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luxurychristmaspudding · 4 months

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you and your friends (tommy's party pt. i)

summary: your handsome new roommate spells trouble. but you've got a handle on it. haven't you?

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're having a good time! no lady and no baby. idiots in love, split pov, lots of fluff tbh and a whole lotta sexual tension. reader and frankie are little creeps n freaks. reader pays a visit to benny, frankie hooks up with 1 (one) other person. f&m masturbation, voyeurism, lots of cuddling. use of pet names (good girl, baby etc. (platonic, of course))

song is tagged at end of fic - header does not represent reader, only the album!

wc: 9.6k

an: *mc voice* let's get this party started!

part ii - tommy's party

When Frankie catches a glimpse of you from across Will’s crowded living room, he’s not so sure Benny’s idea is a good one.

The room is lit with yellow lamplight, heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol and cigarette smoke. There are people crammed in everywhere; slumped over chairs and sofas, leant against door frames, moving in and out of the kitchen with the click of the door beads. A sluggish bass thumps out over the party, the thrum of laughter and conversation cushioning any other sound.

He stands at the back of a sofa which has been turned inwards towards the centre of the room, leaning over Santi and Will as they howl over some story they’re retelling for a couple of girls squished between them. Frankie had been quite happy listening and laughing along, but he’s distracted when Benny taps his arm with his beer bottle and motions over to you.

‘That’s her,’ he says, ‘The girl I was telling you about.’

And yeah, he’s very quickly sure that this is a bad idea.

Because you’re beautiful. A gorgeous wrap dress clinging to your curves, each outline flowing like you’d been poured into it. Jewellery clinking and glittering around your wrists, neck, and ears, and your hair shining like each strand had been arranged by some ethereal hand. Your smile bands out around you, bathing your audience in a kind of glow, a reflection of your warmth. Frankie watches as you tip your head back slightly in a boundless laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling, the soft clasp of your hand falling on the forearm of the man sat next to you. Fuck.

Frankie swallows drily, and Benny places a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on, Fish,’ he says, ‘I’ll introduce you. I’ve told her about you already.’

Frankie doesn’t want to move. He’d much rather watch, much rather have Benny do the heavy lifting here. He doesn’t think he can talk to you, much less make a good first impression.

But his friend is guiding him forwards, and he can’t help but be shepherded. Panic rises like bile in his throat, and he thinks of turning around, excusing himself to go to the bathroom and just sitting in his truck for a while instead, but then -

Your bright eyes flick up to find Benny approaching you, and your face lights up. You stand from where you were perched on the arm of a chair and walk around the bundle of people whom you'd entranced. You place a gentle hand on a soft-haired woman’s shoulder, inclining your head to say you’ll be back in a minute, before you open an arm to Benny.

‘Benny!’ You call, squeezing his waist as the younger man presses you to his side, planting a kiss to your forehead. ‘How are you, man?’ You ask. Benny returns your greeting, answering your question, but Frankie can’t concentrate on anything he’s saying. You listen intently to his friend, smiling and asking a couple more questions, before looking properly at Frankie.

‘Sorry - hey,’ you say softly, ‘You must be -’

‘Oh god,’ Benny chuckles, ‘Sorry, yes. This is Frankie.’ Benny moves to press Frankie forwards, and he stumbles a little as he catches your outstretched hand. If you notice, you don’t say anything, just smile warmly at him and shake, giving him your name.

‘It’s good to meet you, man,’ you say, ‘Benny here has told me a lot about you.’ Benny laughs, clapping Frankie on the back.

‘Only good things, Fish,’ he grins, ‘I promise.’ Frankie rolls his eyes at him.

‘So, you’re interested in the room?’ You ask, and Frankie turns back to you. He nods, swallowing.

‘Yeah, really interested. It’d be great to come over and take a look if you’re around.’ He surprises himself at how easily the words roll off his tongue. You offer him another kind smile, nodding encouragingly, and he finds himself relaxing.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘You’d be very welcome to. You have glowing recommendations from the boys, anyway.’ You lean in closer to him, lowering your tone conspiratorially. ‘I’d have you moved in tomorrow if I could. Sold on you already.’ Frankie beams bashfully down at the carpet and bites his lip, Benny’s idea straying dangerously back into good territory.

‘I wouldn’t believe everything they tell you.’ He says, eyes trailing over your neckline, the dip in your cleavage, the hollow of your throat, skin gleaming and a little damp with sweat. You reach out and tuck a stray curl peeking out from his cap behind his ear.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ you murmur, and your touch, the pet name, sends a shiver down his spine. ‘I think we’d get along just fine.’

Benny leaves you both soon after, in search of another beer. He asks if you want one and you politely decline. Frankie does the same. You lead him to a quieter corner by the back window and pull him into easy conversation. You laugh and tell him this is his ‘interview’, but confess that you really have no idea what that might involve. Frankie lets you ask him any question that comes to your mind, and in this pool of time, you discover everything you could need to know about each other. Where you grew up, what your parents were like, whether you enjoyed school, what you eat when you’ve had a bad day, how often you clean the bathroom, what you do now, and what your dreams are for the future. You ask tentatively, respectfully about Delta Force. Frankie appreciates the way you preface it with an out - you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to - but he finds that he does. He spares the details but tells you about training, about flying, about meeting the boys. He tells you about Tom, and as little about Colombia as possible. You nod, brow furrowing in sympathy, in feeling, and squeeze his knee in comfort.

Frankie’s heart shouldn’t skip the way it does, but then you’re asking him more about what Tom was like, how his family are. When his eyes mist over, you take his hand. He runs a thumb over your knuckles. He tells you, cringing, about the coke charge, about his licence. About how he’s getting it back in spring. You grin brightly at him, congratulating him, sucking air in through your teeth and doing a little dance in your chair. Frankie laughs at you, heart swelling. He doesn’t know how you’re getting him to do this - tell you all this stuff, make it feel okay, make him feel great. But he loves it. He could get used to it. You’re sat close to his side, shoulder to shoulder, and you are so warm, your skin so soft. Frankie leans in closer.

‘How did you meet Benny?’ He asks, breathing the words into the shell of your ear over the music. You squirm, dipping your head away from him, and Frankie wonders for an awful moment if he’s misjudged the closeness, if he’s already overstepped your boundaries.

You look at him sideways, your body angled away from him.

‘He didn’t tell you?’ You ask.

Frankie raises an eyebrow, mouth open, ready to apologise. His brow furrows and he shakes his head.

‘No.’ He says. You smile at him, sighing heavily through your nose.

‘It’s a little embarrassing,’ you say, avoiding his gaze. ‘We met at a bar. We got on really well, and -’ you huff out a breath, meet Frankie’s eye again. He’s still watching you, not having put together the pieces. You roll your head onto your shoulder, pick the label on your bottle. ‘We slept together, Frankie.’

Frankie’s heart drops.

‘Oh.’ He says.

‘Yeah,’ you laugh, ‘Oh.’ You’re quiet for a moment, Frankie scrambling for the right thing to say. He’s too slow. You clap your hands down on your knees and rise from your seat.

‘I’m gonna head outside for a bit,’ you say. He watches you disappear with a weak smile, an anxious feeling welling in his chest.

Frankie sits for a few minutes, taking pulls from his beer, looking out over the crowd assembled in the living room.

