#I HOPE YOU LIKE THEM I JUST JOTTED THEM DOWN HERE SO SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES!!!

[tangerinesteve]

@tea42 i didn't come up with a whole fic but i had two little ideas!

So steve and kas!eddie are out with the kids, walking them around trick or treating and someone grabs Eddie's tail. And he jumps and shrieks inhumanly and the person runs away screaming. And Eddie just looks at Steve, his eyes all black, looking incredulous, and he's like ....

"He touched my tail Steve. You don't touch a mans tail like that." His voice all huffy as they start walking again. Steve snorts, says,

"He didn't know it was real Ed's." Bumping their shoulders gently.

"That is hardly the point. You don't grab a man's tail!!" Eddie shouts, a few kids near by giggling as they run past.

"Alright alright. Chillax man. You're gettin a little long in the tooth." Steve says, clearly trying not to laugh at Eddie. Eddie leans all close to him and is like,

"You think you're reeeeaalll clever and funny don't ya?" He draws, pressing his face close to Steve's, who makes a 'well yeah' face. Eddie huffs and then licks a stipe up the side of Steve's face with his forked tongue. Steve shoves him, but they bounce back into each other easily. Following the kids as they go.

~°~

Later that evening some older kids say something to Will. Cuz assholes are always gonna be assholes. But last time they didn't have Kas!Eddie on their team.

He hears this older boy, maybe high-school, way too old to be messing with Will. Anyway Eddie hears whatever the asshole says, his hand squeezes Steve's a little too tight, his bones creaking.

"Eddie." Steve says, a warning. Eddie's black eyes stay locked on the boys.

"I'll be right back." Eddie says, it's followed by a growl deep in his throat and Steve couldn't stop him if he wanted too. He just watches as Eddie sidles up behind this group of cackling assholes, taps the biggest boy on the shoulder, waits until he turns around and Steve hears him say,

"You guys like my costume?" And then a horrendous shriek rings through the street, the boys immediately screaming and running in all directions, their candy scattering across the ground, bags and buckets forgotten.

Eddie turns, looks back the group, he smiles, too sharp teeth shining in the streetlights as he points to the candy at his feet.

"Hey guys. Free candy!"

The party laugh and run and grab as much as they can as Eddie walks to meet Steve. He hands him a cherry lollipop, smiling sweetily as he holds it out to Steve.

"For you, my liege." And gives him a bit of a bow. Steve shakes his head as he takes the lolli, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth.

"Thanks dragon boy." Steve mumbles around it.

"You did the jaw thing didn't you?" Steve asks.

"I did yeah." Eddie responds, sounding satisfied. Steve smiles around his lollipop, tucks his arm against Eddie's back, slides his hand into Eddie's back pocket, tugs him a bit closer. Eddie leans into his side and purrs as they follow the kids down the street in the dark.

[pedgito]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | Javier Pena x fem!reader

summary | your boyfriend delivers the worst news possible on what should be a day filled with love. luckily your coworker is there in wait, not allowing a perfectly good dinner reservation to go to waste. [2.5k]

content warning | this is probably the tamest thing i've ever written, who am i? mostly fluff, vague descriptions of your boyfriend (technically ex-boyfriend/some misogyny (not by javi), small age gap, co-workers, dinner dates and more, unrequited (innocent) crushes, minimal spanish (mostly just pet names), open-ended

author’s note | @pascalispretty happy valentines day!! this is my first time doing one of these and i was your secret valentine, but i hope you enjoy! i haven't written for javi in so long and i was really craving some soft!javi so this was a joy to write. i hope you enjoy!

You hated the stigma around holidays and what they meant, what they entailed, and why people upheld them so highly. But, here you were—tapping your fingers insistently against the desk across from the pool of DEA agents who would throw a file of paperwork on your desk and expect it to magically poof away and, by default, relinquish themself of any responsibility over it in the process.

You couldn’t fault them all—some of them actually managed to follow instructions. A signature here and there, all in order, leaving with little work to do other than file it away. Murphy followed it to a degree that made you think he probably has some time of background outside of here, back in the states. Always uniform, always proper—he’d been a good addition from the start and a perfect match to Javier Pena’s strong personality and unwillingness to give up control.

He also smiled at you every morning and offered a kind greeting, a small acknowledgment of your existence which couldn’t be spared by many others.

As for Javier—he did the work. There was never an issue, but halfway through an expository to a question he asks his attention is drawn elsewhere. Usually to one of the other few in-office secretaries or visitors that just couldn’t resist a bite at the overconfident and suave agent.

You could see the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had to like it—sometimes it impeded your ability to communicate with him and it really, really annoyed you.

Plus, your boyfriend was perfect. Too perfect that it felt unreal at times, but as all things in your life tended to implode on you—you were waiting for the ball to drop.

“Buenos días, señorita.” Javier greets with a smile that shines perfectly under his thick mustache, dressed in his usual pairing of tight jeans and form-fitting button up. This one was pink though, or a deep red. Jesus, how many different ones did he own?

You snort softly, “Morning, Javi.”

And you’re expecting that crisp folder to slide onto your desk but he’s traversing down the steps into the bay of other desks, straight for his. He’s still in eyeline, his and Steve’s shared workspace right in the center.

His eyes flit up briefly, scanning the room before they land on you again and of course you’re staring, but not for the reasons he’s assuming. And there’s a fierceness behind your eyes that he’s seen before, like he���s about to be lectured.

You grab at an empty file on your desk and hold it up lazily, eyebrows raising in expectation. 

“Oh shit,” He curses lowly, but not soft enough for you to miss before he’s reaching in his desk and holding up the paperwork, “Here—I’ve got it.”

You pluck the item from his grip as he approaches, this time lingering. He’s got his fingers spread out wide on your desk and he leans, practically towers as you sift through his work quietly before jotting something down on a separate sticky note and filing it away for the time being.

“Sorry, bonita,” He apologized, some sincerity in his voice, “I stayed late last night and finished it up but you were already gone—I don’t forget, you know that.”

“All good,” You offer a polite smile and he still doesn’t move, nodding kindly to a few women that pass by, seemingly more done-up than usual, “big plans tonight?”

A man like Javier, there was no way he spent Valentine's Day alone.

Javier offers a non-commital shrug and nods his head in your direction, “What about you? You got that boyfriend, right? Kid with the glasses?”

And okay, Javier was a good chunk older than you. Ten years, maybe. But, kid? Please.

“Yes, that kid.” You roll your eyes light-heartedly. “Um, I reserved a table for dinner at that restaurant Steve recommended a couple months ago. The one he took Connie to.”

“Yeah—yeah, I know that place.” Been a few times, it lingers on his tongue. It didn’t matter if he went alone, the food was decent enough. “You made the reservation?”

“Come on, Javi,” You slap at his forearm gently, “It's not that big of a deal—besides I just…need a break. I thought dinner would be nice.”

“You know I can’t judge you for living at this place,” Javier says around a soft chuckle, “I’m guilty of it too.”

Many nights spent stuck in the office with just you and Javier—the occasional appearance of Steve. It led you to learn a few things about the men, even if inadvertently.

When leads were dry, Javier will go through half a pack in a day and Steve would chew at his fingernails almost constantly, tapping and fidgeting nearly nonstop. They both had obvious tells—a more obvious one for Javier being the close-mouthed smile he gave to women he wasn’t interested in but still remained polite to while the other, the unabashed grin was reserved for the women who piqued his interest.

He's given you both, but that was beside the point. 

“Any recommendations?” You ask curiously, fidgeting with the plastic clip on your pen.

Javier considers it briefly, lips pursing together as he taps his pointer finger in thought, “Well, the Pescado Frito they have is pretty good—can’t really go wrong with that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You note, leaning back in your chair as you spot Steve making his way into the office.

“I thought you hated holidays like this?” Javier questions curiously, a sentiment he shared. They seemed pointless outside of the few that offered him a reprieve from work.

You shrug, looking away briefly to avoid his steadfast gaze.

“Well, I don’t think all of us are impervious to stuff—I wanted to do something…nice. I guess?”

Javier isn’t entirely convinced, seeing the uncertainty in your shy smile but he lets it go, slapping the desk lightly before waving a quick goodbye as Steve pulls him aside.

It had to be intel—and good intel at that by the way Javier’s face morphs into sudden interest, thumb and pointer finger brushing over his mustache.

And really, you shouldn’t keep staring at him. Not with that dinner on the forefront of your mind, the one you had so meticulously planned out for you and your boyfriend.

Things had to be perfect. There was no other option.

But, then Javier chances another glance in your direction and something swells in your throat—anxiety, sadness. You can't quite place it, but you swallow it down. Force it away.

Only a few more hours to go.

-

The call comes an hour before you’re due to head home, already packing up your belongings preemptively. And you smile at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice.

It’s been a few months. Good months. Too good.

He was younger, like you—some IT guy in his earlier twenties with a kind heart. Or, so you assumed.

“Hey,” You answer softly, lightly into the phone, “reservations are in a couple hours.”

“About that,” His voice sounds off, distant, “I don’t think I can make it.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and you find yourself chewing at your bottom lip in worry, watching wearily as Javier and Steve hold matching coffees in their grip, marching back to their desks in sync. Javier’s gaze lingers for a moment, a normal motion he did just to check on you.

Nothing more.

But, he spots the change in your emotion.

Still, he continues on.

“What—I—I’ve had these reservations for two weeks,” You reply in a hushed voice, trying to contain your frustration, “what happened—what changed?”

“I just—I don’t really know how to say this,” The dread is immediate, but your mind is filled with anger—rigid, bitter anger that wants to bite, “I think we should break up.”

“Are you fucking serious?” The small outburst catches the attention of you people but you avoid their gaze, even more pointedly Javier, who’s gone from inconspicuously spying to full on gawking now, alongside Steve who had a sudden interest. They’ve never seen you like…this. “Today? This felt like a good thing to tell me today?”

“I’ve been trying—“

“You’re an asshole.” You bite harshly, “You can pick your shit up from my apartment this weekend.”

You don’t let him have the final word, slamming the phone back down into the receiver and ignoring the gathering stares and sparse, hushed whispers.

You could sit and wallow, allow yourself to stew in regret and worry, wondering what you did wrong—but you knew it wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been. All the trying and trying and trying you do, the maximum amount of effort met with little enthusiasm. You were naive to think that things would work,

You’re thankful when the shift nears its end and people file out quietly, albeit with a few side-stares, you find yourself mulling over the idea of canceling the reservation completely. But, then there was perfectly good, hard-earned money going to waste. And you could eat by yourself, but the idea seemed even more miserable as you had specifically booked a table for two, decorations and accommodation to match. It felt ridiculous, in hindsight. 

You pass the stack of paperwork off to your boss as you step into his office, scurrying back to your desk with your head down—already prepared to go home and wallow in your self-pity.

“You alright?” Javier asks suddenly, jumping slightly at his voice as you turn on your heels, hip bumping into your desk in the process, wincing at the pain, “shit—sorry.”

He’s smiling to lighten the mood but it doesn’t help.

“You’re…fine,” You wave him off, leaning into the weight of the desk as he lingers, fingers shoved into the front pockets of his pants, “I’m heading home in a bit.”

“No dinner?” He asks curiously—if he was attempting to be coy he was doing a terrible joy.

It was only minimally amusing, cracking a smug smile at his obvious prying. 

“No dinner,” You confirm, “and he broke up with me, so…”

“Cabrón,” He says under his breath, but it isn’t lost on you, “I’m sorry—that’s…fucked up.”

You shrug, “Now I’m debating on canceling and wasting the money I put down to reserve it or looking pathetic if I show up by myself—“

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Javier defends, speaking entirely from personal experience. 

“Javi, it’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“And?”

Suddenly though, you’re struck with an idea. 

“Are you busy?” You ask curiously and Javier raises a curious eyebrow your way and smirks, “No ladies in waiting tonight?”

“Not yet.” Javier jokes lightly, knowing his usual routine of hitting the bar after work would end in one of two ways, and even if he didn’t mind spending his nights alone, it was nice to be in the company of others in whatever capacity.

“Go with me.” You suggest, poking at his bicep. “Since you love the place so much.”

“Come on, hermosa,” Javier chides playfully, “If you wanted to take me on a date, just ask.”

You grin wide, heart fluttering at the flirtatious tone he carried in his voice—it wasn’t something you weren’t used to, but it was never so pointedly directed at you.

“I am,” You tell him, “I just—I’ll need to go home and change first.”

His brow furrows and he looks you over, seeing nothing wrong, “Why? You look fine. You always do.”

It’s something he tells you daily—and maybe he has his own selfish reasons, though you know he does it to most of the women in the office, but the way he’s saying it to you now feels different.

He means it, no humor in his voice.

“My—” You can’t even address him in the moment, rolling your eyes with full force as you rub your fingers over your forehead to will away the lines of stress that form there, “I just—he used to say work clothes never complimented me very well. I already had a dress picked out, I can be quick.”

“Save it. I think you look perfect.” Javier affirms softly, keys jingling in his back pocket as he fishes them out, “I’ll drive us.

“But, my car—”

And hand breaches your shoulder, hot to the touch as his fingers curl around your form.

“Hey,” He’s searching for your eyes, waiting until they lock with his own and he nods, expecting the same motion to make sure you’re with him, “I’ll drive you there and back, you don’t have to change—we can enjoy some good food and forget about your shitty boyfriend, alright?”

You nod quietly, earning a gentle squeeze in response.

–

It wasn’t a date, not in the slightest. But, Javier did his damndest to make you feel like it was.

And maybe it was the guilt over him knowing you just got dumped—that whatever you had spent so much time planning had fell out underneath you, but it didn’t quell the nervous anxiety that you felt as you both sipped on a shared bottle of wine and your separate dinners, watching Javier grimace around the lip of his wine glass.

“Horrible, right?” You laugh softly, watching as he forces the liquid down and nods jerkily.

“Food is great, though—the wine,” Javier makes a face of uneasiness that has you covering a laugh with your palm, “—that’s why I stick with tequila or whiskey.”

“Can’t say I have much of a preference,” You admit, “as long as it does the job.”

Javier nods knowingly, stabbing his fork into a piece of food and chewing thoughtfully, the fingers of his unoccupied hand rubbing together as an idea forms in his head, “You know, if you’re not busy I was going to meet up with Steve and Connie for a drink. Later tonight—if you’re interested?”

You can’t believe how instantly you want to agree, blaming it on your impulsivity. 

“Javi, I don’t know,” You respond quietly, “I don’t—I don’t really go out like that.”

“Well—that dress you were talking about. It wouldn’t go completely to waste if you wanted to wear it out tonight. Plus, you treated me to a nice dinner—let me treat you to a couple drinks.”

It sounds like the perfect idea. Too perfect. Too good to be true.

“Javi,” You tease shyly, “if you’re trying to ask me out on a date just say it.”

Javier chuckles softly and you know it’s only an attempt to make a shitty day not so shitty, but the underlying chase you two have allowed to happen for so long now was unobscured by outside forces and you hated how easy it was for him to distract you from everything that had transpired today.

“Is that a yes?” Javier teases.

You sigh reluctantly, though a subtle grin pulls at your face, eyes soften at the expectant look on Javier’s face, all puppy-eyed and nothing like the man you’re used to seeing in the office. This was a side of him that felt new and you were curious to discover more. You nod.

“Well, hermosa—I guess it’s a date then.”

[coff33notforme]

PLEASE CAN YOU WRITE A WALLY DARLING X READER (ROMANTIC) WITH A NON VERBAL READER? NO PRESSURE THO X3

A/n: Yes of course Anon! This was a super cute idea and I really enjoyed writing it!

Disclaimer: Once again this might be inaccurate to the experience of everyone who is non-verbal, I mostly based this off of how my friend who is non-verbal communicates, so if this isn't true for everyone thats why!

Pairing: Wally Darling and Gn Reader (Romantic!)

When Wally first met you, he was inclined to greet you with an over the top introduction, so when you responded in silence it threw him off

Did you feel overwhelmed by his greeting? Were you uncomfortable? Or maybe just shy?  

But he was snapped out of his thoughts when you you gave a gentle wave, a concerned look on your face 

Wally smiled, letting out a breathy laugh

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m Wally, and you are?” he paused hoping you would say something, but much to his surprise you instead reached into the bag that hang on your hip, pulling out a notepad of some sort before you jotted something down

Before you flipped the notepad around

‘I’m Y/n, it's nice to meet you’

Wally smiled, before he continued, telling you about his friends and neighborhood

Over time Wally will become more comfortable with asking questions about you being non-verbal, he didn’t want to get all up in your face about it the first time he met you of course but since your much closer now, it doesn’t seem inappropriate

If you have any other preferred method of speaking other than writing things down Wally would be happy to help you feel more comfortable using them around other people

Like Sign language, or if you have a tablet that you use to communicate, anything you want  

Even though you don’t speak to Wally using your words, he's become very good at picking up on cues you give him that signal your behavior, as well as reading your body language to know how your feeling 

When you first met your other neighbors, Wally had simply remained quiet, something rare to see from the usually energetic, puppet letting you introduce yourself to them with your notepad. It was clear from their expressions that they were confused

You turned to Wally expecting him to say something, but he simply returned your stare, moving his hands, signaling you to continue

You sighed, flipping the page to jot something else down, then you turned the notebook again

‘Hi, I’m y/n, I’m non-verbal, so I won’t be using my voice to communicate with you, I hope we can all become good friends.’ 

You glanced to Wally nervously, but he offered you a supportive smile, giving you a thumbs up

“That's so cool!” Julie shouted waving her arms enthusiastically, you gave a small smile

“How else do you speak? Do you just write?” Sally quipped curiously

You stepped back a little, feeling overwhelmed by the flood of questions being thrown your way

Until you felt a comforting hand on your shoulder, Wally! 

You completely forgot he was here, he offered you a lazy smile

“Now, we don't want to overwhelm our guest here, do we?” 

Julie and Sally shook their heads, as you gave a meek smile

“Then we'll be on our way for now, see you two later.” he spoke, before turning on his heel walking away with you in hand

You turned to Wally arching an eyebrow at him

“What?” 

You looked to him and then back at your neighbors behind you, you flipped your notebook up, writing something down again before showing it to wally

‘Why didn’t you say anything when we were talking to them?’

Wally gave out a low hum

“Because I know you can talk for yourself, you didn’t need me to say anything for you, and they loved you!” he exclaimed, you felt your cheeks become warm as you smiled

Feel Free to Drop me some more Welcome home requests!

[sundayiminlove]

sleep, pretty darling [ dallas winston x f!reader ]

synopsis : you're overworking yourself with studying in preparation for exams, and dally isn't havin' it. contains : academic overachiever reader, whipped dallas winston, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, notes : first writing post on here, kinda (very) nervous!! think i'm gonna make a point to write for each greaser in effort to shoehorn my way into outsiders tumblr?? yeah??? okay, GREAT. 99% chance i post something different for dal tho. just a messy, silly little drabble. ironically wrote after not sleeping for 32 hours. i'm sorry if he's a lil ooc y'all, this is my first dal fic in give or take a year!!! he'll get there, i promise! mwah mwah hope u enjoy warnings : not proofread, we die like dally

i.

PALE BLUE EYES slant sideways, casting a brief look at you.

Your nose is scrunched in concentration over the comically large textbook laid open in your lap. You're hunched over, tracing under each printed word with your finger, thumbing down when you stop to take a note.

Dallas is preemptively annoyed. He's been leaning expectantly against the doorframe circa ten seconds ago, and you're yet to notice him. He takes one last dramatic drag from his cigarette before begrudgingly discarding it on the outsole of his shoe. The creases on on your nose tighten as you catch a whiff of the wafting smoke. Though a vehement anti-smoker yourself, you've spent enough time around the gang to guarantee your lungs at least a permanent char. Despite this, you always just have to make a big song and dance of your distaste for them, and Dally does nothing to curb the quirk of his lips into a slight grin.

You have him, hook line and sinker.

"(Y/N)," he speaks at last. His tone is firm yet without underlying aggression; one exclusively for your ears.

You perk up.

Dallas' fingers splay against his lips as if holding a phantom cigarette. "What're you doin' over here so late, huh? Was out lookin' for you."

