I chose these because I, myself, am African American and used them as a sort of “default” for any POC readers. ⚠️Please, never use these towards anyone. Whether it be in a “joking” manner or not. They are hurtful and were created to be that way⚠️ I wrote this chapter the way I did to bring awareness. Proceed with caution. Much love ❤️

Warnings: ⚠️racial slurs⚠️, violence, mentions of guns and dying/death

Word Count: 3707

—————————————

Chapter 3: The Frankel Footage

Shaking himself out of his shock, Five stood from his seat and hurried after his brother, grabbing onto his arm and stopping his strides. “The hell is wrong with you, Luther? I just told you the world’s gonna end in ten days!”

“Yeah, well, you’re always saying that.” Luther nonchalantly spoke before moving away, but Five intervened yet again.

“And so far, I’ve been right.” He hissed as Luther sighed and shook his head.

“Look, you want to go save the world? Knock yourself out, alright? I already got a job.”

“Wait, you work in this shithole?” The boy furrowed his brows.

“Yeah. Well, my boss owns the place,” Luther only received a nod from his brother, so he clarified. “I’m his body man.”

But this only made Five even more confused. “What’s that? Like, a masseuse or something?”

“Okay, you can make fun all you want, but I take good care of Mr Ruby.”

“Wait, Ruby. The Jack Ruby? The gangster who shot Oswald.”

Despite Five’s concern, Luther proudly smiled a smug smile as he glanced over at his boss. “Yeah. The one and only.”

“Well, it finally happened,” Five sighed. “That gorilla DNA has finally taken over your mind-”

“Hey, watch it, alright? Jack’s a good friend-”

“And you’re Number One. Numero Uno. Remember?”

Luther clenched his jaw and shook his head. “There is no Number One. Not anymore. Not in 1963,” When Five stared at him in disbelief, Luther sighed again. “Look, I’ve been stranded here alone for a year. What did you expect?”

Five scoffed. “I get it, alright? You watched Pogo die, the world exploded, and I marooned your big dumb ass in time. I’m sorry, okay? But I’m asking for your help, Luther. The Umbrella Academy needs you.”

“It doesn’t need me,” He slowly spoke to draw out his words. “It never did.”

“Luther, honey,” The waitress from earlier approached the two. “Jack’s about to lose it on some half-wit. A little help?”

“Ah, shit,” He groaned and began walking away. When Five tried yet again to stop him, he whirled on him, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Listen. You’re the genius who said we should jump, right? You’re the one who got us stuck here. And you’re the one who brought Vanya. So, if there is a doomsday coming, she’s probably the cause. And if I was gonna do something about it, it sure as hell is not gonna be with you. That’s (Y/N)’s job, being dragged around into your messes-”

“I don’t drag her into anything.” Five swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah? Well, she wasn’t stuck as a thirteen-year-old and constantly worrying about her kids until you showed up. I’m surprised she isn’t sick of you yet.” And with that, he stomped away to his boss. This time, Five let him go, his words sending a pang through his chest as he thought back on it. Grabbing his drink, he sighed and shook his head.

“Dad should’ve left him on the moon…” He muttered, taking a sip of his drink before moving to leave his seat. When he felt his jacket snag on something, he looked down to see an object in his pocket. Taking out the tape, he frowned and turned it over.

Date: 11/22/63

Subject: FRANKEL FOOTAGE

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

This world was unfamiliar to (Y/N). She knew she had to have been somewhere in America, but she didn’t know where. The cars, fashion and stores bringing the street she walked to life told her she had to have been in the sixties. But she didn’t want to believe it. Surely Five hadn’t time travelled that far? She had to have been dropped during some type of sixties-theme festival. But the voices suddenly beside her quickly prove her doubts wrong.

“What do we have here?”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lost little colored girl.”

Tensing, (Y/N) continued her way down the sidewalk, slightly speeding up her pace, but the men fell into step beside her with ease, flanking her sides.

“You’re on the wrong side of town, girl.”

“Yeah, we don’t like coons around here.” One of them hissed right in her ear. Her eyes welled up with tears before the other shoved her forward.

“Gon now, get!” He ordered as if she were a dog. She realized that’s how they had seen her. An animal. Nothing more. Tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, she fell to the ground, smacking her face on the concrete. She choked out a sob as the two men cackled. And to make matters even worse, she felt the pitter patter of raindrops start to freeze her skin.

(Y/N) gasped out in shock when the men spit two wads of saliva in her face. She knew she must’ve looked a mess with spit and tears sliding down her cheeks and blood oozing from her nose. She hiccupped on her sobs and began to stand, much too tired from her previous fight with Vanya and literally being dropped from the sky to successfully do so. The men backed her up against a wall and one fisted the front of her vest before a voice called out.

“Take your hands off of my child!” Whipping around, the men were half expecting to find another target, but (Y/N) coughed and sputtered nonsense upon the person her gaze fell upon.

“M-Mom…?”

Before her was Grace, but… she wasn’t robotic in any sense. She could tell by the raw anger etched into her features. She took a brave step forward. “I said. Take your hands. Off my child.”

And that was another thing: her accent. (Y/N) was immediately comforted by the stern southern accent the woman shared with her attackers. It was a voice she never thought she needed. The two looked between Grace and (Y/N) with smirks. “You mean this lil ol’ jigaboo-”

“Is my daughter. Now you let her go before I call the police.”

“Woman, I don’t care if you call the police-”

Grace took it upon herself to step closer and grab the child by her arms, yanking her into her warm embrace. (Y/N) immediately latched onto her, quivering in her hold. The men scoffed and shook their heads, beginning to walk away. “Make sure to keep that thing on a leash if you’re gonna have it out, ma’am.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She growled before turning and walking back in the direction the girl came from. As they walked past the alleyway, Grace took out a handkerchief and began wiping the girl’s face clean of what the raindrops hadn’t already washed away. “It’s alright, hun, they aren’t gonna hurt you anymore.”

“T-Thank you.” (Y/N) sobbed and gently held her nose in pain. Grace crouched in front of her and gently held her face in between her hands.

“Don’t thank me, darlin’, it’s how everyone should be treatin’ you ‘round here… Where are your parents? I could take you to ‘em.”

(Y/N) thought for a long moment, watching as the rain soaked Grace’s hair and clothing. The woman didn’t seem to mind as she watched the girl before her swallowing thickly. (Y/N) skimmed over her current choices. She didn’t have any choice.

“I don’t have parents. I-I don’t remember them…”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“I’m tellin’ you, Reggie, she’s highly intelligent for a child her age.” Grace proudly presented (Y/N) to the man she had grown fond of over their time working together. (Y/N), however, was frozen in her spot. Sir Reginald Hargreeves. The man whose death she had wished upon for years, whose death had finally graced her existence, was back in her life. She flinched at the disapproving look on his face, much too acquainted with it by this point in her life. “And she’s very respectful. Talented, too, this girl can speak several languages.”

“You seem rather fond of this child.” The man observed as Grace squeezed her into her side.

“She’s my pride and joy.”

“And you cannot remember anything of your past, child?”

“N-No,” (Y/N) shook her head and stared down. “Not a lot. J-Just my name and birthday.”

Reginald hummed and stared her down with an unreadable expression. When she met his eyes again, he was crouched down to her level, his monocle clutched in his fist. “(Y/N), was it?”

“Yes.”

“It would be an honor to have your presence within my home, along with your mother.”

“O-Oh, that’s okay-”

“I insist. Besides, you have been living with her for almost half a year, correct? It is highly unlikely that she will share a home without you.”

“He’s right about that, hun,” (Y/N) glanced up at Grace, who was smiling warmly at her. “I’m not leavin’ you.”

(Y/N) could have cried.

And she did.

One year later, (Y/N) had been living quite the comfortable life with Grace and Reginald. She had been introduced to the ape, Pogo, for the second time since Grace first started working with him. As much as she loved being around the chimp, it brought back so many memories. She almost felt silly, looking after him sometimes knowing he had done the same for her in the original timeline.

Her relationship with Reginald was nothing she ever expected. He was gentle, well as gentle as Reginald Hargreeves could get, he cared for her, spoiled her, even. She wouldn’t have to ask for anything half the time. If he were to overhear a conversation between her and Grace about a dress she oh-so wanted, it would suddenly be laid out on her bed the next day. She usually had a say in dinner meals every Thursday and Sunday and Reginald listened intently whenever she would voice any discomfort or concerns with her living conditions. (Y/N) never had a real father, but she assumed this is what it was like to have one. She never wanted to let go of it.

For her birthday in 1963, she was surprised that he had actually gotten her a present. As she entered the parlor, she was met with the tiniest bark and an even tinier golden retriever, bounding up to her. She gasped and stopped low, letting him jump into her arms. She let him lick her face and giggled in the joy it brought her.

“Your mother said you would like it. Though I would never allow dogs in my house, I have come to understand that there are rules I must bend for you, my child.”

(Y/N) turned to her father. Yes, father. Reginald, also growing quite fond of their father-daughter bond formed between them, decided to adopt the girl. As much as his beliefs and his deep distaste for children protested. There was just something about this child. Or perhaps it was Grace’s insisting, reassuring him that he would make a wonderful father. (Y/N) was very hesitant at first for her own reasons she never shared, but eventually came around to the idea of being his daughter again.

This was the same Reginald Hargreeves who locked her in a dark room for five days straight, but also an entirely different man. Perhaps it was her fascination with the differences, or maybe she just wanted a real father for once.

“Thank you, Dad.” She softly smiled, the man nodding in response.

“But this is your pet, (Y/N). It is your responsibility. I will not find it in my study, in my bedroom, you are to train it yourself-”

“Can you-”

“And no, I will not help you pick out its name.”

The girl softly groaned and looked back down at her new puppy. Looking into its eyes, she smiled softly at a distant memory as a small child.

“Welcome to the family, Mr Pennycrumb.”

-------------------------------------------------

(Y/N) groaned when she felt the sunbeams of the early morning sunrise hit her eyelids, coloring her black vision with the stinging fire of orange. Rolling onto her other side, she stretched her blanket over her head. They were yanked away the next second, causing a whine to leave her lips. “Mom… Five more minutes.”

“I let you sleep in long enough, hun, it’s time to get up. You have a date with Preston this afternoon.” Grace gently pulled her daughter to sit up, giggling quietly at her look of disgust.

“Preston? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, let’s get goin’.” Grace patted her leg and walked to her door, waiting patiently. (Y/N) sighed and rubbed her face, letting her feet slide into her slippers. As they descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast, Reginald could hear his daughter’s sleepy complaining from his place at the table.

