#so I should go to bed. but also. this code needs cleaning. but also. even if I fall asleep now I’m only getting like 5 hours MAX

[exopelagic]

okay facing consequences of my actions

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part three]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count: 2k

masterlist

Paige has only ever fallen in love once.

She knows that it’s wrong, everything against her moral code, to have a girl in her bed while thinking of another one entirely. But in the middle of the night, when Ella is fast asleep and Paige shifts away to her side of the bed, her thoughts can’t help but wander to soft brown eyes and long tan legs. When Ella chooses a sweater from her closet to throw on, she can’t help but think of how Azzi wore it better.

But these are just remnants of feelings, Paige reminds herself. She’d gotten over Azzi long ago, when she’d realized there was no chance her best friend could ever reciprocate the same feelings. Azzi was always the first one to slip out after sex, talking about having to study or do something important. More often than not, Paige woke up to an empty bed. Azzi was the one who always changed the subject whenever Paige brought up their situationship, clearly not wanting to take things further. Azzi was the one who had met Ella enthusiastically, patting Paige on the back.

In other words, Azzi Fudd was very much not in love with Paige Bueckers.

So Paige knows that it’s a good thing that Azzi seems to be distancing herself, that it would probably help snap whatever was going on them completely in half. A clean break from a universe where she’s not completely and utterly in love with the one person she can’t have. But Paige also knows that she’s going absolutely batshit crazy without her, which is how she finds herself outside of Azzi’s apartment in the middle of the night for the second time in two weeks.

As soon as the doors opens, Paige blurts out, “Did she say something to you?”

Azzi stares bleary eyed and dazed at her. Paige almost blushes at how cute Azzi looks in her little pajama shorts, the cloth riding up to show the smoothness of her thighs. Blushes. She needs to get ahold of herself.

“What?” Azzi’s sure she’s half hallucinating.

“If she said some shit to you, you can tell me. You know I don’t fuck with anyone who doesn’t fuck with you.”

“No, Paige.” Azzi rubs her temples. It’s always three steps forward and four steps back with them.

“Then what’s the problem?” Paige says, frustrated. “You‘ve barely been responding to any of my texts and you keep cancelling our plans.”

“The problem is that you’re willing to break up with your girlfriend for me!”

Paige’s expression turns sour. “That’s not what I said. I’m saying that you’re my best friend. And I care about what you think.”

“We’re not normal best friends, and you know it,” Azzi accuses. “Ella doesn’t deserve this. I know what it feels like, constantly worrying about another girl. It’s not fair of you to treat her like that.”

“You’re calling me a bad girlfriend?” Paige scoffs and looks away, a dirty taste in her mouth. “You don’t exactly have expertise in this area.”

Azzi’s lips tremble. “I can’t do this anymore, Paige.”

“Wait.” Paige reaches for her, flinching when Azzi pulls away. “I’m sorry, Az. I didn’t mean that.”

“I think we should-” Azzi exhales, gathering her thoughts. “We should take some space.”

“Space?” Paige wrinkles her nose. “We’re not even dating and you’re fucking breaking up with me?”

“It’s not like anything will change from the last few weeks.” Azzi folds her arms, looking like she’d rather be anywhere than here. “We barely even talk anymore and when we do, we’re fighting. This isn’t healthy. And - and Ella is good for you. She’s safe.”

“I don’t want space,” Paige says. “I can’t do space.” Her voice cracks, and Azzi only realizes now how bloodshot her eyes are, the bags underneath dark and pronounced. “Not from you.”

Azzi wipes her cheek with her sleeve. “I’m sorry.” She opens her mouth to say something, then cuts herself off by looking away, and Paige is well versed in everything Azzi - her body language, her habits, her tells - enough to know that the younger girl is hiding something from her.

“Say it.”

“Paige, stop.”

“Tell me!”

Azzi bites her bottom lip, worrying the skin with her teeth. “I was just gonna say…” she hesitates. “I was just gonna say that I’m seeing someone else too. So space would be good. For both of us. For me.”

“You’re seeing someone else?”

Azzi ducks her head. “It’s not any of your business, but yeah.”

“Who?”

“It’s really new. We’re not even dating yet.”

Paige’s heart drops. “Is it a girl?”

“Yeah.” Paige’s heart plummets all the way to the floor. A guy, maybe she could handle. A girl? There’s something so much more intimate about being with a woman, and she doesn’t know if she can handle even just thinking about Azzi lying in bed with another girl, touching another girl, loving another girl.

“Can I meet her?”

“I’m introducing her to the team next week. You can come if you want.”

Paige nods to herself, still trying to comprehend the fact that Azzi is with a woman - a woman that’s not her.

“I’m sorry.” Azzi repeats quietly. Then she turns her back, heading back to her room. “Lock the door on your way out.”

“Azzi.” It’s a last plea, a cry for help.

The younger girl halts, but she doesn’t turn around.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” Paige’s voice is trembling.

“Of course we are.” But Azzi doesn’t sound so sure of herself.

Paige approaches her slowly from behind, putting her hands on her waist, hesitantly at first. When Azzi doesn’t move away, instead subconsciously leaning back into her touch, she rests her forehead on the younger girl’s shoulder, breathing in her scent, breathing in her. They stay like that for a few moments, breaths ragged, cheeks wet. Then Azzi’s covering her hands with her own, squeezing them gently before moving them away, stepping away, walking away, closing the door, and she’s gone.

Paige has only ever fallen in love once. Now, she thinks her heart has broken once too.

••

“I don’t like her.”

Ella brushes mascara over her lashes, dabbing at a dark blotch that had accidentally streaked her eyelid. “You haven’t even met her.”

“Well, I can already tell she’s a bitch.” Page grumbles, pacing the room for the fiftieth time that night.

“Don’t be insufferable,” Ella fixes Paige with a scrutinizing glare. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.” She grabs Paige’s hand, and Paige grimaces. Ella’s palms are always so clammy.

Much to Paige’s chagrin, her best friend isn’t even at her own apartment when they show up. The rest of the team is about to start the movie, so she sits in the corner with Ella as the lights dim. She can’t even eat the popcorn her girlfriend offers her, too busy thinking about what Azzi’s girl looks like.

Halfway through the movie, the door opens suddenly, and Azzi and the other girl fall in, giggling over something stupid. They freeze once they realize everyone’s eyes on them, but Azzi quickly straightens up and grabs her hand. “Everyone,” she says shyly. “This is Micaela.”

The entire team stands up at once, going to greet her with open arms, but Paige stays fixed to her seat, staring stubbornly at the movie. “Come on,” Ella gripes, nudging at her shoulder. “Don’t be rude.”

“Movie’s not done yet.” Paige finally reaches for the popcorn, steadfastly chewing the kernels without giving Micaela another glance.

Ella gives up, leaning back and folding her arms as she tosses another glare to the blonde. It’s only when Nika clears her throat that Paige looks up and realizes that everyone is staring at them expectantly.

Paige is resolved in her refusal to get up, but then she finally looks at Azzi. And Azzi is staring at her, with so much hurt and hope in her eyes, screaming you’re still my best friend, that Paige’s own chest hurts and she forces herself to stand up. “Hey,” she says gruffly, making her way over to Micaela and sticking out a reluctant hand. “Paige.”

“Paige! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan!” Micaela gushes.

Paige arches an eyebrow at Nika, trying to hold back a laugh, but the brunette gives her a warning glare. Coughing away her laugh, Paige nods. “That’s cool. It’s nice to meet you too.” She glances over to Azzi, making sure she did okay. Azzi’s shoulders relax, her smile becoming a little brighter, and Paige’s eyes soften.

Everyone gathers on the couches to finish watching the movie, but all Paige can hear is the low tones coming from the kitchen, where Azzi and Micaela had stayed to make food. But when she enters, Micaela is gone, and Azzi is alone.

“Bathroom,” Azzi responds to Paige’s lifted eyebrow. Paige nods, opening up the cabinet and rummaging through the snacks, feeling the weight of Azzi’s stare on her back.

“We don’t have anymore Chex mix.”

Cursing under her breath, Paige closes the cabinet.

“Your girlfriend’s wearing my hoodie, by the way.”

Paige’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Her hoodie. It’s mine.” Azzi tilts her head, studying Paige carefully.

Paige’s face warms. “Sorry. I didn’t notice. She just took it off my bed.” Her blush intensifies when she realizes the mistake she’s accidentally just admitted, and from the tense look on Azzi’s face, she’d caught it too. But instead of addressing it, Azzi turns away, busying herself with making her sandwich.

Paige waits a little longer, hoping the younger girl will say something else, but she doesn’t. So when she returns and KK’s pouring out shots, she takes more than a few.

“Okay, y’all. We playing truth or dare,” KK announces after everyone’s had a few drinks in their system.

Ignoring the complaints, KK gathers everyone in a circle. “I’ll go first,” she declares.

With the shots she’d taken earlier, Paige feels a little loose, a nice warmth in her tummy. She’s almost relaxed when KK says, “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

As if on instinct, Paige’s eyes flick to Azzi. It’s brief, and she only hesitates for a second, but it’s enough. Ella shifts uncomfortably beside her. KK is smirking, not even trying to hide the look on her face. And Paige swears she sees a hint of a smile on Azzi’s lips before she looks away.

“Come here,” she says softly, pulling Ella in and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“On the cheek is crazy,” she hears someone mutter. Jana elbows KK, who rolls her eyes.

KK goes around, insisting on a new version of truth or dare where she gets to ask everyone the question. Having grown accustomed to KK’s antics, no one even bothers to protest against her system.

“Azzi,” KK says. “Who was your New Year’s kiss?”

The whole team oohs. Last year, they’d been in a hotel for a game on the first day of January. Everyone had gathered in the lobby to watch the ball drop, but Paige had convinced Azzi to sneak off with her, saying that it just wouldn’t be right to start a new year without a kiss. Luckily, no one had put two and two together, but they’d all noticed Azzi returning with a goofy smile. Despite their pestering, Azzi had refused to tell them. Paige had thought it was to keep their situationship on the down low, but she realizes now that maybe it was because Azzi was embarrased of her. Her chest constricts.

“I can’t remember.”

Paige’s grip on her shot cup tightens. Azzi refuses to meet her eyes.

“Must’ve been pretty bad if you can’t remember,” Ice snickers. Paige swears she’s seeing red.

“Yeah.” Azzi pours herself another shot and drains it. “Must have.”

••

“I suck at a lot of things, but kissing isn’t one of them,” Paige says, her words slurring together.

“What did you want me to say? Both of our girlfriends were just sitting in there.” Azzi argues, just as buzzed as Paige is. The two of them glare at each other, the alcohol coursing through their bodies making them hotheaded. I wanted you to say that you kissed me. I wanted you to say that you liked kissing me. I wanted you to say that kissing you makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else can. I wanted you to feel the same. Paige’s chest heaves.

Micaela walks in, instantly picking up on the tension in the room. “Everything okay, babe?” Her hands circle Azzi’s waist as she eyes the blonde warily.

“Everything’s fine,” Paige says shortly. “We’re in the middle of something here. You can go.”

“I didn’t recall asking you.” Micaela snaps with a fire Paige didn’t know she had inside of her. “Are you good?” she directs the question at Azzi, drawing her closer.

“I’m fine.”

“Is she bothering you?”

Paige expects Azzi to open her mouth and tell Micaela off, like she always does whenever someone tries to pit the two of them against each other. Paige expects Azzi to laugh at the sheer thought of having to be saved from her best friend. But Azzi doesn’t do any of those things. She says, “Yeah, she is.” And she lets Micaela lead her away.

Is it possible to get your heart broken twice?

[javiscigarette]

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.  But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings. 

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock. 

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.  

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal. 