His spots Benny lent against a wall, held up by an arm outstretched beside a girl’s head. A tongue of fire licks up through Frankie’s belly, and he has to sit with it for a moment to work out what it is. Jealousy. He’s jealous that Benny has already touched you, has already heard you. Jealous that Benny has already crossed that threshold, and now he has to be the one to move in and keep his distance. Arbitrary rules, he knows, rules which have been disregarded before. Already, you’d be more than a quick fuck. It’s crass, but Frankie knows you should be more than someone you take home from a bar. Maybe you are - you’re here, after all, clearly invited. Frankie’s mind rocks with the notion that Benny is saving you, keeping you around. It would be cruel of him, but not impossible. Benny had a bad habit of getting what he wanted.

Frankie grinds his teeth, tears his eyes away from his friend. Stupid, stupid. You’re someone he’s only just met, someone he might be living with. Whatever weird thing this is going on in his brain, he needs to fix it quick. Thoughts like these are not suitable in situations like living together.

Frankie stands, but instead of speaking to Benny, instead of getting to the bottom of why you’re here, he follows you through the door beads into the kitchen and out the back door.

You’re sat on the porch swing just below the kitchen window, and the surprise of finding you so easily brings Frankie to a sharp halt. You look up from your bag, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in the glow of the porch light.

‘Hey,’ you say softly, ‘Are you okay?’

Frankie breathes out heavily.

‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘Sorry about that - in there,’ gesturing over his shoulder, back into the house.

‘Oh,’ you say, shaking your head and bringing out a small plastic baggy from your purse. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not a thing. There’s no -’ you wave a hand around your head, ‘Feelings there or anything. We’re just friends now.’

Frankie nods, leans against the doorframe. Hums a response.

‘You wanna sit?’ You ask, scooching over on the swing, patting the space next to you.

Frankie pushes off the frame and comes to sit next to you. He rocks the seat slightly with his feet, yours dangling a little too far off the ground to move it.

You grin at him, delighted with the movement. You shuffle to tuck your legs under you.

‘Amazing,’ you grin, ‘See? Already a dream team.’

Frankie grins back at you and watches you take more items out of your bag. A small, circular grinder, a tiny rolling tray, pink papers. You pop open the baggy, and the smell of the dried plant seeps through the air, rushing up his nostrils. Frankie breathes deeply, watching you sprinkle some of the bud into your open grinder. You close it, and look up at him.

‘You a narc?’ You ask, lips still quirked.

‘No.’ Frankie chuckles. You bite your cheek, shrug your shoulders.

‘Ya never know…’ you coo, and Frankie grins.

‘I got busted for coke, baby,’ he reminds you, ‘I’m not gonna rat you out for weed.’

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

‘Fair enough.’ You say. Frankie watches as you twist the grinder back and forth over the bud, entranced by the motion of your hands. His lips part, watching the strong flex of your wrists.

‘Do you smoke?’ You ask. His tongue dips out to lick the pillow of his lower lip, and you trace the movement with your eyes, fascinated. You swallow, clearing your throat softly. ‘Frankie?’

His eyes dart up to yours, embarrassed, flushed.

‘Yeah?’ He says.

‘Do you smoke?’ You repeat. He looks away from you, shy, shaking his head.

‘I used to,’ he says, ‘But not for a long time.’

You nod, looking out over the garden with him. The cool wind brushing through the trees, the luminescence of the town beyond their feathered tops.

‘You wanna share?’ You ask. He looks back at you, surprised, eyebrows high on his forehead. You shrug. ‘Don’t have to, of course. Especially if it’s not gonna be good for you. Just that - if you wanna move in, I’m afraid it’s a habit I won’t be quitting.’ You raise an eyebrow at him, half apologetic, half warning. He swallows visibly.

‘What if I get too high?’ He says, breathless. You snort, balancing the rolling tray on your knees as you separate the hash out onto the paper, on top of the lavender you’ve pulled from your purse.

‘It’s okay, sugar,’ you say, ‘I’ll look after you.’

Frankie stares at you, eyes wide.

You snicker at him, finish rolling, and lick the paper. Frankie watches the swipe of your tongue, its slow draw along the edge, and feels his cock twitch in his jeans. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea -

He watches as you perch the joint between your lips, put your shit back in your bag, and pull out a lighter. Your eyelashes flicker down to rest on your cheeks as the lighter clicks and you cup your hands around the flame. You take a deep breath in, hollowing your cheeks, lost to the sensation, the taste. Frankie’s jaw flexes, and he has to look away again. You exhale the thick smoke, blowing it away from him, taking another drag before knocking your hand against his arm.

‘Want some?’ You ask.

Frankie mutters a thanks and takes the joint clumsily in his fingers, rotating it until it’s comfortable in his grip. He brings it to his mouth, and you watch as he sucks in and immediately sputters out again. He bends over his knees in a hacking cough, and you gently take the spliff as you pat his back.

‘You okay?’ You ask, taking another draw for yourself. Frankie leans back against the seat, sucking in great breaths of air, eyes watery, his body still twitching. He gulps and nods, not looking at you. ‘Good.’ You say, softly.

Frankie tries again a few minutes later, and is a little more successful. You finish the rest of the joint together before you flick the roach off into the darkness. Your body hums with the crickets and the static of the night air, and you can’t wipe the grin off your face.

‘This is nice.’ You say dumbly, turning to face him.

His arms are crossed and his jaw is clenched again. He breathes deeply through his nose. You scrunch your face up at him, and he notices the movement out the corner of his eye. His gaze slips to you for just a second, and a large smile slips across his features. You giggle at him, heavy and giddy. The urge to take the hand folded closest to you strikes, and when you do, he turns to look at you properly.

‘You have really nice hair,’ you say softly. Frankie chuckles, unable to help himself. You grin at him. ‘What?’ You say. ‘You do.’

Frankie laughs harder, and you reach over to take the cap off his head. He makes a slow, unconvincing grab for it before you settle it on your own hair, kneeling up to swipe a hand through his curls. He watches you, unable to look away, and you gasp at the feeling of it carding through your fingers.

‘So soft,’ you breathe, delighted. You look into his eyes again, one hand cradling the back of his head. His eyes dart down to your mouth, and you lick your lips before starting to giggle. ‘Anyone ever told ya you got baby cow eyes?’ You say.

Frankie’s brow furrows slightly. His words are slow and slurred. ‘What?’

You giggle harder and move your hand round to cup his cheek, looking at him very seriously.

‘Your eyes,’ you say, ‘Are like a baby cow’s.’ A slow spread of joy glows across Frankie’s features. His eyes scrunch up with his smile. ‘Nooo,’ you cry softly, ‘Now they’re all happy. They’re not all big and brown anymore.’

Frankie laughs with unbridled amusement, his head dropping from your hand as he clutches at your knees.

‘A baby cow?’ He gasps. You nod quickly, enthusiastically.

‘Yeah, Frankie. You got real pretty eyes.’ Your own are wide and earnest, and that seems to convince him. He raises an eyebrow before grinning goofily at you, lifting a finger to tap your nose.

‘You think I’m cute.’ He says, and you snort, which only sends him off into a flood of more giggles.

‘I didn’t say that. Only said you got pretty eyes.’

It’s only a little, tiny lie. And you think it’s for the best.

You spend another hour out on the porch before returning to the party, and though you don’t stray far from each other, you make a point of finding Frankie before you leave. You hand him your phone, and he stares at it, confused, before you roll your eyes playfully and say -

‘I need your number, dummy. For the room.’