He watches as your gaze darts to the window. Nightfall has long since kissed the apex of Tulsa, yet you hadn't a clue. You'd been there for hours, crunching equations and fruitlessly jotting down formulas. The encroaching weight of finals week had rendered both your circadian rhythm and measure of passing time nugatory.

"Borrowin' one of Darry's old textbooks," you explain, the corners of your mouth tugging into a frown. "Not exactly a monastery but it beats that old Soc-infested library, long as Two stays gone, that is."

He crosses the Curtis' living room in four smooth strides, plopping down next to you on the couch. The flimsy cushion sinks beneath him, forcing you closer to him, and for once, Dally's grateful for the pathetic old thing's lack of structural integrity.

He lifts the textbook, ignoring your whimper of protest and sets it on the coffee table. He spins the silver band on his knuckle, averting his gaze downwards. "You know, sweetheart," he pauses, choosing his words. Dally wears his worry uniquely, sparingly. "I'm not particularly likin' all of these.. these books, and.." he trails off, thumb tracing your newly-formed eyebag as if he could swipe it clean. "When's the last time you got any sleep?"

Things are different. You're his girl now. And not just his pretty skirt for the night and until 7am after; no, this is serious. You're his girlfriend. His lover. It's foreign. It's enthralling.

No one had told poor Dallas that falling for you would unwind a deep vortex in his brain that noticed the trivial things, like how suspiciously little you blinked or how the vibrant pink in your cheeks had drained.

You lean into his touch with an exasperated sigh. "Dally, c'mon, don't you start this. I know it's nothin' to you, but it's finals week!" you huff. "I'll catch up on the sleep, swear it! I just, I got so much left to do here, and,"

Your defense falls on deaf ears. This has been it for weeks now; and the you-sized hole burning in his chest is only getting deeper. Dally's arms encircle your waist as he taps gently on the small of your back. "Don't give me that," he sighs. "God, baby, you're worryin' me, alright? Don't like seeing my girl so..." he fans his hand outwards.

As you tense and start to fly into another excuse, he shakes his head, mind already made. He's sparing no more of your attention. "You're comin' back to Buck's with me, alright?" His timbre leaves no room for argument, but you squirm regardless. His grip on you tightens. "And I'm making sure you get some goddamn rest."

You pout, looking over at your textbook as if it would personify and save you. "But," you start, only to be hastily shushed.

"But nothin', doll. C'mon, up ya go,"

With that, he scoops you up, one arm hooking around your legs. Your series of half-hearted protests are nullified as he secures you into Buck's old truck, movements careful yet hasty. You inevitably surrender, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean back into the torn leather.

BUCK MERRIL'S HOUSE is as quiet as Buck Merril's house is capable of being. You've never been to Buck Merril's house, so you don't find it very quiet at all.

Running his hands over the blanket, Dallas spreads it out on the floor, smoothening out the crinkles and corners. They reform almost immediately and he sighs heavily, airing it out on the pummeled mattress in defeat. If he would have know he'd be conducting a full-scale kidnapping for the sake of your rest, he might have better prepared. Might have.

So, here's the thing, right?"

There have been girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been quite a few girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been zero girls in Dallas Winston's bed that he didn't bring into it with meaningless sex on the horizons.

You're no snob and he knows this, but now, it's the principle. Dallas Winston may sleep on a mattress deficient of ample springs and no top sheet, but Dallas Winston's girl should never. In spite his hazy, rose-colored, Y/N-centric world created under this roof, he knows he has to step it up.

As soon as he hears the faucet cut off, he's off his feet. He flings himself onto the mattress, hitching one leg up as he awaits the slow creek of the door.

And there you stand.

Dallas wonders what karmic debt is being paid off for him to deserve to see you like this. His lips part as he drinks in the sight of you like a man dying of thirst. You, in his lightly wrinkled grey tee that scarcely conceals your bare thighs. Your face glistens with renew, a few stray droplets racing down your forehead and cheeks. Even trammeled by exhaustion, you knock the wind right out of him.

You wear the moonlight beautifully. It traces each feature so delicately as you sit beside him on the bed. "I'm—," you start, but pause to let a little yawn. He practically melts beside you.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a tough time, darlin'," you continue, situating under the blanket. "You were right, I'm proper beat."

He smirks, propping his head up to look down on you. "As always," he notes, tucking a fly-away hair behind your ears. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab, to which he winces in mock affliction. "Some nerve," he hums, thumb tracing your cheek.

You look at him, lips parting gently. This isn't Dallas Winston; that infamous, no-good hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. This is your Dally, someone you alone have the absolute pleasure of knowing.

"That's it," he whispers as you surrender to his side, nuzzling his neck. Your eyes are heavy, faltering by the second, yet your grip on him is unyielding. He's never felt a thing like this before, and he's quickly becoming putty in your careful arms. He's content to lay awake all night, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as slumber claims you.

His gangly fingers trace idly on your back, and he knows. He will never be the same.

[charlosvibesonly]

New Romantics

A Max Verstappen Imagine

Pairing : Max Verstappen x fem! reader

it’s mostly fluff, with a few kisses, banter, fights, and a hope that they’ll get through it all❤️

To say she was nervous was an understatement. She had dreamed of this moment all her life. As she walked to the motorhome, she tried to calm her nerves. She was intelligent and confident, and she was going to fit in just fine. The weather was a little hot for her taste, her Red Bull t-shirt was going to be soon drenched in sweat if she stood in the Bahrain sun any longer.

“Y/N! So glad you found your way out!” her team leader said. A few faces were familiar, she had interned with them before, but now she had retired as a permanent member of the team. A mechanical engineer, she was going to work as a Structures Analyst. The job was demanding, yet thrilling. And, she was finally going to work with the race team. No mistakes are all she wished for. The Bahrain GP was on Sunday, barely three days from now. She was introduced to the remaining team and jotted down to work.

However, her eyes searched for the Golden Boy. She wouldn’t admit it but the drivers were also part motivation for her along with the engineering marvel cars. It was her daydream to run into Charles Leclerc on the paddock and have an awkward interaction, one thing would lead to another, and before you knew it, they would be madly in love. She smiled to herself as she thought about it. But getting distracted wasn’t going to help. The free practice was going to start in about an hour, which meant work was coming her way. She had to be aware, observe, and analyze the data so that the Golden Boy crosses the line first on Sunday. 

It was lunch break when she ran into someone on her way to the table. The coffee spilled both on her and the person she had bumped into. “Fucking hell!” the man said. The coffee was hot, and it had burnt her hand a little, but the man got the full blow on his chest. She raised her eyes to apologize. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It can’t be him! The blue eyes looked angry. “I’m so sorry Max,” she said quickly. “Yeah next time please keep your eyes open while walking,” he replied and then pushed her aside and continued walking. What a jerk! She thought to herself. She cleaned up the mess and retired to her desk, hoping the free practice would take her mind off it. 

The free practice was average. Max was angry with the performance. Checo also complained a little. This meant she was going to be here till the morning. After probably what seemed like the most exhausting and exciting hours, she left the motor home. She was drowsy and extremely tired. She needed those three hours of sleep permitted by the leader. On her way out, she bumped into someone again. “Oh Lord! Are you fucking blind?” the voice said. “Hey! I’m sorry. And maybe you can learn to talk politely,” the words left her mouth without her realizing. “Oh really. What am I supposed to say? Sorry Ma’am, you walk like it’s your road, I made a mistake by coming in between,” Max said sarcastically. She had had enough.” Look. I said I was sorry. You don’t have to be such a bitch. I have spent the last nine hours improving the car with the team. I know you don’t like to be polite, but at least don’t act like a jerk!” she said in a breath and walked away.

God! She hated him. The Golden Boy was ruining her first day at work. On her way to the hotel, she scrolled through Twitter, liking every Charles appearance, and post there was. That did improve her mood significantly. Work was going to be difficult, especially when it was so easy to bump into the lion. A few races had passed. It was the Monaco GP this weekend. Max Verstappen had won every fucking race till now. But that did not improve their dynamic at all. He constantly hurt her pride, so she bruised his ego. The hate was mutual. The interactions they had had so far were bitter. Neither trying to back down and always tearing the other person apart. The bitter banter continued during strategy meetings. Y/N would present her analyses, and Max, ever the provocateur, couldn't resist the urge to undermine her efforts. "You sure you're looking at the right data? Wouldn't want us all going in circles," he remarked with a dismissive tone, casting doubt on her competence.

Y/N, unyielding, retorted, "I'd be more worried about your ability to follow a straight line on the track. Might help if you focused on driving instead of insulting."

The worst part was, now he knew her name. 

She hoped to never run into him again, but that meant to leave this job. And she wasn’t going to leave because of that jerk. She kept her head low and did keep her eyes open while walking. Needless to say, the work kept her busy, and her team appreciated her work ethic. “Y/N do you want to join us for a little party in the evening? The whole team is coming.” Ava, a colleague of hers asked. “Sure! I‘ll be there!” she replied. A social event in Monaco seemed exciting. The harbor looked so pretty in the evening and the restaurant overlooked the beautiful sea. Her little black dress for this moment. She was here for fun and nothing was going to ruin it. Until she saw him. He looked different. Nice different. It was probably the missing Red Bull clothing that almost felt like a part of his skin. But the sky blue shirt complemented his eyes. He looked very handsome. She turned away. Was it the weather? Why was she feeling so hot suddenly? She excused herself and made her way to the balcony. Fanning herself, she took deep breaths. “Not throwing up are you? Don’t ruin the sea with your sick!” Max said smirkingly. “Oh I’m sure, it was ruined the day you set foot here,” she tried to harm but failed. Had he done something to his hair? He smelled heavenly too. “Haha. You don’t look so shabby today,” Max tried to make amends. “You don’t look half bad either. Is it the missing Red Bull clothes? Didn’t it hurt to rip your skin?” Y/N added. Max leaned in closer and whispered,” Lord why do you have to be so hurtful? I am just trying to be nice here.” She wanted to believe him. But she also liked teasing him. “Oh yeah? And why are we so saintly today? The air, or the drinks to be blamed?” she asked. Max looked straight into her eyes. His face was close. Or not. She wasn’t tall enough to decipher. He moved closer. There was laughter from the rooms within. Someone was going to see them here. She tried to move away and turned. Max held her hand and pulled her back. They were too close. She could feel his heart beating. “It's you. Y/N. No drink can ever make me compliment you.” Max said. She tried to read his eyes. They felt honest. Desperate. And he leaned in closer. Pressing his lips on hers. Neither pulled away. There was a loud sound from within. And Max stopped. He looked into her eyes and said,” So this shuts you up.”

She was back in the motor home. It was race day. She had always seen the grandeur of the Monaco GP on TV but she could finally experience it! She was excited and used it as a distraction to avoid thinking about the other night. Max Verstappen had kissed her. But nothing happened after that. She had pulled away from him and said, “No. This isn’t right. I don’t like you. Yes, maybe today you look perfect, and it was the need of the moment. But let’s forget about it.” And she walked away, disappearing from the party, and walking the streets of Monaco alone. She was really glad nobody had found out about that little incident, she was afraid that would jeopardize her job. But she kept revisiting that night every so often. “Y/N! I need the results for these simulations ASAP! There must be no mistakes,” her team leader ordered. She got out of her daze and started working. The race was going to start in an hour. Having been glued to the screen for more than four hours, she needed a break. She went to the coffee machine. While carrying the coffee, she remembered the first time she ran into Max. The hot coffee spilled over both of them, and those cold blue eyes. Fuck. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? She thought maybe it was an after-effect. That it would take time for her to move on. She was lost in her mind when Max came in the corridor from his room. No. She hadn’t seen him since they kissed, she hadn’t even waited for his answer. She felt selfish and guilty. Max looked at her and said, “Not going to spill that coffee again on me, are you? I don’t have a spare outfit either.” But he wasn’t being condescending. He was smiling. No. That wasn’t a good sign. He wanted to act nice and maybe be friends with her. But no. She despised him and one kiss was never going to change that. She looked at him and said, “No way. An arsehole once told me to keep my eyes open and walk.” And she walked away without a word. Why was she being so petty? He was just being a nice person and making amends. Although she always struggled when someone got way too close to her. She disliked being so vulnerable unless she was sure about that person of course. He wasn’t that. And in one moment of weakness, she had distanced herself from Max even more.

The summer break had started. Normally, this meant vacation for drivers, but for Y/N the work never stopped. And she liked it that way. It was all she had dreamt of and she was finally working with such cool minds. She was at Milton Keynes, along with the rest of her team. The break meant that they could study the car even more, and find areas of improvement for next year. She was happy to be away from Max. It felt like she could never escape him. Post her snide remark, there wasn’t much conversation between them, but she had felt his glances on her. Their eyes met frequently, and they held each other's gaze till someone backed down. Why were they always testing each other? She could never tell. The highlight of the summer vacation was probably Charles and the fan accounts that constantly updated his ventures. God! He looked hot in summer. She had seen him so frequently on track, but she never got the courage to go and talk to him. 

It was a fine evening when Y/N was making her way home. She pressed for the lift and she stood frozen when it opened. Max was standing in the lift. Alone. Would it be rude if she didn’t step on? Maybe.  Keeping her pride aside she stepped into the lift. Their eyes met. She mumbled a low hi. “Oh! Now you are talking?” Max said. His voice had an edge. Anger perhaps. “What does that mean?” Y/N asked. He stepped closer. Oh no. It was happening again. “Max I told you this isn’t right. I could lose my job!” she almost pleaded. “ Bull shit! You are a coward. Running away every time you see me, and yet you look into my eyes like a lover. I fucking hate that I even think about you,” Max spitted. “I am not a coward. And yes maybe I might have a little crush on you. But see the reality, Max. It’s never going to work out for the good,” she said almost crying. The blue eyes looked stormy. She was scared of what he would say next. But the elevator had reached the parking and the doors opened. She tried to walk out first. But he stood in front blocking her way. “We’re not leaving till we’re done talking. You can’t keep running away every fucking time!” he thundered. The elevator doors closed. And he pressed the highest floor number. “Tell me why this won’t work, and I will let you go. And your fucking job doesn’t count because no, this won’t jeopardize it,” he commanded. Y/N took a few steps back, their eyes never leaving each other. “I… I… I…” she tried to find an answer. “Thought so,” he said as he grabbed her face with his hands and started kissing her. Passionately. She kissed him back as a single tear ran down her cheek. Things were going to get messy now, but at this moment maybe she could forget all about it. He pushed her against the door, as the walls she so carefully built to avoid him, came crashing down.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself reluctantly drawn into Max's world. Their dates were filled with laughter, shared interests, and an undeniable chemistry that seemed to defy their initial animosity.

Amid the twinkling lights of Barcelona, Max and Y/N found themselves caught in a moment of quiet connection. "You know, you're not as tough as you want everyone to believe," Y/N remarked, a playful glint in her eyes. Max shot her a smirk, the city's glow accentuating the curve of his lips. "Maybe, but at least I'm not pretending to be a cold hearted person who will kiss someone and leave." Y/N chuckled, "Touche. But there's more to you than this tough exterior. I can see it." Max arched an eyebrow, "Oh, can you now? What exactly do you see?"

"A person who's passionate, determined, and maybe a bit afraid of letting others see the real you," Y/N replied, her gaze holding his. Max's expression softened, and he sighed, "You're not entirely wrong. But don't get too comfortable analyzing me, Y/N. I might surprise you yet."

Their journey continued across different countries, accompanied by stolen kisses and whispered promises. Max proved to be surprisingly attentive, and Y/N found herself gradually lowering the walls she had built so meticulously.

It wasn’t always a smooth ride though.

The tension between Y/N and Max reached a boiling point during the Italian Grand Prix. Work consumed their time, and the struggle for the championship intensified. Late nights turned into early mornings, and the weight of responsibility strained their relationship.

It was a race weekend filled with high stakes, and the atmosphere in the paddock was charged. Y/N, buried under the weight of her responsibilities, felt the strain as she tried to balance the demands of her job and her evolving relationship with Max. Y/N, exhausted, confronted Max. "I'm here to help the team win, not to be your punching bag," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. Max, equally stubborn, shot back, "Well, maybe you should focus on doing your job instead of trying to prove something to me." The words hung in the air, poisoning the atmosphere. The intensity of the argument grew as frustrations, both personal and professional, intertwined. "I can't keep doing this. I won't be an afterthought in your life," she declared, storming out of Max's room, leaving behind a lingering silence.

Days passed in silence, each avoiding the other, until the tension became unbearable. Max, realizing he couldn't let pride destroy what they had, decided to make amends. Armed with a bouquet of Y/N's favorite flowers, he knocked on her hotel room door.

Y/N opened the door, not expecting him at all. Max stood there, his expression softening. "I messed up," he admitted.

She sighed, a mix of frustration and relief washing over her. "You think flowers will fix everything?"

Max stepped closer. "No, but I hope they're a start. Can we talk?"

Y/N hesitated but finally nodded. They settled into the room, and Max began, "I care about you, Y/N. More than I thought I would. I don't want us to fall apart over this."

She looked at him, torn between hurt and the lingering affection she couldn't deny. "Max, I can't keep being the second priority. I have a job, a career, and I can't let it crumble because of us." He took a deep breath, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I get it, Y/N. Let's find a balance. I'll try harder." As they talked through their concerns and fears, a newfound understanding emerged. Max left, promising to be more considerate, but little did they know that their world was about to be rocked unexpectedly.

A few days later, Max posted a casual photo of the two of them on Instagram. The picture was seemingly harmless, but the internet detectives quickly connected the dots. Speculation spread like wildfire, and Y/N's identity became a topic of heated debate.

Max, aware of the storm he had unintentionally unleashed, took to Instagram with a stern expression. "Leave her the f*** alone," he declared, his post garnering mixed reactions from fans.

Y/N, caught in the crossfire, faced the consequences of public scrutiny. Colleagues eyed her with uncertainty, and online trolls intensified their efforts to uncover every detail of her life. The pressure reached its peak, threatening to shatter the fragile normalcy they had built.

It took a toll on Y/N. It made her fearful of stepping out. She started cancelling their dates, and even wished Max would just start hating her for all of this to be over

But Max had had enough. He wasn’t let her run away again. Yes, he was being selfish, but he couldn’t bear to lose her. He stormed into her room one evening . "I’m not letting them ruin this for you," he said, sincerity in his eyes. "I care about you, Y/N, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you from this madness. But you have to be brave too. I know I’m asking you a lot. But I really like you. I don’t wish to be parted from you."

Her eyes met his, a mixture of gratitude and apprehension swirling within. "Can you promise that this won't complicate things between us?" she asked, the gentle night breeze carrying the weight of unspoken fears. There was a pause, and then she added, "And what about when the championship pressure builds up? Will we withstand the storm together, or will it tear us apart?"

Max nodded. "I won't make promises I can't keep, Y/N. But I'll be damned if I let anything or anyone jeopardize what we have. We face it together, no matter how tough it gets. No sugarcoating, just real. Are you in?"

“Yes. I am,” Y/N assured.

The road ahead was uncertain, but at that moment, Y/N found solace in Max's commitment. The storm outside might rage, but in each other, they discovered a sanctuary amidst the chaos.

[regretmedaisy]

i can see you - tom riddle x fmc/reader

part II

loosely inspired by "i can see you" by taylor swift.

“I've been watchin' you for ages

And I spend my time tryin' not to feel it”

summary: She had always fancied Tom Riddle. It was an infatuation that bordered on love and obsession, that she had secretly grown and cared for, content with indulging in her fantasies and never bold enough to try and make them become reality.

When she meets him again in her adulthood, dormant longings resurface together with a newfound desire to be the object of his own devotion.

As their paths keep crossing, she starts to think he feels the same.

tags: afab mc, use of female pronouns and no descriptors (i tagged it as x reader because i guess it could be read as such if you use the same pronouns), somewhat period-accurate clothing, courtship (just a little because it's still tom riddle), fmc has a crush on tom, she's a bit anxious, a bit of fluff, explicit sexual desire, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, woman is on top.

please note that mc has a crush on tom, therefore the way she refers to him could sound a bit cheesy and exaggerated. i edited this last night and didn't read it again before posting. i'm sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes i missed.

bear with her in this one, she's a little anxious.

words: 6.7K

you can find part I here, I strongly recommend you read that one first.

this is me crawling out of my hole of shame to post this chapter.

i'm really sorry for this very late update, but the smut chapter is finally here after many days of writing (but still in time for smutober lol).

it's not crazy smut, but i hope it was worth the wait.