Setting his utensils down, he turned his head in their direction. “My child, how many times throughout each week must we have to repeat this conversation?”

“Until it starts making sense.” (Y/N) stepped into the dining room, now in her robe, and crossed her arms over her chest. Reginald sighed and stood from his chair at the table.

“You are one of my greatest accomplishments,” He began towards her. “There is no doubt in my mind that you would make a fine successor. I do not believe you will need a husband. In fact, you would be better off without another individual holding you back from what you are truly capable of.”

“But?” She raised a brow.

“But… I have grown to know you more than I expected… and I know that you would need someone to help manage your finances you inherit once I am gone. Preston is a fine young man who was born into this life, made into this life. He will take good care of you.”

(Y/N) knew there was only one person in this world who would truly take good care of her. But he wasn’t here, and she needed to play the part as the amnesiac adopted daughter, so she huffed and nodded. “Fine… I’ll go…”

“Thank you-”

“But only if Mr Pennycrumb can go, too.”

“Very well, but you will not be gifted another animal if you lose it.”

The outing wasn’t entirely bad. (Y/N) didn’t mind the picnic or the art museum, it was the company that made her blood boil. Preston is anything she would have expected out of him. This had been their seventh date, tenth of the ones he planned. (Y/N) sought out any opportunity she could to cancel on him to save herself from the unbearable three hours she would have to spend with the kid. He was arrogant, smug, selfish, narcissistic, and overbearing. Of course, this was not the Preston he presented to her parents. No, to them, Preston was ‘a fine man with a bright future ahead of him’, or as Grace would put it, ‘a delight to have around’. He laughed like a drunk, talked like a husband, and smelled like a man. All at the age of fifteen. (Y/N) had to remind herself on several occasions that she was mentally the older out of the two and to not stoop to his level when he got under her skin.

“Don’t you think, (Y/N)?” The voice brought her attention back to the boy beside her. She looked up from the grass they had been strolling through. When she hummed in question, he amusedly scoffed and side-step closer to her. “Never mind. I should have known you wouldn’t have been interested in politics.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The girl raised a brow. At her confusion, he laughed and gently tapped the side of his head.

“You’ve always got that head of yours in the clouds. Or turned behind you- like right now.”

(Y/N) turned her head away from where she had been looking over her shoulder. “What? Sorry, Preston, I’m a little preoccupied today.”

“With what, exactly? You don’t seem to be the type of girl to have very many issues. Nothing to worry about.”

“And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.” She sighed as her puppy ran in between her legs, rolling in the grass once he was a few paces in front of them. Preston frowned in distaste and shook his head.

“You should really keep that thing on a leash, sweetheart.”

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth as she folded her hands behind her back. “Really now?”

“Really. You know, I’m not very fond of dogs, so I’m not sure how it’ll work out once we’re married. I think we should get one after we have kids, you know? Just so the kids could grow up with it.”

(Y/N) quickly turned her head to the left, pointing out across the street. “Preston, would you look at that?”

“Look at what?” He gullibly looked in the direction, (Y/N) quickly checking the area before almost silently singing her tune. From her shadow, her clone formed and robotically walked behind the two. She quickly switched spots with it and ordered the clone to walk with Preston before scooping her puppy into her arms and rushing off in the opposite direction. Once she was behind a diner far away from their date location, she let out a sigh and gently patted her dog on the head.

“Were you sick of it, too?” She chuckled. Resting the back of her head against the brick wall she leaned on, she let out a slow breath and began to relax. The sound of guns cocking had her head snapping up so fast, she swore she could have dislocated it. Just down the end of the line of stores were three white-haired men, one in a milkman uniform, training their guns on her. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second tucking her dog in front of her and spinning around, charging down the opposite direction as bullets whizzed past her. She dodged them the best she could, jumping a few feet in the air at the ones that threatened to take their place in her feet. It was like a dance; the twisting, spinning and jumping, and she was to perform this dance until one of those bullets killed her if she didn’t find a way out soon. Sliding to the side of a clothing store for cover, she gently shushed her pet as she caught her breath.

The three sets of footsteps eventually found their destination and rounded the corner with skilled quickness, shooting at the girl until she was nothing more than a bloodied corpse on the ground, bullet holes lodged in almost every inch of her body. The three men nodded to each other and turned around, making their way out from behind the stores.

(Y/N) had already been down the street from her house by the time her attackers found the clone in her place. She couldn’t have been bothered to check herself for any wounds, too worried about Mr Pennycrumb’s potential bullet wounds. But the pup was perfectly, happily nuzzling into her arms and wagging his tail. This left (Y/N) to ponder.

Who the hell were those men?

-------------------------------------------------

“Is it on?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? There’s an ‘on’ button. Just- There’s something over- that jigga-ma-thing, whatever.”

“I hit the jigga-ma-thing!”

“Okay, well, just- Give it to me. I know how to do this.”

“Alright, here, here. Hurry up.”

“Okay, alright, let’s see…”

Lila didn’t look up from her task of painting poor Elliott’s toenails, his bindings he received after threatening the trio with a gun preventing him from moving too much. Which was beneficial to her, as it kept her from ruining the paint job. She softly smiled as she listened to the argument between the elderly couple on the film Five and Diego were intently watching. “They’re so cute,” She commented. “I love old couples. I’m always so proud of them for not murdering each other.”

Ignoring her, Diego turned to his brother from his seat on Elliott’s counter. “Why are we watching this?”

“Shush.” Five replied, eyes trained on the film before him, searching for any clue to the approaching apocalypse, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Yeah, I… I’m Dan Frankel. And…”

“I’m Edna Frankel.”

“...Edna Frankel. We are in Dallas, Texas, to see the president. Today’s date is November 22, 1963.”

Five nodded as everyone’s attention was brought to the projected screen before them.

“That’s six days from now.” Lila spoke as Elliott thrashed about more against his bindings. Diego sat forward in interest.

“Holy shit. This is it. The grassy knoll. Kennedy’s about to get shot. How do you have this?”

“Hazel died to get me this footage,” Five answered. “It must be the key to stopping doomsday.”

“Hazel…?” Diego frowned, remembering the man he spent hours searching for and planning to kill to avenge the death of Eudora Patch.

“Long story.”

“What’s doomsday?” Lila looked up at the boy.

“Longer story.”

“What exactly did he say to you?” Diego asked as Lila turned her head back to the film.

Five shrugged. “Well, he was killed before he could explain. But whatever he wanted us to see, it’s on this film.”

“This is very exciting.” The old man smiled before the sound of gunshots and screaming could be heard, the camera moving around in blurs due to the shock of the old woman filming.

“Oh, my god!”

“Oswald…” Diego whispered, setting his knife down as Five leaned in closer.

“The president!”

When the camera was steadied to record across the street, Five and Diego both stiffened in their spots at what their eyes caught. “Oh, no…” Five breathed and moved behind the projector, rewinding the film and scooting the cart backwards to zoom in closer. The room was silent as Diego stood to his feet and Five rounded the cart before standing beside his brother, directly in front of the film. “This can’t be…”

“Okay, you gonna fill me in now, boys?” Lila glanced between the two. “What the hell is this shit we’re watching?”

But she was ignored yet again.

“No, that’s impossible…”

“Clearly, it’s not.”

“What… What is it?” Elliott muffled past the gag in his mouth.

A beat of silence went by before the two Hargreeves whispered in unison,

“Dad.”

—————————————

Taglist: @unfortu-nate-ly @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie @rhain3 @himikaphoo @zerocanonlywriteshit @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @isawachickeninatree

[arrowflier]

serotonin boost prompt whenever you find the time: gallavich date with secret smiles, sweet kisses and the handholding we all deserve ❤️❤️

"We're gonna miss it, Mickey," Ian says for at least the third time, eyes on the ever-ticking clock over their fireplace.  Mickey, kneeling on the floor in front of the worn sofa they had grabbed off a curb when they found out they had to get their own, just shrugs.  He picks out a bright red crayon to pass to Franny, who's laying on her stomach next to him scribbling on the back of an ad for the local co-op.

"Calm down, man," he tells Ian.  "She'll be here soon, can't do anything about a late train."

Ian sighs, leaning forward and rubbing his eyes.  "Since when do you stand up for Debbie?"

Mickey eyes him warily from the floor.  "Since it's not her fault," he answers, then asks, "Why you so worked up about it, anyway?  It's not a big deal."

He sounds honestly confused, and it only makes Ian more upset.  This was supposed to be their night.  Their one night, all week, to just do something nice together.  And Debbie had to come to them for last-minute babysitting while she went to an interview, then had to be late enough getting back to send all Ian's plans circling the drain.

He doesn't say any of that to Mickey.  "It's nothing," he mumbles instead, knowing it sounds unconvincing but not really caring at the moment.

Sure enough, Mickey's eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to reply, but gets interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Mommy!" Franny cries, jumping off the floor to race to the apartment door.  Mickey is slower to rise, grumbling about getting too old for sitting on the floor; if Ian we're in a better mood, he'd tease him for being perfectly fine with lying on it the other night.  Ian stays put, leaving Mickey to follow their niece with a concerned glance back at him.

Ian listens to Mickey opening the door, reminding Franny to let him do it, and greeting Debbie.  He knows if he followed, he'd say something about her tardiness, so he lets Mickey make his excuses and wave the two of them off.

He braces himself when he hears the door click closed again, and Mickey's footsteps come back around into the living room.

Mickey doesn't say anything about his sour mood.

"Kay, you ready?" he asks instead, grabbing his wallet from the crate temporarily serving as a coffee table.

Ian laughs humorlessly.

"I was ready an hour ago," he points out dryly.  "But we missed our reservation already, Mick, we're not going anywhere now."

Mickey frowns at him.  "Nah, fuck that, man," he says.  "This is our night, right?" he asks, and Ian would be lying if he said that didn't warm him up a little, hearing Mickey call it that.

"Yeah," he agrees, and Mickey nods decisively.

"Let's go then," he orders, gesturing to the door.  "I ain't givin' up on tonight that easy."

Ian can't help but grin, even as he asks, "go where?"

Mickey smirks, and slaps Ian on the ass when he gets up and walks past him.  Ian starts, twisting to look at him with wide eyes, and Mickey waggled his eyebrows just to make Ian laugh.

"You let me worry about that, tough guy."

--

They end up outside the restaurant they had picked out together, some weird new mexican fusion place that advertised world-class margaritas.  Mickey had gotten fond of the drink back in Mexico, and Ian figured it was something they could enjoy together.

"Mickey," he says as they get closer, " it took us two weeks to get in here, there's no way they held our table."

Mickey shakes his head.  "Gallagher, I'm disappointed in you," he says as he leads Ian to the door.  "Ain't conning you way into places your family's shtick?"