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky. 

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands. 

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain. 

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better. 

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask. 

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him. 

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him. 

So you do. 

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision. 

Fucking pathetic. Both of you. 

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly. 

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house. 

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours. 

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?” 

You ask even though you don’t really want to know. 

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. 

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know. 

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to. 

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. 

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again. 

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that. 

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits. 

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you. 

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. 

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms. 

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight. 

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale. 

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked. 

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand. 

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of. 

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy. 

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat. 

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger. 

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can. 

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth. 

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes. 

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.  

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand. 

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there. 

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down. 

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again. 

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out. 

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. 

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is. 

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painful reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does. 

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic. 

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be. 

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's. 

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

[fatkish]

Aizawa x Autistic cat-quirk Reader 3/3 NSFW

Part 2:

Part 1:

(Art not mine again, I found it on Pinterest)

As you and Aizawa got further into your relationship eventually you moved into his apartment. Aizawa was more than happy to be able to come home to you and be able to spend his time with you without having to worry about meeting up or making time to go anywhere. Since you moved in with Aizawa there are things you did specifically to help accommodate your needs. Aizawa gave you full support and permission to do whatever you needed to make his home yours as well.

A few of the changes you made were installing various hide boxes that you placed around your’s and Shouta’s house/apartment, they have little cat beds inside and a curtain covering the entrance to them.

The boxes are actually color coded based on how you’re feeling and how one should interact with you.

Green means you’re feeling good and are happy to interact, yellow means you’re a little anxious but are up for snuggles, red means you’re overwhelmed and leave you alone.

Aizawa’s other cats liked the hide boxes so you made bigger ones and helped him create an exercise course for his cats to use that runs along the walls

There is also a small water fountain that you placed in Aizawa’s apartment for his cats to drink from, you replace the water every day and wipes it down to clean it

You’ve also put brushes on the sides of certain furniture, walls, and on the cat’s towers. These brushes help you as well as Aizawa’s cats with grooming and helps reduce the amount of hair on everything and the amount of hairballs. The brushes are easy to clean and remove hair from. The cats just have to rub themselves against it and it brushes their fur collecting any loose hair.

As you both began sleeping in the same house/apartment Aizawa has gotten to see a lot more of your unfiltered self.

Sometimes when you’re completely in the Autistic zone you’ll just lay on his chest and lick Aizawa’s stubble whenever he’s laying down. You’ve explained to him that sometimes you just have an unstoppable urge to lick him and that you enjoy the feeling of his stubble. You apologized for it but he doesn’t mind it and lets you just follow your instincts.

While he was asleep you had played with his scarf and got tangled in it only for him to wake up to you yowling and angry, he laughed as he untangled you

Sometimes you’ll use cat behaviors to express yourself without words. One of the ways is when you make biscuits: you’ll do this whenever you’re happy in both cat and human form. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

another thing is Bunting: (y/n)’ll rub on Aizawa and leaves their scent on him every time he leaves the house (hound dog thought an intruder got inside UA and tracked the scent only to find Aizawa. He explained that a cat quirked friend rubbed their scent on him and that’s what inui is smelling)

Eventually Aizawa had to introduce you to his friends. At first when you met Hizashi you were spooked by his loud voice and even puffed up your fur with your back arched hissing at him.

After a bit you got used to his presence and carefully approached him. The moment he started scratching your head and giving you pets you folded and that’s when you both became friends.

After having known him for awhile you and Hizashi worked together to create a cat music playlist for his radio station. They created “cat radio: the 9 to 5 station for your feline friend” the station plays music for cats created by various artists and plays Monday to Saturday from 9:00 am to 5:00 pm.

You gave him a list of sounds that cats enjoy and he mixed them together and created a rhythm that sounded almost like human music.

Whenever they hang out he plays his newest pieces for them and they tell him what they think and if it could be improved.

Sometimes on Sundays, Hizashi and reader will accept calls to the studio or will open emails/letters from the listeners of the cat radio channel and reader will answer the listener’s questions about their cats and give advice as well as help the listeners understand their cats and somewhat translate for the cat(s) using their quirk’s ability to communicate with cats. Sometimes they have special guests such as veterinarians to answer questions and discuss cat things.

After some time (y/n) eventually met Nemuri as well. Nemuri immediately fell in love with (y/n) and quickly became their relationship coach. Whenever you’re having issues or need help with anything you call Nemuri for advice. She’s the one who helped Aizawa with the more intimate aspects of your relationship.

One time as a joke, Hizashi gave (y/n) catnip just to see what they’d do, only for them to get really horny and tackle Aizawa when he got home.

They kept biting him and eventually he had to lock them in a room to relieve their urges with the help of some ‘toys’ and needless to say, Aizawa was extremely exhausted afterwards but enjoyed tying his little kitten up.

However after that he never allowed catnip near them again unless (y/n) agreed beforehand due to how it makes them feel

When they get frisky in bed Aizawa will often bite the back of their neck where they have a human scruff, the skin there is just more loose and stretchy.

He will also make sounds like a seductive growl or rumbling when he bites it. This causes reader to become completely relaxed and intensifies their physical sensitivities as well as their 5 senses when they’re having sex.

You also experiences heats instead of periods(for you girls). (Boys experience heats too)

During this time you become especially sensitive and horny. Aizawa will mark and track the days leading to your heat so he can prepare for it.

He has bought various toys that he can control from his phone as well as a teddy bear that he recorded messages on for you to listen to his voice when he isn’t home and you need to relieve yourself

A lot of the messages are dirty talking telling you what he’s going to do to you when he gets home, praises and compliments or just him telling you how much he loves you

“Who’s my pretty little kitty? That feel good? I can’t wait to get home, you’d better prep yourself, because I’m not going give you any time to prepare.”

“Look at you, you’re so wet, such a naughty little kitten, making a mess.”

“You’re such a pretty little kitty, making such cute little noises, I just can’t wait to get home and sink my teeth into you and fuck you all night”

“Face down, ass in the air kitten, you know how I like it”

“Look at this cute little ass, maybe I should tie you up, make you beg for me as I spank you”

“I’m going to make you scream so loud you’re gonna give Hizashi a run for his money.”

“That’s it, good (girl, boy, kitty) go on and purr for me baby let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

“You’re so tight, I love you so much.”

When he does get home during their heats, he’s always happy to help them.

During your heats he’ll give you catnip on occasion as an aphrodisiac to help you when he’s especially tired since it makes you even more sensitive.

After your heats Aizawa will happily snuggle you and help you get around since you’re sore afterwards more often than not.

All in all, your relationship with Aizawa is purrfect, and he couldn’t ask for anything more.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (9/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Finding an outfit is harder that it seams. Especially when your roommate can't really help you, because he's at his other apartment.

Warnings: fluff, angst (whoops), mentions of cheating (not Charles), mentions of smut (oral, fingering, p in v), angry Charles, text messages

Word Count: 3.6k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: here it is friends. did my absolute best and honestly, I'm sweating so hard. I chose the name for Charles ex bc it’s the name of the girl my best friend absolutely despises. and this is not a Charlotte hate acc. hope you like it still. feedback is appreciated!

The weather app on your phone is of relatively little help. 

Charles had said that you were going out to dinner around eight o'clock in the evening, and according to the app, it should still be fifteen degrees then, even though it's December. While he had said that "it doesn't matter what you wear," but if you were going to be spending more time with him soon, and by extension his friends, you would want to make a good first impression. 

Not that your first impression on Charles was particularly good. 

Since you promised Charles that he could sleep in his bed tonight, you try to keep the mess of clothes to a minimum. Instead of pulling each piece of clothing out of the closet and then tossing it into the nearest corner because it doesn't match what you had in mind, you put things neatly folded back in their place. 

After your roommate left the apartment, you started cleaning up your room so it wouldn't be too embarrassing if Charles stayed there tonight. After all, he doesn't need to see your underwear or the little stuffed animal turtle that sleeps in bed with you. Generally things that maybe old friends know about you, but definitely not the roommate you've been living with for two days.

The roommate who is no help to you when it comes to choosing clothes for tonight. Since he hasn't told you which restaurant it is, you don't know exactly what the dress code looks like, which is why you're now standing in front of the closet at a loss. 

In Monaco, when it comes to restaurant choice, anything is possible. You could dine at Le Louis XV, the most expensive restaurant in Monte-Carlo, or Jack Monaco, which is significantly cheaper, but you have a direct view of the harbor with the oversized and expensive yachts.

Secretly, you hope it won't be too expensive tonight. Joris would pay you back the rent soon, but you're still unemployed and unfortunately can't live quite as carefree Charles, who apparently has enough money at his disposal to have not one, but two apartments in Monaco. 

A fact that you would never blame him for. 

When you can't find anything that would theoretically go with any restaurant visit, you drop onto the bed, annoyed. It can't be that hard to find something, right? You fish your cell phone out of the pocket of your sweater and start typing. 

Briefly, you consider actually sending the message, but alas, you're so desperate that you feel you have no choice. You hit send and are about to throw the phone across the room as if you've just confessed to your school crush that you like him. 

But Charles isn't your school crush. He's your roommate and first and foremost your friend, which is why you just drop the phone on the bed next to you. 

You sit up and narrow your eyes as you go through the clothes in the open closet. Somewhere in there is a pair of dark gray, straight-cut jeans that match the white blouse you carefully hung back on the hanger a few minutes ago. 

And sure enough. After a few minutes of rummaging around in the clothes, you find the jeans and as you hold them up next to the blouse, you're relatively pleased with the choice. There should also be shoes floating around somewhere that should go with them. But at least this is a good start. 

Satisfied, you clean up the rest of the room. Since Charles has not invited you to dinner, but also to a club, you will certainly be home late, so you decide to make up Charles' bed. Your bedding disappears into the hall closet after you take Charles' things out. As you bring them into the bedroom and spread them out on the bed, you find yourself briefly considering pressing your face into the pillow. For sure, Charles smells attached to it. 

But before you can do that, your cell phone vibrates. It's a message from Charles. 

Your heart skips a beat. Do friends give each other compliments like that? You glance from your phone to Charles' pillow, then to your outfit for tonight. You bite the inside of your cheek and start typing. 

You plug your phone into the charging cord as you head toward the bathroom to shower and get ready for the evening, so you don't see the two messages Charles sends you.

-

The Ferrari feels different somehow. After Charles sat in your old Renault yesterday, the expensive Ferrari feels strange under him. Not wrong, but different. Like something is missing. 

He feels the stares on him as he steers the car through the streets of Monaco. The gray Ferrari attracts attention, with its red and white stripes and the number 16 on the side. But not just because the 488 Pista Spider is a beautiful car. 

But because people know who owns the car.

The fact that you don't know that Charles is the Charles Leclerc is refreshing for him, but the guilty conscience gnaws at him. He should tell you that he drives in Formula 1, because after all, you would be dragged into the limelight by him, should people find out that you are friends and, above all, that you live together. Before that happens, he should at least give you the opportunity to get out of it. 

But Charles is too selfish for that. 

Even though you've only known each other for a short time, Charles enjoys your company too much to mess it up. You're so normal, so kind, without asking for anything in return like most want him to do. You're just you. And by God, he's never felt better than in his short time with you. 

He expertly steers the Ferrari into a parking garage entrance, where he has to type a pin into the designated keypad next to him before the barrier. The barrier opens so that he can drive a few meters further, where a metal gate awaits him, where he also has to enter a pin - a different one. Only then does he reach the parking lot that rightfully belongs to him. 

It has been some time since he has been here. After driving the last race of the season in Abu Dhabi about three weeks ago and becoming vice world champion, he had stayed on site for a short time to soak up some sun and recover from the stress before flying back to Maranello with his team for a final briefing and to discuss the upcoming season. But even that only lasted a few days. He could have been back in Monaco by now. 