Part II: And I could see you up against the wall with me

She tapped her foot, pursing her red lips as she jotted a few numbers down on a parchment. She sighed, taking another folder from the pile on her side and checking if the reports corresponded. 

When Serena, her boss, had showed up that morning with two delivery men in tow, she already knew her day was going to take a detestable turn.

Serena had dropped three boxes full of last year's reports in the office and sprinted out of the door before they could say anything and try to stop her.

Apparently she had hired a cheap accountant to save money and now she had to review everything before the Ministry noticed and demanded an audit. Or rather, Serena had asked her to do it.

She was now holed up in the backroom while Will had taken her place in the main office, since Serena didn’t pay her enough to care about customers and save her from bankruptcy at the same time.

She glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost time for her usual break. She chewed the inside of her cheek and returned to the reports.

She wasn’t in the right mindset to meet Tom.

The day she had gone to see him had been like the calm before the literal storm. In the past week it had rained so heavily that she had had to give up on going out and he hadn’t come to post his letters. What had happened between them had been left unresolved.

She had replayed it so many times in her mind, at night and during idle moments in the office, picturing different ways in which it could have ended, desperately wishing she could indulge in his warm lips again.

The first few days she had fretted about it, but as the week had gone by without a word from him, she had just started to accept it as the normal course of things. Perhaps it had just been an extraordinary event, a moment that wasn’t going to repeat itself and that she needed to find contentment in. Perhaps it was supposed to be one of those memories she was going to return to in twenty years, thinking about everything she could have had, or it will sour in her mind, turning into regret while her lamenting soul grieved the possibilities of youth, the chances she had been too scared to take.

It didn’t matter that she was conscious of the anxious butterflies leading her decisions, she still didn’t want to find out if what she saw in him was just a product of her infatuated imagination.

She immersed herself in numbers, refusing to go down that rabbit hole again.

Fifteen minutes after the end of her break, a customer walked in. A beat of silence followed and then Will said, “She’s in the back.”

She almost jumped out of her seat, her heart rate picking up. She quickly smoothed her hair and sat straighter, crossing her legs.

Tom appeared in the doorway, his arm half raised as if he had wanted to knock. She pretended she had just noticed him.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hello, Tom.” She gave him a mellow smile.

He was so good-looking, with his perfectly styled curls and black coat in the muted light of the cloudy morning. Her heart fluttered painfully.

He looked hesitant as he made his way to her and handed her a folded magazine. It was the weekly crossword.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it as her gaze met his. The way he was looking at her was so compelling it was impossible for her to divert her eyes.

He had been thinking of her, she realised, he had noticed her absence, perhaps even missed her.

“I hope I’m not disrupting your work.” His gaze trailed to the numerous papers scattered on the table.

“Not at all, a distraction is more than welcome.” The distraction of his presence was most desirable.

He drew closer, reading through them as he casually rested his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Maths mostly,” she replied, fiddling with the parchments to hide her nervousness.

He reached out over her shoulder to grab a folder but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s still work.”

He dropped his arm. “You’re right, I apologise. I don’t wish to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“It’s fine.”

He stepped to the side, tickling her neck.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from grinning.

“Of course.” 

She watched him with desirous parted lips as he left. He said goodbye to Will and she heard the door closing. It was only a matter of minutes before Will came to pry.

She grabbed the crossword, flipping through the pages. He had bought her her favourite one.

As she got up to put it next to her bag, a small note fell to the ground. It was a plain piece of parchment. But as she picked it up, ready to throw it on the table with the rest of the documents, words started to appear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew to whom that elegant and neat handwriting belonged.

She read the note. Then read it again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. 

“I hope to see you more often in the future.

You look stunning with that lip colour.

T.R.”

She brought her fingers to her mouth, staring at the words until each swirl of ink etched into her mind, terrified they might disappear.

Instead his message remained there, visible, tangible, real. He had taken time to write her a note, to think about something he knew she’d appreciate.

Something warm diffused in her chest, a new version of a familiar feeling, and a giggle escaped her as she realised the ridiculous effect he had on her. 

She was so engrossed in her reverie that she didn’t notice Will standing in the door until he cleared his throat. 

She quickly hid the message in her purse and  he was so considerate not to comment on it.

“How is it going?” he asked.

“Awfully slowly, these numbers are all over the place,” she huffed, returning to her chair.

He dragged a chair and sat across from her. He started bouncing his knee. “I know you’d prefer not to talk about this, but how are things between you two?”

She stopped twirling her quill. “What do you mean?”

Will shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you but I’d hate to see you hurt.”

She tilted her head to the side, disliking the territory the conversation was heading towards.

He was struggling with his words. “He never- I never saw him interested in a girl. I just want to be sure you know what you can expect from him.”

She averted her eyes. “I have considered all the options.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know, Will!” she bursted out. 

Her flare of annoyance suddenly deflated, making room for embarrassment for what he probably saw as naivety.

“I know I’m probably getting ahead of myself.”

“You are smart, I just can’t stand watching you smile at the things he writes to you.”

She feigned offence and threw a balled up paper at him. 

“When you find someone, you’ll be just as ridiculous.”

He laughed and steepled his fingers in front of him. “I’m curious to know, when did it start?”

She scrunched her eyebrows, thinking about how much she wanted to reveal. “I don’t remember exactly. It was more like a sequence of events, until one day I was anxiously waiting for him to sit at his usual spot at breakfast,” she replied with a smile. Will was smiling too.

“You and half of Hogwarts,” he said.

She chuckled. “I miss those years sometimes. Everything was simpler.”

“I used to worry about everything,” he admitted. “But fears always seem so big.”

They really did.

“What do you like about him?” he asked after a beat of silence.

It was her turn to be at a loss of words. “He’s handsome…and always so mysterious. I think I always liked him because it was easy to imagine him being exactly what I wanted.” She looked at him hesitantly, fearing judgement, but he was just listening. “But I think it’s impossible for me to dislike the real him.”

They shared a small moment of closure. She had always wished for someone she could confide in, someone that could help her see beyond the fabrications of her wary heart, and perhaps she had finally found them.

The bell chimed and Will got up. 

“Do you want to come for lunch on Sunday?” she asked.

“I’d love to. I’m sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His gaze shifted between the door and her. “Just make sure you both want the same thing.”

He went back, leaving her at the mercy of her insidious brain and foolish heart.

Throughout the afternoon she had opened the note at least three times, giggling like a schoolgirl everytime she read his words.

Her mind kept straying to what he had said.

“I’ll see you later.”

She wasn’t sure what he had actually meant. Was he just going to stop by or was he going to wait for the office to close? She wasn’t even sure she could see him today, since she expected to stay late to solve Serena’s mess. 

Will popped in. “I have to check something at the owlery. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.”

The door opened and closed and then she was submerged by stillness. It was soothing almost.

She had found out long ago that she enjoyed being alone, it freed her of any kind of expectation.

She turned up the heating with her wand and took off her jacket. Since they couldn’t light a fireplace in a room full of paper, they had refined a spell that kept the room warm and the humidity away.

It was a few minutes after the usual closing hour that the door opened again. She knew who it was.

He walked in, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold and his lips reddened. 

“Are you still working?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m afraid it’ll take a while before I’m free to go.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, grabbing her crossword and a quill and sitting down on a chair, bending one leg so that his ankle rested on his other knee.

Her face heated as she watched him but she didn’t say anything.

As she returned to her work, she realised that silence was a strange assistant. It felt like every sound was heightened and she was becoming keenly aware of everything that was happening. The scratching of their quill on parchment, paper being flipped as she checked the numbers or he looked for a crossword he liked, his soft breath threatening to pull her close like a magnet, her absentmindedly chipping her nail polish.

She kept throwing glances in his direction and she could feel his eyes on her from time to time.

An unspoken craving was growing between them again. She had waited long enough.

She slowly got up, gathering her reports and stacking them in a neat pile. She then took them and walked over to the shelves, conveniently passing by Riddle in doing so. 

As she stored them, his chair scraped on the ground and she felt him draw closer. She deliberately turned around, meeting his eyes.

His gaze was deep, like he was trying to read every thought that crossed her mind just by looking at her. She wasn’t going to lay them bare for him. 

He raised his hand, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you get my message?”

“I did,” she replied, stepping forward and trailing her fingers down his suit jacket, feeling the fabric. “You keep mentioning it but this is the first time I’ve seen you all week.”

“It was storming all week,” he pointed out.

She tilted her head, finding his eyes again. His eagerness was palpable. “Still,” she said.

He grabbed her waist, pressing her body flush against his. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

She had thought about that moment since then.

“Tell me what you desire the most.”

What could she tell him? That she had been pining for him for so long she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else? That she was jealous of even thinking about him with someone else? Will’s words played in her mind.

She leaned closer, murmuring against his ear. “Not until I know why you’re here, Tom.”

She left a kiss on his jaw, phantom lips brushing against his flawless skin.

“It’s a really uncomplicated answer,” he said, caressing her back.

“Explain it to me, then.”

Tender amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. “Do you really think I came here because I don’t own an owl?”

His words pulled at her heartstrings with raw delight and her mind went blank. Adrenaline was rushing through her as she listened to her impulses. It was enough, at least for now it was enough.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her hand in his hair, involuntarily tugging at the strands as she leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath as he pulled her in, gripping the silky fabric of her blouse.

She met his lips halfway, the burning touch consuming her as he pressed her against the shelves, one hand lost in her hair, the other splayed around her ribcage. 

She bit his lower lip, smiling as it elicited a groan from him and the kiss became more demanding.

It was a moment frozen in time, where she wanted to stay forever, like the scenery in a snowglobe.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice abruptly pulled them apart. She was breathless as she realised she had forgotten to lock the door. Was this a conspiracy? 

Tom was slightly panting and she left a small kiss on his neck.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

She used a finger to fix her smudged lipstick and went to see who had just dared to interrupt them.

There was a man standing in the office.

“We’re closed,” she said.

“But I saw the light on.”

There was a twitch in her jaw. “We are closed to the public. I must ask you to come tomorrow morning.”

He rolled his eyes and she ignored his grumbling as he left, locking the door behind him. When she went back, Tom was leaning against the table.

He turned his head towards her as she languidly got closer. She forgot pleasantries, immediately grabbing his face to kiss him again. He was quick to react, wrapping his arms around her.

His mouth trailed down, kissing her cheek, her jaw and then pressing against her neck, soft lips and the occasional scrape of his teeth. 

He grabbed her waist and spun her around, flattening her back against his chest and brushing her hair away from her neck to bite and lick her skin. His hands travelled down and he started gathering the fabric of her skirt. 

Merlin, it was finally happening. 

He caressed her inner thigh, tracing patterns and snapping the nylon of her stockings as his fingers moved excruciatingly slow.

Finally he pulled her underwear to the side, feeling the wetness between her folds with his fingers as his other hand cupped her breast.

She threw her head back against his shoulder as he stroked her clit, eliciting a sigh out of her, and she grabbed his thigh for support.

“I won’t drop you,” he murmured, amused, against her ear. He rubbed his palm over her clothed breast, the friction causing sparks to jolt through her body.

None of her fantasies came even close to what she was feeling right now.

“Should I trust you?” she asked, biting her lip to suppress a moan as he sunk one finger inside of her, his thumb still applying pressure on her clit.

“Such a great timing to ask me that,” he replied. She felt him smile on her skin.

“We don’t really know each other, Tom.” She dug her fingers into his flesh as he slipped in a second finger and started fingering her, stretching her as pleasure morphed her features. 

“And yet you are letting me do this.” He squeezed her breast, lewd wet sounds filling the room as he kept moving his fingers inside of her. 

She leaned her body weight completely on him, her legs unsteady as it was precarious the beating of her heart. 

He let out a low moan as she yanked his hair to catch his mouth, biting his lip hard to gain better access, their tongues tangling together.

He curled his fingers inside of her, an unrelenting wave of pleasure washing over her.

She stopped to imagine what it would be like if he dropped to his knees again, if he started kissing and licking her, if she could watch him at her mercy between her legs.

She realised in that moment that the fall down the precipice was inevitable. Tom had threatened to push her but she had allowed him to succeed, jumping into an abyss that felt unending but that could only allow two conclusions to her story.

What she had told Will was true. She loved the fantasy, all the glances, conversations, gestures that had never happened, that she had delighted herself with when the reality was harsher, but as she kissed him she knew that falling for the real Tom was unavoidable. Not if he kept touching her like that.

It was bound to happen, it was part of her story, the decision she was brave enough to take.

She focused on him, on the circles his thumb was drawing on her clit, on the indecent sounds falling from her lips, on his groans on her reddened skin, on him growing harder against her back. 

He pulled her hair back, tilting her head to meet her gaze. His eyes glimmered with rapture while hers were heavy-lidded, tension building inside of her. 

He didn’t take his eyes off of her, as if he wanted to memorise each detail of her, the way she looked at him, the way her lips parted slightly and the way she panted as she was nearing her orgasm.

“Just like that, darling,” he murmured, a pleased smile on his lips as he noticed she was still blushing.

She threw her head back, losing herself in the motion of his fingers, surrendering herself as blissed moans spilled out shamelessly. She squeezed his soaked fingers, and he kept moving, stroking her throughout her climax.

She panted, coming down from her apex in a flurry of emotions and flustered thoughts. He raised his wet fingers to her lips and she opened her mouth, tasting herself on her tongue as she sucked on them, never breaking eye contact.

“Good girl,” he said, holding her jaw and kissing her.

It was a slow kiss, meant to explore her depths in a different way from the breathless and unrestrained passion from before. She leaned into his palm, her hand closing around his wrist.

His arms snaked around her waist and he turned them around, pushing under her thighs to lift her on the table.

The kiss transformed again.

Teeth and tongues met with vehemence, burning urgency guiding their movements as he brought her legs around his waist and she quickly started to unbutton her blouse.

But at the third button, she stopped. 

Tom noticed the shift in her demeanour and drew back, observing her. Her eyes flew to the clock, as she had just remembered about Will.

She noticed with disappointment that they had no time.

“What is it?” he asked. She didn’t miss the urgent tone of his question.

“Will will be back any time now,” she replied, leaving a peck on his lips. 

He cleared his throat and stepped back, composing himself. She got off the table and

cool hands unexpectedly reached her again, adjusting her clothes and stockings. She shivered at the contact.

He smoothed her skirt and put his coat back on, watching her as she scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to him.

“If you want to stop by one of these days.”

“I remember where you live,” he replied, reading the address she had written down.

She shrugged, holding out one finger to wipe away the lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you have to go back to work?”

“I was supposed to meet with a potential supplier, so yes.”

“I’d stop by the bathroom before,” she advised, gesturing for him to go as she herself needed to compose herself again.

She braced herself against the threshold, leaning her head on the hard wood as she watched him unlock the door and leave. 

Then she was alone, finally finding an answer in the cluster of hypotheses that had tormented her mind.

Two days later, as she was returning from her meeting with Serena, she found Tom waiting for her.

He was talking to Will and they both turned to her as she entered, feeling tremendously self-conscious.

“How is Serena?” Will asked.

“Dim-witted as always,” she replied, earning a laugh from Will.

Her eyes trailed to Riddle, holding an unspoken question. 

Will seemed to notice because he stepped forwards.

���It’s quite late, you can go if you want, I’ll close.”

Tom didn’t wait for him to repeat himself, pushing down the handle and holding the door open for her.

She mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him and followed Tom outside. Once in the street, she huddled herself in her coat and took the arm he was offering her. 

“May I walk you home?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, a little breathy, still not immune to the chivalrous manners he always had with her.

They strolled through the streets, passing by scarcer and scarcer people as the stores emptied and everyone returned home seeking a tranquil evening.

She held his arm tightly, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of his coat.

The first time they had walked together it had felt like an accident, a singular mistake in the already waved threads of her life. This time, she yearned for so much more than she wanted for the error to repeat itself; she was willing to cut the strings herself and tie them back together, as messy as it might have looked. 

They crossed the road and he gently put a hand on her waist, pushing her away from the pavement. 

“Would you fancy dinner?” he asked. There was a foreign quality in his voice and when she turned to look at him, he averted his eyes. She blinked bewildered. Was he nervous?

“I’d love to,” she replied and she noticed his chest rising like he had just begun breathing again. “But not tonight.”

An almost imperceptible smile cleared his expression at her answer and she leaned her head on his shoulder, basking in his mere presence.

When they reached her front door, she looked for her keys with embarrassingly clammy hands. 

As she lifted her head to ask Tom if he wanted to stay, she found his eyes impatiently boring into her bag. 

“Would you-”

His gaze snapped to her, serious and scorching. “Don’t even ask.”

Something coiled between her legs at the way he was looking at her. She nodded and walked up the few stairs to her door, unlocking it.

“Second floor,” she said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

They stepped into the building, the sound of her heels and the soles of his shoes hitting the stone ricocheting through the empty hall.

She turned to gesture to him to follow her when he grabbed her face, kissing her as he pushed her against the wall by the foot of the stairs. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it just as she suspected he loved by the way he always pressed himself harder against her. 

He curved his palm around her cheek, better angling her face as their tongues met.

“I have a nosy neighbour,” she said after they pulled apart to catch their breath. “She is probably spying on us through her peephole.”

Tom didn’t think twice about it, taking her hand and leading her up to the second floor. She stifled a laugh as she unlocked the door, Tom’s lips skimming against her neck as she did, and was left breathless when he closed it unceremoniously behind them, resuming from where they had been interrupted.

As she dropped her bag and grabbed his waist, walking backwards into her living room, she remembered there were clothes somewhere - perhaps in the bathroom but she wasn’t sure - that she had forgotten to put away yesterday.

In any case, Tom didn’t look particularly interested in how tidy she was.

They quickly took off each other's coats and discarded them on the floor.

He sat on her sofa, pulling her down with him.

She was straddling him, her knees digging into the plush cushions as his hands appreciatively caressed her back, moving up and down and occasionally squeezing. She lit the fireplace with a wave of her hand.

She rocked her hips, rubbing against him and eliciting a long awaited moan from him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, their lips collading so hard she was sure she cut him.

She helped him out of his jacket and vest and undid his tie, smoothing her hands on his white button-down.

“I’ve waited too long,” she said, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and grinding against him. Her hands disappeared under his undershirt and ran over his pale chest, lightly scratching his skin.

“Slowly, my dear. We will get there,” he replied between kisses.

His palms kept tracing her thighs and his face buried in her neck, nibbling at the thin skin.

When she was a small girl, before she discovered sex, Tom Riddle was just a boy she liked. During puberty, sharing stories and questions with her friends, she started to understand what was the sensation that passed through her everytime she was close to him, the one that made her cheeks redden and her mind go somewhere she wasn’t yet comfortable with.

As an adult, sexual relations weren’t unfamiliar to her, but this carnal longing, the need of a physicality that went beyond her skin touching his, was.

He opened her blouse, revealing her silk slip and bra underneath.

She wanted to touch his soul, to hold it and comprehend it.

Her eyes fell on the tattoo on his forearm, black tendrils of ink in the shape of a serpent slithering out of a skull.

“Does this have a meaning?” she asked.

He followed her gaze, blinking surprised at her question. “It does.”

“Am I prying too much if I say I’m curious to learn it?”

He bit his lip, opening and closing his fist as if he was scrambling for words. Or perhaps he was just determining if he could trust her.

“It’s a reinterpretation of the ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail,” he finally said. “It symbolises eternity and the renewal of the being after rebirth.”

She traced her fingers on his skin, following the outline of the snake. “And what does your interpretation mean?”

“There is time to talk about it later,” he whispered, his teeth biting her neck and sinking lower, kissing her collarbone and her sternum, moving the fabric covering her breasts to the side.

She let go of the subject. She knew what it meant not being comfortable sharing your life.

He held one breast between his fingers, latching his mouth over the other, sucking her nipple and twirling his tongue around it.