Ian just looks at him, brow furrowed, and Mickey rolls his eyes.

"Just hang back a sec, til I wave you over, alright?" he demands.  "Watch and fuckin' learn."

And he's off, through the crowd at the entrance and straight up to the podium at the front.  Ian can't hear what he says, but there are some wild gestures and hushed but tense words exchanged.  At one point, Mickey gets out his phone and taps at it impatiently, pretending to wait for a response before waving it in the host's face.

That bit seems to do the trick, and Ian is waved over, picking his way through the other waiting groups without looking any if them in the face.

When he gets to the front, Mickey is saying, " and you're lucky he didn't have to hear any of that 'overbooked' bullshit, he'd have your fuckin' job for that," before taking off into the restaurant with Ian trailing behind.

He stops at a booth toward the back, and gestures Ian in first, sliding into the bench on the other side.

"What did you do?" Ian hisses lowly, leaning across the table toward him.

Mickey grins, and taps their feet together, catching one of Ian's and drawing it back to his side. 

"Told 'em you were Ed Sheeran," he jokes.  He reaches under the table to grab Ian's leg, pulling his foot up to rest on Mickey's lap.  Ian has to lean back to make it comfortable, but the stroke of Mickey's thumb against the bone of his ankle is worth it.

"You did not," Ian pokes, but Mickey shrugs.

"Does it matter?" he asks quietly as a waiter approaches.  Ian pulls his leg back, aware of how they must look, but takes Mickey's hand over the table instead.

"Guess not," he accepts, squeezing Mickey's fingers and feeling the metal of his ring.  "Thanks," he adds, and Mickey's smile turns soft.

"Anytime," he murmurs, then grabs the menu to give his order.

--

"That was amazing," Ian groans an hour later, a stack of empty plates between them.  Mickey hums his agreement, taking a final bite of fried ice cream dessert before tossing his spoon down with a clatter.

"Fuck yeah it was," he says with a burp that has the couple at the nearest table eying them with distaste.  "Except the margaritas," he adds with a scowl, taking a long drag from the bottled beer they had quickly switched to.  "Too fuckin' sweet."

"Thought you liked 'em sweet," Ian teases, leaning closer, and Mickey licks his lips.

"Nah," he says slowly, "that's just how I like my men."  He winks, and Ian flushes immediately.

"Oh my God," he manages to squeak out, hands flat on the table.  "You did not just say that." 

Mickey laughs, open and free, and grabs Ian's hand again without prompting.

"The drinks were shit, though," he muses.  "Now that I think of it, maybe I was just drinkin' straight tequila down south."

It's Ian's turn to laugh--"only you, Mick"--and they're both grinning like fools when he stops.

"Ready to get outta here, Red?" Mickey murmurs, tilting his head toward the end of the booth.

"Sure, Mick," Ian agrees easily, then let's go if his husband's hand to fumble for his wallet.  "Let me just..."

"Hey, no," Mickey interrupts.  "They gave away our reservation, man, we ain't payin' for shit."

"What--Mickey!" Ian whispers, but Mickey is already up and moving quickly toward the back, where he catches the door to the kitchen before it closes behind a surprised waiter and slips inside.

With a muffled groan, Ian takes off after him.

He almost makes it, but before the door shuts behind him, he hears the host yelling, "Hey, you can't go in there!"

"Shit, shit, shit," Ian mutters, faced with at least one sous-chef staring at him across the bustling kitchen.  Before he has time to panic, though, Mickey is back at his side, grabbing his arm and pulling.

"This way, dipshit!" he hisses as they wind through counters and racks and boxes toward the door to the back alley.  "Should've known you'd get caught," he pants, out of breath, "it's the fuckin' hair, man, too bright."

"You like my hair," Ian offers stupidly.  Mickey stops long enough to make sure Ian sees him roll his eyes, and grabs a folded tablecloth and a bottle of something fancy from next to the door before he shoves it open with a hip and pulls Ian out into the cool night air.

Ian looks back for pursuit, but the kitchen workers couldn't care less.  One of them even salutes him with a bread knife, lips twitching, until the door closes and breaks their line of sight.

They run for a few blocks anyway, until Mickey tugs him into a different alley to catch their breaths.

"That was some date night," Ian pants, hands on knees and a wide grin on his face.

"Night ain't over yet," Mickey disagrees.  He pushes off the brick wall he had leaned against, motions back to the street with the arm not holding what he pilfered from the restaurant kitchen.  "C'mon, man, we got somewhere to be."

Then he's off again, albeit at a more sedate pace, and Ian laughs again as he follows.  He catches up with a few long strides and grabs Mickey's hand, letting his husband lead him once again.

--

This time, they wander farther, only stopping when they come to a park with overly green grass and a neatly manicured baseball diamond.

It isn't their field, the one with the dugout they used to frequent; that field is back Southside, and they haven't walked that far.  But it's close, and Ian's heart pounds as Mickey leads him around the open fencing and toward the outfield.

They stop at the greenest point, and Mickey releases Ian's hand to throw down his stolen tablecloth, kicking the edges until it's more or less flat and open.  He plops down immediately, just off center, and motions for Ian to do the same as he uses his pocket knife to uncork the stolen bottle of booze.

Ian sits as Mickey takes a swig of the mystery liqour, then accepts the bottle when he passes it over.

"This is nice," he says after a long sip of what turned out to be a moderately pleasant red.  "How did you know it was here?"

Mickey reaches for the bottle again, taking another swallow before he answered.  "Was helping Debs look at schools," he admits.  "For Franny, when she's older."

Ian doesn't press.  He loves how much Mickey dotes on their niece, but he knows talking about it makes him uncomfortable still, their own future hanging over them.

He lays down instead, and looks up. The stars are out, glittering above them in patterns he doesn't understand, but thinks must mean something good.

"Thanks for tonight," he says softly to the sky.

The tablecloth rustles as Mickey leans on his elbows next to him.

"Anytime," he replies. He looks down at Ian, and turns on his side so he can brush red hair back from his face.

"Gonna tell me why you were so upset, earlier?" he questions, voice light but serious. "Not like you to freak out like that."

Ian nuzzles into the hand on his face, and closes his eyes. "Just wanted to do something for you," he admits. "You were so excited about finding that place. And you're always doing stuff like that for me."

His eyes flutter open again, fixing on Mickey's face. "Figures the first time I try, everything goes wrong and you have to take over again."

Mickey doesn't respond right away. He watches him, thumb stroking his cheekbone, hand curling around behind his ear.

When he does speak, it's quiet. "I like doin' that shit for you, Ian," he says. "Makes me...happy. To see you smilin'."

Ian's lips stretch into a gentle curve, and Mickey returns it. "Yeah," he whispers, leaning down until their noses brush. "Like that," he finishes, the words lost against Ian's lips as they kiss.

Ian doesn't know how long they stay there, laying on that thin piece of fabric over the grass, making out under the stars. He doesn't care. Because it's Mickey. And despite everything that went wrong tonight, being there with Mickey was perfect.

They're eventually interuppted by what feels like rain, but turns out a second later to be the timed sprinkler system switching on. Mickey yelps into his mouth at the cold water as they break apart, scrambling to dash across the field and to the relative safety of the sidewalk. They leave the tablecloth where it is, a sad heap if fabric wet with water and remainder of their overturned bottle of red wine, and fall against each other as they turn to head toward home.

"Still wanna thank me?" Mickey jokes on the way, teeth chattering as his skin dries.

"Yeah, I do," Ian says, nudging him with a hip before pulling him back, wrapping a long warm arm around his shoulders.

"Tonight was perfect."

And if they stop again to kiss against under the L on their way, Mickey's back pressed to the support and legs hugging Ian's waist, well. It is still their night, after all.

[maythewidowtakeusall]

SUN-KISSED Pt. 2

Part 1 | Part 2

Read on AO3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Wordcount: 2894

Warnings: alcohol

Summary: An argument with your boyfriend Steve Rogers is the perfect incentive to go out drinking with Natasha.

It's sunset again, Natasha notices, but she pushes the thought down as your fingers tangle with hers. You tug on her arm and she follows you silently, pathetically at your whim at all times, even when she knows she should tell you it's a bad idea. Because it is. She doesn't trust herself sober around you, and she's scared of what a few drinks will do.

But you're adamant, your mascara smudged under your eyes from crying earlier. She hates it, she hates Steve for making you feel so bad about yourself, about your work. You're fucking amazing, and though she respects the old man, she's not going to let him do this to you. He can stick his second world war virtues up his ass.

Despite the considerable force you're pulling her along with, she stops you, spins you around, curls an arm around your waist tightly to hold you close. She can't help but smirk as your eyes widen.

She probably enjoys this too much. But it was you who called her.

You watch with confusion as Natasha licks her thumb and swipes it across your cheeks gently, wiping away the last telltale signs of your argument with Steve. Your eyes shine more brightly than they usually do, but otherwise you look perfect again, even with your tousled hair and carelessly thrown on leather jacket.

"There."

"It was the mascara, right? I forgot about that," you say with a sheepish smile that soon drops, the feeling of your cheeks heating up deepening your embarrassment. It's the proximity of another human being, or the two shots of tequila you had back at the Avengers Tower, or the fact that at least she genuinely seems to give a shit about you. At any rate, it feels soothing after all the jarring words you and Steve threw around earlier. You need a girls' night out, you need to be told not to overthink things, to let loose.

And the moment you stormed out of Steve's room, you knew who you had to turn to. You knew it was only Natasha you wanted around and no one else.

She didn't protest. In fact, she dropped her plans at a moment's notice to go out with you. She promised to take you to a dive bar, one she knows like the back of her hand that has good drinks and even better prices. It's close to her place, and you will crash there afterwards. She said will, not can. She's not letting you go back to Steve in the state you are in, the state he's put you in.

And you are perfectly alright with that plan.

The Coyote is a small but handsome place, with soft blues rock whining in the background, furnished with tables and bar stools from a bygone era. There's a pool table in the back, a woman in her fifties tending the bar with a frown as one of the patrons knocks his drink over. You stand in awe for a minute as the bartender - who also happens to be the owner of this particular dive - berates the man in front of her for spilling his beer. "You think I want to clean up after you all night, Larry?" she throws him a disdainful look before muttering under her breath as she fetches a rag to mop up the beer that bleeds down the wooden surface just like your mascara ran down your cheeks not so long ago. "Fucking lightweight."

"Well, what do you think?" Natasha smiles, pleased to see enthusiasm stealing behind your eyes.

"I love it. It's so..."