But he didn't want to. 

He knew exactly what was waiting for him here. A conversation he wanted to delay as long as possible. He didn't stay away from Monaco for so long for no reason, and he wondered if he hadn't returned too soon. But he can't, first, avoid this conversation, and second, stay away from his home. He loves it here too much for that. Just like other things he'd rather not think about right now. 

In the elevator, he puts his key in the designated hole and then presses the button with the number of the floor where his apartment is located. Just a few weeks ago, he thought that if he entered this building again, his heart would be beating wildly in his chest or his palms would be sweaty, but he is not even nervous. 

He knows what's waiting for him behind the elevator door. And he's ready to wrap things up.

Charles enters the apartment as he has thousands of times before. And just like hundreds of times before, he hears the sound of footsteps on the floor moving quickly in his direction. But never before has he felt this indifference to those footsteps. 

"Charles?" A woman comes out of the room where the living room is located and rushes toward him with her arms outstretched. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his torso to hold him close, but Charles puts his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly pushes her away. "Charles, I'm so sorry. What I did is inexcusable and I will-"

"'You won't do anything,'" he interrupts her, wishing he could jump in the shower to wash her touch off him. "I'm just here to get some things. And to ask you to stop calling." He walks past her down the hall and into the room where his clothes are. 

"And I told you I would do everything I could to make this right between us," the woman says as she follows him. She places herself in the doorway with her arms crossed as he packs some of his clothes into a large gym bag. "I'm not ready to give up on us yet, Charles. I love you."

Charles can't stop the laughter that escapes him. After stuffing several pairs of socks into his side pocket, he turns to her and puts a hand on his hip. "You gave us up when you fucked that guy, Annika. And dare you to talk about love. You don't even know what that is."

As his phone vibrates in his pocket, he fishes it out. A message from Y/N. He doesn't even notice that a small smile creeps onto his face at that. 

But she does. "Who's that? Do you have a new one already?" 

Charles quickly types a reply and presses send before turning back to his clothes. "No," he says coldly. "And even if it were, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"Of course it's my business!" Annika almost screeches as she takes a few steps toward him. "I'm your girlfriend, after all!"

"You," Charles zips up the bag and stands in front of her, "are the absolute last person I want anything to do with." He pushes past her into the hallway, where he drops the bag on the floor to go into the bedroom, where some odds and ends are waiting for him to take as well.

Annika follows him like a dog follows its master. "And why do you let me stay here then?"

"Because I'm nice."

"You're not that nice. We both know that."

Charles looks at the picture frames sitting on the windowsill. Among them is a picture of him and his father when Charles was little and went karting. It's a fond memory that he certainly doesn't want to leave here with her. "I've changed."

In disbelief, Annika laughs. "Never. In the two years we were together, I asked you so many times for things that should have been natural for a relationship, but what came from you? Nothing." Now it's her turn to put her hands on her hips. "You're so focused on your job that you don't notice what's going on around you! If you had paid more attention to me, then-"

"Then what? Then you wouldn't have slept with that idiot? Then we would have been happy forever? Peace and happiness?" Charles takes some pictures out of the frames and carefully lays them on top of each other so they don't scratch. He would leave the frames here, after all, they were gifts from Annika. And he definitely doesn't want to keep them. "Grow up, Annika. You knew what you were getting into from the start."

"But not that I have to share you with the whole world." Slowly, she walks toward him and as she stands in front of him, she places her perfectly manicured hands against his chest. "You're all I've ever wanted, Charles. But you were never there. And even when you were there, your mind was always at work or somewhere else, but never with me."

She's not exactly wrong about that. The season had cost him quite a few nerves and he definitely hadn't been a good boyfriend, and maybe none of this would have happened if he had paid more attention to her. But that's definitely not a justification for what she did. Charles knows his worth. And that's exactly why he clasps Annika's wrists with his thumbs and forefingers to take her hands off him. 

"For not being a good boyfriend, I am truly sorry." He drops her hands. "But that's no reason to cheat. You and I are done." Charles leaves the bedroom and grabs his bag in the hallway before heading for the elevator door. 

"You're leaving? Just like that? Throwing away two years like they never happened?"

Again, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Another message from Y/N, making his heart skip a beat. He grins to himself and types a response that, under different circumstances, he might have thought twice about. But the quicker he replies, the quicker he's out of this place and back to you. 

"I'm not throwing it away, you already did." Charles puts his phone back in his pocket and presses the button to make the elevator come. "I'm letting you stay here because I know how bad I've been to you and that this year hasn't been so easy for you either. But if I need this place one day, for whatever reason, you're out of here. And I don't care where you end up. Find someplace to live. Move back in with your parents. But this," he points to the space between you, "is over. Forever."

Annika runs a hand through her hair, then crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Then I hope for your sake that you treat them better than you treat me."

The elevator door opens, but Charles doesn't move a bit. Instead, he looks at his ex-girlfriend, who stands before him with raised eyebrows. "Who do you mean?" 

"Do you think I'm that stupid? Or blind?" She points her finger at his pants pocket. "The person you just answered immediately."

"And what's so special about that?" he asks, confused. 

Annika takes a step toward him. "You always make everyone wait for you. You make your fans wait for good results, your friends wait for calls. You even make your mother wait for you, because I'm pretty sure she doesn't know you're home yet." Annika stops in front of him. "But whoever that is - that person has all your attention. She doesn't have to wait for you. Let me give you a hint along the way, Charlie."

"Don't call me that. And I don't need your help."

"And even if you did." Annika stretches her arm out, past him, so the elevator door doesn't close. "The fact that she doesn't have to wait for you is good. Don't make her wait for you, too. It's not fair to her. And not to you, either."

As he sits back in the Ferrari - the sports bag and pictures safely stowed in the trunk - he doesn't know what to do with himself. 

Charles made it clear to Annika that their relationship was over, and it had been overdue for at least a month. But what she said at the end stuck. 

He actually keeps everyone waiting, which is why he keeps blaming himself. He could have told his mother he was back in Monaco a long time ago, but somehow he didn't. He could have told you that he's not just Charles, but he didn't, and so he keeps you waiting for the truth that you know nothing about. 

Would you even want to be friends with him anymore if you knew who he was? Or would you want to be friends with him all the more? 

Never, he thinks to himself. That's not who you are. And he can say that even though you've only known each other for a short time. 

And even though you've only known each other for two days, you're all he can think about. He thinks about how you sat together on the grass and talked about his father. He thinks about how you cried at Cars. He thinks about how you flirted with him even though, in your opinion, it wasn't flirting (it was to him, of course; he wanted to know how to win you over for a reason). He thinks about how you told him about your ex-boyfriend and how he would love to beat him up. He thinks of you standing next to each other in the kitchen washing the dishes. 

He thinks of you standing in front of him dressed only in a towel. With bare shoulders and bare legs and that - if he would get the opportunity again - he would not hesitate to pull you into the bedroom and fuck you with his tongue, his fingers or his cock in such a way that he would ruin all other men for you.

Charles closes his eyes briefly to get the image of you on his mind, and then drives off. He would love to drive to the lookout and talk to his father about the situation, but somehow it doesn't feel right without you there. 

But he can't talk to you about it either, because it involves you, and although it would certainly be best, he doesn't have the heart to tell you the truth. Not because he doesn't trust you, but because he's afraid of losing you. 

He slaps his hand against his forehead. "Get a grip, damn it," he says to himself. The two of you haven't even touched, and he's thinking about how he'd take you on every surface in the small apartment. That's just not normal. 

And most of all, it's not fair. You confided in him about your ex-boyfriend because Charles is your friend. And your roommate. And that's what he needs to be to you. 

It wouldn't be fair for him to get into a relationship with you because one, you don't know who exactly he is, and two, he can never be what you need him to be. You need someone who is there for you, who takes time for you. Someone you can laugh and cry with. Not someone who is away most weeks of the year and can't even manage to call his own mother. 

You would always be waiting for him. And even though he doesn't want to agree with Annika, he has to. The whole thing is not fair to you. 

And so he deletes the last two messages he sent you, which you apparently haven't read yet, as he parks his Ferrari in an underground garage and walks the last few meters to your apartment. 

He decides that he is your friend. Only your friend. Because he has to be, and because he can't be anything else. Because you need a real friend, and not a relationship. 

Charles unlocks the apartment door and drops the gym bag to the floor beside him. 

"Charles?" Unlike Annika's voice, his heart starts to beat faster at yours and his palms start to sweat, so he quickly wipes them on his jeans. You come out of the bathroom dressed in dark gray jeans and a white blouse that accentuates your curves. As you stand in front of him, you turn once so he can check you out from all sides. In all his life, he's never seen anyone look so divine. "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure what to wear. I hope that's all right."

His smile is gentle and he hopes you don't notice how hard he has to swallow, and he would have loved to wrap you in his arms and never let you go. But his ex-girlfriend is still clinging to him, and before you touch each other properly for the first time, he wants her washed off.

It's not fair.

"It's okay," he says with a smile and goes to the fridge for a glass of orange juice. You stop by the apartment door next to the gym bag, but don't ask where the stuff is from. And for that, he's very grateful. "I'm just going to jump in the shower and then we can go, okay?"

He doesn't wait for your answer as he pulls new clothes out of his suitcase, walks into the bathroom, undresses, and stands under the hot stream of water. Even now, he keeps you waiting, which further solidifies his decision to keep your relationship purely platonic. While he's shampooing his hair, he makes a deal with himself that he'll do whatever it takes to make this friendship work. Even if that means suppressing his feelings. 

As he leaves the bathroom freshly showered and ready to go, you sit on the couch. He's looking at you, thinking about what Annika said, what he'd like to do with you, and all the things he could lose. And all of that just isn't fair. 

"I'm sorry you had to wait for me," he says softly, reaching for your car key that's on the dining room table. It feels better in his hand than the one from the Ferrari. So familiar. Like the key will fulfill everything he's ever wanted. 

"It's okay," you reply, getting up from the couch. You take a few steps toward him and smile at him, and his heart melts. "I'm fine with waiting."

the messages Charles deleted -

next part

[rottenjuice]

I’m loving the lore on the realm, because it all really stems from that bad and foolish did their usual ‘immortal’ arguing, that neither takes it very seriously, for everyone else to choose a side or allied and take it VERY seriously. IDK if it was meant to be more red vs everyone or the server vs the keepers + snails, but it's interesting how we ended up here because of old feuds.

everyone in the kingdom is so close-knit together and truly appreciates each other like sneeg only showing the members of the kingdom his twohickey and the constant ‘i’ll be there if u need me’ mentality which has grown because of how they have felt a bit targeted by pili bad pangi with how they've stormed the castle and touched their stuff (also red in general).

it makes sense as to why viewers + bad have called them a bit cult-ish AND with ros immediately saying she’d sacrifice herself for the kingdom really makes it seem even more like that from an outside perspective. but I believe they wouldn't let her, that's just not how they operate, like how they wouldn't let her be the test dummy.

while pili, pangi & bad all care about each other and help each other out, have the same bases and so on. they put themselves before their group, which makes sense as that’s how they survive. while the kingdom has it’s own morals to stand up for, especially since they want to be seen as honest and strong and in the right.