She moaned, rolling her hips faster as he revered her bosom, the cold air hitting her moist skin and making her shiver as he took her other nipple in his mouth, lightly tugging at it until she reached the point where pleasure and discomfort mixed.

“Since we are in the mood for confessions…” she said between moans. He raised his head and looked at her waiting for her to continue. She hesitated, collecting all her courage.

“Why did you pursue me?”

His eyes softened, glimmering with fondness. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Because there is something extremely valuable in your devotion.” His voice was an intimate murmur, a confession no one else could hear.

She freezed, turning her head to the side to hide her mortification.

He took her chin, searching for her eyes until she finally gave in.

“Don’t be embarrassed, darling, I respect it, I understand it. Obsession keeps us alive, it’s what drives us.”

She swallowed the lump of embarrassment in her throat. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Being the object of the desire of such a woman? Of a witch? I do,” he replied, and he was so direct and earnest that her heart swelled.

He lifted her to sit on the sofa, sliding down on his knees on the floor and taking off his shirt and vest. She remained silent as he rolled down her tights, his lips gliding down her smooth skin. He unbuttoned her skirt and helped her out of it, tracing patterns on her inner thigh as his other hand felt her damp underwear.

She tensed, something tightening in her lower abdomen and her eyes fell down to his trousers.

He kissed the crease of the thigh, like he had done that one time at Borgin and Burkes, but this time she wasn’t letting anyone interrupt them. 

He took off her underwear, his movements deliberately slow, and kissed her everywhere, except there.

His lips felt hot on her skin, searing her flesh like she had often dreamed about, carving his way into her body the same way he had done with her mind and heart, until her entire soul was consumed by him, until he could finally close that fist and feel her in a way nobody had before. 

Her breath hitched as he delicately kissed her mound, spreading her legs apart. She leaned her head against the backrest, licking her lips with anticipation, and she couldn’t contain a whimper as he felt his tongue dragging down her slit, sweet and cruel.

He took her clit in his mouth, sucking on it as his hand splayed on her abdomen to keep her still.

She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed.

“Look at me, darling,” he murmured against her folds. His breath was warm and pleasant.

She obliged, meeting his devilish grinning figure between her legs. She was incapable of looking away as he resumed his work, she didn’t want to look away. She wanted to watch him, finally allowing herself to fully indulge in him, in what he wished to do for her.

She observed his curved eyelashes, the way his perceptive eyes followed her reactions, refining his movements to please her better.

He sucked her labia and she moaned loudly, the idea of him enjoying this as much as her being exhilarating.

He threw her leg on his shoulder, resulting in her figure sliding down the cushions and him gaining better access to her. 

His tongue probed her entrance as he coated his fingers in her wetness. He slipped one finger in, working her thoroughly as she gripped his hair, keeping his head in place.

He inserted a second finger, his tongue on her clit moving accordingly to the delighted sounds she emitted.

“Tom,” she cried urgently as she tried to press herself harder against him.

He curled his fingers inside of her and her hips jolted upwards, arching her back to an uncomfortable angle as she reached her orgasm with lascivious bliss, her obscene moans matching the wet sounds he produced by licking her until she came down from her climax.

“Tom,” she said again, so breathless her voice was a raspy whisper.

“I know,” he said, kissing her leg and inhaling deeply, like he was trying to commit the moment to memory.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean as she let her watch.

She gently pushed him onto the carpet, bracing her hands on his shoulder as she sat on top of him. The fire was burning, enveloping their almost naked figures in warm orange light, heating their already scalding skin.

She took off her blouse with quivery hands, his gaze tracing her naked form that was slowly revealing itself. She hooked her fingers into the straps of her slip, pulling it down and then getting rid of it altogether. His hands on her waist tensed as she did the same for her bra.

Her lips parted as he touched her breast with both hands, kneading the soft flesh, tracing her areolae. 

She undid his trousers, pulling down the fabric until they were both completely naked. She took him in her hand, her fingers closing tentatively around him. Her hand started sliding up and down, her pace getting quicker and more confident as moans escaped him. She brushed her thumb on his tip, her eyes admiring what was in front of her. His lips were swollen, residue of her lipstick still on them, his hair was tousled, curls falling disorderly on his forehead, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looked at her. She felt a rush of satisfaction in knowing his current state was her doing, that she had enough power over him to ruin his flawless exterior, to make him want her to do it. 

His lips caught hers and he gently pushed her hand away. 

What happened after felt like rehearsed choreography, something so familiar it was impossible to forget. Their bodies moved together, their movements responsive to each other, doing and touching exactly where it mattered.

She pushed herself up on her knees, slowly lowering herself until she sank down on him completely, shuddering breaths escaping her lips.

His jaw was tense as she placed a hand on his shoulder for support, positioning herself better.

She didn’t break eye contact as she rolled her hips, soaking in the hazy blue of his eyes, in every twitch of his jaw and emotion he was feeling as she increased her pace, in his voice murmuring her name against her ear as his hands squeezed her tights and traced her back.

Skin slapped against skin, his touch inebriating as he felt every part of her, caressing her, massaging her, kissing her until she couldn’t take it anymore. Almost.

His hand dipped between her legs again, stroking her clit as she rocked her hips, eliciting groans from both of them.

Sentiment and pleasure fused together in an exhilarating moment, seared in her mind and flesh forever.

She kissed him again - she could never get tired of that - and bit his lower lip roughly as his other hand went to her breast again, pulling at her nipple. 

She threw her head back, letting his mouth scrape over her neck and chest, leaving behind scorching wet kisses. Or perhaps those were marks reddening her skin, she didn’t particularly care.

He gripped her waist, thrusting upwards as she held onto him tighter. Her nails drew half-moons into his back and she bit his neck, the fibres of the carpet scratching her knees.

The lights in the flat fluttered momentarily.

His fingers increased the pressure on her clit as his thrusts grew in intensity with one purpose in mind. 

She bit her lip, trying to hold back, to prolong this instant of pure bliss before she inevitably plummeted onto the other side.

She arched her back, moving accordingly to his rhythm, her hips bucking erratic as she rubbed against his pelvis. 

And then she fell down, unrestrained, her walls closing around him as she moaned uncontrollably. He didn’t stop, drawing circles on her sensitive skin until her breath found a semblance of steadiness again. 

“You did so good,” he whispered against her forehead, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away.

She slumped against him, her hands grabbing onto his biceps as he chased his own pleasure, his movements turning frantic, losing his rhythm.

She found herself murmuring against his skin the same things she had never had the courage to say out loud, not even to herself. She wasn’t sure he was even listening to her, engrossed as he was, but it didn’t matter.

He squeezed her tights once and she understood, rolling to the side as he deftly touched himself, fast strokes that culminated in white spurts all over his hand. She watched him mesmerised

He turned to look at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The fire casted shadows on his gorgeous face. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, gazing into each other, trying to guess what the other was thinking, making sense of what remained of themselves after what had just happened.

Did it have the same momentous effect on both of them? Or was it just her that knew she couldn’t go back to being acquaintances after this?

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” she asked. Her voice sounded faint and husky to her own ears.

“I do,” he replied without a second of hesitation.

They didn’t get up, instead resting against the foot of her sofa. She curled up against him as his hand traced indistinct patterns on her skin, remaining in this haze of indiscernible unspoken feelings they were both still trying to find a name for. 

When she woke up the next morning he was gone. As she took in the cold sheets and missing clothes, her heart threatened to crack.

She got up groggily, conclusions already forming in her mind, building the most pessimistic of pictures.

She felt anxious as she wore her robe and opened the door, heading straight for the bathroom. Halfway down the corridor, the sound of someone flipping through a newspaper halted her in her steps.

She stepped into the kitchen, finding Tom sitting in a chair with his legs crossed.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said back, adjusting the belt of her robe. 

She noticed he had made breakfast, a steaming coffee pot, kept warm by magic, and some pastries she had never bought waiting for her on the table. 

She turned to take a mug from a cabinet so that she could hide her smitten smile. When she closed the cabinet, she found him looking at her.

There was no need for words.

“Where did you get that?” she asked as she poured herself some coffee, referring to the newspaper. 

“I stole it from your neighbour, I hope she won’t mind.”

She laughed. “So you know how to make a joke.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She sat next to him, crossing her legs. She perhaps needed to rethink her choice of slippers.

“You were always so serious growing up.”

She put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee. 

“That never seemed to deter you.”

“It doesn’t.”

He took a sip of his own coffee. “Good.”

“Does it deter you, knowing how I feel?”

He blinked. “It never had. It makes it more interesting if I have to be honest.”

She blushed, scared to ask the next question.

“How long have you known?”

He got up, brushing his knuckles on her cheek.

“Long enough to see you for who you truly are.” 

He bent to give her a chaste kiss. “I should go, the shop opens in half an hour.”

He put on his coat and grabbed his leather gloves from his pocket. She turned in her chair, treasuring the last few moments of him in her apartment.

“There’s still a lot you haven’t learned yet.” 

She refused to be an open book to him. There was so much about her that was still incomprehensible even to her and too much she wanted to show him on her own terms. She wanted to be enigmatic, to drive him mad.

“I know.”

Her disappointment was visible on her face as she was met with his silence. She had wanted to continue that conversation, to learn what he had observed.

Instead he opened her front door, throwing her one last glance, heavy with unsaid intention she hoped she wasn’t imagining, before leaving. 

She had almost finished her breakfast when she noticed a small note under the newspaper he had left behind. She grabbed it faster than she was willing to admit, almost knocking over her cup in the process, and unfolded it.

“Dinner tonight?

I’ll pick you up at eight.

T.R.”

the last part is a bonus scene i wanted to write to apologize for my tardiness. tom is a little different, but I hope he isn't too out of character.

i honestly had so much fun writing this short story and exploring a different tom from the one i usually read and write about. i hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading!

[flwoie]

TABLE TENNIS — KIM DONGHYUN

☆ when vandalizing your seat by writing how you’re done with love creates more vandalism by a response the next day in blue sharpie.

STARRING ≻ schoolmate! leehan x gn! reader (guest star : danielle of nwjns) GENRE ≻ romcom small angst hs au heavily inspired by that one scene from ‘para sa hopeless romantic' (PLEASE U GUYS SHOULD WATCH IT, ITS SO GOOD) CONTAINS ≻ vandalism (duh) so many timestamps and im sorry abt it WORD COUNT ≻ 682 (not proofread im sorry i gave up on using grammar checkers)

🗯️ sona's back with the weird ass titles??? dont know a slick about bnd but here i am. hope you’ll like this anon 😊

You're done with love.

This is the fourth time you've gone on a date with some weird guy. They keep getting worse every time. Your first date couldn't stop talking and not letting you say a word, followed by your second one, who didn't want to pay for his food, and your third one, well, he couldn't stop calling you insecure—when you weren't. If your friend sets you up on another one, you might as well just go for the first one.

She shows you Instagram profiles of other boys who find you interesting—from what she's heard by others. You interrupt her and slightly push her phone away from your face.

"Y/N, trust me, they're not going to be as bad as the others!" She urges.

"You said that last time. I'm done, Danielle." You clicked on the top of your pen and started jotting words down on your wooden desk.

'I'M DONE WITH LOVE!'

You pointed out your writing on the table to Danielle, making her roll her eyes.

'Wow, emo. Are you heartbroken?'

Those were the words that were written below yours in blue sharpie when you walked into class the next day. You pulled out a pen and wrote down your response next to theirs.

'Not really. Men just irritate me. Speaking of which, are you a guy?'

Danielle walks in and sits next to you, observing that you're not only writing on your table but also smiling ear to ear.

"What's got you smiling now?"

"Look," you say, tapping on the ink engraved on the table, "someone replied to my vandal." She leans in to read your messages.

"Very modern," she sarcastically remarks. "Who knows, that could be the love of your life."

"You're crazy. What 'love of my life' are you talking about? We don't even know anything about them."

She nudges your arm after she puts her notebooks on her desk. "But, Y/N, admit it. You're excited," she teases.

Leehan eagerly walks into class as it is about to start and quickly sits down in his seat to look at your response. He grins and looks around to see if any of his classmates saw him.

He waited for everyone to leave after his class ended. His friend urges him to leave with him so they'll do their project, but all he replies is that he'll follow along. As his friend left, he popped off the cap of his sharpie and replied to your message.

'Not all men, I'm different from them.'

You looked at the message and started writing your response as you waited for your teacher to start class.

"What if we skipped our next class? So we can see who's answering your messages," Danielle suggests.

"No way. We're going to be absent from our next class just because you're curious about who's answering."

"Nuh uh, it's for love."

From there, your conversations continued, with more of yours and his other friends being invested in this so-called love series.

'So you're a guy. Well, I hope you're different from them.'

'Hah! I'm a good boy :)'

'Really now?'

Danielle grabs your pen right after you finish writing, continuing your message with her writing.

'Really now? Do you have a girlfriend?'

'Nope. I don't think anyone would want to date me. What about you?'

She squeals at his response, lightly pushing you back and forth. "He's single, Y/N, he's single!" You scoff and ignore her antics.

'Me neither. My friend won't stop setting me up on dates.'

Leehan hasn't replied to your message since. He's afraid that this might be his last chance at love. He's been rejected by so many girls, all for the same reason.

He just wasn't good enough.

You thought the conversation ended there. It's been days since you last wrote that, and the ink is starting to fade. Danielle lost hope as well until the end of the week.

'Maybe she can set us up together?'

"Hurry up and ask for his name. I might know him!" she exclaims as you quickly write an answer.

'I'd love that. I'm Y/N.'

'Leehan :)'

masterlist

[walliedarling]

Heya there!! I was wondering how you think the crew would react to the reader being able to speak a different language or pronounce certain things differently (accent and stuff)! I'd imagine they'd notice it at first and not seem bothered by it, but after some time they do ask and they learn! (I'd imagine along with them trying to figure out what's "inside" the reader, since they're a human, they'll also try and figure out *why* is it something that you can do in the first place, and might need some time to wrap their head around it once the reader tried to explain it to them the best they could. One thing I imagine is that eventually they'll ask the reader what a tree is called, or what an apple is called, or how you greet someone, etc etc. Just something that came to mind and wanted to tell, hoping that it would be fun to try. Sorry for the long message tho and apologies if it was already written about ^^')

-Sincerely,

Someone Who Has English As Their Second Language.

As someone who Also has English as their second language, I'm happy to write for this :D!

I like to think that the cast of Welcome Home might already know multiple languages! Though it would depend on the popularity of the show, as it's related to which languages the series has been dubbed in. They typically all speak English to each other, as this is their 'original' language, but if you spoke one of the languages they unconsciously know, they'll switch to it without noticing! They don't really register themselves speaking any differently, until you might point it out.

They wouldn't point out your accent. In the neighbours' eyes, everyone is special and unique, you already a little more so than the rest of them, and that way of speaking is just Yours! They accept it completely. It's a bit difficult for them to grasp the idea of people being unable to understand what each other are saying, because they've never encountered such a thing before. Though speaking your native tongue then will be a quick demonstration.

They all pick up little bits and pieces here and there, but some are more interested than others.

Eddie is the one who most quickly grasps the idea of different languages. He's delivered to all sorts of places, and they've spoken in different ways there as well! ...Maybe? He can't quite remember. Anyway, he's really delighted to learn! The idea of different words for the same things is just interesting to him. If you happen to know a language that uses a different script than the one he's used to, he's especially fascinated. He had never even considered such a thing before! What if he someday gets a letter to deliver in a language he doesn't understand...? He has to remedy it! Eddie struggles a little with language learning because of his less than stellar memory, but he's trying his best.

Frank likes categorizing things in general, and so he's the one who's most likely to walk around the village with you, pointing at different things to find out their names. He'll carry around a little notebook, jotting all of it down as you speak. It's no surprise that he asks for the names of different bugs and plants before anything else! He likes to sprinkle words he's recently learnt into everyday language to make himself seem smart.

[qvrcll]

the string to strike within

summary: ellie is fond of the idea of scooping you up for a date. even more-so when it mingles with the idea of a planetarium (or, just a mini drabble of nervous, love sick ellie who doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants.)

warnings: nothing major but slight n$fw implied at the end, female reader, established relationship

notes: HIII sorry to have disappeared again, i come and go a lot it seems… but hope you have all been keeping well 🥹 its been one thing or another with writing about her, but i managed to afford this drabble so far! & yes, that is a mitski lyrics as a title because mitski and ellie make me rabid in the strangest way… anyways, enjoy :-]

Imagine Modern!Ellie who is girlishly overstrung when she decides (against her own worriments) to ask you out on another date (despite already dating you). It’s a sweet excursion on her part, messy and lovesick as she is — jots down possible locations on parchment paper, wrests with the idea of a planetarium or a museum (broods about which idea will bore you the most) when finally, she decides for letting it slip into conversation.

It won’t be entirely [add any synonym for confident here] at first — just a little “I’ve been thinking…” beating through the minor hues of the day. Washing dishes? She’ll sneak up behind you, latch an arm by the hip and press kisses where you cannot discern them from neck or throat, uttering a little “Mmm… you free this weekend?” so that you’re caught off guard softly, mentally procuring which days your off and which days you’re catching up on intrinsic amounts of work, away from her and away from comfort.

The second attempt is more feasible than the first, where she brings up words rather than ideas at the dining table. A chew around her food, and she’s talking again — “A planetarium is, like, amazing. Babe, you have got to see one in person,” she scoops food into her mouth, like a hollow attempt at shutting herself up, “It’s… amazing. Really.”

The last moment is in bed, close to sleep where she’s perched against your back. Her fingers graze the upturn of your belly, warm and gentle and the moment you feel the least bit sleepy, her blood hot sigh is in your ear already and you come to turn to her, more questions in you than patience.

“Ellie.”

“Mhm?” A good act at apathy, but not good enough.

“I know you’re awake.”

“I am now, babe.”

“Baby, do you want to ask me anything?”

Your feel her fingers tighten just the least bit against your belly, her left coming to still against your thigh. Ah, you’ve hit your mark.

“You think?”

“Ellie.”

Her silence is loud, deafening. Her mouth slotted against the back of your neck, her proximity is beautiful, too, in the pulse of her hesitance.

“Will you… go out on a date with me?”

A pause. Minuscule, barely counted.

“Ellie, we’re dating.”

“Yes, I know, babe. But it’s a planetarium. Space stuff. I don’t wanna… I don’t know, bore you. I just—“

Her fingers clutch the shallow edge of your jumper and pull at the deft strings that show, nervous suddenly. You find that beautiful, too. Whatever messy thoughts that trouble her become your own at touch, and with the weight of your fingers against the back of her hand, she looks up with surprise.

“You know I’d love to do on a date with you,” you press a chaste kiss to her palm, feel with gaiety how her pulse spikes and smelts, “I want you to teach me.”

“Teach you?”

“You can teach me what makes a planetarium. What you find interesting. What you find boring. Whatever. Ellie, you know I’d literally give up anything for you, right?”

And suddenly, her eyes lighten and take on a softer shade, bruises of the same hue as she stares at your mouth, comes down to kiss it deeply and breathe you in fully.

“Are you sure?” she asks, like the question is life and death itself, to which you can only nod because ofcourse you are sure. You would reach into the stick of your mouth and wrench your heart out for her to see, if it meant to be sure. And when you do nod excitedly, her smile is something that makes your stomach hurt cruelly, so well.

She kisses you again, then, mutters a “I love you. So fucking much,” and then, she’s teeming with vulnerability and excitement, her limbs tangling with your own, and a smile that is all teeth.

It makes you infectious with glee, wondrous with breathy chuckles, as you reach into the strands of her hair, “I love you more.”

And then,

“Tomorrow. 3 in the afternoon. Sounds like a deal?”

You begin to wrack your head for a mental schedule, purse your lips to see if you’re available tomorrow to be hers for the taking, but then her fingers are already looped twice into the lace of your undergarments, her breath slowly breaking against the soft spot of your neck. And her other hand sinks into the small of your back. And, finally, a quiet concession:

“D… Deal.”

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 7

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 7: Dirty Laundry

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.5k+

Content / Warnings: Reader POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting mention, alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, female masturbation, unprotected piv sex, send nudes pls, hold the moan/secret sex, text message chains, movies, fluff, awkwardness, praise kink, daddy kink

Notes: I don't really have any notes! Just excited to share, I hope you like it.