"Vintage?" she helps. She knows you love old things in the most adorable way. You love everything that is vintage, everything that takes you back to times you never lived in - buildings, furniture, streets, monuments, museums... People. Old people too, she reminds herself bitterly.

"Yeah," you smile.

She matches your smile, knowing eyes drinking in your improving mood greedily. "Wait til you've tried their drinks. Holly prides herself on only keeping the best of the best."

The night is a lot slower and more mellow than what you expected. You wanted wild, you wanted to force the thoughts out of your mind, you wanted to be exhausted, maybe even blackout and start over fresh tomorrow. But you're just tipsy, the alcohol filling your body with a gentle buzz that's not at all unpleasant. You and Nat have paced yourselves, and you talk, and fill the booth you took for just the two of you with genuine laughter and ease. She matches your teasing tone when you joke, indulges you when you steer the conversation to deeper waters. However, you've been tiptoeing around Steve, and the argument, but Natasha unravels you, and she listens to what you have to say, and it's fucking difficult to admit, but she seems to understand you more than Steve ever did - so you cave in when she puts a hand on your forearm. It feels right, too right, but her question distracts you.

"So... Should we address the elephant in the room or is this the point where we pick up the pace a little?"

Your shoulders sag when you realise you don't really want to get drunk. You don't want wild. Or reckless. Lights out, with the bittersweet relief of not remembering a god damn thing about tonight. You just want this moment, even if it is difficult to open up to her. "I don't know what to say."

"I do," she quips. "Steve's a moron."

You laugh, despite everything, and it makes her tighten her grip on your arm encouragingly for a second. "He's not a moron. But he did act rather moronic today."

"I think you did well on the mission," Nat declares, leaning back and lifting her glass of beer to her lips.

"I was reckless."

"Those are his words, not yours."

"Yeah... The thing is, I don't feel guilty about what I've done at all. I calculated the risks, and I trusted my abilities to see me through the job. Mission accomplished - even if my tactics were questionable from a strictly military perspective."

Nat nods, and a silence settles over the two of you as she draws patterns on the cold wet glass in her hands. It's comfortable, and her wordless agreement wraps around you like a warm blanket. Your gaze meets the attentive green emeralds of her eyes, and you swallow thickly. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's your loneliness, but she looks so fucking beautiful in the dim light of the bar, green military style jacket slipping down on one shoulder to reveal her black tank top. You shouldn't, you shouldn't, and you can't help it, and she frowns softly, trying to read your thoughts. And you worry, you worry she can read you easily, you worry she can open you up and trace the lines of your attraction to her with her fingertips.

Because that's what this is, you realise. Attraction. No matter how fucked up it is, no matter how angry it makes you at yourself. Steve's back at the Avengers Tower dissecting the argument in his head while worrying about where you've slipped off to. But you know he doesn't approve, not even his guilt can make him see that you shouldn't have to justify your every move on missions. You're far from helpless, and yet he treats you like a damsel in distress. Like you're less than him in a way, just because you weren't injected with the super soldier serum.

You want to be treated as an equal. In the team, in your relationships, during your missions. You want to be seen for who you are - a capable person, an effective agent, a force to be reckoned with, a mind that can easily keep up with the rest of the Avengers. Alas none of them really see you that way, and Steve is no exception.

But Natasha is.

The cab ride is quiet, you two sit in the back, eyes somehow glued to each other, Steve forced to the back of your mind as an unpleasant thought by what you feel for Nat in this very moment. You wonder if this feeling has always been in you, hidden, denied, labelled impossible and maybe even shameful. She reaches across and gently places her hand in yours.

And for whatever reason, you don't pull it back.

You've never seen her flat before, but it's everything you've expected. Laid back yet angular, stylish yet chaotic, inviting yet intimidating. It's an effervescent mixture, just like she is, and she pulls you inside without a second thought, exposing her hideout as if you came here every other day, as if letting you in her most private corner of the world was absolutely normal.

The thought of it makes your insides burn with a feeling you know you shouldn't allow to even exist.

It's late, but you're both hungry, and you make sandwiches in the small kitchen while joking and keeping the conversation light, amicably bumping your shoulders together. It hurts, for the both of you, to see the what ifs, the what could bes, the life you can't have but suddenly seem to crave. She accidentally smudges some pesto on her finger and licks it off. You lose your mind. You eat. Hunched over the tiny kitchen table, you feel yourself sober up completely. You're exhausted, but you don't want this night to end. Neither of you have done or said anything inappropriate, nothing has happened here for which you should apologise to Steve on the next day. And yet it's the most comfortable and loved you've felt in a long time.

You feel self-conscious when you wipe your makeup off in the quiet seclusion of her bathroom, a pair of her sweatpants and an old band t-shirt waiting for you, neatly folded, on top of the laundry basket. You expose the dark circles underneath your eyes, along with all the imperfections of your skin, and your lower lips trembles at the thought of having to bare yourself in front of her. Your body is shapeless after you've changed into your makeshift pyjamas (you try not to think too hard on wearing her clothes). Your hair, released from the tight updo you've forced it into is messy and loose now. To be fair, it was messy before too, but it's not really helping your confidence right now. You will have to leave eventually, and face her, and you're terrified of not seeing the same light and warmth in her eyes when she looks at you, the same smile she always wears on her lips whenever you're around.

She smiles even wider than usual when you emerge. The simple explanation would be that you're beautiful - it's the truth, without any embellishments whatsoever. The more complicated one she doesn't allow herself to dwell on, so she nods towards the bedroom and you follow her, even if a little forlorn.

"I don't often get guests," she smiles, sitting in the edge of the bed. The room smells of clean sheets and her perfume. "And even when I do, it's Clint, and I'm making him sleep on the sofa. But I'm willing to make an exception for you."

"Oh, you shouldn't," you protest as she stands. "The sofa is perfectly fine for me."

"It's alright, I don't mind-"

"Please-"

"It's no fuss-"

"This bed is big enough for the two of us anyways."

A small, awkward silence settles on you as you stare back at one another. If Natasha feels as bewildered as you do, she hides it well. Her head lolls to one side in thought, eyes assessing you. She seems content with whatever she's found in your gaze as she shrugs and sinks back down on the bed.

"Don't even think about hogging my blanket."

You regain your composure and grin, unable to feel uncomfortable around her any longer. You plop down on your belly unceremoniously and starfish on the mattress, and you can almost see her roll her eyes at you even through your closed eyes. You sigh as the firm mattress rises to meet your tired bones. "Ooh, I'm never leaving this bed."

"Move," Natasha nudges you, and you oblige her as you roll on your back. She lays next to you, and you stare up at the ceiling, glow in the dark stars blinking back at you in the dim light.

"I used to have those on my bedroom ceiling as a kid," you smile fondly.

"I didn't exactly have a conventional childhood. Figured I had some ground to cover on that front," she murmurs softly, lost for a moment in her memories. Your quiet laugh draws her back to the present and she's so very grateful for that. So very grateful for you.

"Well then, this is a good addition too, our little sleepover."

"Oh, yeah?" she grins, rolling on her side as she props her head up on a hand. "What do you want to do then to make it memorable? Gush about our crushes? Have a pillow fight? Play spin the bottle? Truth or dare? Get drunk? I have a bottle of wine, we could do that."

Your eyes land on her soft lips and you imagine daring her to kiss you. You imagine what it would be like to draw her in, to give in to the feelings inside you, to deepen the kiss, blame it on being drunk, trail your lips down the length of her neck...

But you could never do that to Steve.

"I think I've had enough excitement for tonight."

"Suit yourself, love."

Does she look disappointed? You don't have enough time to ponder as she nods and pulls back the covers to wrap them around the both of you. She then reaches to switch the lamp off on the bedside table and settles down beside you. You're still facing each other, and in the darkness you can see the outlines of her smile when your eyes adjust. She puts a hand on your shoulder, gives it a little squeeze. She's upset, she really is, she was so close to reeling you in, trapping you, telling you all she's been wanting to say for months now. But she's proud of you. For being loyal, for not breaking the trust Steve put in you even though you could do it without consequences. She'd never tell on you. But somehow, your silent refusal has made you even a better person in her eyes than if you would have given in to the kiss you've both obviously wanted.

But this all must be very confusing for you. Your week was an emotional rollercoaster, and she just wants you to be okay. "Wake me if you need anything."

You nod, and satisfied, Natasha turns to her other side. It's difficult, being so torn, wanting love but not knowing where you're supposed to get it. Overwhelmed by everything, you seem to spiral into mild panic. You don't know this place, and Steve is a stubborn asshole, and you just want to feel safe and sheltered for a single night, is that too much to ask for?

You scoot closer to Natasha, letting her feel your warmth first before you tentatively snuggle up to her from behind. She lets you, deathly still as if any movement on her part would scare you away. You slide your hand on her waist, afraid to go too far.

She takes it and wraps it around her midsection.

You don't talk about it in the morning. The sun shines brightly as you sit together in the kitchen. Coffee. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Slipping slices of tangerine to one another. A long hug before you leave.

And somehow you both feel a little less when you're apart.

You have much to think on, you both do. You don't avoid Steve when you get back. You go straight to him and you ask him for a break. He deals with his heartbreak as he soldiers though every hardship in his life - lips pressed together, emotions repressed, stiff nod straining his neck, regret shining in his blue eyes. But you need this. You need this, because he deserves better than to be lied to. Than to be led on. So does she.

Weeks pass. Missions come and go, all successful. You work together professionally, there's nothing forced. Tony remarks on the sudden drop of temperature in the room during a mission briefing where you and Steve sit in opposite ends of the room, but Natasha steps in and whacks him on the back of the head with the file in her hand and that's that.

You go to the top floor of the tower one evening, the staggering height's isolation comforting you now more than scaring you. You sit there for a while, watching the sunset, when you remember Italy, 3 months ago, stopping to marvel at the sunset, Natasha by your side.

And then you know. You just do. You need more time to accept it, of course. Probably even more time to act on it. But in the meantime, you can't stop thinking about her feeding tangerine to you in the morning, fingers brushing against yours as she passes the slices to you.

Tag list: @fayhar

[eureka-its-zico]

Damage

Request: You meet JB in a bar and have a one-night stand

A/N: My friend has asked me for JB fics none stop. I haven’t been able to finish one, because I get stuck in my head and think everything is trash. I think this one is okay, at best. I’ve edited as much as my eyes can stand. Either way, she seemed to enjoy it. I hope you all enjoy it in some way too. Much Love, Jenn

p.s. It’s named Damage because I literally had the song of the same name from H.E.R playing on repeat the entire time.