He taps his number into your phone, and you save it with a little cow emoji next to his name. Frankie bites away his smile.

When he’s lying on the sofa in the dark later, surrounded by bottles and cans and ashy cigarette ends, he can’t stop grinning to himself.

You text him early the next morning, giving him a time and a date to come and see the flat. Frankie replies with so much enthusiasm that he flushes when he reads the message back, dropping his phone onto the coffee table as he stretches out on Will’s floor. He sacrifices his spot on the sofa to Will and Benny, Santi beside him as they watch Face/Off over breakfast.

He doesn’t see your reply until the movie ends.

Can’t wait! So excited to see you!

He sets his phone back down with a happy sigh, so loud that Will and Santi, and then Benny, ask him what he’s so pleased about.

He only gets them to stop probing by smacking Will in the face with a cushion.

---

Frankie moves in a week later, while you’re at work.

You think it’ll be much easier for you both. If you were in the flat you’d only be in the way, and he probably needs the space and time to figure out where he wants to put his stuff. Plus, the idea of seeing him all hot and sweaty is one that, quite frankly, you’ve been trying to avoid.

Benny had told you all about his friends on that first date at the bar. You had been taken with the way he’d talked about them, so fond and positive. You’d enjoyed asking him so many questions, and were delighted when he asked you so many in return. And Benny was cute - he was hot. Enthusiastic and giving and good. But you knew, even laying next to him, both panting, turning your heads to grin at each other at the same time, that it wouldn’t go anywhere.

He had been your type on paper. He’d ticked so many boxes, and you had both fallen into that first date with such excitement - but there was just something missing. There was no burn. You had a good time, you wanted to see him again, but you didn’t yearn for him the way you wanted to. You didn’t miss him when he wasn’t around, you weren’t worried about him fucking other girls.

It hadn’t been a difficult conversation to have. Benny took it better than you’d hoped, and once it had been established, friendship came easily. You met Will, got on well, and the three of you would go for drinks. Benny would come over to watch a film and eat takeout, and you never touched each other. Sure, you thought about it. But you were on a mission to make life easier for yourself. To not fuck around and get attached to someone you shouldn’t get attached to.

So you should have known better when he introduced you to Frankie. Should have made up some excuse, even if he pretty much had the room after all the boys had told you. Should have backed out as soon as those beautiful brown eyes blinked at you, at that first curve of a shy smile, as soon as you’d tucked that curl behind his ear. Because Frankie was someone you could get attached to. Watching him cook, watching the steam trail out behind him after a shower, watching him stretch out on the sofa with a book, having him crinkle his crows feet at you from across the kitchen as he sips his coffee, the low timbre of his voice reaching you across the floorboards, none of these things are something you needed to know, to see. You should have known better.

Work has been busy, long.

So busy you had to stay behind for a couple of hours to make sure the late shift got set up properly, and then you could trudge home. The bus journey, the walk up the hill, the clamber up the stairs to your front door.

When you make it halfway up the stairs, you can smell it. A delicious, warm waft of heady spices, of richness flowing down through the stairwell. You breathe deeply, aching feet pausing on the concrete just so you can tip your head back and inhale. Your stomach growls loudly, and you wish whoever is cooking a good meal, because it sure fucking smells like it.

The smell is stronger on your floor, and you’re still taking deep breaths when you push open your front door. There’s the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen, the low hum of the radio playing. You toe off your trainers, leaving them next to a couple of unpacked cardboard boxes, splashing your keys into the bowl on the sideboard.

‘Frankie?’ You call. There’s no answer.

You move towards the sound, and push open the door to the kitchen.

Frankie is stood with his broad back to you, stirring something in a pot. He bops his head and hums in time with the radio, unaware of you behind him.

‘Holy fuck, Frankie. That smells amazing.’

He turns with a wide smile, a spatula in his hand.

‘Welcome home. I made enough for us both.’

You grin at him, dropping your bag and shucking off your jacket, coming to stand beside him. You ask about what he’s cooking, and he talks you through each step, the ingredients he’s used, and finally, blessedly, tells you it’ll be ready in five minutes.

You eat across the table from each other in quiet, easy conversation. Even with it all so new, with so many of his unpacked boxes still dotted around the flat, it feels like Frankie has always been here.

You wash and dry the plates side by side, laughing and happy and full. You retreat to your respective bedrooms to change into your pyjamas, and then you prop your door open for Frankie to come join you if he’d like. You flick on an episode of Adventure Time and dig around in your bedside table for your rolling stuff, sitting cross-legged and giggling at the cartoon as you grind, arrange, and roll the joint.

Your roommate appears in the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

‘Come in,’ you say, beckoning him closer, shuffling on the bed to make room for him. He eyes the spliff in your hand. ‘Wanna join?’ You ask. He hesitates.

‘Just a little.’

You nod, stretching off the bed towards the window, grabbing your lighter from the ledge. You flick it to life as Frankie watches from the bed, your legs bare below your sleep shorts, your nipples hard beneath your t-shirt in the cool night air. You jerk your head at him as you exhale, and he crawls over the bed towards you. You try not to think of the way he moves as you hand it to him.

Frankie puffs from the joint a couple times, and passes it back to you. You continue the routine until there’s nothing left, finishing the last couple of tokes before flicking the roach onto the street below.

‘What do ya wanna do?’ You ask him, closing the window. Frankie’s settled back on your bed amongst your pillows. He frowns at the ceiling.

‘Watch a movie.’ He says, and you giggle at the tacky sound of his speech.

‘Come on then, buddy,’ you say, taking his hand and pulling him from the mattress. ‘We’ll watch it on the sofa. You need some water,’ you sing, leading him towards the kitchen. ‘And we’re gonna need snacks.’

Frankie chuckles at the way you say it, a faux accent twanging at your words. He lets you push him down onto the sofa and watches you dopily as you busy yourself with refreshments. You dump everything on the coffee table before turning on the TV.

‘Help yourself,’ you say, gesturing to your stash, and Frankie leans forward in slow motion to grab a can of coke. You giggle at him. ‘What do you wanna watch?’

Frankie cracks the can open and shrugs.

‘Don’t mind.’

You think for a moment, roving through Netflix before slapping his arm.

‘Oh my god!’ You laugh. ‘Notting Hill. We’ll watch Notting Hill. Holy fuck, it’s so bad when you’re stoned, you have no idea.’

Frankie groans beside you, leaning forward again to grab a bag of chocolate pretzels. He rips them open and offers one to you.

‘Whatever you say, boss.’ He smiles.

Halfway through the film, Frankie’s eyes begin to seriously droop. You can’t blame him. It must have been a long day.

When his head drops to your shoulder, you let him cuddle in. He stays there for a while, but when he wakes with a start at the soreness, you manoeuvre him to turn and lay with his head on your lap. He’s pliant and soft in your hands, sighing with relief as he settles. You run a hand through his curls, scratching at his scalp, twisting strands gently around your finger. You stroke and scratch absentmindedly, watching Hugh Grant’s dramatic confession, only remembering what you’re doing when a deep snore resonates from below you.

You look down to find Frankie sound asleep, peaceful face turned up towards you. You admire his silky hair, the scruff of his beard, the heart shaped patch on the side of his face. His soft, full bottom lip, strong nose, the slope and sweep of his brow. You smile at him, something stirring in your belly.

‘Little baby cow.’ You murmur to yourself, and bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider.

---

The first weekend you have off together comes weeks after Frankie moves in.