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

The first time you wake comes a result of Frankie clomping around the house as he gets ready. 

It used to annoy you, how loud he can be in the mornings. But you’ve come to find it kind of comforting. Each cupboard slam and heavy footfall serves as a reminder that you’re not alone. That you’re safe. 

You stay cocooned in your sheets while he goes about his noisy routine, eyes closed, cradled in that warm, fuzzy space between awake and not. Content. 

When he leaves, a high-contrast silence takes his place. The slow rhythm of your automatic breathing lulls you back to sleep. 

You’re surprised when your eyes flutter open at 10:34 AM. 

Thanks to your opaque curtains, the room is drenched in darkness, despite the daylight trying to sneak in through the cracks. You squint into the brightness of your phone screen and read the text messages that came in while you were sleeping, all about a half an hour apart starting at 7:00. 

> RORY:  > Good morning beautiful > How are you today?  > I get off work at 3 today, wanna do something?  > I miss you 

“Oh my god dude, chill out,” you scoff under your breath while typing a reply. 

< ME:  < Sorry, just woke up. < Yes! I’m cleaning today but that’s all I have planned. What’re you thinking?

He reads and responds immediately. 

> RORY:  > We can check out that trail by the lake? Grab a bite to eat afterwards? 

< ME: < Sure

> RORY:  > Pick you up at 3:30?

< ME:  < See you then 😘

You toss the phone aside and sit up, scrubbing your hands over your face. Your eyes burn when you grind your fists into them and welcome a big yawn that stretches your lungs’ limits. A spasm catches your breath, shoving out a fit of coughs that leave you a little winded. 

Yeah, go on a hike today, that will be fucking fun. 

When you tiptoe through the kitchen, you find the coffee pot still on from when Frankie ran it this morning. Your nose wrinkles at its contents. The stale brew will be muddy and unsatisfying, but you pour it into a mug with some half & half anyway. 

You settle into your spot on the old couch in your living room and pull the notebook out from under your arm. Between sips of terrible coffee, you jot down the nighttime thoughts still floating around your head. 

Hard time falling asleep. Kept thinking about puppies, thinking I should have adopted that dog last year. Regret. No nightmares I think. Woke up at 10:30, feel tired still. Don’t want to go on a hike with Rory, but I am an idiot who can’t say no to people. I would rather stay home and be alone. I want it to be 

You pause here, staring at the passage. 

A jolt skitters across your ribcage. Blood rushes to your face. You glance around self-consciously, then cross out the last two and a half sentences. A few moments go by before you decide it doesn’t seem like enough, so you cross it out again and again, scraping dark lines into the notebook paper until the sentiment beneath is unrecognizable. 

Then you drop the ballpoint of your pen a few lines below the redaction and start writing out your to-do list for the day. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself. 

Frankie’s damp clothes stick to the circumference of your washer’s stainless steel drum. The rank scent that emanates from the machine reminds you of your grandparents’ house in the summer. 

With a sigh, you empty your dirty laundry on the floor of the mudroom and pull his clean clothes from the dryer into your basket, replacing them with the damps, then replacing those with your dirties. En route to his bedroom, with your laundry basket propped on one hip, you text him. 

< ME: < I stg you leave your clothes in the washer dryer on purpose so I’ll fold them 

He must be on his lunch break, because he texts back right away. 

> FRANKIE:  > I would never 😉 

The door opens with a creak when you step through the threshold, dropping your basket on the floor next to his bed. You take a selfie from the middle of the room and send it to him along with your response. 

< ME:  < K well I’m gonna lick all your stuff after putting away your clothes 

> FRANKIE:  > Promise? 

< ME: < Shut up lol 

> FRANKIE: > You look cute btw 

Heat floods your cheeks. A smile spreads across your face as you fall back into his bed. The musk woven between the threading of his sheets tugs at you. Your skin tingles with want, and you find yourself pulling the covers over your body and burying your face in his pillow. 

The phone buzzes beside you. 

> FRANKIE:  > Feel free to take a nap or do whatever you want in there

You sit up and whip your head around, then text back. 

< ME:  < Are you watching me 

> FRANKIE:  > Are you in my bed? 

< ME:  < … what if I was?

> FRANKIE:  > I wouldn’t mind one bit  > What are you doing in there?

< ME: < It’s comfy, I’m laying down 

> FRANKIE: > Can I see?

Your stomach flips. The warmth in your face spreads, sprouting up all over your body. You lick your lips and smirk, then open the camera and take a picture of yourself and send it to him. 

> FRANKIE:  > Wow 😍 > I’m going back to work. See you later tonight, sweetheart 

You start and erase about five variations of a response before just locking your phone screen and slamming it down at your side. Your hands fly to your face. All your organs melt and pool hot between your thighs. 

Fuck, you hate that he can make you feel like this. 

… but you love it, too. 

It’s intoxicating. 

You know him well enough to know that, throughout his day, whether he’s tinkering around in some commercial airplane, or running diagnostic tests, or chatting with coworkers, he will be thinking about you. Wondering what you’re doing. Hoping that when he arrives home there will be a spot in his sheets marked unmistakably yours. 

He always held a particular fascination with you touching yourself, a fact proven true last week when he got off watching you masturbate. 

The memory pricks your skin. Your squeaky mattress. The exchange of gasps and whimpers and moans. His lust-blown eyes, all wild and black as they watched you. 

Even before that, though. 

When you were working for him, he would sometimes text you specific locations in his house, asking you to masturbate there, send him pictures, and leave your panties. Of course, you were happy to oblige. 

There were a few times when he had you choose a place to fuck yourself. You gave him three clues, and if he guessed the location correctly, that’s where he would fuck you when he got home. 

One Saturday night, you were watching Sarah while he and Angie went out on a date. He texted you exactly one minute after Sarah’s bedtime. 

> FRANKIE: > Baby in bed? 

< ME:  < Yeah 

> FRANKIE: > Good > Can you do something for me?

< ME: < Maybe, what?

> FRANKIE:  > Go in my upstairs bathroom and take off that pretty dress > Film yourself getting off in the mirror  > Then send it to me 

< ME:  < Where are your manners sir 

> FRANKIE:  > Pretty please 😘

So you did. You tiptoed into the bathroom and pulled your dress off over your head, which is all the effort it took to strip down to a red thong. You stood in front of the huge vanity mirror and pressed record. 

When they came home, Frankie ushered an extremely inebriated Angie to their bedroom. He emerged a few minutes later and coaxed you into the bathroom. Between heated, whiskey-soaked kisses, he told you, “We have to be quiet.”

You nodded and raked your fingers through his hair, responding to his urgent mouth with your own. He locked the bathroom door and dug his phone from his pocket, propping it up on the bathroom counter before he pressed play. 

You pulled your dress off, watching his reflection in the vanity mirror for telltale signs of him being shitfaced. A stumble or slur. Compared to other nights where he spent hours at the bar, he seemed fine, which was a relief. 

From his phone, you heard your own whimper. You looked down and watched the past you, video you, flick your wrist beneath the cover of your underwear. 

His belt clanked as he undid his pants, pulling your attention back to his reflection. You met his eyes through the mirror and watched the darkness in them churn. He slid your thong aside, head of his cock nudging against your entrance. 

A rasp tickled your ear, “Look at you, the dirty little movie you made me—what were you thinking about?”

Your gaze dropped to the video. To video you grabbing your tits and biting your lips. He plunged forward, splitting you open, pulling a gasp from your lips, “Ffffuck—”

“Thinking about fuck?” 

He started to roll his hips, driving his cock into you, slow and deep. Pleasure rippled up your spine. Video you slid your thong off and showed the camera your pussy. 

Your lips parted to answer his question, but the words caught in your throat. It felt so wrong to tell him. He grabbed your shoulder and pulled your body against his, snapping his hips, pumping into you with sharp, hard movements.

“Holy fuck, Frankie—”

“Tell me what you were thinking about when you were playing with your pussy.”

“This,” you breathed, arching your back into his thrusts, each one a heatwave across your body, “You fucking me—trying to be quiet—trying to be a good girl—”

“You’re doing so fucking good, baby,” he purred, “Can’t get enough of this sweet pussy—drives me fucking crazy, Jesus Christ.”

Little whimpers and gasps started wriggling up your throat. Your eyebrows threaded together and lips parted with a croaked, “Frankie—”

“Fuck yes, baby, take it,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fucking you harder, faster, repeating under his ragged breath, “Take it, take it, take it.”

His cock rubbed along all the right parts of you, sending your pulse racing, adrenaline spiking when you remembered Angie asleep in the other room while he was there with you, dark gaze flicking between your video playing on his phone and your body bouncing off of him. 

Your whimpers morphed into moans, immediately muffled by his warm, rough palm. 

“Gotta be fucking quiet, sweetheart,” he panted in your ear, “I know it’s hard but you gotta do that for me, ok? Can you be a good girl for me, be quiet?”

You nodded. Calmed your moans into frenzied breaths. Lowered your gaze to the phone screen, where video you sank two fingers into your cunt and moaned, fucking yourself, just for him. 

“That’s it,” he panted, wrapping his arms around your torso to hold you in place as he fucked up into you, hot breath heating the crook of your neck, “Fuck, that’s it, such a good girl for daddy, hmm?”

You couldn’t help the choked moan that escaped you. 

“Say it, say you’re such a good girl for daddy—”

“I’m such—such a good girl for daddy.”

“Fuuuuck yes,” he groaned, one hand finding your clit, drawing frantic circles that flooded your body with a gooey, electric, pulsing energy, “Pussy so tight, feels so fucking good, fuck—”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, pushing against his thrusts, nodding your head, “Daddy I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Holy fuck—that’s it, sweet girl, cum on daddy’s dick, you can do it.” 

You lost yourself, forgetting all about the concession to be quiet—whining and moaning as your bodies slid together with this sick, wet, sucking noise—consumed by the throbbing fire at your center, amplified with each snap of his hips, with his dirty little praises whispered in your ear, cock filling you again and again until you couldn’t fucking handle it anymore and your pleasure reached a fever pitch. 

Frankie released a deep, guttural moan as you clenched down, pussy fluttering around his length, white hot static vibrating across your body. 

He plunged into you once, twice, three more times with a shudder, spilling inside you. 

“Holy shit,” you panted, collapsing forward onto the bathroom counter. His grip softened and he went slack against your back. A few blissful moments went by like this before the spell broke. 

“God, I wish you could stay,” he told you in a breathy murmur, pressing a kiss into your bare shoulder, “Wish I could wake up with you.” 

And it sounded sweet on the surface, but you knew it was your cue to leave. 

You think about it now. 

About Frankie, and the video that you sent him while he was on a date with his wife. How she was under the same roof when the two of you fucked in the bathroom. How he had you call him daddy, and how you were such a good girl for him. 

You think about how it is between you now, how good it would feel to give in to those reckless desires and fuck like you used to. 

Your touch trails down between your legs as you imagine him here in the bed with you, cooing filthy things in your ear, rubbing your clit, laying heated kisses on your neck. 

You grab your breast and pretend it’s him squeezing your flesh. Imagine his soft lips around your nipple, the roll of his tongue against it. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, rolling your hips into your hand. 

A whimper bubbles through your lips and the brazenness of it stokes your insides. Another whimper, this one louder. Tingles shoot up your middle. 

You drag your fingers along your slit, moaning at the puddle of arousal pooling at your entrance, spreading it, coating your pussy in the slick substance. 

“So fucking wet,” you gasp, gripping your tit harder, imagining Frankie there, touching you, watching you with awe, telling you how fucking good you’re doing. 

Your fingers move faster, sliding easy against your lubricated nub, and you release a throaty moan, “So fucking good, daddy, you make me feel so good.“

The words out loud jolt your insides. You think: What if he saw me like this? What if he heard me? What if he knew I still fantasize about him? 

A burst of feral energy overtakes you and you crawl up onto your knees, pulling your loose cotton shorts and underwear aside so your cunt is exposed to the room. You work one hand hard and fast against your clit. The other sinks two fingers inside you.

You roll your hips, fucking your hand, moaning out, “Fuck yes, Frankie, fuck me just like that, so fucking good, daddy, you’re gonna make me cum—”

Uttering the words out loud electrifies you. Heat churns beneath your touch, growing brighter and hotter as your wanton moans hit his bedroom ceiling. Pleasure starts to swell and your movements grow frantic, desperate, chasing that feeling as you whine, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

You convulse around your fingers and gasp, twitchy prods of pleasure gushing at your center each time your slick fingers graze your clit, slowing as the waves ebb into a fuzzy kind of bliss that occupies your whole body. 

You fall back in his bed, chest heaving, and try to gain your bearings. 

Shame starts to creep at the edges of your post-orgasm fog. Without prompting, your brain tells you: I hate myself. 

It stings. 

You gulp and shake your head, whispering out loud, “I love myself.” 

The correction soothes your hindbrain’s outlash enough for you to release a content sigh. A smile creeps across your face. You blink over at Frankie’s dresser, then rise to your feet and start folding his clean clothes. 

As you tuck the folded clothes away in his dresser drawers, you find the underwear he snatched from your bedroom last week. Teal lace, all stiff with his dried cum. 

You chuckle to yourself and shake your head. That familiar, reckless kind of satisfaction spreads through your veins. 

It’s fucked up, but the thought of him getting off on the scent of you fills you with pride. 

This is rocky territory. More than rocky, honestly. It’s dangling-off-a-cliffside-while-your-grip-is-slipping territory. 

You both know it. It’s like neither of you can help it. Over and over, you fall back together like opposite poles of a magnet. 

Are you drawn to each other because there’s something real? Or is it because of the thrill? 

You remind yourself that there is something more between you and Frankie than sexual desire. 

You laugh together, support each other, and enjoy your shared time. The bond you’ve formed is genuine. He has come to be one of your best friends. Second only to your sister, Leah. 

There’s a softness when you’re with him, too. A saccharine kind of intimacy that curls around your body and makes you feel at home. It has always existed between you, even if he never admits it. He used to push it away, but more and more, it’s become commonplace when you’re together. 

You swallow hard and shake your head, finding that you’re still staring at these cum-encrusted panties. You know Frankie won’t be able to bring himself to throw them in with the rest of his laundry. That would mean washing your scent, throwing your gift away. 

A little flint of arousal sparks at the base of your spine. 

After dropping the teal lace into your laundry basket, you shimmy your shorts and underwear down your legs, then wipe yourself off with the gusset of your floral cheeky bikini. You shove them into his dresser drawer in place of the spent pair. 

Two flimsy cardboard boats slide out onto the "PICK-UP HERE” window’s ledge. A booming voice follows, “Order number 32!”

Rory glances down at his receipt, then tucks it in his pocket as he steps through the crowd of hungry onlookers and approaches the rusted-out food truck. He returns holding one basket in each hand, a victorious smile dawning on his face, “Where should we sit?” 

You squint around your surroundings and spot a shaded patch of grass beneath the gnarled trunk of a buttonwood tree, then point to it, “Ooh, over here!” 

“Got it!” 

Rory jogs ahead and lands on the grass before anyone else can claim the spot. You catch up a few seconds later and sit down next to him, crossing your legs. He hands you your shrimp tacos and you murmur a thanks to him while balancing the basket on your knee. 

Under the eaves of the buttonwood tree, you find relief from the unrelenting sun. Your skin, all heated and gleaming with sweat, thanks you profusely. The cool earth somehow feels icy against your palms when you lean back and stretch out. You pull your sunglasses up on your head and tilt back to look up through the twisted branches of the tree, “Fuck, it’s hot out.”

You’re never really sure how to start conversations with him.

“Yeah,” he follows your gaze up into the tree, quickly losing interest. A deep breath expands his lungs as he looks around the park, finally settling his gaze on a playground, “You ever take the kids you babysit out here to play?” 

Your nose wrinkles a bit when he calls you a babysitter. You follow his line of sight to and watch hordes of squealing, laughing children crawl all over the playground. 

“Not this park, but I take them to the one by their house. It has a splash pad and this playground with water features. They love it, it’s pretty cool.” 

He nods. 

“When I worked for Frankie and his wife, I took their daughter, Sarah, here a lot. She was still just a little squish, but, you know, there are all these trails with cool trees and there’s the lake, and another playground further down that-a-way.” 

You point to your left. He doesn’t seem to care much about what you’re saying, but asks, “Is that a job you see yourself having long-term?” 

It’s a question you’re familiar with answering. Always tainted with judgment, insinuating that your job is that of bored teenagers trying to make a buck over the summer. 

“Yep,” you tell him with a close-lipped smile, tilting your head as you wait for him to say more.

“How will that work when you have kids? Do you want to be a stay-at-home mom, or will you bring the kid with you, or what?” 

With a shrug, you tell him, “Figure I’ll see where I’m at when the time comes and go from there.”

Rory hums and nods, brow furrowing at the ground like he’s soaking this in, then he says, “It’s nice that you do that. I like that you’re a caretaker.” 

It takes you by surprise. His gaze meets yours and you smile at each other for a moment. 

“Thanks,” you say and bring your attention to the boat of shrimp tacos resting on your knee, finding them cooled down enough to eat. 

After finishing your food, you and Rory start off towards his vehicle, hand-in-hand. The trail winds by the playground you were watching from afar. Like playgrounds often are, it’s total chaos. Children screaming, running, climbing, crying. 

You spot one little girl sitting in the sand, digging a hole between her splayed legs. She seems oblivious to the world around her. The dark ringlets dangling around her cherub face wiggle as she talks to herself, eyebrows raising expressively like the one-sided conversation is intensely interesting. 

She must feel you watching her, because her spine straightens and she looks around. When her dark brown eyes meet yours, her face lights up in recognition, and she squeals your name. 

You stop in your tracks and can’t restrain the wide smile from spreading across your lips, “Sarah!” 

Aside from the brief glimpse you caught of her the day Frankie moved in, and the grocery store shortly after, you haven’t seen her in over a year. She’s grown so much. Her chunky, wobbly baby legs have elongated and grown more capable, allowing her to run towards you, arms outstretched. 

When she reaches you, you scoop her up, twirling her around as you give her a big hug, “How are you, sweetheart? I missed you!” 

Sarah squeals with delight and says, “Missed you!” 

A cool rush of panic spreads across your skin when you look around and ask, “Where are your parents, sweetie?” 

“I’m digging a hole!” 

“Oh wow, you’re digging a hole?” you laugh and shift her onto your hip as you continue to study the sea of faces, ears growing hot when you remember Rory standing behind you. The last time you saw Angie, she insulted you in broad daylight. How the fuck would you explain that to Rory if it happens again?

“Hey!”

The familiar voice is sharp with outrage. Frankie’s hand grips your shoulder and spins you around to face him. His chest is heaving, jaw clenched, eyes aflame with fury. 

You have never seen him like this. 

Your eyes widen and you hold your palm up to him, “Just me, sorry!” 

He studies your face, still red-hot anger, then it seems to come into focus for him. His shoulders relax with a relieved exhale, then his features soften and grow apologetic, “Oh, hey.” 

You bring your hand back to your hip to support the weight of Sarah and chuckle, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you—”

“No, no, it’s ok.” 

“We were just walking, and, umm,” you gesture back at Rory, trailing off when you see Angie approaching, arms crossed, beautiful face squared off in a stern expression. 

Frankie’s gaze flicks to Rory and he gives a nod of recognition before returning his attention to Sarah, “Did you see your friend and go to say hi?”

Sarah smiles sweetly and nods, then starts wiggling to be put down. You grant the request, lowering her to the ground and letting her go. She gallops back to her hole in the sand, while you call behind her and wave, “Bye, Sarah!” 

Your face scrunches up into a wince when you meet Frankie’s eyes again, and you shrug, “Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it,” he waves you off with a smirk. 

“Hey,” Angie greets, surprisingly calm. Her fingers curl around Frankie’s bicep and she blinks at you. 

“Hi, Angie,” you give a nervous nod, plastering on a smile that’s too eager, “I was just passing by with my, um,” you swallow hard and turn to Rory, waving him forward, “My boyfriend, Rory.”

Your voice is shaky. This is a nightmare. 

Rory’s arm wraps around your waist from the side and he gives a polite wave, “Hi.” 