Jaebum X Reader

Genre: SmUt

Words:5534

Warnings: semi-public sex, rough play, some ass-slaping - you get the picture -

There was a time that the idea of sleeping with a complete stranger from a bar would’ve never crossed your mind. It wasn’t that you were a prude. A part of you secretly wanted to know what it felt like to be so overwhelmed by another that they made you less cautious and more adventurous. No one ever seemed able to stir that emotion in you, however. 

Until you’d met JB. 

Now, as his fingers traced across your skin, his lips kissed at the hollow of your neck, you couldn’t imagine an alternate universe where you didn’t say yes. Where you weren’t pressed into the backseat of a stuffy cab not caring that you had an audience while JB’s hand made its way between your thighs. His mouth hungrily lapping up your moan as his fingers slid under the edge of your panties. 

A part of you should’ve felt embarrassed. You were passengers in this cab. The obvious audience of the older man up front would’ve normally made you shove his hand away with your cheeks pink; pretending to care if they watched. 

But JB was a force you weren’t used to. One that threatened to consume you and god, did you want to be consumed. 

EARLIER

————————-

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t be sad forever about that asshole.” 

Your fingers skimmed the paper of your beer smearing an image of a heart in the condensation. Your teeth drawing in your bottom lip as you thought about what your friend was saying. Of course, she was right. It was two weeks, give or take, since you broke up with Mark. You’d had your days of wallowing, eating copious amounts of ice cream, and crying on the couch watching rom-coms and asking why can’t your life be like this? 

There wasn’t any doubt your ex wasn’t off doing the same. Hell, he’d made sure to take pictures of his latest escapades and made sure to share it to his social media. Not that you were looking at any of it or anything. 

“You’re right,” you huffed out in defeat. 

Why was it so hard to let him go? It wasn’t like he’d had such a hard time deciding to end your relationship. 

“I’m sorry. What was that? Can you say it a little louder for me please I’m hard of hearing.”

You shot her a look of disbelief that sent her head falling back with laughter. 

“This one time you might be a little bit right.”

You took a swig of your drink to hide your own smile. 

“Plus, how can you be sad over that loser when the hottest dude is five feet away.”

You followed her eyes to see what had her making such a bold claim. There were plenty of good looking men and women in the bar. How could one person possibly hold the title when your opinion could be different? 

It wasn’t. 

You found him easily. No longer needing the guide of your friend to find who it was that’d caught her attention. And sweet Jesus he was hands down the best looking in the room. 

He was leaning up against the wall. His eyes half crescent moons as he smiled. One hand holding a beer that was close to his lips as he replied back to whatever his friend said. You shamelessly watched how his lips wrapped around the bottle to take a drink. The sharpness of his jaw and the expanse of his neck. 

You wanted to know what he looked like with his mouth on you and tasting the sweetness between your thighs. 

The desire for it caused your legs to squeeze together to give yourself any sort of friction. Your mind still going over the fantasy you were creating with him in the starring role. Suddenly, he was looking back at you. A harsh blush rose to your cheeks at being caught but refused to look away. 

God! What am I doing?! 

You’ve never been the one to make the first move. Of any kind. Eye contact felt like a first move of showing interest, but you were more than interested and a part of you wondered if he could see it. See that even this far between your spaces in the bar how badly you wanted to know how he tasted. 

A gasp brought your attention back to the position of your friend. Her mouth agape in shock but that threatened to spill into a smile at any moment. 

“Hollleeeeey shit! Did you just give that guy ‘fuck me eyes’ from across the bar?”

You scoffed at the idea before shooting a cautionary look back in his direction. Using your elbows that were on the top of the bar you swiveled yourself to face the many rows of liquor. Fighting the urge to look back at him again or acknowledge your friend bouncing in her seat. 

“Yes you fuckin did!”

Your reply was a quick swig of your drink as you tried your best not to grimace at the taste. You’d been babysitting it too long and now it was lukewarm. 

“I've had my heart broken. I’m not dead,” you replied. 

“Let’s go over and talk to them!”

Your head whipped in her direction so fast you swore you’d ended up with whiplash. Yes, you were looking. And yes, this man did provoke unholy fantasies, but that didn’t mean you were ready to be that close. 

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I think this will be good for you.”

She ignored your burst of panic and waved down the bartender who acknowledged her sooner than you would’ve liked. 

“What can I get you ladies.”

“Two shots of tequila, please.”

“What are you doing?” 

She wiggled her brows at you and rubbed her shoulder up against yours. Her weak attempt to pump you up with excitement for whatever diabolical thing she’d planned. 

“Just a little liquid courage before we head on over.”

“Heading towards the door, you mean.”

Your words came out as a grumble. A pout setting in as the bartender set down the small glasses in front of the two of you. Which she quickly slid hers to click beside yours. 

“You, my lovely friend, are going to have both.”

“Are you trying to give me alcohol poisoning?”

“Nope. Just trying to help you get some guiltless sex with a stranger.”

“Wow. You’re so amazing,” you deadpanned. Your hand snacking out to grab one of the shot glasses downing the first one. You were sure the reaction you were having looked like a cartoon character. God, this stuff was disgusting. “I’m pretty sure that stuff causes forest fires.” 

The bartender offered you a lemon, amusement flashing in his eyes. You were hoping he could see the thank you in yours with your mouth shoved full of lemon. 

You left it sitting in your mouth; teeth clenched tight against the softness and the peel exposed between your lips. You wondered if this was picture worthy and received your answer moments later when your friends’ camera flashed in your face. Your vision erupting in sparks of dark spots that left you unable to see. 

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

With the peel still held between your lips you made a face at her. Her mouth opened to reply, and suddenly it closed. Her eyes wide and darting from you to whoever was now perched beside you. 

You remembered you still had a shot left and decided it was time to meet your fate. Your legs moved to turn you to sit straight on the stool when you realized someone was beside you at the bar. In perfect horror movie fashion, you glanced at your right and saw the man who’d caused your need for liquid courage. 

He was just there. His body casually leaning against the bar with an air of coolness that didn’t seem forced. He was talking with the bartender. The two of them locked in a conversation like they were old friends and catching up. Maybe they were. 

Up close he was even more striking. His hair was perfectly slicked back to make it appear short, but it was anything but. The gel he’d used was beginning to wear off and displayed hair that was beginning to fall into his eyes. 

You wanted to run your hands through it. To grip it as you rode his tongue. 

It felt like he must have had a sensation of what you were thinking. He ended his conversation and turned to look at you. A spark of laughter lit up the dark brown of his eyes and you swore you were swooning in your chair. 

“I see you must really like lemons.”

Your brow furrowed as you wondered what the hell he could be talking about. He must have caught on to your confusion and patted a single digit against the lemon peel still peaking like a smile between your lips. Your eyes shot wide with horror as you not too gracefully spit it out onto the napkin. 

“Oh...my...god,” you whispered at the wood of the bar. Praying that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. 

“Hi!” Your friend shot an arm over you with her hand extended for him to shake. “My name’s Vanessa. This is my lovely friend, Y/N. The lemon sucker.” 

Your head jerked in her direction and you hoped she could see how much you wish you could hit her. 

The man beside you, however, looked nothing but amused and took Vanessa’s hand. You couldn’t keep your eyes from looking at his fingers; the way it practically covered all of hers. 

“Nice to meet you both.”

He released her hand and shocked you by leaving his hand open and waiting for you to take. You glanced up at him and then back down to his hand. You took it without waiting too long, because you didn’t want him to think you were rude, or worse, weirder than he probably already did. The minute your hands folded around the other you swore it was electric. 

“My name’s Jaebum. Everyone calls me JB, for short.” 

Jaebum. JB. You would call him whatever he wanted. His voice was soft as he spoke and forced you to move closer to hear him. You wondered if that’d been his plan. It was the only thing you could think of as his thumb caressed over the knuckles of your hand before he took it away. 

You dropped your hand down to the side of your skirt and fought not to rub it against the fabric. The attraction you felt for JB was something that’d come unexpected and you found yourself inexperienced. It felt overwhelming this need to touch him. To be touched in return. To know how he sounded with your lips wrapped around his cock and those same hands on the back of your head. Bending you over and smacking your ass until it was cherry red. 

You were still staring at each other as these devilish thoughts played out in your head. His eyes roamed your face and you wondered what he saw there. If JB could see the dirty scenarios he held the starring role in. His gaze slid over you from the tips of your toes, over the exposed legs from your skirt, your chest, and back up to your face. 

There was no denying he’d thought of his own scenario with you in mind. His pupils fully blown with lust when he brought his eyes back up to you. Your pulse thudded wildly as you struggled to remember how to properly breathe. 

“Did you girls want to come back over to our table?” The question was meant for both Vanessa and you, but when he asked his gaze never left you. He only looked away to point to his indicated spot. “It’s just me and a couple of my friends. I promise, we aren’t weird or anything.”

A bright smile spread across his lips and if you weren’t swooning earlier, you were definitely doing it now. You were nodding your head yes, unsure if you could trust yourself to talk. Vanessa, unfortunately, didn’t seem to have that issue. 

“That would be amazing and so good for her. Her boyfriend just broke up with her. She’s very vulnerable.”

Oh. My. God. Was she winking like an idiot? 

You looked back at her and couldn’t keep the horror off of her face. Luckily, JB laughed it off. He reached out to grab the drinks he’d ordered and motioned with his head for you girls to follow. You waited for Vanessa to start forward before you fell into step beside her. Your arm shooting out to wrap itself around hers just so you could use it to pull her in tight. 

“What in the hell was that!?”

“I’m trying to help you here. Most men love the idea of a girl on the rebound.”

“Because they think they’re easy, Nessa.”

“Precisely.” 

She flicked her finger up like she’d just made a great discovery. The only thing she was about to discover was that you were, in fact, desperate but for a whole other reason. 

No part of you could remember your ex looking at JB. And while the idea of any sort of relationship with him, physical or otherwise, made you excited there was still that small voice in your head. The not so fun responsible part of you reminded you that you didn’t know him. He could be a weird pervert or a serial killer. Ninety-nine percent of serial killers were usually attractive. 

You let out a sigh not sure how to tell her nicely to butt out. 

“Just, help me less. Ok?”

She regarded you for a moment. Her arm peeling itself out of yours before bringing you in quickly for a one-armed hug. 

“Alright. Girl Scouts honor I won’t say anything else.”

“Thank you!”

And you meant it. Lord knew she only meant well, but in the end it came off embarrassing. Like the two of you were sixteen and in high school again. With you passing notes to all the boys you liked because you were too damn nervous to say anything to their face. You thought it was romantic. In reality, it just seemed well, kinda awkward. 

The two of you stood beside the pool table and you did your best not to fidget with your bag. The weight of six new sets of eyes made you feel like an animal in a zoo. 