You have a long, cosy lie in before running your respective errands in the morning, planning to reconvene in the afternoon with food and movies and your other favourite pastime.

By some miracle, you get home before Frankie, and unload your bag of snacks and oven food onto the kitchen table. You’re just organising it, putting away what needs to be in the fridge, when Frankie steps through the front door with a crate of soda and your favourite flowers in his other hand.

‘Hey,’ he grins at you, kicking the door shut before stepping into the room and holding out the blooms. ‘These are for you.’

You take the flowers carefully, admiring the colours, the form, the texture. You look back at him with shining eyes, and Frankie blushes.

‘How did you -’

He shrugs, moving to put the soda in the fridge. With his back to you, he says -

‘You mentioned them once, ‘bout a week after I moved in.’

Your heart melts a little, touched at the care, the thought.

‘Just thought, ya know - don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just nice to pick something up and say I thought of you.’

You blush at his words, just as he turns back around and spots on the table -

‘Holy shit,’ he says, picking up the chocolate covered pretzels. ‘I was just thinking of these! I didn't get any while I was out and they’re my -’ He looks up at you, a knowing smile creeping across his lips.

‘Your favourite,’ you say. ‘I saw them and thought of you.’

Frankie laughs, stepping forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘Dream fuckin’ team.’ He says.

You’re both back in your pyjamas within ten minutes, sat on Frankie’s bed, a joint on the bedside table ready to go.

He flicks through the home screen of his Playstation, settling on Red Dead Redemption 2, starting up the game as you lean out his window to dispel the first stream of smoke. You pass it back and forth between you, and when it’s done Frankie chucks the roach in his bin. You climb underneath the duvet and watch Arthur Morgan’s adventures through hooded eyes, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He’s warm and solid beneath you, and you wrap your hands around his arm, breathing him in. You watch in rapt fascination as he tracks down carvings in the mountains, giggle and scold him when he barrels down the wrong side of the roads, and swat at him when his horse gets hit by a train. He loads back up his previous save to get her back, and you visit a time traveller, hunt for vampires in Saint Denis, and squeal when a UFO appears over an abandoned hut filled with rotted bodies. He tells you the stories of the characters in a spaced out slur, and you immerse yourself in the sunshine, the rain, the snow, the mists. You close your eyes to the sounds of hooves, of birds, of nature, of Frankie’s strong heartbeat and his deep breathing.

At some point in the evening, you wake again, sitting and stretching. Frankie smiles sleepily down at you.

‘I’m gonna head to bed in a bit.’ He says, and you smile at him, kneading your neck.

‘No worries,’ you mumble. ‘I’ll head to mine, too. Catch you in the morning.’

Frankie fist bumps you as you stumble towards the door.

‘Thanks for hanging out.’ He says. You snort at him before opening the door.

‘No worries, Fish,’ you say, ‘I’m sure I was great company.’

He grins back, and you blow a kiss before snicking the door shut.

Your own sheets are blissfully cool, and you turn on a little quiet music to get yourself off to sleep. The soft, slow jangle of guitars and low voices do the trick, and if you turn your head just so, you can still smell Frankie on your pyjama top.

---

When you come through to the kitchen the next morning, Frankie is already cooking breakfast. He looks cosy in his old Lakers top and sweats that only just cling to his hips. It tightens something in your belly.

‘I’m making eggs and bacon,’ he says, before gesturing with a spatula to the percolator. ‘There’s coffee over there if you want some.’

‘You tryna seduce me or something?’ You ask, waggling your eyebrows. Frankie laughs at you, gorgeous little crows feet crinkling in the corners of his eyes. You have to look away quickly to hide your own gooey expression.

‘No,’ he says, voice grappling with something of an edge - laughter, a little teasing, ‘I’m not in the business of fucking my friends.’ You flash your eyes back to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, and he’s peering at you from below his eyelashes, biting his lip. A grin blows out across your cheeks, and you bite your lip back.

‘Unfortunately for you, I am,’ you sigh, sweeping your hand across the edge of the kitchen table before glancing at him, his attention turned back to breakfast. ‘Santi still single?’

Frankie freezes over the eggs he’s cooking. He looks up at you slowly. Your heart dips in your chest, legs flooding with the feeling that you’ve definitely said the wrong thing.

‘Are you - are you… interested?’

You feel your cheeks heat.

‘I -’ you rub your face, trying to organise your thoughts. Frankie feels something like a freight train headed towards him. ‘No,’ You say, turning fully towards him, smiling a little. ‘No, I’m not. He’s great - he’s a lovely guy, but no.’

Frankie nods, once, twice, before staring back down at the yellow in the pan. He can’t remember what he was doing. Frying or scrambling? They’re too far gone now. He’ll have to try and pass them off as an omelette.

‘It was a stupid joke.’ You mumble, and Frankie shakes his head at the pan.

‘No, no,’ he says, ‘I just, ya know, if you were -’

You smile at him.

‘You’d set me up?’

Frankie shrugs. You smirk.

‘Well then. If you’re patient, sugar, I might make my way through everyone. Finish with you, of course, make sure we last a little longer.’

Frankie’s head whips up, jaw dropped. He breathes your name, and you laugh.

‘My god, Fish. I’m kidding.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, relieved, disappointed. You dance around the kitchen table towards him, reaching out your hands to squish his cheeks, chanting got ya, got ya, as Frankie curls the dish cloth from over his shoulder to whip you with it.

You shriek and leap out of his way, running from him.

Frankie makes no move to follow you, turning off the stove instead, plating up the eggs and bacon. You’re still giggling at him, now armed with a dish cloth of your own. He points at you with the spatula.

‘Sit.’ He says, and you laugh again, taking a seat as Frankie brings over the plates and cutlery. As he settles, you leap up. Frankie watches you.

‘Where are you going?’ He says, spearing some egg with his fork. You return to the table with two mugs of coffee.

‘Can’t forget the most important part of the meal.’ You say, sitting and slurping loudly, winking at him over the ceramic.

Frankie laughs at you through a mouthful of food.

‘You coming to Will’s tonight?’ He asks, swallowing.

You hum a little.

‘Yeah, guess so.’ You say.

‘Boys’ll be there,’ he says, ‘So you’ll know a few faces. Not sure who else.’

You nod, shovelling bacon into your mouth. Frankie smiles.

‘Sure,’ you say, ‘I’ll come.’

That night, you find yourselves round at Will’s again. What was supposed to be a relatively quiet poker night has inevitably turned into too many people drinking too much booze, but he never seems to mind.

Frankie is back leaning on the sofa, listening to Santi and Will talk. He’s laughing, thinking he should go and grab you in a minute - he doesn’t know how many of these stories you’ve heard, but he’s sure you’d enjoy them. He has a compulsion to watch you laugh, to see you enjoy the people around you, to feel the shine of your company, to see the way you look at him, eyes dancing with amusement, always as though there is some kind of joke you’re thinking of that only he will understand.

When he looks around the living room, he can’t find you. It’s not unusual. He knows by now that you’ll be off chatting to whoever is lucky enough to find you, and he finds himself moving in the direction of the kitchen, pushing through the door beads. When he doesn’t see you in there, he catches Benny at the sink, asking if he’s seen you.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘I was just with her. She’s out on the porch swing.’

A muscle flexes in Frankie’s jaw as he moves away from Benny, that familiar creep of possessiveness crawling up his throat. Stupid, stupid. He’s already asked him, knows that he wants nothing from you. So why does it irritate him so much?