I think foolish sacrificing himself is such a great example of the server's dynamic, as the first thing the kingdom did was assume foolish wouldn’t sacrifice himself, that he’d for certain did not do that. when he did. because out of the whole kingdom, the king is under the least danger and doesn't understand the stakes of what's going on around him as everyone keeps on protecting him which must make everything seem like No Big Deal. why should foolish be scared of a cat that exclaimed their undying love for him or the fallen angel/demon that wants to sleep in his bed or a silly pangolin?

the 31st will be interesting, with something going down with aimsey that I'm pretty lost within what it could be, and then pili and clowns big fight. pili has asked pangi to kill clown if he dies. which pangi was confident in that he could manage. I just really hope it can be a clean fight with no others as pili want to prove himself to everyone on the server, and even if he does good and trips on the finish line, he still won't get a “fresh” start with the kingdom if pangi runs in and kills clown, if that makes sense.

and then we have the blues. cpk and aimsey are very family-coded, coy deciding to have hate for bbh for no reason but his existence and hates pili for killing him, and then tubbo who got killed twice by pili and once by pangi who isn't very bothered.

[ramons-elevator]

Im just laying in bed thinking about the forgotten egg and how Cellbit reacted.

Before Cellbit read the Memory book, he wrote in his investigation book that he ‘found a place where an egg should be but instead he found a chest with a book called Memories’

Then as he read the book he read:

“Please know that I was here. I was alive. I was somebody. I had hopes, I had ambitions, I had love that I was ready to give.”

With so much intensity in his voice as he had tears in his eyes.

This part broke me. Because we know they were left for dead. We know what they could have turned into if someone found them. We know that they would have been smothered in love from the newcomers. We know that the love they wanted to give would have been give back to them by the truckload.

But also this is Cellbit. This is the guy who has a backpack full of flowers so he can give them to every egg when he see them. This is the guy who always makes sures he talks to every egg and tries to include them on things he’s building/planning.

This is the guy whose best friend is his son. This is the guy who had to learn quickly that life is precious on this island and needs to be cherished. He watched his son die his first day and a few weeks later, had to say goodbye to his son’s best friend.

Cellbit cares so much for the eggs. He was one of the first, if not the first, person to tell the french about the code and that they need to protect Pomme with their lives.

Seeing him, with tears in his eyes, move the cow head keychain on his backpack to display an egg was soul crushing.

Seeing him quickly erase what he wrote in his investigation book to ‘found a place where an egg should be, but theres nothing’ because he wants to protect this egg that has been gone.

Watching him type that whatever was there is ‘Gone and forgotten’ because thats what the federation wants.

Then him about to leave only to go back and clean up the egg’s room. Taking the time to put love and care into a place that was meant to be forgotten.

Because he is not forgetting them. He is never forgetting them or any of the eggs on the island. Every egg deserves love, even if its too late.

[kirlicues]

Wellspring Gardens | Sims 2 Residential Lot Download

Here's a shiny, new lot with plenty of curb appeal! You might want to have the gardener on speed dial (or just put TwoJeffs Perfect Plants mod in your downloads folder and save the Simoleans) for this verdant stunner.

The garden club members won't know what hit them when this lot is plopped in the suburbs, and may just offer you a fancy stone well at first glance (if only).

Here's what's at the back of the lot. Not quite as many flower beds back here but there's plenty of room for the kids to stay entertained all summer in the pool.

I don't know about it being your Sims new favorite home, but I'd personally live in a place like this in a heartbeat, especially if it were out in the country! I mean look at that entry-so relaxing! 😍

Originally this lot lived in a little neighborhood called Blossom Bay, and housed 6 kids. I've polished it up removing any smells or spots left by tiny sim fingers, and lightly redecorated it inside.

Here's the floor plan that I know you are eager to see (what *is* making that electric blue dot in the upstairs window anyway--just you wait).

1st Floor: Clockwise from bottom left: Living room 1, living room 2, Bathroom, laundry room, sunroom/covered porch, bathroom, dining room, Master suite with bathroom, office, music room, kitchen, entryway.

2nd Floor:

That mystery blue spot in the front window? It's a really bright blue computer! 😎 I didn't realize how bright it would be until I went to take some exterior shots of the lot. 🤣

While the upstairs bedrooms are spacious you're going to have to put this home in your game to get a closer look at them. I don't have lots of time to do house tours these days, so here are a few quick shots from the first floor.

Master suite:

Office/Rec room: The TV featured in this room is a preorder bonus item for Apartment Life. I've included it with this lot (it will show up as a "red highlighted" object in Sims2Pack Clean Installer), but you can substitute it with something else or remove it entirely and replace it with a book shelf since there are so many pretty views out your windows and you can only watch HGTV for so long before wanting to go outside and actually try your hand at making something crafty for your yard.

Kitchen:

Dining Room:

Music Room:

Living Room 1: This house has living room options. If you're not a fan of this one...

Living Room 2: ...Try this one instead!

Pool: Because I think there needs to be another view of that pool-with a waterslide even! I can hear squeals of glee already!

And one more picture of the gardens at the front of the lot, just because:

Are you feeling more relaxed and refreshed yet?

Wellspring Gardens MF | SFS

Is gardening until you drop your kind of activity? Check out Gerbera Manor for more fantastic flowery fun!

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run this lot through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home has only 4 pieces of CC (3 of which are included, and one which didn’t make it into the package so I’ve provided a link for it). 2 of these items are by EA/Maxis so you may already have in your game. All of these can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want them though.

CC List (Included): -Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims -Functional Washer and Dryer by mustluvcats at ModtheSims -Flatronic Supervision TV (Apartment Life Bonus) by EA/Maxis -Rug D'Art by EA/Maxis

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Hi! I love your writing soo much! Especially your" Better" series. Do you think you could write something where Lip is a single, teen dad who has a daughter? I really want to see him as a girl dad!

Hii!!! Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying! I appreciate this so much. He is very girl dad coded to me so I love this. I also think being a dad, particularly a teen one would bring out some complex feelings in Lip. Also there's a bonus at the end that people who don't like Charlotte (the OC from Better) should skip. It's short and sweet, but let me know if you guys want more from Phoebe Gallagher.

warning: strong language

“I’m fucked.”

That was the first thing Lip said to his little brother Ian, blowing smoke into the air of their shared bedroom when he got home from seeing his…girlfriend…bestfriend…? Babymama. 

When Karen had invited him over to her house earlier that day, he’d assumed he was gonna get to fuck. Or at least get some head. He’d had a long day in the two classes he’d attended, a blowie was exactly what he’d needed. And to her credit, that’s what he’d gotten. Except immediately after she spit into one of her mother’s doilies and got off of her knees she unenthusiastically announced to him, ‘I’m pregnant.’ And then she started flipping through a magazine. 

Lip sat on the edge of her bed for a solid twenty minutes just opening and closing his mouth. Finally swallowing down the lump that immediately formed in his throat and fixed his wide blue eyes on her.  “You…gonna keep it?”

It’s fair. That Karen kicked him out. He understood. 

But shit. He was just a kid. He wasn’t ready to be a fucking dad, he’d been carrying around the same $30 for the past week in an attempt to replenish he and Ian’s weed supply. Fiona was gonna fucking kill him. He was gonna fucking kill himself.

Lip dragged himself home from Karen’s, ran upstairs, ignoring the calls from Debbie to help her with her homework and slammed the door. Ian had made his way in a lit a blunt for them to share, pushing open their rickety window, sitting with him in silence until the dam finally burst and Lip started confessing. 

“Yeah, you are.” Ian blows a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, snorting as Lip kicks his leg with his own. “I don’t know why you’re so worried man, there’s no way Karen’ll keep it. Even if she does, any person with a dick within a 40 mile radius could be the dad.” 

“Fuck you.”

“You’re gonna have to clean up that language when the baby gets here.” 

After Lip climbed over the bed and kicked Ian’s ass, he rolled back into his, gritting his teeth to himself. He was at an impasse. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up like this. Sure he’d hit raw a couple of times, but he’d thought they were good. He mostly pulls out. And Isn’t Karen supposed to handle that? And he’s not a fucking idiot. He knows Karen is a hoe. But the intimacy he’d had with her, he can’t believe she shares with everyone else. They’re best friends, and they love each other. There’s no way she’d let him believe the baby was his if it wasn’t.

So he’s having a baby. So what? Lip is living in a modern era. There are…options. Before the baby is born and after. If Karen keeps it, they can put it up for adoption. They could give it to a family who really wants it, who will take care of it. They could give it a good home, away from it’s shitty parents. It wouldn’t get stuck being a Gallagher with an addict and bum for a father. His baby…the baby…it could be loved and cared for. And Lip could go about his business. He could live up to his potential, without any baggage holding him back. 

He’d really believed that to be true, too. He thought he’d be able to see that baby one good time, and pass them off without any regret, content to know that any responsibility he had for it had dissipated. 

But then he saw her. 

Lip was standing there, in oversized scrubs, and clutching Karen’s hand when he first heard her take her first breath. She’d let out a wail so loud and Lip felt his heart ache at the sound. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d let go of Karen’s hand. His feet moved without his permission, guiding him over to the sinks where the nurses were washing her off. He trailed after her to get a good glimpse, and when he did, the world changed. 

Large blue eyes. Little wisps of hair. Her cries slow to small hiccups. 

Lip was in love. 

The older nurse rocks the newly swaddled baby slowly, smiling brightly as she makes her way back to where Karen lies in the bed. “Well, Mom, your beautiful baby girl has arrived. Let me let you hold her-”

“No.” Karen cut in sharply, her tone startles Lip and all off the nurses. The teen girl grips the railing of the bed, grunting as she scoots up, looking at everyone but the little angel squirming in the nurse’s arms. “I…don’t wanna hold her. I don’t want to see her. Give her to the agency lady.” 

“But-” the nurse stammers, looking between her and Lip.

“Honey,” the doctor lowers her mask, bending to make herself level with Karen. “You can change your mind. You can still decide that you’d like to keep your baby.”

“She’s not my baby.” Karen breathes, screwing her face up in determination. 

Lip doesn’t understand. He can’t understand. How could she be here, in the room, with that baby…hell, carry her for 9 months, and choose not to even look at her. Even hold her. He could respect not wanting to be a mom yet, not being ready. But right now, the way Karen was acting, she’s never reminded him of his own parents more. 

That little girl deserves better. She deserves love. She deserves someone who would love her more than anything.

“Um, excuse me,” He hears himself say. His hands extend toward the nurse as everything else in the room becomes blurry except the new little human that was half of him but just that fast, all his. “I’d…um…I’d like to hold her.”

“Phoebe, baby, it’s good. Watch, Daddy likes it.” 

Lip brings the pink rubber spoon to his mouth, spooning a small scoop of his daughter’s turkey puree baby food into his mouth. As soon as the taste hits his tongue he gags, dropping the spoon to the table and shooting up. “Motherfucker!”

Phoebe squeals, giggling as her father darts over to the sink, sticking his head under the faucet and attempts to flush out the foul taste. 

“That shit is fucking nasty, Daddy’s sorry he tried to give you that.” He coughs, lifting the girl out of her highchair and into his arms. The blond buries his face into his daughter’s chubby cheeks, nosing her golden curls out of the way before kissing her cheek repeatedly. 

“Are you still here?” Fiona asks, tilting her head and crossing her arms in disapproval as she watches their display. She’d been surprised when her brother had stopped his ex-girlfriend from putting their baby up for adoption last year. He’d been determined, filling out the necessary paperwork for full custody before completely ex-communicating Karen. He'd not asked Fiona about moving the newborn into their home when he asserted he’d be raising her himself. He was undeterred by her declaration that he’d be on his own, and the baby would not at all be her responsibility. He’d simply adjusted the baby carrier on his hip, flipping her off before carrying the little girl up to his room. 

His academic excellence was the only thing that encouraged teachers to be understanding about his almost constant absences. “I, uh, I gotta skip today, Phoebe has a doctor’s appointment.” He says, smoothing a hand over his daughter’s cherub cheeks, brushing away remains of the baby cheese puffs he gave her while he’d gotten her food out. 