“Guys, this is Vanessa and Y/N. I invited them over to hang out with us. If that’s cool.”

The friends all seemed to go from caution to excitement at seeing you in two point five seconds. All of them agreeing it was cool, and waving you all over to find a chair to sit in. 

You were following Vanessa to seats in between two  of his friends, when a soft hand on your arm stopped you. You knew without looking it was JB. Your body reacting instantly to his touch as if it’d been set on fire. 

“You can sit next to me. If you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Your voice was breathy. Like you were telling him a secret the two of you only needed to hear. The chair in question that sat beside his own, was inches from him. So close that when you sat down your knees were next one another. 

He regarded you briefly before he turned his attention back to his group. His arm snaking around your chair to rest on its back. You were aware that it was a show of dominance. Of signaling to his friends and anyone else who cared to look that you were his. The thought of it sent a thrill through your body of being claimed. Only wishing he would claim you another way too. 

JB’s group of friends were fun and easy to get a long with. One of them in particular, Hyun-Bae, was incredibly funny. He told stories that were entertaining and knew when to use his humor to make everyone laugh. It was enough to make you almost forget the man beside you. Almost. 

You weren’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between everyone talking, JB’s hand that’d rested comfortably on the back of your chair had moved. His fingers brushed along your skin from your shoulder to collarbone. Each stroke deliberate; sexual and not. Like he could read that you found it comforting but also craved his touch. 

You ached with the urge to kiss him. To taste the liquor on his tongue. All those times you turned to imagine yourself leaning in and doing just that, you’d met his gaze. The two of you shared  a look of knowing and wondered if he’d just been waiting for you to close the last inches of space between you. You were looking at each other now; eyes hungrily glancing at the others lips. 

You wanted to be brave. To just close that space and tell him just to take you home. Screw this dance of cat and mouse. You didn’t want to be chased. You wanted to be owned. 

Instead, a soft, “Excuse me,” came from you as you rose up from your chair. You couldn’t get your  feet to walk fast enough to the bathroom. You were moving so fast you practically took someone out on the way inside. Getting inside the bathroom, you quickly shut the door and turned the lock. 

You were instantly greeted by your reflection in the dirty, marker-ridden, mirror. What you could see of yourself was defeated. A huff of frustration left you as you removed your bag from your shoulder and placed it on the hook on the back of the door. Your feet scuffing the ground as you took a somber approach to the sink. 

You told Vanessa you could do this. You didn’t need help to tell a hot guy you wanted him to fuck you until your legs were far past jello and more like liquid. And every time you were given the opportunity to do something at all, you backed out. 

You rested your hands on the sink and leaned in. Examining your makeup and how very un-messy it was. 

“Note to self: just fuckin do it.”

Yup. The greatest of pep talks. 

You weren’t ready to leave the sanctity of the bathroom but a knock sounded on the door. Reminding you very quickly that there were actual people who probably needed to use it. You moved to pick up your bag when another knock came. 

“Yea, yea I’m coming. Chill.”

When you opened the door, however, JB was just there. His body pushing into the bathroom causing you to step back to give him room. He closed the door without looking back. His body fully facing you as the door clicked closed behind him. 

“JB? Sorry I was just using the restroom-”

“Is that what that was? I mostly heard talking; no flushing.”

His lips spread in an amused smile no doubt at your expense. Your eyes were probably as white as the moon. How long had he been waiting out here?

“Sorry. I just got a little impatient waiting for you.”

In one fluid motion, his arm snaked around your back, and brought you to his chest. JB was prepared for you and his other hand was already holding your face giving him the perfect leverage to crash his mouth down on yours. The moment your lips met that electricity you’d felt earlier flared back to life. This time, it flared across your skin and sparked in every spot he touched. 

The kiss started out a brush of lips and soon became more. His tongue danced at the edge of your bottom lip and you gladly opened up to him. Your hands plunging to make a mess of his perfectly gelled hair at the same time his tongue slipped inside your mouth. 

You were eager to respond. Eager to caress his tongue with yours. His mouth tasted of the bittersweet liquor he’d sipped on for the last hour. Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to taste yourself on his lips made your body ache to be touched in other places. For your fantasies of his mouth on you to begin here. You didn’t care where. 

JB seemed to understand what you needed. He broke from the kiss fast and turned you around. His body pressed against your back and his hands at the edge of your skirt. You watched in the mirror as he moved your skirt up to your hips exposing your thong to the room. 

He watched you, his lips hovering over your ear before giving it a playful nip, and those same hands were now laced in the strings. JB moved back just enough to squat down so his hands could move them down your legs until he reached your ankles. 

“Step out.”

You followed his command without question. Your head tilting back to watch the little bit of cloth he held in his hand get scrunched up even smaller and placed inside the front pocket of his jeans. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and your body froze with anticipation. Whatever he would ask you to do, you knew you would comply. 

“Spread your legs.”

The demand in his voice was feverish. His own need on display as his hand caressed up your calf until it was between your thighs. A finger teasingly moved across your opening, causing a soft gasp to exit from your lips. You did as you were instructed and waited until you heard an approving, “Hm,” from his lips. 

The room swelled as the anticipation grew. The reflection you’d seen moments ago was washed away and the woman who’d taken her place was eager and ready to offer up her own demands. 

JB moved to stand on his feet with his hands traveling along the curve of your legs and up onto your hips. There his fingers dug into the soft flesh as he leaned into your back, his eyes on yours in the mirror, as he spoke into your ear, “Place your hands on the sink.”

“Spank me first.”

A shiver of shock ran through you. You couldn’t believe you’d said it, but after your request had left you, you’d refused to take it back. Your body craved to be reprimanded by his hands and the smirk on his lips told you plainly he was more than happy to oblige. 

“Beg for it.”

“Please spank me. Please, JB.”

His hand curled up to wrap around your throat as his index finger danced at the edge of your lips. 

“How bad do you want it?”

“I want I-“

The smack reverberated like thunder in the small room. The sting was instant and beautiful. The heat between your legs was aching and your ass jetted against his jeans for any kind of friction. JB stepped back, denying you any form of relief, and landed another smack on your exposed cheek. 

This one made your knees wobble as the pleasure rolled through you. Your hands on the sink was the only thing that saved you from showing him what he’d done. 

“You love that don’t you?”

JB already knew you did, but he wanted to hear you. He needed to hear you say how much you loved feeling his hand leaving its mark, red and angry, on your skin. 

“Yes,” you gasped. “It feels so good.” 

He landed another smack and you couldn’t keep yourself quiet anymore. Your moan loud and aching like your pussy. Luckily, his hand was still on your throat and silenced you by placing his fingers in your mouth. You sucked on them immediately and this time you could feel JB rut against your ass. The hardness of his cock pressed against the fabric of his jeans gave away just how turned on he was at your bathroom escapades. 

He pulled his fingers free from your mouth and, with the same fingers, slick and wet, placed it between your legs. The two digits moving to slide between your folds. First, scissoring around your clit; caressing the delicate bud until you gave him the moan he worked for. 

When the soft sound left you JB slid them deep inside you causing the noise to become louder. A shudder ran through your body as you backed up into him. 

His fingers removed themselves suddenly, and you couldn’t keep the disappointment from escaping you. A whine you were sure sounded like you were close to tears. JB gave your ass another smack and all it did was drive the need inside you closer to madness. 

His hands planted themselves onto your ass and you felt him kneel down. Those two strategically placed hands lifting up the flesh there leaving your pussy exposed and aching in his view. Your hands were gripping the porcelain of the sink so tight you’d thought it’d crack. Your body trembling in anticipation of what he might do and the need to cover yourself up playing tug-of-war in your head. 

The idea of any sort of hiding vanished when his mouth planted itself between your legs. His tongue snaking out to flick across your clit made you back up to greet his mouth. JB quickly took that moment to slide his tongue from clit to ass. The sensation was so foreign and new to you, you weren’t sure if you should be embarrassed, but the pleasure you got quickly washed the thought away. 

JB gave you no time to pull yourself together. His face was back between your legs with an eager tongue to lick up every last drop. His tongue swirled around your clit and sent light flicks when you were least expecting it. Each time your legs threatened to crumble, but JB held you there with steady hands.

His tongue explored you thoroughly and put to his memory what made your knees weak. What caused a soft mulling sound of need to claw up from your throat. And what caused your grip on the sink to become almost violent. 

Between each languid lick his tongue would find itself taking long strides all the way up and back down to your peak. Your body had now grown accustomed to the new sensation, and you welcomed it greedily as you pushed back against his face. 

When JB knew you were so close to your sweet release he focused his tongue more on your swollen bud. Each new caress of his tongue gradually made it harder for your arms to hold you up. For your legs to keep from shaking uncontrollably. 

Your orgasm continued to grow; blossoming between your folds with an ache that your body felt. You were so, so close and with a final thrust of his tongue you felt your world spin and that sweet heat between your legs finally sent shockwaves all over your body. 

You came moaning so loud anyone else would’ve thought you were screaming. Your head thrown back and riding the sensation of his greedy mouth taking everything you had to offer. 

When his lips finally released from you, your body was still coming down from your orgasm. The loud panting that came from you as you leaned against the sink completely spent. You watched in the mirror as he pulled a golden foil packet from his pocket. His eyes sinfully watching you as he ripped it carefully with his teeth. JB’s finger moved quickly to take out the slick rubber from the packet and begin to work it down his shaft. 

You’d been so consumed with recovering from his tongue that you hadn’t realized when he’d taken his cock out of his jeans that were now shameless at his ankles. He put a few fingers inside your wetness that caused you to gasp. Your body was still recovering from what had just taken place. 

He used your cum to lubricate himself and placed himself at your entrance. Already the tip of him stretching you out with the delicious sting that told you he was thick. You couldn’t wait. 

You moved to push back into him to help him inside and he pulled away. His hand smacking down on your ass making you even more eager. 

“Patience is a virtue.”

He tried to be funny, but his voice was deep and throaty with his own lust. You were close to pleading with him again like before, but he let it be known quickly he had no intentions to wait. 

JB slid inside you and you felt your pussy stretch to accommodate him. The feel of him making your breath catch. His girth much thicker than you’d imagined, and your body shook from the pleasure of feeling yourself stretch around him. 

His thrusts started off slow until he knew you’d had enough time. His hands found an anchor on your hips and used them to pull you in to meet his hips. A string of curse words fell from your mouth as your hips rocked back into him. 

Each movement felt like he was going deeper. JB’s hands on the cheeks of your ass kept you spread open to him and left no friction to catch his thrusts. Every single one was felt as he buried himself inside you in a rhythmic timing that left you moaning. 