You’re outside on the swing just like Benny said, gazing up at the stars as Frankie slumps down beside you. He bounces the chair, and you giggle at him.

‘Having a good time?’ You ask. He nods.

‘Yeah. You?’

You nod, tilting your face to look at him. Frankie doesn’t know when he decided it, but he’s sure your eyes are the prettiest he’s ever seen. He loves the way they shine out at him now in the glow of the porchlight, warm and kind and soft. That sunny feeling he gets as he watches you moves something silken and deep within him, something lonely.

I was just with her. Unfortunately for you, I am -

‘What?’ You say softly.

‘Nothin’,’ he shrugs. ‘Just glad I met you.’

You scoff lightly at him, knocking your head against his shoulder.

‘Glad I met you, too, sugar.’ You murmur, and when Frankie meets your eye, his breath seizes in his lungs.

You are so close.

Your eyes dart between his own and his mouth, lingering on the shape of his lips, the flecks of grey in his moustache. He can’t move as you lean closer to him, as you ghost two fingers over his wrist. Your eyes are burning, teasing, curious as he stares down at your lips, soft and inviting, curved around so many wonderful words, wrapped around the end of a joint or a beer bottle -

‘There you are,’ Will says, bursting through the back door. You startle away from Frankie, and he feels dizzy at the change, at the rush of what was about to happen. The warm press of your body against his. ‘C’mon,’ says Will, ‘We’ve got a poker game to win.’

You watch as Frankie hauls himself away from you, settling back in the swinging chair. When the door shuts behind the two men, you press a hand to your chest, feeling the rattle of your heartbeat.

---

You wake as though through fog, to a noise you can’t quite place.

It’s quiet, but almost right by your head. A slick, rhythmic sound, heavy breaths, quiet groans, curses. Through slipping sleep, you process them, too tired to be embarrassed, to be thinking straight. The sounds of Frankie jerking off go straight to your core, and you can feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as you listen, as you slip your hand beneath the elastic of your panties and join him, careful to muffle your own sounds to hear him better.

You become frantic as he grows louder, as he mutters to himself, as his bed moves just enough to squeak. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he looses a particularly loud fuck, and then a strangely familiar word, followed by a long, low groan. You come hard on your fingers, panting as the heat subsides, as you hear Frankie leave his room and head to the bathroom.

Languid and liquid in the sunbeams on your blankets, it takes you longer than it should to decipher what you’d heard. Longer than it should to wonder if it really was your name he’d gasped as he came.

Frankie needs air.

He needs to get out of the apartment, so while he’s drinking his morning coffee, he drafts up a list of things to do. Parcels to return, small things to buy, a new coffee shop he’d like to try out. Anything to try and clear you out his head. The feel of your body pressed against his on the seat, the ghosting of your fingers on the inside of his wrist, the flame in your eyes. The way you’d jumped when Will found you, whether you meant it, whether he was imagining it, what he was going to do, what he was not going to do -

You shuffle into the kitchen still in your pyjamas, stifling a yawn behind a hand. You help yourself to coffee from the percolator, and Frankie tells you he’s heading out. You nod and give him a squeeze, saying you’re off to the gym, anyway. Frankie tries not to think of how your ass looks in your blue leggings, and sets off down the stairwell.

He stays out for as long as possible, breathing in the fresh, spring air, looking into shop windows and petting passing dogs. He only decides to call it a day when his stomach starts growling and his feet start aching.

He feels good, energised.

Maybe he should get out more often.

Frankie shuts the front door gently behind him, placing his keys in the bowl. He says your name, only half expecting a reply. You didn’t say when you were heading out, or when you’d be back.

He yanks his boots off by the shoe rack you set up last week, and tucks them away neatly. His feet carry him towards the kitchen, fingers itching to hold a cup of coffee and sandwich before a soft sound stops him. His heart leaps in his throat, and he freezes, not daring to take another step.

He registers the soft sound of the running shower, and anticipation lodges itself in his belly. He waits, heart hammering in his chest, and almost moves before he definitely, definitely hears it again.

You moan softly on the other side of the bathroom door, and Frankie’s eyes flutter shut.

He should go. He should absolutely go, but he can see from here in the hallway that the bathroom door is open just a crack. And he has always been a flawed person, which is why it doesn’t surprise him that when he goes to shut it, to knock, to move past, he can’t keep himself from looking. Can’t stop his eyes from finding you, back against the tile, hair dripping down your shoulders, water spattering across your skin as you stand with your legs apart, one hand spreading you open, fingers moving fast across your clit. Frankie grips onto the door handle as his eyes close again.

Because he knows what’s about to happen. Hot shame floods through him as his cock hardens embarrassingly fast, a thin ringing in his ears as he opens his eyes again, takes in the soft flesh of your thighs, the flow of water, the rivulets tracing your skin, your glistening core, the way your fingers move so desperately -

And Frankie can see it, can feel it, can taste it when he imagines opening the door and climbing there with you, not giving you a chance to be surprised before he sinks to his knees and replaces your hand with his mouth.

With shaking fingers, he unbuttons his jeans, unzips his fly, and begins to stroke his cock.

He has no idea how long you’ve been in there for, but he watches closely, ravenously for your tells. It’s not gonna take him long, but he wants to watch you fall apart first.

He watches you move your weight so you slump a little lower on the wall, a harsh gasp leaving your lips. He watches as your hips twitch and roll forwards as you slow your pace, rubbing harder instead of faster, and he barely contains his own moan as you whine, high-pitched and needy, echoing off the walls. He watches your tummy clench with each stroke of your fingers, stares with drooling amazement as you snake a hand up your body to grasp and play with your tits, squeezing them, rolling your nipples between your fingers, pinching them as hard as you can. Frankie grunts when you gasp out a fuck, and for a long, heart clenching second, he thinks you hear him. You slow your movements, trying to peer through the dark crack in the door.

Frankie can’t move, can’t stop fisting his cock as he watches you, precum dripping through his fingers, the dirty thrill of getting caught spurring him on.

You listen carefully, turning your head to the side to see if you can catch any more noises. Satisfied you’re still alone, you continue, this time quickly finding a pace which Frankie can tell will send you off the edge. Your wet skin, the slick sounds of your fingers even over the running water, and your moans, gasps, curses, getting even louder.

Frankie stares still, enraptured by the goddess in front of him unravelling herself, and he wants nothing more than to touch you, taste you, smell you. He tries not to think of what he’d give to be inside you, but a soft moan escapes him anyway. Imagining the clench of your warm, wet cunt, hearing you make those noises for him, the slip of your wet skin in his grasp, your tits in his hands, the bite of your teeth on his shoulder sends him rocketing to his orgasm. He barely has time to wrap the bottom of his t-shirt around his cock, biting his fist as he empties himself, opening his eyes just in time to watch your body spasm and clench, your back arch, your head knock against the tiles as you cry out oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god.

Once you finish riding it out, whimpering and twitching, you close your eyes and breathe heavily. Frankie feels feverish, head tipping forwards onto the door frame as he tucks himself gently back into his boxers and pulls his jeans back up. He takes one last breath before a short, shrill beep echoes throughout the apartment.