“This is the third time this week.” Fiona sighs, crossing her arms. “Lip-”

“It’s fine, fuck it, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s your senior year. There’s limits on how many days you can miss before they stop you from graduating.” Fiona nods to herself, mumbling an ‘okay’ under her breath. “I can watch her today. I don’t work until tonight, alright, I’ll take the baby, you go to school, we’ll figure out a schedule later.”

Lip wants to accept. He does. He’s done a year of being a father without accepting any help, mainly because no one was fuckin’ offering, but also because no one would take care of his baby quite like he would. He stops by the school and picks up his work. Hell, some days, he brings her with him, the ghetto ass district he lives in isn’t exactly strict, how could they tell their most promising student he couldn’t bring his very well behaved baby with him.  He glances down at the baby girl in his arms and feels his heart grow with the innocent little smile he receives back. 

And the thought of leaving her feels unappealing as ever. 

“Nah, I got it, thanks though.”

Something about Lip being a dad shocked the whole neighborhood. No one was surprised that he’d knocked someone up, it was only a matter of time the way he was going. And only a few had raised a brow at the fact that he’d promptly told Karen to fuck off and kept the baby to raise himself. With how he grew up, anyone could guess he’d have a thing about abandonment. No, what shocked them was the way that suddenly, Lip Gallagher was some kind of family man. 

No parties. No weed. No dealing. 

No hookups.

Lip got hit on way more than he did back before Phoebe took over his life. When he was at the store or in the park, his baby cooed broken words as he carried her on his shoulders, pointing at small trinkets that she whined for. Easily pocketable things that occasionally magically appeared in his pocket to give her when they got home. Girls would come up to them, fingers in their hair, chests as pushed forward as they squawk about how adorable Phoebe is, how sweet it is that Lip is actually taking the time to raise his own daughter, and how they’d like to help him in any way they can. 

Usually, he would just leave it at no thank you before turning away. The more persistent ones would get a curl of the lip and head shake before adjusting his baby and pushing past. 

See, Lip was fucking strict as a dad. He didn’t give a fuck what other people thought about him and the life he lived before, everything changed when Phoebe showed up. 

“Hey, I uh, really don’t give a fuck what you do, but keep that hoe shit to a minimum when you’re over here, okay? My fuckin’ daughter can see you.” 

More than a few neighborhood girls had stormed their way out of the Gallagher house with hot, fat tears of embarrassment streaming down their face as they declared they’d never talk to Debbie again. Because…you know… her brother’s an asshole.

By the time Lip is 17 and Phoebe is 2 it’s a well known fact that the Gallagher Princess is spoiled rotten. She’s clingy, and whiny, traits that the blond teen had never been known to tolerate but suddenly had all of the patience in the world for. She barely could stand to be held by anyone else, constantly in her father’s arms or wrapped around one of his legs, holding on as he walks for them both.  The only people he really let's watch Phoebe are Ian and Mickey. For some reason, Mickey seemed to have a soft spot for Phoebe. Maybe it was because they understood each other. They're both cute, and bratty, and bite. It was ironic considering who Mickey is, and his distain for Lip but when the blond teen had been overwhelmed one day and passed out on the couch with his books after school, his brother's boyfriend had been the one who stepped up. He'd been in the Gallagher home in search of some cheap weed Ian had promised him, but he saw the little girl whining and after a failed attempt wake Lip, made her a bottle his damn self. When Lip had woken, he found Mickey rocking the squirming little girl in his arms, trying to pretend he wasn't enamored with her. After that day, Mickey proclaimed himself the girl's favorite uncle, and got damn near violent if anyone even tried to so much as give her a tap on the wrist. Lip appreciated it considering he felt the same.

Other parents fucking dread when they see the father-daughter duo making their way to the park because it immediately means that play was over for all of the other kids.

Timmy Keeves had learned the hard way. The little boy was all but 5 when he first encountered the terror that was Phoebe Gallagher. She was a 3 year old terror and loud and bossy as ever. Her blonde curls and bright blue eyes gave her the appearance of an angel, so Timmy hadn’t been alarmed when she’d walked slowly, but confidently over to the swing, his swing at the little run down park a couple streets over from his house. She was holding hands with a little black boy who looked a little older than her, but not by much.

Timmy had waited his turn, really. The other kid before him had swung five whole minutes before he had climbed on with great effort. “Hi!” He’d chirped down at the kids in front of him. 

“Hi.” the little boy said back.

Not the little girl. No, she pointed at the swing with her free hand, mouth spreading into a wide smile, revealing one missing tooth.”My turn!”

Timmy’s eyes had grown wide and he gripped the chains a little tighter. “No! I just got on it!”

It happened fast.

In a matter of seconds. Timmy hadn’t meant to nudge her out of the way with his foot. Really. He’d already been swinging and she’d moved in his way. But before he knew it Phoebe Gallagher had plopped onto the rocks and clay in front of him, and suddenly he felt his back hitting the ground.

“Hey!” Timmy wails as his own father storms his way over and some young blond guy comes running up. “Gallagher, your fuckin’ kid just pushed mine off the swing!”

The blond man flicks his cigarette on the ground and shrugs. “I didn’t see it. You push him Liam?”

“He pushed Phoebe first!” 

“It was an accident!” Timmy hollers.

“Sounds like the little fucker deserved it. Don’t push girls, kid. Or next time I’ll knock you on your ass.”

“Are you threatening my kid?”

“What’re you, gonna hit me?” Lip snorts, picking his daughter up and brushing off her skirt. “I’m a minor.”

“You need to get those hoodrat kids of yours in order!” 

“What you need to do is stop whining like a little bitch, it’s rubbin’ off on your kid.” The teen adjusts the girl on his hip, grabbing his little brother’s hand on the other side and guiding them away. 

So, Lip wasn’t a great disciplinarian. As far he was concerned, his daughter was still a good kid. She’s fuckin’ smart like him. And sweet, like Debbie and Ian. Funny like Carl. Determined like Fiona. She makes him want to be better. He finished high school so she could see how important learning is. He put off college a little bit, just because he’d rather use that time to make money to take care of her. Besides, when it came to Phoebe, there was nothing more important. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Daddy?” Phoebe whispered from her spot between his legs. She was watching Little Bear on the tv as Lip rested the book he was reading atop of her head, sloppy pigtails that he’d forced into her blond mop that morning. “How come there’s three?”

“Three what, angel?” he asks without looking up from the pages, snorting to himself at the philosophy of Thoreau in Walden. 

“Three bears.” Little fingers push at his face, trying to force him to look at the screen. “Look.”

“Okay, shit, okay. What?” He asks, leaning forward to rest his head on top of hers and dropping the book to the couch. 

“Th-there’s a daddy bear, a baby bear, and a mommy bear. We only have two. Daddy,” she places her hand on his stomach, turning in his grasp, “and I’m the baby. Except I’m a big girl.” 

Lip’s heart squeezes at where he knows this conversation is going. His baby is smart. She’s always been smart. He should’ve seen this coming. But for some reason he hadn’t prepared yet for this question. “We uh, we have more than two. We’re Gallagher’s, there’s too many of us. Like, Fiona, Ian, Debbie, Carl and Liam. There’s a lot of us.”

“But no mommy, right?” Phoebe’s little brows furrow as she runs through the list in her head. 

All Lip could do was open and close his mouth as he searched for words. He was only 18 when this conversation came. Still a kid himself, he’d just stopped giving a fuck that the closest thing he’d had to a mom was his own older sister. Sometimes he still felt bitter. Unwanted. Cheated. That was the last thing that he wanted his baby to feel. He’d spent the first two years of her life trying to ensure she wouldn’t notice. To do everything he could. Fill every space. She didn’t need anyone but him, because he was so fucking here. Every girly dance, every beauty salon, every tea party, he took the time to do. Because he didn’t want her to feel the sting of having a parent that didn’t give a fuck about you. He didn’t want the look in her eyes that he saw in his siblings, the one he refused to acknowledge reflecting back at him in the mirror. Going above and beyond what an adult man could do as a child himself. All for her.

Yet here she was. Wondering where mommy was.  

Lip could fucking kill Karen. If she wasn’t the one who gave him Phoebe.

He must’ve not hidden his face well. Because as advanced as his daughter was, the face that slipped onto her own was nothing but that of a child. Her eyes widened as she observed him and little hands squeezed his forearms. “It’s okay, Daddy. I like just two. It’s okay.”

Lip could kill Karen. But for now, he was going to focus on his daughter.

Bonus: Lip: 20yrs Phoebe: 5yrs

“And if someone fucks with you?”

“My dad will kick your ass.” Phoebe smiles, swinging Lip’s hand as she holds it in her own. “But no one is gonna be mean to me, Daddy. I’m a pretty girl.”

“Yeah, well I’ll kick their ass if they’re too nice too. Hold on, angel lemme get the keys from Kev.” 

“Kay!”

It was Phoebe’s first day of school and to say they were both nervous and excited was an understatement. Lip had saved up for three months for new clothes for Phoebe to wear to school. They’d used the flashcards at the library for the past year to give her a head start. Lip was finally starting college too. He’d do two years at community college to save up more money until he could transfer his credits and get a place for him and Phoebe closer to the university. But all of that was the future. Right now, he just had to survive dropping his baby off to school. He’d always been stingy with Phoebe. She was something that was his alone. Yes, they had family but he kept her far away from Frank and left the house altogether whenever Monica tumbled into town. He never offered for Karen to see her, even when she came back, only accepting the occasional child support check from Sheila and spending it solely on Phoebe. Now he’d have to share her with the world and ask (demand) for it to be kind to her.

“I wanna ring it!” Phoebe hollers, lifting her arms for Lip to hoist her up to ring Kev and V’s doorbell. He grunts dramatically as he lifts her, cherishing her giggles as she presses the bell over and over again.

Lip’s brows furrow when he hears a sweet voice calling from inside of the house, ‘I’m coming, I-jeez I’m coming!” 

Phoebe’s gasp echoes Lip’s inner thoughts as the door swings open, revealing a young woman who is definitely fucking not Kev or V. The girl smiles brightly, keys to Kev’s truck dangling around her dainty, manicured finger. Long lashes flutter around pretty brown eyes that glance at him politely before focusing on his daughter.

“Daddy! A princess!” Phoebe grins, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

The girl just smiles wider, brow lifting as she places her hands on her hips. “Well I was just about to say the same thing. Pleasure to meet you, your highness.” she dips into a brief curtsy, causing his daughter to squeal and kick her little legs. Those same pretty brown eyes lift to meet Lip’s again and he realizes he’d just been staring at the exchange, mouth agape, like a fucking idiot. “I’m Charlotte.”

Lip knows scientifically he doesn't have ovaries, but if they did, the way his daughter was looking at this girl would’ve made his burst. 

“Lip.”

[avastrasposts]

Frankie to the rescue

A Frankie Morales drabble inspired by @secretelephanttattoo who suggested that "Frankie welcomes you home after a long day of travel...."

Written in half an hour after a long day of travel so any mistakes should be ignored. Also, I had no suitable Frankie coded pic to use so if anyone has a suggestion, please link me and I'll update the post! Thanks to @secretelephanttattoo for finding the perfect pic in five seconds flat!

Word count: 690

(and what do you know, i can write short stuff too!)

You groan as you watch the conveyor belt slow down and come to a halt. Two bags remain, none of them yours. An eleven day business trip, a fourteen hour flight back home from Japan, delayed of course, and your luggage is a no-show. The lost luggage counter is mercifully open despite the late hour but it takes the bored attendant an extraordinarily long time to fill in your claim and give you a case number. Or maybe it just feels extraordinarily long when you’ve been on the go since you left your hotel in Tokyo over twenty four hours ago. All you want is to get home and take a long shower and sink down into your own bed, next to your own Frankie. 