You caught your reflection in the mirror, and glanced over to watch him as he worked. The way his hips bucked up only to be brought down. His hands stationed on your hips and bruising the flesh there as his grip got tighter. JB looked up and caught a glimpse of you in the mirror. His eyes locked with yours as he continued that unrelenting pace. 

He removed a hand from your ass and used it to wrap back around your neck. When he knew he had a good grip, he used it to pull you close to his chest. The angle of him in this new position somehow made him feel like he was pushing into your gut. 

Your mouth opened to make another sound, a moan or a scream you weren’t sure which, when that hand in your throat tilted your mouth towards him. His own came crashing down on your lips with his tongue that tasted of you slipping inside. You eagerly opened your mouth to him, and your tongue quickly moved to get a taste. 

JB deepened the kiss as his hips began to thrust harder into you. The movement building up your orgasm with each brutal movement until it threatened to spill over. 

“You taste so good with me on your lips.”

Your words fell earnest from your lips. You meant every one of them. You’d never tasted yourself so pretty on anyone else’s lips. JB obliged as he took your lips back. His mouth silenced another moan as his last free hand found its way back to your clit. Your body jumped at the added sensation. Your mouth tore away from his as another moan dripped from your lips. 

You were so close. You could fill yourself ready to cum if only he would let you. JB must have been close too, because his thrusts started becoming more violent and sporadic. Hitting in all the right places.

 At the same time as his fingers made small circles around your clit, a singular hard thrust of his hips sent his cock deep inside you. Your vision erupted in a sea of white. Your orgasm sent your body rutting back against him. 

He rode your orgasm and somehow made it grow in intensity as he continued to move his hips. His own breathing going ragged as you felt him finally release into you. 

When you both were able to breathe again, you’d realized you were laying over the sink. JB’s forehead resting on your back as you both struggled to regain your composure. 

JB was the first to move. The first to begin the arduous process of cleaning up. Like a voyeur, you watched him as he threw away the spent rubber and tuck himself back inside his jeans. A smirk creased your lips when you noticed he now had noticeable wet spots on his tee shirt. 

“You know, I don’t even know anything about you.”

You weren’t sure why you made the comment or why it mattered. You’d just had sex with the man in a damn bar bathroom. But JB didn’t seem to mind. His own smile curling his lips as he salvaged what he could of his hair. 

“What would you like to know?”

“Well,” you began as you started to situate your skirt. “What’s your favorite color?”

It was a silly question. By the look on JB’s face, he knew it was, but he humored you anyways. 

“It used to be blue, but I think red might be a new favorite.” 

“Why is that?”

You were wondering where your panties had gone until you spied a bit of the black cloth hanging from his pocket. JB walked over to you in a few steps and planted a soft kiss down on your lips. One that spoke plainly, this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see each other. 

“Because it currently matches the color of your ass.”

JB was out the door and in the bar’s hallway before you’d even got a chance to respond. 

[spinaroos-47]

Hunter Noceda AU: Venance

(can't digitalize these rn so you'll get the sketches for now)

So yeah, Golden Guard version two!

When Belos does find out about Hunter in YBOS, Hunter gets the bomb dropped about them being related (idk how yet). but Hunter obviously doesn’t believe in it. Until Hunting Palismen comes around and they find this small thingy, Venance.

(thank you @bernardo-draws-and-cries​​ for the name. Its based on the name Venâncio, which means “the one who hunts”)

He is another grimwalker made by Belos, he’s 12 (yeah.) and way more stressed (Belos has gotten more iron fisted after losing Hunter). Someone save this poor child

- He’s just starting out as the Golden Guard (and he’s not a coven head. Kikimora is. And she still wants him dead too), he’s still getting the hang of it. He does act tough and serious, way more serious than canon GG/Hunter, no space for goofyness.

- So yeah, a duo Hunting Palismen thing would be fun. Haven’t sorted out everything here but I do think Hunter would also go with Luz because of no palisman reasons. And he hasn’t met Ven yet, he only heard Lilith talking about him and Luz and Eda dealing with him on Separate Tides (he was busy drowning in guilt and trying to help with the money situation in other ways), so when he meets Ven and when he sees his face and how similar they are (and how many scars that kid already has), he’s reasonably confused/upset, like “Oh, that creepy man wasn’t lying. This doesn’t make anything on this situation better”

- After the initial surprise/confusion, Luz and Hunter jokingly call him Ghaterer until they learn his name, then they start calling him Ven. At first Ven hates this nickname but ends up reluctantly accepting it.

- Even before Eclipse Lake he’s so scared about being replaced, and knowing about Hunter’s existence in the Boiling Isles makes it worse, now he’s super sure he isn’t as valuable to Belos anymore. So he hates Hunter

- Hunter: come here youre part of the found family now

Ven: NO

Hunter: too late *picks him up*

Hunter: If Luz taught me something is that if you didn’t want to get assimilated into my found family, you should have killed me when you had the chance

Yeah that’s their dynamic when Hunter learns a bit more about him

- Venance doesn’t have much respect as the Golden Guard yet. He’s small (like, maybe even less than 1,50m/4′11″), young, has just been starting out on this role, like, in the last few months, could easily be picked up like a kitty, so he has to fight quite a bit to be taken seriously. Which results on him being way more grumpy and short tempered

- So he doesn’t take it very well when hes made fun of by the scouts in Latissa. Not at all

- Hunter, who was joking around until then:…are you okay?

Ven: I AM! *barely holding the tears back*

Hunter:

Hunter: that’s it youre part of the family now

Ven: you can’t do that

Hunter: we’re two and you’re one, we have your staff and youre very light.

(he still would put up a fight, and it would take a while for it to end. And he bites hard, he has very sharp fangs)

- Scouts: Go home with your sibiling

Hunter: *oh. Oh yeah i forgot we have the same freaking face*

- They don’t know yet about the grimwalker thing. Well, maybe Ven discovers later but at the moment where Hunting Palismen happens, neither of them know anything besides them being related, Ven got told he is his brother, and that Hunter was taken away from the coven before he was born

- Rascal seeing Hunter: hey you’re cool, i kinda want to be your palisman

Rascal seeing Ven: oh heck this kid needs help 

- I’m not sure if Hunter gets Lil Rascal. Because on one side, would be fun for him to have Lil Rascal and train doing magic like this, but also could be good for Ven to have some small support back at home, like how they are to Hunter in canon. So this hasn’t been decided yet. Hunter could either get Lil Rascal and Ven doesn’t get a palisman/gets a blue jay palisman, or Ven gets Lil Rascal and Hunter comes back also empty handed

- So I’m going with the no palisman for Hunter route for now. 

- It’s a bitter moment for both him and Luz. He tries to convince her that it’s okay, that they’ll get theirs soon, but she still kinda feels like a failure about this. And he himself thinks it’s because they don’t have a magic bile sac, so it’s not a good time for them. Eda and King lift their spirits a bit about this, though.

- Either by peeking around or just flat out being told, Ven does learn about him (and Hunter) being grimwalkers. What does he do with that? He has a crisis about it, which raises even more the stakes for him in Eclipse Lake. He still wouldn’t know his purpose for the Day of Unity, but he would know that he was created for it and could lose his position if he didn’t prove himself worthy of it.

- He would explode at Hunter one day and end up telling the truth about them being Grimwalkers (after Eclipse Lake)

- Ven: Do you want to know what you really are?! You’re a clone! You’re just someone’s clone just like me! A replacement!

Hunter, trying to not freak out but freaking out anyways: ...are you okay?

Ven; WHAT DO YOU THINK?

- If Belos is searching for Hunter, on the grounds of him being a more mature grimwalker than Venance, Ven could end up resorting to sabotaging the searches, he doesn’t want to be replaced.

- And he’s making Ven convinced that he will be replaced, to pit both boys against eachother. He gets Ven more under his thumb and not risking Hunter making Ven change his mind. Which doesn’t work as he intented, Ven does get scared about it but Hunter ends up pretty quickly going “dude why do you think I want to replace you?” and Ven is quickly thrown into a loop because he can’t understand why he wouldn’t want to do that

- Ven: what do you mean with “I don’t wanna be the Golden Guard”? If you’re like me you should DESIRE IT SINCE YOU WERE BORN

Hunter: lol no. I dealt with my need of approval a year ago on therapy.

Hunter: Also being a cop sucks.

- This boy is a tense child always a few bad moments away from a breakdown/meltdown. And has anger problems. A lot of anger in a very tiny body

- There’s some more interactions between Ven and the Noceda duo, and he would rather die than admit that he’s got slightly attached to them

- Eda: Luz told me that Golden Guard is a uwu smol boi that needs to be protected, hell knows what this means 

Hunter, who definetly came there too because FUCKING COOL ASS CAVE AND LAKE: i hate/love her

Ven: If i ever see that human again-

Amity AND Hunter: watch your fucking mouth

(definetly not how it would play out but very funny sdkdshdfsj)

- In terms of strength he couldn’t defeat Amity in a fight for the key, he would lean more on the blackmailing. He is a 12 year old but he’s still on a position of power on the emperor’s coven and he knows where the key is, it would put the owlfam on Belos’ line of sight again (if they even ever went away from it)

- That or he passes out, gets dragged out of there by them (he’s a lil shit but they’re not going to leave him there alone where Kikimora could kill him) and he falls asleep for 12 hours in the couch on the owl house. Which ends up giving him a day where he can be just a kid. He’s very weirded out by everything but he enjoys it a little bit at least. He would still try to get the key and would be torn apart by the guilt of thinking of doing this and the guilt of not doing this

- It wouldn’t take much to make him want to stay in the owl house. He’s starved for positive attention. It wouldn’t be easy but also it’s not as hard as for how Hunter is right now in canon

- I don’t think this could happen but I keep thinking about one day him and Hunter switching places so he can be just a kid for one day. Would be cool to see him sneaking into Hexside (or being dragged there, which is more likely to happen) and interacting with Willow and Gus

And that’s some of what we have for Ven right now! He’s a fun character to figure out :3

This took SO MUCH TIME to write

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Pepsi Raspberry

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you

Warnings: There's a fight and Reader's ex left her with some issues, but nothing super traumatic. Frankie is super cute (and a little needy). I just threw this together on a slow day at work, apologies in advance for errors.

Summary: You fight with Frankie. That's it that's the plot.

A/N: This was honestly supposed to be a piece about feminism and female independence in a relationship but I can't be trusted around Frankie, he totally bippity-boppity-booped me into forgivance. Dickhead. Also I struggled for two and a half hours with the title and that's why it's shit. I hate titles.