Your eyes snap to the door again as you jump, and Frankie flinches, slowly backing away as you cock your head at the gap. Beep. Frankie can feel his pulse in his ears as he reaches the front door with soft treads, managing to open it quietly through his blind panic just as you turn the shower off. He slams it shut, calling your name from the entryway, cringing at the breaking huskiness of his voice. He waits a few seconds as though he’s taking off his shoes before running to his room, hearing the snick of the bathroom door closing just as his shuts behind him.

Frankie leans against the wood, forcing short breaths in and out his nose. Beep.

The smoke detector again, on the other side of the door. It shocks him back to life as he rips his shirt off, stuffing it deep in his laundry hamper before scrambling for a new one, praying to whatever god is out there that you hadn’t just caught him in such an obvious lie. That you hadn’t just caught him jerking off to you masturbating in the shower.

Frankie leaves his room as quickly as possible, knowing that the longer he stays in there the more likely it is you’ll know something is wrong. He yanks the door open, stepping out into the hallway, stopping to listen on the hardwood floor. There’s not a peep from the rest of the flat, but the door to the bathroom is now wide open, small tendrils of steam slipping out into the hallway. Frankie takes a deep breath and steps lightly down the hallway to the kitchen, intent on coffee this time, on something to distract him, something to do with his hands. Beep.

He works on autopilot as he pours the grounds into the percolator, throwing up a mental wall every time a glimmer of your body passes through his mind. When he sets it over the stove top he grips the counter, shoulders hunched, chewing his cheek as he breathes heavily through his nose. This time, the beep of the smoke detector makes him jump, and he swipes a hand over his mouth.

‘We need to change the batteries in that.’ You say, and Frankie flinches as you breeze past him into the kitchen. He can’t look at you, shame and arousal colouring his neck, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He makes a noise in his throat, and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

‘You okay?’ You ask. He swings his eyes to you, and you look back at him the same as always. Warm, kind. You can’t know. You must be oblivious, and somehow that makes it worse.

‘Yeah,’ he says, and tries to smile, ‘Just need a coffee.’

His eyes try not to linger on your body, try not to linger on your lips, your hands. He grips the countertop harder. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

You smile back at him.

‘If you’re sure,’ you say, sidling closer, laying a hand on his shoulder. You squeeze and wink up at him. ‘Can you make me one? I’m exhausted.’

Frankie tries to muffle his sharp intake of air with a cough. I’m exhausted. How long had you been in there? Had you even been to the gym? Or had you just spent the morning grinding and moaning and coming -

‘Sure.’ He croaks, and you frown at him.

‘You’re really feeling okay?’ You ask, bringing the back of your hand to his forehead. ‘Might be coming down with something. Tired and coughing.’

He shakes his head a little too enthusiastically.

‘No, I’m fine.’ He says, interrupted only by the beep of the smoke alarm. You pull a face at it, and he moves to take the coffee off the stove.

‘Go get the ladder,’ he says, ‘And I’ll change the batteries.’

You swish out of the kitchen, and Frankie scrubs his face with his hands, groaning out a god before taking two mugs from the cupboard and filling them. He’s just finished pouring in the creamer when you struggle back through the doorway, huffing under the weight of the stepladder.

‘Coffee’s there.’ He says, jerking his head in the direction of the mugs as he takes it from you. Frankie sets it up under the detector, stepping up the first couple of rungs before you stand in front of him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, and you tighten your hands around the ladder’s sides, holding it steady.

‘Don’t want you doing any damage to yourself.’ You say softly.

Frankie nods and continues climbing, trying not to think of how close you are. He focuses as he reaches the ceiling, stretching up to unscrew the device.

You swallow as you’re exposed to the slither of skin the action reveals, golden in the afternoon light, and the dark hair which trails down, down, below the waistline of his jeans.

‘Take it for me.’ He says from above you, and you drag your eyes away to meet his, flushing as you reach up to grab the alarm, fingers brushing. You watch as Frankie’s gaze darkens, as he takes you in, flushed, lips bitten, standing at the perfect height. The greedy way you’d been looking at his stomach, water, thighs, fingers -

‘Thank you.’ He says, and you take the detector away to replace the batteries, your fingers shaking. Frankie watches you hungrily, the curve of your jeans, the slope of your neck when you flick your hair behind you. He’s still watching when you turn back to him and hand him the device.

‘Good girl.’ He says. Heat rushes through you at the words, your breath catching in your throat. Frankie’s movements falter only slightly before he’s reaching up again to screw the detector back in. You stare at his belly, the coarse hair, and try to think of anything but nuzzling your nose against the skin, breathing him in, unbuttoning his jeans, taking his cock in your mouth, thinking about what he’d look like, what he’d feel like, what he’d taste like, whether it would be as good as what you’d imagined in the shower -

Frankie steps down from the ladder, prizing your hands off the metal, folding it shut and carrying it back out the room.

‘All done.’ He says.

You run a hand through your hair, pinching the bridge of your nose. Jesus.

You take a seat at the dining room table, and when Frankie joins you, you drink your coffee in near silence.

At work, later that evening, you shut yourself in the bathroom during your break. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds when you make yourself come, embarrassingly quick, to thoughts of what might have happened if you’d kissed Frankie’s stomach on the ladder. The uncomfortable ache in your core barely sated, your panties soaked, you try to do anything to distract yourself for the rest of the shift. Anything to keep your hands busy.

And in his bed, later that night, when he’s sure you must be asleep, Frankie takes his cock in his hand again. It doesn’t take him long, guiltily indulging in what he’d seen from the crack in the bathroom door. He comes with a quiet groan and a whisper of your name, wishing that you were there to lick the salt off his chest.

He falls asleep to thoughts of you, like he has done from the night you met.

---

A week passes, and Frankie's pretty sure he's going insane.

He can’t shower without picturing the way you had stood there, moaning and gasping. He can’t stop thinking of the way you had looked at him on the ladder, the way you’d looked at him sat on Will’s porch. He has to jerk off at least twice a day, and aside from it being a fucking inconvenience, he’s beginning to feel like a creep.

He thinks he needs to get laid.

There’s a girl you work with - Tasha - who gave Frankie her number not long after you started living together. She was pretty, nice enough, but Frankie hadn’t been looking for anything, and he certainly didn’t want to shit where you ate. But he texts her anyway. It’s late and sleazy, but she says yes. They meet at a bar, and when they stumble through the front door, you’re already home.

You’re sprawled out on your bed, a joint already rolled, leftovers from work in the fridge, ready to hunker down and fill Frankie in on your day, ready to hear him tell you about his, watch some shit on the television. Tonight felt like a David Attenborough night.

You jump as the front door bangs open, as two sets of feet come tumbling in. Your heart beats loudly in your chest at the noise, at the intrusion, unsure whether you should leap up to defend your roommate or hide. Then you hear the wet sounds of kissing, the low mumble of Frankie’s words, a high-pitched laugh you recognise as the front door shuts and Frankie’s opens.

You wait with baited breath, somehow unable to believe what is happening. Your fingers flutter on your chest, anxiously pressing the skin there.

Frankie’s never brought anyone home before. You don’t quite know what to do with yourself.

You’ve also never quite thought about how thin the wall is between your bedroom and his.

The realisation makes your skin flush, heated even more when you hear the mumbles and groans from the other side of the wall. Frankie saying something in a language you don’t understand, and Tasha’s breathy reply.

You don’t know how long you listen for, frozen on your mattress as you listen to the creak of Frankie’s bed, the whines and moans falling from them. The low timber of Frankie’s speech sinks itself into the centre of your body, heating and melting. You close your eyes as you try to pick out what he’s saying, as you listen for his panting breaths, his low moans. You can feel your underwear growing wet with slick, your body tightening - hot - and then Tasha cries out.