“This is Angie Morales, Frankie’s wife,” you tell him. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rory smiles and extends a hand to her. Angie says nothing, just shakes his hand while wearing this Mona Lisa smile and steps back beside her husband. 

The silence that follows is painful. 

“Ok, well, sorry again for the scare,” you sigh, looking down at your feet, “It was really nice to see Sarah, I miss her a lot.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Frankie says, and you look up to see his brow knit together, dark eyes all apologetic, “I’ll see you at home, yeah?” 

You nod at the ground, then tell Angie, “Good to see you.” 

She raises an eyebrow and laughs at this. It feels like a slap. You suppose it’s better than her screaming insults at you, though. Or, like, a real slap. 

When you turn and walk away, Rory’s hand finds yours again. His grip is warm and steady, and he frowns over at you, “You ok?” 

You forgot to adjust your face. The pain bubbling up inside you must be obvious. Traitorous tears spring to your eyes, thankfully hidden behind the dark of your sunglasses. You clear your throat and nod, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

It sounds watery and false. 

“Hey,” he stops walking to turn towards you, “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head and sniffle, “Nothing, I’m fine.” 

He raises his eyebrows, searching your face, “Really?” 

Your teeth catch your tongue. Dull pain wells up in each section of the soft muscle you clamp down on, providing a microscopic release. With a deep breath, you look down at your feet and shrug, “I just—I guess I missed her more than I realized.” 

“Come here,” Rory murmurs, ushering you into a hug. You oblige. His body seems to awkwardly wrap around you, but it brings you a small dose of comfort. Even if he doesn’t feel or smell like home. 

“What’s the deal with his wife, why did she seem mad?” 

Fuck. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice, or ask. 

“She, um… she thinks I stole something from her,” you tell him, “That’s why I don’t work for them anymore.” 

Misleading, sure, but not entirely a lie. 

He hums, rubbing your back, “You care about her a lot, huh? The little girl?”

“Yeah,” you croak. A few tears spring from your eyes. You squeeze your eyelids shut and wish them away. 

Rory kisses your hair and gives you a tight squeeze, “Should we keep going?” 

You sniffle and pull back from his embrace, flashing him a tight smile as you nod, “Yeah.” 

When Frankie comes home, you’ve already resigned to your room for the night, content to wallow in self-pity you have no right to feel. 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards as he makes his way through the kitchen, into the hallway outside your room. A knock comes at the door. 

You sigh and pout to yourself, then call out, “Come in.” 

Frankie opens the door and hovers in the threshold. You pause Stardew Valley and look over from your laptop, raising your eyebrows in question. 

“Hey,” he says, puppy dog eyes in full force, crossing his arms, “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know.”

He hums and studies you for a moment, shifting his weight into the doorframe, “Earlier was… It was weird, right?” 

Your eyelids flutter. You shrug, “She didn’t call me a slut this time, which was… nice.” 

He chuckles at this. You don’t crack a smile. 

When your lack of amusement registers to him, he clears his throat and pushes off of the door frame. He makes his way around the bed and sits down on the opposite side, scooting close to you. You roll your head on your shoulders and watch him reach out to touch you, then decide against it, fingertips curling onto his lap instead. 

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he says finally, but doesn’t look at you. 

“For what?”

“I know you miss Sarah. And I know my reaction earlier was—was,” he sighs and shakes his head, “It wasn’t great.” 

“Frankie, you thought I was a abducting your child—”

“I mean after that,” he turns to you now, sincerity etched in his features, “I could have let you hang out with her, or been nicer or something, I don’t know. I just—I know, in my gut, that I could have done better. And… I’m sorry.” 

An ache of affection spreads across your chest. You reach out and rest your hand on his forearm, thumb grazing his skin as you search his face, “I appreciate that, thank you.” 

A small, relieved smile graces his lips. He nods, “Of course.” 

Then he seems to relax a little, leaning back onto one elbow as he squints at your laptop screen, “Whadda you have going on here?” 

“Exploring caves, fighting monsters.” 

“Sounds nerdy,” he teases, “Figures you’d like it.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” you laugh and give him a playful shove, “You think I’m a nerd?” 

“Maybe,” he grins. 

You scoff and shoot him a mock glare, “On what grounds?” 

He frowns, looking up at the ceiling like he’s thinking about it, then shrugs, “Basically just this, but you’re cute when you’re all riled up.” 

“Wow,” you laugh, covering your face as it heats up, “So rude.” 

He grins and lays back in your bed like he’s making himself at home here, so you join him, resting your head on his shoulder. His cheek presses into the crown of your head. You resume playing Stardew Valley. 

Some time passes like this, cuddling with him while he idly plays with your hair, asking you questions about the game like he’s interested. When the sun sets and you both start yawning at regular intervals, you tuck the laptop away in your nightstand. Frankie doesn't move. 

You return to your pillow and roll on your side to face him, tucking your hands under your cheek. He mirrors the action, just a foot or so away. His warm gaze works around your face and he murmurs, “Do you want me to go?”

It’s so quiet you can hear your pulse pounding through your arteries. 

“Not really.” 

A small smile flicks across his lips. He looks down at his clothes, “Do—do you mind if I, um…”

“What, you don’t wanna wear jeans to bed?” you snort. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, “They’re not great pajamas.” 

“Go change, I gotta wash my face and stuff anyway,” you yawn, rolling onto your back, stretching your arms into the air. 

The two of you go about your bedtime routines. When you return to your room, Frankie is laying on top of the covers, arm tucked behind his head as he scrolls on his phone. He changed into gray basketball shorts and his old, worn out Metallica t-shirt. 

“That shirt is gonna crumble into dust one of these days,” you tease while plugging your phone into its charger. 

He sets his phone down and looks at his shirt, then grins up at you, “Until it does, I’ll be wearing it.” 

You shake your head at him, peeling back the covers with shaky hands. He sits up and wriggles between your sheets as you turn off your bedside lamp and crawl in beside him. 

For a few moments, it’s just quiet in the dark. Neither of you move or say anything. You imagine he’s staring at the ceiling with tingling nerves just like you, filled with uncertainty and fear and want. Not sure what the “line” even looks like anymore because it’s been blurred so much it’s indistinguishable. 

Every other time you’ve fallen asleep together since he moved in, it could be chalked up as either accidental or, like when you were sick, necessary. Excusable if brought forth as evidence by others, or each other, or yourselves. 

But this is different. 

It’s intentional. No plausible deniability in sight. Heat blooms in your chest and between your legs. He feels so far away. 

“Frankie.” 

“Hmm?”

“Would it be weird if I asked you to hold me?” 

He lets out an amused scoff. The bed squeaks and shifts as he rolls on his side as you scoot closer to each other. His hands find you under the covers and he pulls your back to his chest, tucking one arm under your head while the other wraps around your belly. 

“It’s not weird,” he murmurs, pausing for a second before saying, “It should be, but it isn’t.” 

This makes you smile. It’s a relief to hear him say it. You relax into his embrace and rest your arm atop his at your waist. 

The darkness surrounding the two of you seems to hold space for honesty. It’s that sort of feeling you got at sleepovers when you were younger, when you and your friends would whisper secrets to each other in the dark. 

“I have nightmares sometimes,” you tell him. 

“I know.” 

You know he knows. He’s been there to wake you from them and calm you down in their wake at least a dozen times. Regardless, there’s this buzzing under your skin like you need to tell him. 

“I can never remember what happens except—except, um,” you blink your eyes open and swallow the thickness in your throat, shaking your head, “There’s this feeling, like… I know that he’s chasing me, and if he catches me, I’m never going to escape.” 

His body seems to tense a little. He looks down at you, “Who?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” 

You can feel the question occupying his tightened muscles, and say, “It’s not you.” 

“But if you don’t know—”

“It started before you,” you lace your fingers with his, letting your eyelids drift shut, “And, besides, I don’t feel like that with you. I feel… safe.” 

He relaxes around you with a sigh that sounds like relief. 

“When I lived alone it was hard. I’d wake up alone and scared, and I couldn’t fall back asleep,” you murmur, “But it’s been better lately.” 

He hums. The noise vibrates against the nape of your neck. His thumb brushes against your midriff. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you admit, “I guess… I just want you to know it’s nice having you here.” 

The wet swallow of his throat makes you start to worry you said too much, that you showed too much belly. You brace for him to pull away. But when his voice breaks the silence, it sounds raspy and damp. Heartfelt. 

“You don’t think I’m a burden?” 

You almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s ridiculous.  

“Not even a little. I’m happy to have you.” 

“I’m happy to be here, mariposa.” 

The nickname stings a little. A sharp, precise prick to the center of your chest. But his arms squeeze around you tighter, bringing you closer to his warmth. 

Your lips curve into a slight smile and you feel the tug of drowsiness on your limbs. 

“No funny business back there tonight, Franklin,” you mumble out, your words fuzzy with fatigue. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nuzzles into your hair, his own voice groggy and low, “Best behavior.” 

That warm, soft intimacy settles deep in your bones and makes you feel at ease. Safe. Loved. And it’s not long at all before sleep overtakes you.

Your Friday nights used to be synonymous with drinking. 

It meant going out to the bar to get drunk and dance and maybe find another lonely soul to spend time with. It meant blackouts and bar tabs and spending your Saturdays absolutely fucking miserable. 

Truth be told, you much prefer your new Friday night ritual: Movie Night. 

You and Frankie each get to pick any movie you want and stuff your faces while watching them back-to-back. After work, you pick him up from his AA meeting and load up on junk food, then head home. 

Tonight, the two of you walk side-by-side down aisle 5 of your neighborhood grocery store, moving at a leisurely pace across the glossy white tiles. A country music station broadcasts softly over the store’s speakers. From the cash registers up front, you hear the rhythmic beep of customers being rung up. Probably the only other people in here, honestly, it’s fucking dead. 

“What’s your movie pick?” Frankie asks while tossing a bag of classic potato chips into the red basket hanging from the bend of his elbow, “And I swear to god if you say Moulin Rouge! I’m instituting a no-repeat policy.” 

Your laughter ricochets down the aisle and you shake your head, “Don’t act like you don’t like that movie! I know you do.” 

“I mean yeah, but… there are other movies.” 

“Other… movies…?” 

He snorts and shakes his head at you. 

“Actually, I wanna watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” you tell him, slowing to narrow your eyes at a bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips, “Do I want pretzels or salt and vinegar chips?” 

“Why not both?” he shrugs. 

You scrunch your nose up, tossing your head from side-to-side, then grab the kettle chips and drop them into your basket, “What’s your movie pick?”

“I’m between Dazed and Confused and The Wolf of Wall Street,” he says, glancing over at you. 

Your face lights up and you coo, “Ohhh Dazed and Confused, please!”

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” 

He grins at you and shrugs, “I will take your opinion into consideration.” 

“What, I can’t help you choose?” 

“It’s my pick,” Frankie chuckles, “You can’t pick my pick!” 

You roll your eyes at him. The two of you round the corner, merging into the vacant main aisle, and you say, “Fuck, I want ice cream.”

“I want a fucking drink,” he mutters offhandedly, then notices your concerned stare and says, “Sorry.” 

“Do you really?” 

His brow furrows as he considers this, eventually admitting, “In a way, yeah.”

You know you shouldn’t take it personally. He’s an alcoholic. But that rationale doesn’t stop the ache that spreads across your chest. 

Frankie must recognize your hurt, because he nudges you and adds, “Not because I don’t like this or anything.”

You give him a warm, reassuring smile as you turn down the freezer aisle. He continues. 

“It just lingers, I guess. Like I think I could drink and be fine,” he comes to a stop in front of the ice cream, glancing around before staring forward into the freezer like it holds all the answers, “Everything is just so… raw without it. All the feelings I’ve never dealt with, they keep bubbling up and it’s—I don’t know, it’s a lot.” 

It surprises you that he’s talking about this so openly, in a public place and everything. Two months ago you could not have dragged these words from his mouth under any circumstances. 

You nod as you study him, “Well, um… I know it’s hard, but I’m glad you’re doing it.”

He doesn’t really react, just continues to look at the ice cream. His eyes are a million miles away, though. Lost in thought. You lay your hand on his shoulder and graze your thumb against him, “Francisco.”

His jaw tightens. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

He blinks a few times, then swings his gaze to meet yours. 

“I mean it. It’s been a pleasure getting to know the real you, in all your, uhhh,” you stop and try to come up with something eloquent, landing on, “sober glory. I know it’s a lot. But I can see that it’s making a huge difference. You’re so far beyond where you started. It’s… it’s really brave to choose sobriety. I’m proud of you, Frankie.” 

It all kind of spills out of you. A collage of sentiments you’ve been keeping to yourself thrown crudely together here in the middle of the freezer aisle. 

His brow creases, eyes all dewy as they flick around your face. You worry that what you said doesn’t make sense, or that maybe it was insensitive. But then, his basket falls to the floor with a clatter and he pulls you into a hug. 

Again, you’re taken by surprise. 

You just stand there for a moment, kind of awkward with your basket dangling in one hand. 

He squeezes you tighter. Unbridled appreciation flows from him. Your stomach flutters and tears prick your eyes. You drop your basket to properly return the gesture, wrapping both arms around his torso, pulling him close. 

The warmth of his body surrounds you. You take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting musk of his skin, exhaling tension, melting into this softness. 

Frankie sniffles and kisses the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair, “Thank you.” 

You part ways, both taking a step back to see the others’ glossy, red-tinged eyes. 

And you’re not sure exactly why, but then you both laugh. Not in a nervous way. More like joy. It bubbles beneath your skin and makes you feel hopeful. 

He picks his basket up off the ground and clears his throat, turning back to the freezer door, “Anyway, ice cream.” 

When the end credits roll on Dazed and Confused, you stand up off the couch and start towards the kitchen, asking Frankie, “Need anything?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” he answers with a yawn. 

You pull open the cupboard and find a bag of popcorn, then toss it in the microwave. While you wait for it to pop, you check your phone. Three unread messages. 

> RORY: > Hey > How was work?  > Doing anything fun tonight? 

“Hey, I was thinking,” Frankie says as he shuffles past the dining room table, into the kitchen. You set your phone down on the counter and cross your arms, looking up at him. 

“Next week is Sarah’s birthday, Ang is throwing a party on Saturday. Do you want me to see if she would let you come?” 

The question leaves you momentarily speechless. You never thought it would be a possibility, and the offer completely blindsides you. 

Your mouth gapes open and you blink, “I, um—well, I—”

“If you want to, I mean.” 

You frown and meet his eyes, “Well, yeah, obviously I want to, but is Angie really ok with that?” 

“I’ll talk to her,” he says, leaning back on the counter next to you, “She’s been more receptive lately. And—and I think if you brought Rory, she would feel more reassured, that, um…”

Your stomach drops like a rock. 

A clusterfuck of messy emotions tangle and twist inside your body. At the tip of your tongue sits the question: That, what, there’s nothing going on between us? 

You look over at him and search his face. It’s unreadable. He’s frozen like he knows he came dangerously close to mentioning the elephant in the room and doesn’t know what to do next. 

The air thickens. 

Moments go by that feel like centuries.

You can’t stand it anymore, and lead him to continue the thought, “That what?”

He turns to face you and looks fucking terrified. Forehead creased. Eyes wide. Lips parted like apologies are about to come spilling out of them. 

You hold his gaze. Try not to notice the pungent energy pulsing between your bodies, or the way his eyes soften when he looks at your mouth and takes a step towards you. 

For one heart-stopping moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. 

A beep sounds from the microwave. 

He looks to the source, trance broken, but your eyes stay trained on him. On the elongated bob of his throat swallowing nerves. On the restless, twitchy movements that suddenly seem to possess him. 

When he notices you’re still staring at him, he only allows a brief glance before dropping his gaze to the ground and shoving his hands in his pockets, finally saying, “I—I just mean that I think she’ll be ok with it. And—and Sarah would be excited to see you.”

You pause before you react, trying to decide whether or not to ask him the question tearing apart your insides like a rabid dog: Do you want me to go so I can see Sarah, or so you can continue to lie to your wife?

Simultaneously, you cannot ask him and you need to know.

You tell yourself: He’s in recovery. He needs support, not criticism. 

You say: Let him figure out the missing pieces in his life and put it back together. Even if the shape it takes breaks you. 

“Ok,” you give him a tight nod and push off the counter, pulling the microwave door open, “If she’s fine with it, I’d love to go.” 

“Yeah?”

You pinch the corner of your bloated popcorn bag and pull it out, nudging the microwave door closed, then turn to face him, but don’t look up, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

A small, distant voice says: You fucking coward. 

[lordsukunas]

boyfriend! yuuta hcs for valentine's day!

happy (early) valentine's day y'all! if ur single, buy urself some chocolate<3 anyway, i hope y'all like this. the ending is rushed... whoops. pls enjoy & here is a song i think fits yuuta :3

boyfriend! yuuta who asks you to be his valentine on the first of feb with a handmade card. he even gives you a little bag of heart-shaped candy.

boyfriend! yuuta whose face flushes when you smile so sweetly at him and agree to be his valentine. he's pretty sure his heart stopped for a good three beats.

boyfriend! yuuta who spends the next thirteen days trying to come up with the perfect gift. of course, he knows you like the back of his hand, so finding a gift shouldn't be difficult. and, well, it isn't. but yuuta wants you to have the perfect gift.

boyfriend! yuuta who buys all of the typical gifts: chocolates, a cuddly teddy bear with a heart, a heart-shaped balloon, and roses.

boyfriend! yuuta who, ever the dutiful lover, asks maki and nobara for advice. both say a hard no to the roses.

"they're so stereotypical. makes it seem like you don't really care, y'know?"

they're tempted to say no to all of his other options, finding them a bit... corny, but the crestfallen look on yuuta's face when they boo the flowers kills any thoughts of disapproving his other options. plus, knowing you, you're bound to like it.

boyfriend! yuuta who takes maki's and nobara's advice to heart. he never wants to neglect you or make you feel unwanted.

boyfriend! yuuta who does his research on the different types of flowers and their meanings. he jots down some on a sticky note, but the second he comes across the forget-me-nots, his decision is made.

boyfriend! yuuta who scrolls through forums and social media posts to find an idea of what the perfect gift for you should be.

boyfriend! yuuta who buys you this necklace. he thinks it's beautiful, and it's not as forward as a promise ring.

boyfriend! yuuta who perfectly wraps and bags your gifts. he wraps the heart-shaped box of chocolates, places the teddy bear into a gift bag with red and pink tissue paper, and ties the box holding your necklace with a red ribbon.

boyfriend! yuuta who makes sure the bouquet of forget-me-nots are fresh and cut.

boyfriend! yuuta who can't stop bouncing his leg while waiting for you to show up. the waitress has asked him if he needed anything about three times.

boyfriend! yuuta who smiles nervously when you enter the cafe and take a seat at the somewhat secluded table.

boyfriend! yuuta who tries his best to ignore the knots in his stomach as he places his gifts on the table. there's already an apology ready on his tongue if you don't like any of the gifts or if you're allergic to chocolate, despite yuuta asking you numerous times beforehand and seeing you eat chocolate before.

boyfriend! yuuta whose anxiety instantly disappears once he sees that beautiful smile bloom on your face and the grateful twinkle in your eyes.

boyfriend! yuuta who decides right then and there that he'd do anything to continue seeing that big, bright smile.

note: sorry i haven't posted... writing has been difficult lately + skewl has been ass SOO yeah! sorry y'all :( umm i have sumn for bff! sukuna but idk if anyone would actually like it? like i don't wanna ruin the og post by posting some sequel (prequel?) that nobody gaf abt. also try for 400+ notes on that post omg!!! also also i swear i haven't forgotten abt daycare attendant! nanami i just have no ideas n the ones i do have are rotting in drafts... anyway i've rambled long enough ENJOY UR DAYYYY GUYS <333

[e-vay]

Evay QA Bulk Post 3

Here’s the latest assembly of asks, assorted by topics so you can browse only what interests you. Also, some questions refer to the Choose-Your-Own-Adventure game I made, so to avoid spoilers for those of you who haven't played it, I put those asks all the way at the bottom. If you haven't played my game yet, please go play it!

PERSONAL ASKS

Anon asked: E-vay may i ask which tablet mark do you use for your drawings?