Words: 2,416

A loud noise wakes you up, your heart missing a beat. For a moment, you're completely still in bed, scared out of your mind. That was definitely the sound of the front door opening and closing, and someone crashing into a chair. You're as stiff as a board, your first thought being that this is it, this is how you'll die, by the hand of a home invader who's probably going to assault you first and then kill you, or maybe kidnap you and do god knows what to you…

You hear cursing and as you recognize the voice you also realize that if someone wanted to break in, they'd probably at least try to be stealthy about it.

"Frankie?" You mean for it to be a call but it's just a breathless whimper. You wet your lips, finding your mouth too dry.

Heavy, staggering footsteps bring the unknown visitor to the bedroom door and you reach out to turn on your bedside lamp. Blinking blearily towards the soft light is indeed Frankie, a sheepish smile on his face.

"The hell are you doing?" Your fright-induced stiffness leaving your body, you sit up in bed and glare at your boyfriend who was supposed to sleep at his own place tonight after his night out with the boys. His eyes are unfocused and his face shiny, and it's clearly been a good night. You glance at the nightstand, where the red light diodes of the clock tell you that the time is barely three am.

“Sorry, baby. Did I wake ya? There was… there was a chair in the entry. Did you move a chair? There never was a chair there before. Stubbed my toe.”

He limps over to the bed, trying to look as sober as possible while unbuttoning his shirt – “trying” being the operative word, as he’s clearly lost control of his fine motoric skills. He ends up pulling the flannel over his head, but it gets stuck, and he topples over his side of the bed. You draw back a little, wrinkling your nose. He smells of stale beer and cigarettes and moreover: he was supposed to go home. You had both agreed that you'd spend Saturday night apart for once, him catching up with his friends, you with yours, and he'd go home where he could spend Sunday nursing his hangover while you got some cleaning done in your apartment.

“What you are doing here?” you demand again, anger replacing fear. “Can I send you to the shower or will you drown?”

“I’m not a good swimmer,” Frankie acknowledges ruefully as he clumsily rolls over in bed and attempts the next step of getting undressed: undoing his fly and getting his tight jeans off. “Here, baby, gimme a hand, you’re so good at this…” “You deal with it yourself,” you say sternly, in no mood to help. The whole idea of spending one night apart was to get a good night’s sleep – something you rarely get in the same bed as Frankie as both of you are usually too voracious for each other to think about sleep – and for you not to have to worry about a hung-over boyfriend the following morning. On top of that, you’re furious with him for scaring the shit out of you by stumbling in at three in the morning. You almost regret giving him a key but then again: if he didn’t have one it could have been even worse, he could have gone full on Stanley Kowalski outside your window.

“Ah, baby, c’mon… Don’t be like that. Help an old man out.”

Frankie tilts his head up and looks at you with imploring eyes, upside down from you. Half of him is hanging outside the bed and the rest is slipping off, and he looks like he might fall asleep any second. You might as well help him before he goes limp and ends up on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter and crawl over to his side of the bed before climbing out. As you bend over to pick up his legs and lift them onto the mattress, Frankie manages to slap your ass.

“Baby. Hey, baby. Let’s have sex.”

“Not gonna happen.”

You unzip his jeans and yank them down carelessly, pulling Frankie down the bed in the process.

“Whoa, wild thing,” he murmurs thickly, his eyes falling shut. “Careful of the joystick, you don’ wanna damage that or you won’ be able to fly anymore…”

You don’t bother with an answer, he’s not going to remember it anyway. You help him off with the t-shirt as well and when you’re about to tuck him in, he grabs you by your wrist with a move much quicker than you had thought him capable of in his state. He pulls you down over him, the other hand squeezing your ass.

“Sex,” he mumbles. “Love you, baby, and I wanna be in you fo’eva.”

You try to avoid the smelly, wet kisses that he keeps pressing to your neck and shoulder. While you can appreciate him being horny for you in any situation, you’re still mad about him being here at all.

“You need sleep and I want it,” you tell him as you squirm out of his hold. Returning to your side of bed, you ignore the puppy eyes look he gives you as you turn off the lights.

“Not sleepy,” Frankie protests weakly before he’s out cold. He starts to snore loudly and you sigh in exasperation.

You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

You barely sleep for the remainder of the night and when you finally give up and get out of bed, you're in a pissy mood. Not even two cups of coffee and the fancy bread rolls you bought at the bakery yesterday to treat yourself this Sunday morning make you feel better. You down a painkiller to combat the beginnings of the headache you feel creeping up on you before starting on your chore list. The clearing of the closets in the hall is the first task and you get to it, trying to find some satisfaction in the fact that you're getting your things in order.

As the hours pass by, you do your best to work around the tasks on your list that would generate noise, such as vacuuming. You may be pissed at Frankie but you're decent enough to let him sleep for a little while longer. However, you finally face the fact that if you're to get everything done in time for you to actually enjoy the rest of your day off and open that novel you've been dying to read, you're going to have to start the vacuum cleaer. If Frankie wanted to sleep until three pm he should have gone home.

When you turn off the vacuum cleaner, you hear Frankie groan in the bedroom.

“Babe?”

You're not really in the mood to talk to him but you go check on him, just in case he needs help to get to the bathroom. Nursing his hangover is the last thing you want to do today but you also don't want to clean up vomit.

He looks like a wreck with his hair standing out in every direction where it's not plastered to his skull, puffy eyes, and pale face.

“Morning.” Your tone is short but he doesn't seem to notice. He grunts and rubs his forehead with one hand, the other reaching out of bed towards you.

“C'mere. I wanna cuddle.”

“You smell,” you shake your head. “Get up already, I want to change the sheets.”

He groans again and retracts his arm, draping it over his forehead.

“One more minute. Or hour. It's so early and my head is killing me.”

“Not my problem, Frankie.”

Frowning, he looks at you, clearly bothered by the sunlight washing the room in light. You don't offer any explanations.

“Is there coffee?” he asks eventually.

“No.”

“Can you make some?”

“Make it yourself.”

He blinks at you, surprised.

“What's wrong, baby?”

You go to the other side of the bed, grab the pillow and start to take off the pillowcase.

“Just get out of bed. I have shit to do.”

Frankie sits up slowly, his head clearly bothering him when he moves from a horizontal recline to a vertical seat. He takes a moment, eyes closed and hand on his bare, soft stomach, before looking up at you.

“What's up with you?”

There's a hint of accusation in his voice and that does it for you. You slam down the pillow onto the bed and cross your arms in front of your chest as you glare at him.

“You scared the shit out of me last night, Frankie! I thought I was being burglared!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he mumbles, his apology meaning nothing to you because you can clearly see that he doesn't understand the terror you felt last night.

“We agreed that we'd spend the night apart, what the hell did you come here for and ruin my sleep and my morning?” you demand, raising your voice a little despite yourself. Frankie hates yelling. “Did you think I'd take care of you, tip-toe around you all day, serve you coffee in bed and junk food on the couch while you get to feel sorry for drinking too much?”

“What, no, what are you – “ Frankie seems utterly confused, the state of him most likely partly to blame. “Can you please keep your voice down?”

You pull at the duvet, stuck partly underneath him. “Move.”

“Jesus...” he mutters as he slowly gets out of bed. He stands still for a moment as if to recalibrate as he adjusts his boxers, before sluggishly dragging himself to the bathroom. You strip the bed and as soon as Frankie's out of the bathroom and heading into the kitchen, you take the sheets to the washing-machine and start it. And just because you're feeling like a bitch, you throw Frankie's clothes out of the bedroom, letting them land on the floor, before vacuuming.

When you're stowing away the vacuum cleaner into the cleaning closet, Frankie confronts you. He's now dressed but that doesn't help his half-dead appearance.

“Why are you being like this?” He's still struggling to understand you. It's typical Frankie: he always tries to talk about things, bring clarity into every issue.

“Like what? What am I like?"” You're being a brat, you know, but you have no desire to be an adult right now. Frankie really doesn't seem to understand: the frown seems permanently etched into his face and he looks so different from his usual soft, easy-going self.

“Mean. You're being mean!” The last word comes out harshly and you can tell Frankie's losing his customary cool.

“So when I have plans to spend a day apart from you and be my own person, I'm being mean?” you spit. He looks at you like you're suddenly speaking in a foreign language.

“What are you even talking about?” The exasperation is plain to see, and it somehow makes you even angrier.

“This isn't your mama's bed and breakfast that you can just check into whenever you feel like it, Frankie!”

“Fuck,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can't deal with this right now.” He pulls out his phone. “I'm getting an Uber.”

“Good!” you quip. “Fuck off home, like you should've done at three in the fucking morning!”

Without waiting for a reply, you stomp into the bedroom and slam the door. A few seconds later, you hear the front door slam as well.

[+++]

Sorry I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night. I just missed you. Didn’t want to go home and sleep without you. Call me, okay? I Love you.

You stare at the text message and feel bad, no, not bad: really fucking awful. It took you a few hours to calm down; hours that you spent playing angry music while finishing your list of chores. Afterwards, you didn’t feel that satisfying sense of accomplishment you usually experience after a good cleaning. Your head still hurt, so you went to your newly made bed which smelled fresh and nice even with the spread on top. You slept until late afternoon and woke up by the beep signaling the text.

You’re conflicted. The fact that he missed you is so sweet but there’s something about the statement that annoys you. He’s a grown-ass man, for chrissakes, and he should be able to be without his girlfriend for one single fucking night. And then guilting you into calling him with I-love-you’s and his fragile feelings? Fuck that noise.

And still. You know what Frankie’s like: physical, devoted, kind. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever been with. Not like your last boyfriend, who would pull shit like this all the time: show up at your place at all hours of the day (or night) whenever he wanted something from you. Sex. Comfort. Sympathy. Who would text and call you all the time when you were out with friends because he couldn’t find his way to the fridge without your help.

Reluctantly, you hit the speed dial button to Frankie, and he picks up almost immediately, saying your name with barely contained urgency.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi. You okay?” Such a Frankie thing to do, make sure you’re okay after a fight where, technically, he’s the injured party.

“Not really. You?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You mean the hangover or this morning?”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Both, but I meant the hangover.”

You exhale in an amused little sniff.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. Do you… wanna come over?”

“I’d love to. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. I’ll pick something up. Burgers from that place you like?”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of burgers but you’re more concerned with the sudden tears that rise in your eyes. Oh, Frankie.

“That would be great,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. Get a fucking grip!

“Parmesan fries?” he queries, but all he gets from you is a sob. “Baby?”

“I love you,” you sniffle. “You’re the best.”

“Aww, babe. I love you, too.”

You draw a deep breath to calm down, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst. It’s not like you, but it’s been a weird day.

“You still there?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Pepsi Raspberry for you?”

You start crying.