The sound shocks you from your reverie, shame, annoyance imploring your body to move. You raise up on your knees and pound your fist against the wall. Everything falls silent.

You breathe deeply for a moment before Frankie says something quietly, answered only by Tasha’s low giggle. Your tongue feels like ash in your throat as they both say a couple more things, more laughs pouring through the wall before you’re up, pulling on a hoodie over your tank top, leaving your room.

There’s another shock of silence as Frankie and Tasha hear you moving, but you’re already pulling your trainers on. You can hear Frankie say something on the other side of his door, can hear it getting louder as he moves towards it, but you’re slamming the front door closed before he can intercept you.

Your Uber ride is quiet, seething. You chew your lip, clench and unclench your fists. Your phone buzzes in your grip several times, but you don’t check it.

When you reach the low, suburban house with the cacti out front, you waste no time worrying about whether you look pretty enough. Because he’s always said you are on the nights when he’s had too much to drink.

You should know better before you raise your hand to knock. But you don’t spare a second thought as your knuckles rap against the wood. You shut down all other thoughts as the door swings open, him knowing exactly when to expect you as soon as you’d called. Something about military training and timing.

‘Hey.’ Benny says, standing in the doorway, moving aside to let you pass.

‘Hey.’ You smile back at him as you step into his house, toeing off your trainers, stripping yourself of your hoodie.

Benny eyes you hungrily as you stand before him in your tank top. You feel the heat coil in your belly again as he steps towards you, the slick in your underwear pooling as he kisses you hard and hot and open mouthed, as you tangle your hands in his hair, as you scratch at the bare skin of his hip beneath his top. You moan against him when you feel him already hard at your stomach.

‘Bed.’ He growls.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal x reader #peach pit #tommy's party #you and your friends #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #Spotify

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dduane · 8 months

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Judging books by their covers

Having spent the morning reading the notes on this post (and reading them, and reading them...), I realized I really needed to get to grips with a piece of work I'd been avoiding.

Some of you may remember me mentioning that the Young Wizards website's longtime ISP went out of business suddenly in July, necessitating the site's hasty relocation to a new home. In the process a lot of its internal URLs ceased to operate correctly, meaning that files weren't displaying. (As I was quickly reminded when looking for the original David Wiesner art for So You Want To Be A Wizard at 01:30 last night.)

Anyway, I just wound up spending the day rescanning book covers for the Young Wizards publication history page, and was reminded of some favorites while getting the work done. (And a note for the interested: if there's any particular cover from an English-language edition of the YW books that interests you, or you think the sight of one might jog your memory somehow, that page is where you'll find the images. Use the tabs under the header image to take you through the history of publishers and artists.)

Meanwhile, being reminded of what happened to the covers for So You Want To... alone is both funny and a bit sobering. Styles change, formats change, art directors change. Sometimes the covers get a lot better, and sometimes they, uh, don't. Look at the difference in styles alone among these, for example.

Most of the time the writer gets to take what they're given, and like it. Sometimes, though, they get to give advice.

Here, for example, is one time that happened.

This is for the UK hardcover of the first of the Feline Wizards books. The artist, Mick Posen, is a cat person... and he insisted on having pictures of the cats who inspired the NY worldgating team before he started painting. Just look at these three, especially Rhiow there in the foreground. Is this a hero, or what? :)

Here's one that caused a little controversy.

The question of the day: Is Nita wearing anything? And if so, what?

The art won Greg Swearingen a silver Spectrum Award for that Deep Wizardry painting. But he and my then-editor on the series, Michael Stearns, apparently got into it a little regarding a conflict between the text and the necessities of painting a YA cover. If I remember correctly, I think Greg was holding out for "She's not wearing anything in the text in this situation, she just turned human again after changing back from being a whale, she shouldn't be wearing anything here!" and Michael was saying "But the parents, what if we freak out the parents...!" ...Eventually it seems like some kind of compromise was achieved. Swirly light = magic, or something. (shrug) Not my problem. It's a lovely cover.

About this one I have, well, mixed feelings. At this end of time, the art looks clunky. Yet this is also my first bestseller. When the SF Book Club published this omnibus, Support Your Local Wizard quickly set records as their single most-requested item of all time for new members just signing up. Its print run ran to more than 250,000 copies, and it remained constantly in print until the Book Club itself ended.

I've always been fond of this one for Deep Wizardry, and also of the one the artist, Neal McPheeters, did for the Dell Yearling and Dell mass market paperback editions of So You Want To... . There's a solid quality to both of them, but the second one in particular, that appeals to me.

(For those in the notes on that other post who reacted immediately to Kit's antenna: This is one of the reasons why it features—along with one of Nita's wands from the rowan tree Liused—on all the covers of the revised/updated Young Wizards New Millennium Editions. I've seen a lot of memories jogged by its appearance.)

...Do I have a favorite favorite one of all these covers? As usual, it's hard to pick. But I have to admit that I smile, at the moment, when looking at this one—Greg Swearingen’s art again—since in a couple of weeks it'll be the fortieth anniversary of So You Want To Be A Wizard's publication.

We'll see what the publisher does for the fiftieth. :)

#Young Wizards #Young Wizards series #covers

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piratefalls · 5 months

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i'm back with a header i like a lot more. this one's a little shorter than usual, but still has a little of everything. also, instead of individual links we've graduated to a masterlist!

masterlist.

you've ruined my life (by not being mine) by coffeecatsme

“I have a secret,” Alex whispers in his ear—he’s sprawled over Henry on the couch, calves and thighs and chests pressed together, breath washing over Henry’s skin. “I shouldn’t tell you.” “Oh?” Alex nods vehemently. “Can’t lose you,” he murmurs, fingertips on Henry’s face, and Christ that touch is deadly. “Can’t tell you I love you. You’d leave.” Henry stares. “Oh.”

i speak in grey (to match the shades on the inside of my brain) by sticktothescript

He spends all of that week researching what non-binary means, but he pointedly ignores the squirming feeling of excitement in his chest. He’s just curious, that’s all. That’s all it can be. He’s lived his whole life as a man. He’s the First Son. There’s no room for testing boundaries when the people need him. --- or; a 5+1 of Alex Claremont-Diaz exploring gender identity

And The Show Goes On by orestespdf

For the second time that evening, a hand suddenly smacks his shoulder. Henry looks up, expecting Philip, but instead he is greeted with a smarmy smile. Henry’s stomach drops at the sight of the man who stands behind him. “Christopher,” Philip laughs. His brother stands, and he and the man shake hands vigorously above Henry’s head. Henry wants to melt into his seat and disappear. “I’m so glad you could make it. Henry, you remember my mate, Christopher Lewis?” Henry stares down at the intricately folded napkin in front of him. Christopher Lewis: 2011 St Andrews graduate, former head of the Eton rugby club, excellent skier, wine aficionado. Seven years older than Henry. Green eyes. Nice shoulders. Yes, Henry remembers Christopher Lewis. He wishes he didn’t. After years of not seeing him, Henry runs into Philip's old friend again. Fallout ensues.

heartbeats under coats by HypnosTheory

Alex, a DC lawyer on his way back from a work trip, is stranded in New York after a freak blizzard grounds all flights. He gets the last available hotel room on the island, but a freak error means the room is double booked. Unwilling to leave the other stranded, both men agree to share the room and wait out the blizzard together.