And dreamylumi-art asked: Was wondering what is your favorite brushes In Procreate? Your drawings look so fun and bouncy that I’m interested in your process!

A: I use an iPad and I do all my drawings in Procreate now. I like to experiment with brushes, but the primary brushes I use come standard with Procreate. I use the "Procreate Pencil" for my sketches and the "Technical Pen" for linework :)

Anon asked: How are u and ur family doing? ❤️

A: You are so very sweet for asking ❤️ We're all doing really good right now. My dad's surgery went great and he's cancer free and fully healed. My mom is on medication that's helped her a lot. Things are also looking up for my younger sister (she even got engaged this Christmas!). I'm stressed but for good reasons hahaha I'm very thankful and counting my blessings right now.

twistedchaos101 asked: Hey, what’s your MBTI?

A: I just retook the test and I got "INFJ-T Advocate" for myself :)

karura-senpai asked: Have u ever heard of these new bollywood movies like Animal and Dunki which are popular rn around the world because of instagram reels and tiktok videos...

A: I can't say that I have, I'm sorry! My Tiktok FYP is very niche so I don't see many things about movies on there.

edwinflores428 asked: E-vay, since you're also a Beatles enjoyer, did you hear the new Beatles song 'Now and Then'?

A: I had not known about this before you told me! I just listened to it and I really loved it. It has that beautiful, 60's-Beatles feel to me. Thank you so much for point it out to me!

Anon asked: What's your creative process when going into writing / planning for a comic? Apologies if this has been asked before.

A: I normally start by just jotting down any super rough concepts/quotes in my notes app. If the piece I'm doing involves stuff I don't know by heart (renaissance clothing or certain landscapes or anything like that) I'll work on gathering a TON of resource images. That way I'm not interrupting my drawing process by repeatedly stopping to look up references. I try to do it all up front and have it saved somewhere I can easily access.

Once I have more time, I'll write out the script in a Google Doc. I break up the script by each panel. I won't always have all the elements ready in my head, and sometimes I'll combine panels or separate them more, but I can always adjust:

Once I have a basic script, I can start to rough out the drawings/panels. These are just gestural drawings; I'm not looking to do anything too detailed here. I'm trying to figure out what best captures the emotions/energy of the scene and determine the natural flow of where your eyes will want to read the art and word bubbles:

Then I move on to the "pencils." This is my opportunity to nail down the expressions and flow. Sometimes I'll realize the page is imbalanced so I will redesign the panels so it has more even weight distribution or make it more dynamic/emotional. I always draw the characters in different colors so it can help me make sure I know what lines belong to which character:

Then it's on to all the fun stuff: Lines, coloring, shading and adding text!

I hope this answered your question! It's pretty straight forward :)

Anon asked: have you ever watched the anime fairy tail? if no i think sonamy fits the main couple NaLu (natsu x lucy) really well, like as if they’re similar 🫶🏻

A: I'm sorry, I've never seen it! I don't watch much anime anymore.

Anon asked: Can you make different characters(aka people sonic characters/oc) in your own style

A: When I'm open for commissions, yes! I am not open for commissions at the moment but I plan on doing that this year.

--

MISC SONIC ASKS

chrismantike asked: What’re your thoughts on longclaw (the owl from the sonic movie) does she exist in your AU as Sonic’s mom?

A: I liked the relationship we saw between Longclaw and baby Sonic in the movie, but I consider the movie as something entirely separate from the game/comic canon. I don't include any of the movie elements as part of my AU.

essycogany asked: What do you like most about Prime!Sonic?

A: Hmm, I think my favorite thing about him is how open he is with his emotions. In this show, he's very verbal about how much he cares about his friends and he doesn't hide it when he's sad or upset about something. In other media, Sonic has a habit of masking his emotions. I get that that's part of his personality, but it's nice to see this different side of him. (I also like how he showed more emotions in Frontiers, too!)

juli071023 asked: e-vay, what motivates you a lot about Sonic these years, why do you love it a lot, what motivates you about that character?

A: In the words of Young Neil, 'that's kind of a big question' haha. Simply put, the franchise just fuels me with excitement and joy and love! The character Sonic represents happiness and freedom and living in the moment and loving life to the fullest and I think that's such a great outlook to have. From a meta standpoint, I love how good the Sonic Team is to us fans. They engage with us regularly and put out SO MUCH CONTENT for us, more than any other franchise I'm aware of! I mean there are plenty of other great IPs out there, but you don't get the bombardment of games and shows and comics and social media engagement (etc) that you get with Sonic. I just think that's so cool! The fans love Sonic so much and the creators know that and reward us for our commitment. It's awesome.

Anon asked: So who do you think would win in a fight between Mario and Sonic

A: I gotta go with my boy Sonic! But of course it's better when they team up :D

Anon asked: How do you feel about the Dadow theory/au? As in Shadow being Silvers Dad. I honestly like it a lot.

A: If they're related, I think it makes more sense for Shadow to be Silver's grandpa or great grandparent. I think there are plot holes to say that he's directly his dad but I'm definitely open to them being related. Plus I think people can headcanon/au just about whatever they want, so I'm not against that theory :)

Anon asked: Hi e-vay, I hope you’re having a great day!! My question is: if there were to be a Sonic movie that’s only about Sonic and the guys but they were all being played by human actors, which actors do you think would suit them best?

A: Thank you so much, I hope you are too! Oh man this was so difficult but I put a ton of thought into it. And I'm sure there are still tons of actors I'm not thinking of who would be better, but here's what my gut tells me: Older Sonic: Max Greenfield [x] [x] or Jack Quaid [x] [x]. They're so witty and handsome and are built like runners! Younger Sonic: Jack Dylan Grazer Older Amy: Alison Brie. Even if it wasn't a live action movie, I so desperately wish that Alison Brie could be Amy's voice actor. I'm actually working on an animation where Amy is paired with some Alison Brie lines because I think it's such a perfect fit. She's sweet and funny and strong and sexy. She's on the petite side but she has that confidence that just commands a room. Ugh, Amy and Alison are my dream women 💖 Younger Amy: McKenna Grace Older Tails: Justice Smith or Cole Sprouse Younger Tails: Noah Jupe or Jacob Tremblay. Sorry, I don't know many young actors but I think they're both great! Older Knuckles: Terry Crews or Jason Momoa Younger Knuckles: Tyler James Williams [x] [x] Shadow: Jensen Ackles or Michael B Jordan 💖Swoon💖 Older Rouge: Ana de Armas or Charlize Theron Younger Rouge: Jenna Ortega or Sophie Turner

Anon asked: How old are the sonic boom characters in your opinion?

A: Firstly, I've said this before but I don't think Mobian age works the same as human age. I consider the Sonic Boom characters as all being what we'd consider as late teens or young adults. They all act like me and my friends did when were were college age haha

Anon asked: What do u think tails looked/acted during puberty🙂

A: That's what Tall!Tails is all about! I think he shot up in height and outgrew Sonic immediately. Maybe he got a bit more snarky and might mutter about how annoying it is that Sonic doesn't think things through before acting, but Tails is a sweetheart and I think he'd overall still be nice even while he's in that awkward stage of life.

--

MY OCs/AU ASKS

@redbirduniverse13 asked: Hi i love your art 💖 My question is, are your characters aware that other versions of them exist?

A: Thank you so much! No, they aren't aware of any other versions of them out there. Ruff would probably be most hopeful to meet other versions of himself since he's into comic books and would love the concept of the multiverse.

twistedchaos101 asked: What's your ocs MBTI?

A: I have too many OCs to do all of them lol But I'll do it for Aurora and CC. As Aurora, the results from the test were: "ENFP-T Campaigner" As CC, the results from the test were: "INTJ-A Architect"

Anon asked: Question, how is Aurora able to glow ?

A: Aurora has photokinesis, which gives her the ability to manipulate light. This results in a lot of things she's able to do that involve light, but glowing is the easiest thing for her to do (and is the hardest for her to suppress lol). She was born with these abilities but they didn't manifest until she was about preteen age.

charlieangel345 asked: You know everytime I saw Aurora glow up, her photokinesis power changes color. It made me wonder if she feel happy, angry, or sad, her light power might change colors. I can imagine she can create rainbow light.

A: Absolutely! Her powers are severely influenced by her emotions, so the color of her glow would definitely change based on her feelings. I have her inhibitors glow green naturally, but she could do any color under the light spectrum.

freshcreationgarden asked: I like to think Aurora's favorite fairytale growing up was beauty and the beast. Something about a handsome prince who hides beneath a rough exterior who believes they are not worthy of love who is bound to a "Rose"

A: Oh that is just too sweet! That metaphor is very perfect for what I write for her romantic future ;) I have said in a previous ask that Thumbelina is her favorite fairytale, but I like your headcanon too!

Anon asked: Hi, something randomly popped in my head about like the comics of aurora and I wondered, has aurora ever gotten sick?

A: Of course! She's just a regularly lady so she gets sick like average people do. I see her as the type that doesn't get sick often, but when she does it LAAAASTS. (That's how I am and it sucks!)

Anon asked: I know this might be a weird question, but can it be possible if Aurora can do chaos control with a chaos emerald like Sonic and Shadow.

A: I'll be honest, because we don't know much about Chaos Emeralds, I don't know who is capable of using them or not. But because Sonic is capable of using Chaos Control, I'm going to say yes Aurora should be able to as well. I don't think it's a technique either of them can master like Shadow does. Chaos Control seems second nature to Shadow.

Anon asked: if we go by sonic underground lore imagine Aurora finding out that she's technically a princess/duchess. Like sonic always call her princess because that's what dad's typically call their daughters, but then she finds out and her mind just explodes.

A: Honestly, I'm not a Sonic Underground fan. I know a lot of people love it for the nostalgia, but I didn't watch it growing up so I don't have any ties to it and I am not a fan of the story. I'm okay if people want to headcanon tying it in, but it's not for me.

*The next question is a Shadora Ask. Skip if you don't like Shadora*

Anon said: Hi, so glad you’re back! Just reread Boom!Baby where Rouge mentions how hedgehogs have a lot of babies and I think it’s kinda funny in the future Shadow and Aurora have eight

A: Thank you so much, I'm so happy to be back! Yeah, Rouge really knew what she was talking about 😆 I bet she told Shadow the same thing when they were expecting!

Anon asked: Does aroura ever run into her ex again?

A: Aurora spends most of her life in a small bubble, rarely leaving her home town, so she would have run into him now and then. Again though, they were kids when they were "boyfriend/girlfriend" and you can hardly even call them that (Imagine like in the Barbie movie, how Ken and Barbie don't know what it means to be Girlfriend-Boyfriend) so it's not awkward running into each other. It's more of a "Hey there's that person I used to know"

prophecyhyper asked: When Aurora was born and Amy said "She's more perfect than I imagined" What did she imagine of Aurora looking like?

A: She didn't have an exact image in mind when she said that. It was more like an amorphous concept. You know somehow the baby will look like you and your partner, but there are so many different outcomes. So she would have daydreamed about all the possibilities: the baby looking more like Sonic, the baby looking more like her, maybe the baby having elements of their grandparents.

Anon asked: Will Sage exist in your AU?

A: Yes! I adore Sage!

*The next question is a Shadora Ask. Skip if you don't like Shadora*

Anon asked: Hey Evay, I’ve been thinking about this lately. It’s kind of silly question. If there is a naughty and nice list, which of Shadora Kids is naughty or nice.

A: This was a great question and I'm so sorry I missed it before the holidays! This is all in fun, none of them got punished: Piper: Nice but ONLY after Santa had to give her a lecture on how she needs to not be a smartass and boss around her siblings Zane: Naughty (He did too many stunts indoors!) Nova: Nice Aster: Naughty (He and Blitz plotted to kidnap Santa) Blitz: Naughty (She finds it a point of pride) Diamond: Nice Cinder: Nice (He's scared of Santa) Boon: NICE! (He doesn't know the meaning of the word naughty!)

Anon asked: haven’t seen CC in a while, could we have more CC please

A: There will be more CC, I promise! :)

kbluetoons asked: Say, after reading your spindash lesson comic (which was really cute by the way), what if Aurora showed her kids how to spindash like how Sonic showed her?

A: Aw I'm so happy you liked it! Yes, learning to spin dash is vital to a hedgehog's upbringing ;) She'd teach them very young but then immediately regret it because they'd be spindashing all over the house. Now she knows why Sonic was so hesitant to teach her when she was little!

mod-bubamon asked: I know spooky season is over but how do cc and tails handle horror movies? Does cc Criticize every litter thing the protagonist do? Does tails even get scared after all he's been through? IF CC GETS SCARED DOES SHE HUGS TAILS TAILS FOR COMFORT??? THIS IS IMPORTANT

A: Hahaha I loved this question! First of all, Spooky Season is never over for me! ↜(ˈ╰ •ω•)╯ψ So bring on all your Halloweeny ideas! CC would not be fun to watch horror movies with. She would be overly analytical, not only of the actions that the victims are doing but how unrealistic the injuries/gore/battles are haha. I see Tails as someone who originally was afraid of scary movies, but watching them with CC has actually helped him to be less afraid of them. Now he spots the same flaws she does and they like to roast them together! Just to clarify -- CC does get scared of things, just not horror movies.

Anon asked: Hey, I rediscovered your art recently and almost forgot how much I loved it! I love CC and was wondering if you had any small head cannon kinda things you have for her and Tails you would share that you haven't already?

A: Well welcome back and thank you so very much! This question was not related to the previous question, but the previous question sparked an idea for me so I'm going to expand on it here. When Tails and CC first started watching horror movies together, CC noticed that Tails was super on edge. To help relax him, she'd take his tails into her lap and pet them to calm him down. He's not as scared of movies anymore, but he always has her stroke his tails while they watch shows together now :) Also, CC is still getting used to Mobian mannerisms and nuances. They've made a nightly routine where during dinner, she debriefs Tails on all the new conversations and interactions she's had with people and Tails scores her on how well she's adjusting. She likes the challenge and strives for a better "score" every day!

--

SHIPPING ASKS

essycogany asked: How are you feeling about the new Sonamy material from this and last year? Things are really starting to become more obvious as the years go on.

A: It does my shriveled little heart so much good! I don't know that they'll ever cross that line in canon, but I love how much their relationship has evolved compared to years ago. It means the world to me that Sonic considers Amy as one of his best friends and as someone he can depend on (and is even willing to think about dating ((in reference to that cut dialog line from Frontiers)). And I love that Amy has proven that her feelings for Sonic are more than just a fan-crush; she genuinely loves him for who he is and will always be there for him. UGH IT MAKES ME FEEL SO ALIVE!

Anon asked: I just wanted to say that I love love love your sonamy works! :D Absolutely adorable (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Also, only if you want to answer ofc, what are your thoughts on the ship Metamy (Metal Sonic and Amy)? Thank you for the lovely food you bring and have a wonderful day!

A: Oh gosh, thank you so much! You just made my day wonderful by this sweet message! I do ship Metamy! After all, I believe in my heart of hearts that Sonic has feelings for Amy and Metal Sonic is supposed to be the same as him... ^_~ I think despite his transgressions, Amy has a special place in her heart for Metal. He's one of the reasons she even met Sonic in the first place! But what I'd prefer most is for Metal Sonic to have a Metal Amy. That way everybody wins 💕

Anon asked: Hi e-vay I love ur dr who art!! Question, do tenrose remind you of sonamy? Or do any characters or couples from the whoverse remind you of any sonic character or couples?

A: Ahhh thank you so much! I always thought my Doctor Who art got lost in the void so I'm so glad you found it! TenRose is my favorite DoctorWho ship, so I think by law I have to relate them to sonamy haha. But honestly I think RoryXAmyPond suits sonamy more if you reverse the roles. Rory's absolute dedication to AmyPond--regardless of death--was the definition of love, and that's how I feel Amy Rose is for Sonic. I can't think of any other ships that are good parallels. River Song reminds me of Rouge just that she's savvy and flirty. Forgive me, I stopped watching after Eleven regenerated so I'm not up to date on anything. If you don't like the Shadora ship then don't click this link, but I have drawn Aurora and Shadow as Ten and Rose before :)

Anon asked: Werehog Sonic and Werehog Amy kiss meme or a mini comic about both kissing in their werehog forms?

A: I kind of already drew that :) It's the 10th drawing in this post.

*The next question is a Shadora Ask. Skip if you don't like Shadora*

penguin-evere asked: hello! this is my first time doing something like this. i've loved your art for a while now (probably since 2017-2018), and i love the new style you have! anyways, i wanted to ask if you've seen the frontiers twitter takeover, and the newfound information about shadow's secret like of some good ol' t. swizzle music, and was curious if aurora would be a fan too, and if they would go to a concert together! i think it'd be really cute.

A: Thank you so much! And I'm so relieved you still like my stuff even after all this time :) Aurora loves pop music and so yeah I could see her being a Taylor fan for sure. Although I don't take Swifty!Shadow as canon (lol) it is still fun to think they could bond over that music together!

*The next question is a Shadora Ask. Skip if you don't like Shadora*

Anon asked: what was the shadora confession like? Cause I like to imagine that it was shadow who confessed and that he did it in the most dramatic way possible, cause he's our drama king.

A: I don't want to reveal too much until I've properly drawn it, but yes for my stories Shadow would confess his love first. He's technically loved her longer since he met her when she traveled back in time to save him so once they've "re-met" I don't think he'd be willing to hide his feelings too long. It's Shadow so of course it has to be so romantic and dreamy~!

--

ASKS RE: MY GAME

Anon asked: How did you make the Trick Or Sweet Halloween Game, can you show me what you used or did to make it? If you can do a step by step that would be helpful or just tell me how you did it that would be helpful:))

A: Oh man... Honestly, it was way too complicated of a project to explain in just one answer. And I won't be able to explain any of the technical/coding side. I watched so many tutorials but I just couldn't grasp it, so my husband had to code it for me and I have no idea how he managed it. From a non-technical standpoint, I had to first write out the script for it. That means writing out all the dialog and also writing out every option possible. Even though my game was fairly linear, this was still complicated to write. What helped me was using icons and colors to help me know which actions would lead to which outcomes:

Then came the longest part, the drawing! I had to draw a variety of sprites and backgrounds and objects. Also, some of the actions you take make certain items go away, so I had to remember to hide them depending on the path you took. Once I had all the elements, I assembled them in a Slides presentation to test it out. If you're not doing anything too complicated, you could probably get away with making your game entirely in Google Slides. Mine was too complicated and I wouldn't be able to publish it to my website but it was good for testing. When it was ready for build, I had to make a comprehensive guide for Ryan showing what clicks lead to where, what sound effects should be played when, when the music tracks should switch, etc:

He programmed it in Adobe Animate. I don't know how he did it, other than he's just a brilliant babe and I thank god for him lol

Anon asked: Just at a curiosity though, whatever happened to everyone (especially Sonic & Amy) AFTER your truth serum wore off from your ‘Trick or Sweet Adventure’? Also how about Shadow & Rouge? Did they get affected as well?

A: They lived happily ever after, of course! If the two just told each other how they felt then they'd be happy (in my opinion) so they just needed a little magical kick in the butt haha. I didn't have any plans for Shadow or Rouge, but if I could cast a spell to make them happy then I would give Rouge a throne of diamonds and Shadow the chance to ease the pain in his heart (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

---

Thank you all for the questions!

Evay QA Bulk Post 1

Evay QA Bulk Post 2

[r0ttenhearts]

Waiting for a Sign

sypnosis: your devotion to scaramouche goes beyond what you thought, but does he feel the same?

warnings: angst, no comfort, unrequited love

college au! roommate! scaramouche x reader

“think this is it..” scaramouche mumbled as he set a stack of papers atop of your desk. picking up the papers, you skimmed through them with a frown slowly expressing itself on your features.

“this is a lot more than you said. why’d you have to ask me to do this so last minute?”