Frankie…soft brown eyes, even softer brown curls, warm smile and large hands that always seem to find exactly the right spot on your body for whatever you need. He’s waiting at home, probably in bed already at this late hour, but you know he’ll wake up the second you put your key in the lock. He’ll come padding through the house in his boxers, let you shrug your coat off and then envelop you in his long arms. You know what he’ll smell like as you press your nose against the warm skin on his broad chest, clean cotton, rich wood and that apple scented fabric softener he always buys. 

You tuck the receipt for your poor lost luggage into your shoulder bag and start heading towards the exit. Passport control waves you through, thank god for your citizenship, customs is empty at this hour and you stagger, bleary eyed, into the arrivals hall. There should be a driver waiting for you, company perk, and you just hope he’s still there after the delay. But none of the waiting drivers in their neat uniforms hold a sign with your name and you groan again and pull up your phone to see if you can get an Uber. 

“Ma’am, your car is this way,” the man behind you bends unnecessarily close to your ear and you almost drop your phone. An arm comes out to steady you, hooking around your waist and pulling you close. You’re just about to shove him away with a shout when his warm eyes find yours, his patchy beard a little bit neater and trimmed since you left, lips already close to yours, half pulled up in a smile, ready to kiss you. 

“Frankie…” you sigh and his lips find yours, soft, warm and tender as they press against you, parting slightly to taste you under his tongue. It’s his long arms around your waist, one palm sliding up your back to hold you close against him as you wrap your own arms around his neck, finding those soft curls under the edge of his ball cap. 

“Vida mía,” he mumbles, pulling back a little to lean his forehead against yours, “I missed you so much, I told your PA I’d pick you up instead of the driver, couldn’t be away from you for a minute longer.” 

“I missed you too, Frankie, my love, so much,” you whisper, trying to take in all of him as the late night airport bustle fades around you. His hands are warm through your coat, his breath smells of cinnamon gum and coffee and his arms around your back hold you so tight that you’re on your toes, reaching up, melting into him. 

“Let me take you home, mi amor,” he slides his hand down and takes yours, “and show you how much I missed you.” His lips slip down from your lips, down over your jaw, the bill of his cap making you tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. He nuzzles into the crook of it, his mouth tasting the warm skin, teeth biting just a little, making heat rush through you as soft moans slip out from your both. His fingers tighten his grip around your hand and he pulls away a little, tugging you with him towards his truck.. 

“Now,” he growls, his eyes suddenly dark and needy. 

[666writingcafe]

Going Home

NSFW Content Warning For Simeon's Fantasies

MC

While Mammon and Luke still want to find a fairy ring, the rest of us are exhausted. I could be persuaded to continue the search, but it's clear that both Simeon and Satan are over it, so I suggest that we end our little adventure and head home.

As expected, Satan practically has to drag Luke and Mammon towards the opening of the woods. I stay behind with Simeon. He's been silent since our return from the past, and he seems like he's about to break at any moment.

"Hey," I murmur. "You okay?"

"No." Simeon's response is blunt, almost rude-sounding. But, he did succumb to wrath multiple times over the span of 48 hours, and that can't be good for his mental health, especially since he's an angel.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Unless you can find the Fairy of the Wood and bring me his head, then no." He clearly sees my confusion, for he explains,

"He was waiting for me in the observatory. He revealed that he sent us to that particular period of time."

"Did he explain why?" The chuckle that comes out of his mouth is unusually harsh.

"Oh, he explained, alright. He wanted to play matchmaker by getting you and me alone. He was going on and on about how you would be so good for me, and the more he kept talking, the more I wanted to punch him in the face."

There's a part of me that is hurt by his angry tone. Did I do something that made him change his entire opinion of me since the carnival? I mean, I did cause his first surge of wrath during this trip. While it was a complete accident on my part, I can see how that might cause him to reconsider what he thought of me. Am I too dangerous for him?

"There is one positive thing that came out of our conversation," he continues, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few flowers.

"Is that what I think it is?" I ask. Simeon nods.

"He was amused by our little adventure. Plus, he didn't want to see Luke sad."

"How much did he give you?"

"Enough for Barbatos' tea and Luke's sweet treats."

"What about Mammon?" A slight smirk.

"The Fairy of the Wood explicitly told me to not let him get a hold of even one petal. Apparently, Mammon's created a bunch of messes for him to clean up over the years, and he's sick of it."

"That reminds me: I have a note for you."

"Not from him, I hope?" I shake my head. "Good. I'll read it when we return to the Manor."

~~~

Later, At the Manor

After securing my room from possible intruders, I give Simeon the note that Lucifer the angel wrote for him. Upon reading it, he develops an amused look on his face.

"Leave it to Lucifer to tell me what I need to hear," he mutters, setting the note down on my desk.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, making myself comfortable on my bed.

"We used to write notes for each other all the time, giving each other advice. All the seraphs had to write in Latin, and any correspondence was subject to inspection at any time. So, the two of us created a code using simple phrases that wouldn't raise suspicion." That makes sense, especially if they were talking about taboo topics that would get them in a lot of trouble if they were caught.

"So, what is Lucifer advising you to do?"

"To stop thinking so much and simply follow my heart." Simeon pauses, taking a deep breath.

"Ever since we said goodbye the last time, you've been on my mind," he continues. "It's like you've set up permanent camp there and refused to leave no matter what I do. Knowing you has been both a blessing and a curse."

"Why's that?"

"Because I would do anything for you, MC, even if it cost me my life." He walks over and sits beside me on the bed, adding rather softly,

"But I also want to completely destroy you."

I should be scared by his statement, but instead I see it as an invitation to do what I wasn't able to do in the Celestial Realm woods earlier. I extend my hand out to Simeon, and he silently takes it.

The visions comes immediately. At first, they're merely memories of our time together, but then the emotions come in full force.

Sadness. Longing. Excitement. Lust.

He leans in and kisses me, and the memories morph into something else.

I see us going at it in his bed.

My bed.

Up against walls.

Over tables.

On top of counters.

In tight spaces.

His wrath gets mixed in with his lust.

Hair pulling.

Choking.

Name-calling.

A rough, unrelenting pace.

In front of the brothers.

Solomon.

The royals.

Angels I assume to be Michael and Raphael.

Someone that appears to be God Himself.

I gently pull away, ending the kiss. Glancing down at my hand, I notice a star that wasn't there before. Showing it to Simeon makes him smile softly.

"The star of patience," he murmurs. "It suits you." He leans in again, gently grabbing my chin between two of his fingers.

"Someday, when our roles are reversed, I'd like you to be my guardian angel."

[evanrouge]

⌗ them as... college roommates? ver. 2.0.

ft. azul and floyd (separately) — headcanons. by courtesy of anon.

— azul ashengrotto

Let's face it, he probably tried to swindle rent out of you at first. Passionately demanding how hospitable he is by being your roommate, and how you should thank him with like... everything you own.

There is a giant safe in the room and it actually takes up so much space. You aren't exactly sure what he keeps in it, and he refuses to tell you unless you're willing to give up something of dire importance to you in exchange for the information. So you decided that it's just not worth it for a single question. But it is quite funny how, when unlocking it, he sneakily looks around to make sure you're not looking his way, before lifting his blazer like a vampire to cover everything visible while putting the code in and doing what needs to be done. He tries to be secretive, but when you're literally sharing a room with him it's incredibly difficult for him to be so.

He's around you way too much for you to not have dirt on him. He lifted his threats on rent and contracts when you threatened to tell the entire school that he has a cuddle instinct when sleeping, and cuddles the closest thing to him. Which is usually either an alarm clock or a lamp. He just wraps his entire body around the object in a fetal position with the object in the middle. He really doesn't want that information getting out, not even he knew he did that before you took a picture of it to blackmail him with!

He's only ever in the dorm in the very late evenings - if he even shows up at all, and doesn't end up falling asleep in the Mostro Lounge - and when he is he's usually at his desk either reading report after report or studying. He takes his academics very seriously. Also, how else will he create those study guides for the poor unfortunate plebeians?

Other than the desk which he occasionally leaves messy while in a rush, Azul is actually very neat and doesn't make a mess. He seems to have an instinct for when you do, though, even when he's not there. He could have left the room for the lounge while you were still sleeping and still know that you forgot to make your bed when you eventually got up. Not to mention his snooping instinct. If you go anywhere near his stuff, then he's behind you in a heartbeat demanding to know what you're looking for. You almost think he has cameras.

Overall a 7.5/10, perhaps. He's relatively strict, but the second you crack his business persona and wriggle out of his constant contracts talk then you'll just see regular old emotional and competitive Azul every evening.

— floyd leech

I would just like to begin this by saying that I am extremely sorry for all the bullshit that you have to deal with, due to having Floyd as a roommate. Sharing a room with him is similar to being new to childcare, and being given the craziest kid in the universe to take care of on your first day. But every day, and constantly.

He once got bored and thoroughly taped the trashcan to the door, proceeding to slam dunk a tennis ball through the base of it so hard that the entire thing smashed into smithereens at the sheer force. Then he left the mess everywhere and decided to lay down for a prompt nap until Azul appeared to drag him to the shift that he was two hours late for. Only for him to appear back at the dorm twenty minutes later, just after you finished cleaning up the mess because he once again snuck away from the lounge, slinging his entire body weight over the back of your chair and drawing out that you should do something funny to amuse him, as watching you study is hella boring. Then he smashed another trashcan, which he probably stole from another room tbh.

At one point, you and Floyd were going through so many trashcans a week that Coach Vargas personally appeared at your door with a roll of tape, saying that if you guys want somewhere to put your trash at all anymore, then you will have to tape your one back together every time because NRC cannot afford fifty a week for one room. You ended up making a new trashcan out of the tape, a genius idea as he will be unable to smash it, but he could tear it if he really tried. It proved to become an even better idea, because sometimes when bored he now just lays on his bed with the makeshift tape bin on his chest as he colors it in and draws random things on it to pass the time.

You have become a master liar. Azul constantly knocks at your door demanding Floyd's presence, which you would love to ignore and pretend you're not in for, but alas you cannot because Floyd is complaining about the knocking echoing throughout his head, and so you've gotta open the door. Then blatantly lie to his face saying that Floyd isn't there and you haven't seen him since this morning, when he is actually just lazing away. Azul used to be able to see through your lies flawlessly, but over time it became progressively more difficult to tell whether you're being genuine or not, and it annoys him.

It is a common occurrence to wake up to his terrifying toothy grin hovering 1cm in front of you. He finds scaring you just after you wake up funny.

Overall a 3/10 roommate. The only redeeming quality is how he sneaks you free food when you visit the lounge without Azul or Jade noticing. Plus when he brings leftovers to the dorm to eat before bed, he sometimes tosses you some that he doesn't want from across the room. He has good aim, though, so don't worry it doesn't get dirty.

[starryriize]

when you're on your period | xikers

a/n: nah I LOVED this 😭 they're all so bf-coded, it was so easy to write for them! definitely ask more when i open my inbox 🫶🏼 btw when i repost my previous works, i will not change anything about them!!

warning: not proofread! lowercase intended!

minjae - he comes in with snacks, painkillers, and his amazing hugs. whatever you need, he'll make you feel better! your cramps hurt and painkillers don't do enough? don't worry, minjae has weighted plushies and will massage your stomach to relieve the pain.

junmin - #1 bf!! he knows periods can make you slightly moody, so his way of taking care of you is being with you through everything. you're crying? he's right there with a hug. you're upset? he's putting on tangled for you and cuddling you. regardless, he always knows what to do to make you feel better.

sumin - he's been through school, so he reacts in such a sweet way. he views it as simply a natural thing you go through, and he cooks for you!! he thought he would be stressed out and a mess when you got your period, but he was okay. when you check for stains, he reassures you that there aren't any. if there are stains, he'll tell you not to worry about it and get you a change of clothes before cleaning it up.

jinsik - ahhhh he's a little unsure of what you want him to do, but he is willing to do anything you ask. need new pads? yes. want starbucks? he's on it. craving pastries that definitely aren't good for you? done. he even stopped by to get a plushie for you. best of all, he then tells you that you have him for cuddles.

hyunwoo - #1 bf as well!! this man is perfect. he understands and does not let you do anything when you're on your period. you have emails and work to do? no. he's handling it for you <3. oh, you have burning cramps? he's already got a heating pad and a cup of hot cocoa. he's got everything covered, even buying pads and pain meds.

junghoon - he's concerned, in a caring way. goes a bit overboard in comforting you because he doesn't like seeing you wincing in pain. he researches what's best during periods and adds it to your favorite things. you need pads? he's got one with wings. you're hungry? he's already bought your food. probably has your food order memorized. 

seeun - now seeun is the type to literally ask what to do when you tell him you're in pain. he's more confused when you explain it feels like your insides are being ripped out, but he brings you fresh flowers, lots of chocolate, and well, a whole lot of love. he offers to make your favorite meals and brings you warm coffee. needless to say, everything he does is purely out of love for you and he always kisses your forehead.

yujun - yujun to the rescue!!! he's so cute and wholesome about it. asking you every other minute if you're okay and if you need anything. your pain might drive you insane, but yujun is there to be your sunshine! brings you bubble tea and makes ramen for you. he doesn't forget to also heat your towel in the dryer to surprise you. he offers himself for you to hug when you're in pain.

hunter - hunter knows what he's doing. it's shocking to you at first, but you learn that he went to minjae to ask how he should comfort you. cuddles, cuddles galore! he knows comfort is a must, so he sets up breakfast in bed for you and gets your favorite plush animal. always there to wipe your tears and stays by your side even when you have mood swings.  you want to be held? he's there. you're just thankful you have a bf who loves you so much.

yechan - just like yujun, he's also wholesome about it. he already has your favorite movies and tea prepared. he spoils you with so many hugs and cuddles that you forget about your pain. when your pain is too much, he gets painkillers and your favorite takeout. he *claims* cuddles will get rid of your pain quicker- it works.

[luwritesomething]

Dean Winchester x Reader: tolerate it.

Warnings: Swearing (probably), angsty?? and with fluff but it remains angsty until the end. also, dean doesn't (know how to) acknowledge reader's obvious feelings for him, lowercase intended, unrequited love coded.

Tags: angsty, hunter!reader, reader has known sam and dean since kids, no season states, can be read as black reader, can be read as plus size reader.

Reader pronouns: they/them (used once)

Word count: 785

Summary: When Reader bursts into tears because of seeing Dean hurt, he doesn't know how to react.

Author’s note: another dean thingie because angst is my specialty and i was feeling THAT kinda way... I rarely ever write for Dean! Not because I don’t like him (I LOVE HIM), but because since I haven’t finished the show (i've just finished season 8) the requests have to be either pre-show or within those seasons. Anyways, Dean and Sam Winchester requests are open, but with those conditions !! love my boys <3 also gif is not mine.

you cried when you saw dean really hurt after a hunt for the first time in long months.

it made you feel childish and stupid, as you had been into the hunter life for as long as he had, as you two and sammy had been through hell and back; but when you saw the exhaustion in his face, the hopeless look in his eyes as he tried not to move his arm too much because the pain was piercing and burning him, you couldn't help it. tears had ran down your cheeks in silence, blurring the sight of the gold rush of a man you called dean, but before you could turn your face away from him and sam, they saw you.

"hey..." dean started, and that was enough for you. you couldn't take it.

your steps were quick towards the door of that old, stinky motel dorm the three of you had found hours ago, making sure to grab dean's impala keys before you stepped outside. sam called out your name and even opened the door, fearful that you might just take the car and drive away from them and the reality, the pain, the misery. but you only needed the keys to open the door to the car and lock yourself in, spacing out of everything around you to try and rationalize the cascade of emotions you were feeling.

sam sighed softly, almost in relief, when he saw you weren't going anywhere, and he closed the door with care before turning to his brother. dean's eyes were filled with worry, an anxious expression that sam hadn't seen many times outside of the battlefield, but he understood.

"should i..." dean had to clear his throat to recover his voice from the surprise, the hoarse shock your reaction had thrown him onto. "should i go talk to them?"

"later?" sam asked like that was dean's original idea. he heard dean rushing to him in agreement, like he had never intended to go right now. "yeah, i think you should. later."

dean nodded stiffly. "later."

later was an eternity, but dean waited. he cleaned his wound, patched it up with sam's help, got a beer and then he got a second one, and a third one. he waited, sitting in his bed with his gaze lost in the floor boards beneath his boots, and sam didn't try to pull him back to reality.

later came when sam decided to get into bed, shutting the little lamp by his side. dean brushed his face with his hand, rather harshly to wake himself up from the trance he had put himself into, and then he moved the curtains to the side to make sure you hadn't drive away from them. you hadn't, and he already knew that because he would have heard you, but his heart slowed down at the sight of you still in the car.

dean closed the door to the room softly and made his way to the door slowly. you had your eyes closed, as you sat on the drivers seat, not asleep but completely disconnected from your surroundings. he had to knock on the glass window to get you to open your eyes, and your eyes softened when they locked with his, so soft, so caring.

surrounding the car, dean got into the passenger seat as soon as you allowed him too, closing the door to allow the intimate conversation to stay inside the vehicle.

"hey."

"hey." you muttered. you let your eyes close for longer than usual, then turned to look at him. "i'm sorry, i overreacted."

dean pursed his lips slightly. "we've gotten through so much worse. you know that."

"i know." your voice was barely a whisper. "i know. i just worry, you know? i... can't really help it."

"i know." he nodded along to his words, giving them value, making you feel like he was finally listening to what you had to say. still, your heart ached. "but i'm alright. i promise."

"we always are."

he only looked at you from the corner of his eyes. "it's what the job asks of us."

"i know." you had never sound so bitter in your entire life, you knew. but he avoided to look at you, and you did the same. "you're alright."

some beats of silence. then, a slow grin started forming in his face, "you should've seen the other guy."

"too soon."

"ah, c'mere." his arm extended and wrapped you around your shoulders, pushing you closer to him. you let him handle you, accommodating your head against his good shoulder, closing your eyes. your heart ached more and more and more--- "we've survived. that's enough."

but it wasn't.

[chiharuuu22]

I'm Sorry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Whumpee is in the car with Team Leader. They were on their way back to their headquarters. There was no conversation; only the sound of vehicles and the hustle and bustle of the street could be heard.

It took about an hour until they finally arrived. There was no one there. The team members were doing some investigations regarding Whumper, and Caretaker wasn't there either. Maybe join the others.

Team Leader just told Whumpee to rest before leaving him alone again in his room. The room that Whumpee left for ten days. Clean and orderly without dust. Is Caretaker who cleans it?

Whumpee sighed and walked out. He didn't know where to go or what to do alone. He doesn't know where the Team Leader went. Without realizing it, Whumpee stopped at the Caretaker's room. His hand pressed the room code, and it just opened. There is no additional security.