“sorry (y/n), it kinda slipped my mind.. can you do it for me? please? i wanna go see my friends tonight.”

hearing his gentle plea was enough to send your head gently nodding as he left your room, telling you he would be back late and to not wait up for him.

you sigh once you hear the front door close, turning your attention back to the papers he had abandoned to you. another essay.. just so he could hangout with his friends and not worry about it.

you could say no to helping him out but, the way he smiled and praised you after every time you presented him with another finished work made your heart flutter in excitement.

it was one of the only times he would ever be gentle with you, outside of the occasional cuddles on the couch during a movie night, or hand holding in grocery stores when you’d have to make your weekly stock up for your shared apartment.

you knew your feelings only grew more for him every time he’d flash you a rare smile. you were weak to him. weak enough to do his college work that he didn’t bother to even start on.

jotting down your ideas and pointers for the essay, you decided to take a break before a headache would form from all of the work you’d been doing for the past hour.

a soft click as your phone unlocked, you tapped on scaramouche’s icon for his instagram story. you smiled at a picture of scaramouche, kazuha, xiao, heizou, and venti together in what looked to be an arcade. the bright neon lights illuminating their faces as scara glared into the camera, his signature look.

“that boy..” you tapped on heizou’s story next, hoping to see more of their adventures. you knew all of them, but you’d never been invited to one of their outings with it being a “boy’s night” every time.

your smile fell as you came across a picture of scaramouche with his arm around some girl with green hair. who was she? you’d never seen her before. so why did scara have his arm around her?

your eyes narrowed at the girl, fishing in your brain for any type of memory of this girl. it clicked once you saw the pin on her jacket. she had chemistry with you and scara, sitting on the other side of the classroom, but was practically a teachers pet.

haypasia? was it? you scoffed, tapping off of the picture as jealously burned in the pit of your stomach. he did so many.. intimate things with you. there’s no way he was into her like that, right?

but he still never held you like that.

you shook your head, you were sure he felt something for you. if he didn’t, why did he let you snuggle up next to him during a scary movie? or take baths with you when you would both drink on a celebratory night after a particularly hard test?

he had to feel something! he wouldn’t do just that with anyone. he was too hardened up to be that close to someone else, much less you being lucky enough to be able to share those things with him.

“yeah.. i’m still special to him..” you mutter to no one but yourself as you turn your attention back to your makeshift essay you had started. hours passed as you made your final revisions, satisfied with your finished work you made your way to his room.

you figured you’d just leave it for him so he could see it once he came back, maybe letting you wake up to a day where he would praise you first thing in the morning. you smiled at the thought as the door clicked open, his voice echoing through the shared space.

“(y/n)? are you still up?”

“in here!” you called out as you set the paper down. scaramouche walked into the room, his teal colored jacket hanging off of the side of his shoulder. every time you saw him like this you swore your heart skipped a beat. his pale, porcelain like features, his sharp eyeliner.. he was beautiful, without a doubt.

“wanna take a bath together?”

you nodded as he took you by the hand to the bathroom. you both stripped and sat in the warm water facing each other, you could smell the booze from him as he leaned back against the bathroom wall.

“a lot happened tonight.”

you raised an eyebrow as you sat up slightly. “oh? what happened?”

scaramouche smirked before handing you the bar of soap.

“i have a girlfriend now, shockingly enough. heizou wouldn’t stop..”

your blood ran cold at his words. girlfriend? since when had he been interested in someone else? he droned on about his night but you couldn’t focus on anything he was saying. you could see his mouth was moving but you couldn’t hear it. your nails dug into the bar of soap as specks of it floated in the water inbetween you. scaramouche was too caught up in retelling the events to notice.

“..-(y/n)? are you crying?”

“huh?”

you didn’t notice the tears dripping down your face until scaramouche pointed it out. you jumped up in embarrassment as you started harshly wiping at your eyes.

“sorry i don’t know what came over me..”

“what’s with you?”

his voice was riddled with annoyance as he snatched the bar of soap out of your hands. your hands shook as you thought of how to put your thoughts into words. forever admit to what you deemed as a silent acknowledgement, risk losing what you had with him? or keep your mouth shut to preserve this forever.

you chose the former.

“it’s just.. i thought you liked me, scara. i mean-” you gestured to the water in front of you. “just what else does this mean? i thought we were.. something.”

“what are you talking about?”

scaramouche scoffs as he sits up, obviously uncomfortable as he realizes what you’re saying.

“(y/n), i’m not into you. shit, we’re barely even friends, just roommates. you do things for me and this is my way of repaying you. there’s a reason why i don’t bring you around my friends or hang around you outside of this place. i’m embarrassed of you, frankly, i’d be mortified if you ever told anyone that we were an item.”

he stands up from the bath, quickly taking a towel from the folded stack of towels you kept on the sidetable by the bathtub. he wraps the towel around his waist, pausing as his hand wraps around the doorknob.

“think i might move out at the end of the semester. you made it really weird, (y/n). don’t talk to me again, i don’t really feel like seeing your face anymore.”

silent tears slipped down your cheeks as you left. shame and sadness exploded within you as you sat in the bath water you were sharing with him not too long ago. how stupid could you be to assume something like that? it was scaramouche of all people! he was just using you, you knew that. why did you ever think it meant something?

as you sobbed in the bathroom, scaramouche looked over the essay you had written for him. another unmistakably high quality essay you had poured yourself into. he scoffed before tossing it into his backpack. the same way he tossed your heart into the trash.

taglist: @samarill

a/n: happy 500 of you lovely readers! thank you for enjoying my writings!

[grimmkitty84]

Ok, this is a fair warning that what follows is brutal if you are a Stolitz fan. Rest assured, so am I, but you can blame my sleep addled brain for this. There is also a slightly different thought I originally had for this that was mostly the same, but a bit more hopeful, and I may still pursue it if there is any interest in this. Also, note that this is very loosely based on the latest video trailer for the last of Season 2. Specifically, the scene where Blitzø is defending Stolas in the snow battle. Here it goes. I also might edit it a bit. This was VERY rough seeing as I was just attempting to jot down the concept. Apologies, I will definitely be updating this at some point to clean it up.

Scene: Stolas and Andrealphus are fighting in the scene where Blitzø is defending him.

They split as Stolas grows angered enough to challenge Andrealphus, leaving Blitzø behind him.

A tense battle between the two Goetia builds to a climax.

Suddenly, as Stolas had lost focus on all but the fight, and a fatal blow is about to be dealt, a soft impact creates a deafening silence.

"Ugh, Stol...s...?" is all Stolas can hear as he turns toward the sound, horror stricken by it.

Blitzø's shocked expression meets his as they both begin to look down at Blitzø's chest to see that a blade was protruding from it. Not just any blade, a blessed weapon.

The resounding scream froze all occupants on the battlefield. Before Andrealphus could react at all, Stolas had rounded on him, fixing him with a petrifying stare and leaving him immobile as he flung himself in the direction of his beloved.

In the eternity that it felt like it had already been since noticing what had transpired, a figure stood behind Blitzø, elegant and all too familiar, and it began to laugh.

Stella stood behind Blitzø with a hand still gripping the blade, blood on her fingers, and the hideous, crazed guffaw she let loose was chilling in its malice.

Stolas had murderous intent locked upon her as he used all of his demonic strength to hurtle himself toward her. He fixed her with the same stare he'd leveled at her brother. She smiled at him wickedly before being paralyzed, knowing that she had still won despite losing against his powers. He sank to his knees once she was neutralized as a threat directly in front of Blitzø, who was still standing in shock. He looked down at the blade and back up at Stolas.

"I...I got sloppy," he sputtered. "Hrk...!" A mouthful of blood gurgled forth from his lips. His eyes widened and he was trying to find the words that he desperately needed to say, but found them dying on his lips as looked back into Stolas' grief-stricken face.

"Oh, oh no no no!!! Blitzø!!! Dearest...!!!" he all but screamed in abject panic.

"What do I do?" Stolas found his voice fluctuating from a scream to barely a whisper.

Stolas, consumed by his spiraling thoughts, stilled for an instant as a gentle hand caressed his cheek.

He looked stunned for a moment as he looked down to see Blitzø's face, a smile fading from his lips as his eyes began to glaze, and he said, "I'm sorry... I lo..."

The hand against his skin began to drop, and so did the frail body it belonged to.

Blitzø's form crumpled on the snow at Stolas' feet, and his mind shattered. There were no other witnesses to the blood curdling scream that filled the silence of the frozen expanse. And if the text wasn't enough, this is what my brain pictured before I actually started typing...Trust me, this hurts me more than it hurts you. It's definitely a WIP...

[mightymizora]

Hello mighty mizora! Big fan here of your work the way you write is so mesmerizing honestly im always in awe!! I have a small question i hope its not annoying i've asked this question to another writer who i liked once but they were so mean to me back so i understand that maybe its not the best question to be asked but i have ADHD and i need alittle direction so i hope maybe you can give me some (its totally okay if you dont want to ! ) Do you have any pointers to someone who has never wrote anything past school essays and to do lists if they want to start writing fanfiction and have it be nice and expressive? I have so many ideas i write them down write 5 sentences thats like a summray maybe a few sentences of some scenes of romance sorta like a small outline it feels so dry... And i dont know what to do past that... Essays had structures and preferred starting intros and all that but i feel lost when i try and start a story, i know myself and i know once i start i will not shut up but starting feels like a wall and i dont know how to climb yk ?

Hey pal!

Firstly thank you so much and also I'm sorry you had a bad experience with another writer. You've asked this so nicely. And apologies for this being delayed I thought I had clicked post but I'd saved the draft again!

So I'm not going to claim to be an expert in this but the way I approach this is:

I start with what I want to say with a piece. What do I want to explore? What do I hope the reader will take away from it? I then jot those down for myself at the top of the document, just like you describe with your summary! If this changes as I discover things that's okay, but it's kind of my road map.

I usually also start in the middle of some action, or with a line of dialogue. Honestly you don't have to do this at all but the joy of fanfiction is you don't have to do loads of exposition! People know who the characters are and you can dive into things! It means you get stuck right in which I personally like.

I also don't write chronologically! I think we can get so stuck on things. I think of writing a story like pruning a garden, so I might write some "holding sentences" per scene and then work on scenes as they come to me. It's a good way to build up the bits as you are inspired. You can see this really clearly in a piece like Blood and Bone which is very sparse, some of the holding sentences in that fic are still in there.

When it comes to dialogue, I use the actioning method used in acting and I work out what people want to do by saying something. I like when characters don't say things outright, but say a hundred words by what they don't say. A character can say I love you, and it's good, but what if they say I don't want you to leave? What is left in the gaps?

When it comes to description I think I have a long way to go honestly but again. What are people seeing, smelling, tasting, seeing touching? What is their primary sense? Does it evoke anything else for them, or are they entirely in the moment? This can vary from character to character.

Another thing to think of is variant rhythm. Once you have a first draft down, go over it again and look at sentence structure. Can you add variation by changing the length of sentences? Can you tell a story in the rhythms you use? I'm a big fan of long run on sentences in romance showing a character losing control, for example.

And the big secret honestly is... you might well find your writing a bit dry! I find mine dry! I look at it squinting, asking whether the sex is sexy or if it's just way too out there or just completely misses the mark. We only really know when other eyes get to see it.

I hope that's helpful!

[good-beans]

hiii ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ i've always loved your milgram posts and was hoping to hear you talk about them more. it's a bit of a vague question but i was hoping to hear your thoughts about the characters or songs? or really anything that's been on your mind! apart from that i hope you've been having a good day (or night!)

!!!!! Omg thank you so much?? This made me so happy ;----; I’m sorry if this is more than you bargained for LMAO, I planned on jotting down a few ideas and then I just kept on writing..... I hope you’re having a lovely day/night as well!✨

So, I’m actually not that great with coming up with crime-logistic theories (timelines, cause of death, etc), but I’ve been really interested in the insights we get on characterization from the visuals – specifically looking at the image of the self each prisoner creates. The videos come directly from inside their minds, so these self-portrayals aren’t biased with any manipulation, or how they want Es to view them. I’ve been bouncing these around in my head for a while, so thank you for the reason to actually put them down somewhere! So here are details I’ve gathered on each of them: (And as with everything in Milgram, this is just how I understood the symbolism – if people have other interpretations, I’d love to hear them!)

I've been adding edits as the videos come out, it's through Double now 👍

Haruka: In T1 he definitely views himself as guilty and dangerous. Though it’s dulled with crayon/mixed media, he conjurs a version of himself that’s committing acts of violence even in his suffering. The fact that his younger self takes place as the victim is huge to me. I know it could mean a lot of different things, but my personal interpretation is that Haruka sees his younger self in his little sister. He’s been in her shoes, at a time his mother loved him best. He believes he is the reason she stopped loving him, so he hates this younger version of himself. And this leads him to hate her now that he’s seeing the similarities. I believe the crimes happened extremely recently, so it’s interesting that he portrays himself as a child in much of AKAA. He’s not trying to gain any sympathy with it, he still genuinely feels like a child because of how much he struggles with everything. I don’t know what it means yet, but I’m really interested that despite all the water imagery he creates, he visualizes himself sinking, but never actually drowning/short of breath.

Yuno: Between both her videos, we only ever see her, her, her. This is because her motivations start and end with herself. I know her situation relies heavily on her clients, but in her mind, the one who was in control the whole time was only her. She’s the only one she can trust to take care of her and show her real love. She got into her line of work to benefit herself, and she went through with the abortion to benefit herself. She's taking the ultimate responsibility for everything that happened to her and everything that she did. Though it makes me happy to see it framed as all self love, it’s also clear that she’s unhappy with her decision. And, when everything revolves around versions of herself, there’s only one person she has to hate... 

Fuuta: His self-imagery makes it really clear how his mindset changed between trials. In T1 he genuinely saw himself as the hero, the perfect knight-in-shining-armor. Once doubt started to creep into his mind, though, he suddenly portrays himself as a criminal hiding/running in dark areas. It also emphasizes what he was saying about he and Es being the same: the girl that he accused of being guilty turned to ash after being sprayed with his paint, and he starts turning to ash along with Es’ accusation and paint spray. I know people took that as his suicidal intent, (and while that’s still a thing he does express in Backdraft,) I actually think his burning is just his fear that he’ll die at the end of Milgram. Another little detail, but someone mentioned Fuuta only lowered his mask in BIO while he’s looking at his phone, showing that he was comfortable being his true self online. Meaning, he had to hide some part of him in the rest of his life. The original post said it was his sexuality, but I feel as though it’s just his general paranoia of living around warriors for justice who are constantly evaluating everyone’s behavior. 

Muu: Like I said, the mvs are unaffected by how the prisoners want Es to see them, soI was confused when people accused Muu of lying in T1 – that’s really how she took the situation! In her mind, that pain and mistreatment made up everything in her. Her being a bully didn’t matter then, because it was her being a victim that led to the murder. In T2, it becomes obvious that she does harbor guilt. No innocent person would imagine themselves as a monstrous, destructive creature like that. If she really saw herself as ‘queen bee,’ her self-image would be flawless and lovable. INMF also showed she wasn’t exaggerating when she said the murder was to free her: we see her self-image undergo a full metamorphosis and sprout beautiful wings to fly away after she committed her crime. Though she feels guilty, she still believes it was necessary to free her and is grateful for it. 

Shidou: I’m still working on something more solid for him, but it’s neat that T1 he’s expressing so much guilt, yet his self-image is engaged in very abstract activities (like gardening and eating). In T2 he’s chilled out a bit, but that’s the video that death is literally following everywhere he goes (flowers dying behind him, ghosts surrounding him). It’s also worth noting he has his doctor’s coat on for most of Throw Down, and then the only time he has it in Triage is at the very end when he’s vowing to help the other prisoners. I’ll get back with a more solid conclusion on his soon…

Mahiru: Like Yuno (and semi-Haruka), the fact that she’s the only one to appear in her T1 mv means all her turmoil at that point was focused inward. She saw herself as the center of her story, which isn’t necessarily a selfish thing. It means she didn’t blame her boyfriend for anything that happened, even though we know it was likely both of their behaviors that led to the crime. Still, she’s taking all the focus on herself, showing off all the things she did and failed to do for him. The fact that everything is styled like magazine pages hints that she genuinely sees their relationship as the picture perfect example of love. After all, she was just “being herself” when she got him killed. Even that deep in her heart, she’s convinced love makes everything glossy and perfect. T2 is an exaggeration on both if these concepts -- she still places all the blame/responsibility on herself, but with the doubt creeping into her mind, she now paints herself as a villain who's actively causing harm. She still believes love can make things seem perfect, but you get the sense she's become more aware that love wasn't transforming her, it was blinding her.

Kazui: So this is an interesting one. I know that the performance aspect in Half is obviously taken as him acting that he loves his wife when he’s fallen in love with someone else. However, the fact that he’s singing the song about how he doesn’t love her, while still on stage/in costume, gives me a different idea. His emotions are so incredibly repressed and fucked up that even in the privacy of his own heart, he feels like he has to act sad about her death when he actually has more complex emotions than that. Not that he’s happy about it per se, but the feelings are too complex for him to show even himself. (We’ve all been there, where even in our private thoughts it’s embarrassing to be excited about something terrible and we pretend we aren’t.) That’s why I think he sounds so different in Cat – he’s able to start processing that he may be relieved, or freed that she’s gone. Or maybe he’s just realizing the murder was indirect, and he’s allowed to mourn her without feeling personally guilty for her death. So I agree the costumes represent hiding his emotions, but I think it symbolizes him lying to himself rather than just lying to his wife. Now with Cat out, he also shows a shift of seeing himself more guilty. Rather than a passive character, his self appears as someone known for manipulation/deception/trickery -- someone in charge of the situation. He's coming to terms with his active role in Hinako's death. There's also a lot of his vices shown explicitly, like his smoking and drinking. He's painting himself in a much worse light as his guilt gets to him. (There's also something to be said about the whole thing appearing under a filter of advertisement/magazine style, but I have yet to form a conclusion I'm happy with on that)

Amane: The major thing I took away from Magic was the idea that Amane really felt isolated in her cult. She saw herself as a normal girl, but no one else is like her. The other children are all animals, and the adults in charge are animalistic or robotic. There’s such a divide between her and everyone else. She’s not living up to their religious standards the way that everyone else seems to be. With the adults, it could be the general feeling that they never listen to or understand her because of her age. In T2, she presents a new idea: she's struggling with how complex and contradictory the self is. The human psyche has so many parts and motivations, all represented by the marching band members. She wants to be good. She's flawed. She wants to help. She's hurting. She knows she's made mistakes. She thinks she deserves punishment. That punishment is killing her. The adults around her make behaving look/sound so easy, but at her age it's so difficult to be a good girl! She wants to show this to Es, since she believes her own misbehavior + following the rules is what led to her murder.

Mikoto: He’s got So much going on with identity and sense of self, but I don’t have a ton on him that hasn’t already been said lol. I’ve joked that the reason Meme got the most views is because it’s the mv that shows the most skin, but on a serious note I think it’s really telling that there are so many bathing/showering/teeth brushing shots. Those are the stereotypical times we’re completely alone with ourselves – cleaning off everything external so that it’s just us in our purest form left when we’re done. An interesting switch I've noticed in Double is that the two major alters never appear beside each other -- there's the reflection in the mirror at one point (and I think they're face to face in the last shot?) but we never see both onscreen at the same time. This is because each one wants to distance themselves from the other: Bokukoto wants to show he's far from a killer, and Orekoto wants to make it clear he's the one who was violent. Neither wants to be mistaken for the other, but it's much easier to do so since they look exactly the same in this video (no color-coded clothes or eyes or lighting.) A minor detail, but the fact that his own mind conjured up quotes around the word "savior" makes it clear that Orekoto is slowly realizing his actions may have gotten Bokukoto into more trouble than they saved him from...

Kotoko: I don’t have too much on her at the moment since a lot of her scenes seem to be memories of her actual life and are already in line with what she’s admitted about herself. Still, I think the running-alongside-wolves scenes reveal a lot. She very clearly works alone, but wolves are known for hunting in a pack. Does she have a pack we haven’t seen yet? Is there a reason she’s no longer with them? Does she just dream of running with one because she craves that belonging so deeply? @tokyogruel pointed out that wolves are known for caring for weaker pack members, and that there have been analyses of the Harrow wolves being Kotoko's family members. This is revealing a more prominent focus on family than she's made known so far. She doesn't see herself as an elevated hero -- she always views herself as part of a team, which can be seen in her 'deal' with Es and all her T2 commentary of their partnership (despite being their prisoner). She's always been working with and for others.