Whumpee looked around the empty room. The room is neat and has a gentle, typical Caretaker fragrance. There was a doll Whumpee had given her several years ago placed in the middle of the bed. Whumpee smiled slightly at that.

Whumpee walked over to the Caretaker's desk and looked around. Whumpee's eyes were glued to several of the photos displayed. Photos of Caretaker with the team, photos of Caretaker with her family, photos of Caretaker at her favorite location, and photos of Caretaker and Whumpee smiling happily. Whumpee's hand pulled out a book at random and read it.

Whumpee's eyes widened.

Whumpee opened page after page before returning to take another book. He did the same thing over and over again.

He really didn't believe it.

The books contain information about how to care for sick people. Necessary nutrition, food recipes with balanced nutrition, and types of therapy are needed. In fact, the numbers of doctors and hospitals are listed. It doesn't stop there; all the ingredients in the medicine that Whumpee consumed are also there. What are its properties, what are its uses, what are the alternatives, and what are the dangers? It's all there. Complete.

Whumpee also looks at the books about physical and mental trauma therapy that Caretaker has. A way to release emotions. How to deal with it when symptoms appear.

Good grief.

That's all Caretaker did to Whumpee. It makes him feel better. Everything in front of him was proof that Caretaker cared about him.

And Whumpee stupidly curses Caretaker as a liar.

"Caretaker really cares about you, you know," Team Leader's voice broke Whumpee's concentration. "Caretaker really wants you to smile again like before. Do you realize that after that incident, you never smiled again?"

Whumpee didn't answer.

“We all want you to get better. We don't know how you feel, but believe me, we don't mean any harm," continued the Team Leader, "especially Caretaker."

"You know, even though she never came, Caretaker always asked about your condition. She even told us what we should do to make you feel better." Team Leader opened one of the books. "She's not a physically strong person, but she has her own way of supporting us all."

“Where is the Caretaker now?” Whumpee asked.

"In her small apartment at the end of town," answered Team Leader.

Whumpee frowned.

"That's where she spends time when she wants to be alone. Three hours from here. I also only found out four days ago. When she disappeared suddenly and told me that he was sick,

"She's sick? What's sick?"

"Calm down," interrupted the Team Leader. "She just has a slight fever from exhaustion. It's too noisy here for her to rest, so she decided to go to her apartment."

Whumpee breathed a sigh of relief.

"Want me to take you there?"

And here comes Whumpee. Standing in front of the door of a small apartment at the edge of town.

"The code is the date of birth," said the Team Leader.

Whumpee sighed and punched in a series of numbers. The door opens easily. Inside, the apartment looked deserted. There was only one shoe that Whumpee really recognized near the entrance. The apartment was very small and there was only one bedroom there.

Whumpee looked around for a moment, and his eyes widened again when he saw a photo. Photo of Whumpee and Caretaker when they were both little.

"I told you, Caretaker really cares about you. She's in her room; come see her."

Whumpee pressed the doorknob of the room, and there he saw Caretaker. Lie facing the wall on the only mattress at the end of the room.

"I have sent the data you requested to your personal email, Leader. I have also completed the location plan; take it from the table," said the Caretaker without turning around. "Please close the door on your way out."

Long silence.

"What are you doing, Leader? I'm fine; please let me rest and..." Caretaker turned around and stared. "Whumpee?"

"Gosh, why are you here? Are you out of the hospital?" Caretaker sat herself up and asked, "Leader, what is the meaning of this?"

The Team Leader took the plan in question to the table and said, "I'll take this. You guys solve your own problems. I'll go first."

Silence returns.

Caretaker and Whumpee just looked at each other.

Caretaker took a deep breath and smiled. "Come here, Whumpee. Aren't you tired of standing all the time?"

Whumpee walked over to the bed and stood right in front of Caretaker. Careteker reached out her hand and slowly sat Whumpee down beside him. Caretaker's soft hand rubbed the back of Whumpee's hand affectionately.

"How are you?" Caretaker asked.

"Okay," answered Whumpee.

"Thank God. Is your head okay?"

"I'm fine."

Silence.

A second later, Whumpee threw himself into Caretaker's arms and started sobbing.

"Whumpee, what's wrong?" Caretaker asked worriedly.

"I'm sorry," said Whumpee. "I really don't know myself. You always look after me, and I curse you as a liar."

The caretaker stroked Whumpee's back and said, "It's okay. I was wrong, too. I shouldn't have lied to you. I should have listened to your concerns and decided on a good course of action together. Not quietly like yesterday."

Whumpee shook his head and said, "No. You're not wrong. I was the weak one. I was too stupid and embarrassed to admit that I was scared. I didn't want to be in pain anymore. But instead, I hurt you."

"Whumpee. Never mind. It's all over. I'm sorry, too. Let's heal you together, okay?"

Whumpee nodded and tightened his arms.

"I heard you were sick," said Whumpee.

"Just a little fever. I'm fine now," said Caretaker pulling Whumpee's hand to her forehead.

"You look tired, Caretaker."

"You look pale, Whumpee."

They chuckled. "Okay, we're both sick."

Caretaker and Whumpee then lay down side by side. Caretaker brushed the stray hairs on Whumpee's forehead lovingly. "What would you like for breakfast tomorrow?"

"I don't know. What would you like to eat, Caretaker?"

Caretaker laughed and said, "Hey, I asked you a question. Why ask back?"

"Because I want to eat what you eat."

For a moment, Caretaker looked doubtful.

"I'm fine. I want it."

"Okay," said Caretaker. "Want to make it together?"

Whumpee nodded.

The next day, around 8 a.m. Caretaker and Whumpee are busy in the kitchen. Just simple grilled cheese with canned tomato soup as their breakfast. There were no heavy conversations, and they enjoyed a quiet morning.

After breakfast, Caretaker was silent when he saw Whumpee take out his stack of medicine. Take them one by one and put them on a plate. Whumpee is seen taking a deep breath and drinking it.

Caretaker hugged Whumpee tightly.

"Forgive my attitude, Caretaker," said Whumpee. "I'm sorry, and I love you."

Caretaker nodded and tightened the hug.

END

[9leaguesofmirrors]

If You Need To Be Mean (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

Yes, this is named after the Mitski lyric. No, it's not a songfic. I Don't Smoke is just Gainsgoe-coded and it fit this fic

Essentially, Joseph is hard on himself and Ross does what he always does - looks for a solution. But things won't be easy this time

CONTENT WARNING: Brief description of blood, themes of suicidal thoughts

"Fucking idiot!"

Ross jumped slightly at the sharp yell upstairs, nearly spilling hot coffee over himself in the process

His partner had been in a foul mood all day, probably thanks to the morons he worked with, and now he'd isolated himself in the bedroom to work on a few things. Ross knew that Lisgoe preferred to be left alone when he was busy (and annoyed), so he stayed downstairs with one of his favourite books

It wasn't long before he heard Lisgoe's voice shouting. Not at him, not even to him. Ross knew him well enough to know who the remarks were aimed at

Thud. Thud. Thudthudthudthudthudthud

It sounded like something was being hit. Maybe a desk. Maybe a wall

Then silence, as if he were looking at what he'd done

Then there was the sound of pacing

Completely confused by this string of events, Ross put his coffee and book down before heading upstairs

As he got closer to the shut door of their room, the angered muttering of his partner could be heard slightly clearer

"Now look what you've fucking done. Shit. Fucking look at it. What the fuck now? What now? Stupid twat!"

Ross gently held onto the handle, listening to the hushed sound until he felt it right to speak

"Joseph? What's going on?"

No answer

"I'm fine."

This didn't answer Ross' question. He opened the door and went to speak

What he saw effectively silenced him

Lisgoe's knuckles had cracked- no, they'd split open entirely, and blood was oozing out of them onto the floor in large puddles. Since he'd been pacing, red patches were now stretched across the wood flooring, which matched the large spatterings of blood on the desk - where he must've been hitting. His laptop, with a weekly report on it, was also covered

Ross didn't need to ask what happened. It was perfectly clear, he just had one question. A question spoken in a tone that was level, despite the layer of disbelief bubbling through:

"Why?"

No answer

"What? Was berating yourself like a lunatic not enough?" He started to get more irritated by the silence "Had to beat yourself up too?"

Nothing

"Answer me, Joseph."

"Why does it matter?" Was the agitated reply "How many times have I come home beaten to fuck? You should be used to this."

"This is different." Ross went over to him "This is clearly different, how do you not see that?"

"Oh, fuck off-"

"Sit down." This time, Ross' voice was sharp and demanding, like a teacher talking to a troublesome student "Now."

For a few seconds, Lisgoe looked as though he may have replied, but he let out an exasperated puff and sat on the edge of their bed

Ross took this opportunity to head downstairs, returning with a medi-kit and blue roll

"For fuck sake..." Lisgoe muttered as soon as he saw the apparatus "Is this necessa-"

"Don't talk."

To say Ross was angry would be putting it lightly. Seeing his partner with serious injuries was bad enough, but when they were self-inflicted? And out of petty rage? It was even worse. He didn't say a word as he sat beside him, cleaning and dressing he wound. He didn't even look Lisgoe in the eyes

"Are you gonna fucking ignore me forever now?"

That finally got a look, more of a glare, from Ross

"If it's pissing you off so much, let me do it."

"I've done it now."

"Then fuck off."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me why-"

"I was pissed. Everything's gone wrong and I needed an outlet."

"You're always in a pissy mood," Ross snapped "you've never done this. What happened today?"

"Give it a fucking rest! Maybe something did happen, who gives a fuck? Worse things have happened to better people."

That was an odd statement for Lisgoe to make

Ross just looked at him with a blank expression, willing him to go on

"Come on, of all the people in this town, I deserve it the most."

"Was it Hammonds again?"

Lisgoe's boss, Hammonds, never got on with him. He was a man with 10x Lisgoe's aggression and need for control, with less of his honesty. Needless to say, they'd had several issues

"He's part of it." Lisgoe's voice was gravelly and distant as he stared at the blood on the floor, as if he were convincing himself there was nothing wrong "So was the asshole I had to visit - 6 fucking months and he'd not paid a penny owed! Then there was the dickhead in the street."

"What happened with the-"

"I was spat at, Ross." Lisgoe snapped "I was fucking spat at. Because I'm a bastard. And I fully fucking deserve it!"

Lisgoe looked at Ross and, his voice gaining clarity, continued:

"Here's something people are too scared to tell you." He spoke with complete conviction in what he was saying "Some people just shouldn't be on this fucking planet. And believe me, I know I'm one of them."

He didn't show it on his face, but hearing those words fall so easily from his partner's mouth caused a sting he could almost hear the rip of. His chest tightened and everything felt like it was weighing down on him

Suddenly, a thought came into his head. Some form of a solution:

"Be mean to me."

"... What?"

"Everytime you think of being mean to yourself," his voice was calm, as if delivering the answer to a mathematical equation "direct it towards me."

"Ross, I'm not doing that."

"I can handle it. Can't be worse than Pauline."

"No, Ross-"

"Why not? You're clearly angry. Just direct it at me. It's easy. I won't take it personally, it's just words to me."

Lisgoe looked away, as if he were ashamed of himself

In response, Ross held up his bandaged hand

"If this is the only other option, I'd rather you took your anger out on me."

Silence

Thick, heavy silence

Ross was getting impatient

"Joseph, for god sake, I can handle it. After the verbal abuse I faced with Pauline, there's nothing that could phase me-"

"No."

His voice came out level, unreadable. It took Ross aback slightly

"Why?"

"I'm just not fucking doing it. It's no big deal."

"This happens everytime something goes wrong," Ross explained calmly "you get angry at yourself. Well, just direct it to me. Just this once, I want you to hurt me the way you hurt yourself."

There was no answer. No argument, no pointed comment, not even a look in his direction

"It can't be that difficult-"

"Of course it's fucking difficult, and you know exactly why."

"No, actually, I don't."

Lisgoe finally looked in his direction in a swift, sharp motion

"It's the same reason I haven't offed myself yet."

"Don't say that, Joseph."

"Why? Why should I pussyfoot around it? Why can't I just say it like it is? Yeah, sometimes I want things to end. But I haven't done anything, so it's no big deal."

"I don't think you understand how big of a deal it is. It's just hard for me to-"

"Is that right?" Lisgoe sneered, jumping to his feet "Then please enlighten me, Ross. Tell me how all of this is so hard on you. Tell me how having to see me like this is so fucking difficult for you. Yeah, I bet you're the only one finding this hard! You have to hear about it, and all I have to do is have it in my fucking head everyday!"

There was a brief moment where all you could hear was a pin drop. That, and the buzzing sense of heaviness looming over both of them

"I can acknowledge you're hurting and still not want you to leave, Joseph."

"Ross," it was obvious, how exhausted and frustrated Lisgoe was, by his voice "I told you I'm not going through with it."

"And how do I know that?"

"Are you that thick? Do I need to spell it out for you with building blocks?"

"I just want a straight answer-"

"I love you, you stupid fucking shite!"

Neither of then expected those words to come out the mouth of Joseph Nigel Lisgoe

As he continued, his voice was coarse and gravelly

"There. There it fucking is. Your explanation, what everything boils down to." Everything spilled out despite Lisgoe trying scoop it all back in. The more he tried, the more of a mess it made "My life is a chaotic melding pot of shite, the only thing that offers any kind of stability is you. And it's so... I don't fucking know! It's nauseating, to rely on someone for something like that, but it's fine. Couldn't give less of a shite."

Ross sat there in complete silence. Not a word dared to bubble in his chest, let alone pass his lips

"If I had to live without you, I could." Lisgoe continued"I don't need you to survive, this isn't some shitey romantic drama. I could live without you, but it wouldn't be the same. I..." the walls came up, mostly out of shame "Forget it. It means nothing-"

"What is it, Joseph?"

Once again, no answer. In a surprising moment of tenderness, Ross stood up and placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. He could feel it contract, then relax slowly. That silent gesture spoke all the words they needed

They looked at each other, and it was like they could see into the other's head. Perhaps that was why Ross could feel his eyes losing their dryness. Not wanting his partner to see him like that, he closed the gap between them and his arms, somehow, found their way around him

None of this was normal. This type of contact, this type of atmosphere, it just wasn't who they were. They were fire, competition and tension. It was a set-up that amused them and set them alight. But this was like the earth. Grounding, strong and weighted, but subtle. Like the feeling of finding shelter from a stormy walk home. Weary feet and restless minds, just for a moment, are able to rest. It may not have been a permanent solution to what was going on in Lisgoe's mind, but it was something satiable. Something stable. It was something

"Ross."

Silence

There was a sniffle, then a moment that sounded like Lisgoe was going to speak. But nothing

Something wet on Ross' skin, he didn't draw attention to it

"Joseph?"

More silence

"Fuck sake..."

"What is it?"

"... I just realised what this is."

"What do you mean?"

"This. How I feel."

Ross gave him time

"It's fucking fear."

An exhale

A shaky chuckle at the irony

Another sniffle

"Ross, I'm scared."

The entire conversation flashed through Ross' head in that moment. The blood. The anger. What Lisgoe said

"Some people shouldn't be on this fucking planet. And believe me, I know I'm one of them."

"Me too."

They stayed there for a length of time they couldn't quite decipher, the walls they'd built started to disappear. It didn't feel like crumbling or breaking, but rather a simple evaporation

"You should probably know something, Joseph."

"What?"

A pause

"I love you too."

"Don't get fucking sappy." Humour coloured his tone

"You said it first."

"Don't bring it up!"

They laughed, despite the situation, which simultaneously felt like relief and rebellion. After a considerable pause, it was Lisgoe that spoke

"What happens now?"

Ross dealt with logic, he always had. No matter what the problem was, he always found a solution that would, eventually, lead him back to the right track. It was like a skill, a way for him to navigate even the toughest situations

Which is why he just said nothing, let the silence become their own personal safety net

Because that was how he delt with answering Lisgoe's question

His reasoning was simple: he didn't want to

The reason for that was painfully easy to understand:

He didn't know the answer