don't just give it up. by smc_27

Alex checks the flight path for the 12th time this minute, and then rolls his eyes and groans. Amy, next to him, opens one eye. He apologizes wordlessly and tries to stop being so fucking antsy. Look. Look. He’s got something - someone - fucking perfect waiting for him across the Atlantic. If anyone knew what exactly he’s flying to, they’d speed the plane the fuck up and get him there.

this moment in time by rizcriz

She moves away from the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “What did you do, Alex?” He turns back to the table and puts his hands in his hair as he leans over the cup of coffee. “I made Henry a christmas card, and snuck it into his bag before he left for London.” “Okay?” “I may have used it as a vessel to confess my feelings for him.” He says it fast, almost too quickly to be understood, but June’s had a lifetime of translating Alex-speak, and he hears her quick intake of breath and pulls his hands from his hair to look over his shoulder at her. -- Or, it's a New Years to remember.

when the silence screams by teacupivy

Today, Henry comes home to a stillness that’s out of place in the usually bustling December air. It's only a little disconcerting. or Alex is incredibly frustrated with the state of life and Henry offers to get on his knees.

i dream of our odyssey by violetbaudelairequagmire

Alex rests his elbows on the counter of the small cafe attached to Bankston’s Books, enjoying the quiet period in between the morning stay-at-home-mom-crying-toddler storytime crowd and the rush of college students that appear in the afternoon. It’s only a couple hours, but it’s nice to have that time with just a few black coffees in between the rush of “pumpkin spice latte and a cakepop” and “quad shot espressos and keep them coming” that dominate the busy periods at the bookstore. He’s not complaining though- he loves this job. He gets a discount on books, no one cares how much coffee he drinks in a shift, and, in the last couple of weeks, he’s had a great view of the new guy quietly shelving books. it's a bookstore au!

Shatter Me by politics_and_prose

Henry is resigned to the life he's meant to lead until he meets a man so full of happiness and life that he's got no choice but to confront the secret he's been keeping for years.

Singularity by OrchidScript

"Henry didn’t try to resist. He’d lost his capacity for it the moment his scruffy looking nerf herder had stood in the White House press room and called Henry his choice. Under the onslaught of purposeful dragging of fingernails, featherlight touches under tables, the pink-bitten promise of more, Henry abandoned all defense. He willingly succumbed to his fiancé’s heated breath and honeyed words." The boys find inspiration in a hotel room armchair.

In Every Universe by clottedcreamfudge

Alex and Henry will find each other in every universe. A series of either explicitly or implicitly soulmate-themed AUs, which are all heading in one very specific direction.

You Remind Me of Home by athousandrooms & ifyoustay

Henry had taken the news that he was being summoned to England early much worse than Alex had. He'd left him with a million apologies on his lips. Alex had swallowed them all with a parting kiss and the promise of seeing him on the 23rd, knowing full well that no matter how much as much as he wished to, he couldn’t afford to travel with him during finals season of his first year of Law School. It's been a week, and Alex... Alex would give anything to have Henry here. But, all's well that ends well, as they say.

well we're not here to fuck ducks by stutteringpeach

Henry is looking for someone to help him with his duck study. He makes quite a serious typo in his 'All Staff' email.

with my name on your lips, tell me how does it taste by viciouslyqueer

“I don’t think anyone will be offended if two... very close friends decide to try it out, H. I certainly won’t.” Alex laughs when Henry fixes him with a half-hearted glare. “And you felt the need to track me down and show me this on a random Tuesday morning because...” Henry trails off with a perfectly arched brow. It’s infuriatingly attractive. Alex braces himself on the table and leans in, stopping with his mouth an inch away from Henry’s ear. He can almost hear him holding his breath. “Because I want to take my time with you, sweetheart,” Alex whispers sweetly. “And this is the perfect opportunity.”

Don't - Don't You Want Me? by absoluteaudacity

Alex is bad at communicating sometimes.

(you might be) someone i could love by weather_stained

(...or you're just somebody I fucked once.) After Henry has an anonymous one-night stand at a party, he can't stop thinking about the boy with the beautiful brown eyes and messy curls. Months later, Pez scores them an invitation to spend Thanksgiving weekend with June Claremont-Diaz, her girlfriend, and her brother, at her family's lakehouse. It could be the second chance he's been looking for, or he could be stuck hopelessly pining for someone who only ever wanted sex.

Locked In by allmylovesatonce

After their night together in Paris, Henry and Alex get quarantined in their hotel, locked in for two full weeks.

hours by demigodbeautiies

Although the White House is fast, the British press is faster. It has to be a leak. An accident. A screw up. There's no way a story like this would be allowed to break if anyone had actual control over the situation. Perhaps the entire headline is wrong, and the agonising lurch in Henry's stomach is for nothing. He reads it again. BREAKING: Son of US President Ellen Claremont abducted, held hostage. Watch for LIVE updates.

Forty-Four Days by bleedingballroomfloor

"God, I haven't seen you in forty-four days," Alex suddenly spits, and Henry feels the pain of his words in his own chest, like ice replacing the blood in his veins. Because that's it, isn't it? Forty-four days of separation. Forty-four days of waking up to an empty bed, of making coffee along with his tea only to realize that Alex isn't there to drink it, of long meetings without any of Alex's witty jokes, of cold hands on chilly autumn walks because Alex isn't there to warm them up. Maybe it's the simple fact of hearing for the first time, or maybe it's the tipping point of the taxing day, but Henry feels something inside of him snap, and — And all he knows is that he needs to see Alex now.

Hope is a Five-Alarm Fire by AnchoredArchangel

“I’m just saying- we know you, Alejandro. I've ran the odds and with your personal history of decision-making and impulse control, there’s a less than four percent chance you of all people didn’t shoot your shot. Even if he’s in the closet. Even if he’s supposedly straight. Even if he’s a prince. You love a good story.” Doesn’t he ever. Too bad he’s never going to get the chance to tell this one. Or: Alex returns to real life after crossing the actual Prince of England off his totally superfluous valid No Consequences Sex List. It does not go quite like he expected.

Wrap Me Up, Unfold Me by @sparklepocalypse

After the Kensington confrontation, Henry gets on the plane with Alex. (Or, Henry and Alex join the Mile High Club in filthy, spectacular fashion.)

Shameless by everwitch

Henry has a lot of sex. A lot. He's young and in college and there is no shortage of men to fall in bed with. What better time to explore what he likes and what he fucking loves, as well as to catalogue how to make his many, many partners feel as good as possible? It’s all part of the learning experience. And Henry is a very dedicated student. Alex has been inescapably aware of Henry ever since that one time they kissed. You don’t just stop being aware of the guy who basically caused your sexuality. So when Henry propositions Alex at a lame frat party, Alex accepts eagerly. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. Maybe, if he can just have Henry once, he’ll have a better chance of finally getting over his embarrassing fixation with Henry. It's worth a try.

3/4ths Cup of Love by inexplicablymine

“What the fuck are you doing with my pinto beans?” “It says I need them for pie weights.” “Hell no, baby, sweetheart. Over my dead body are you using the beans I use for mole for your quiche recipe. I would like us to eat these.” “Hey!” “If you put my beans in the oven, I will make it so you can’t possibly ever put a bun in the oven.” “Noted.” Or, The ups and downs of Henry learning how to perfect his quiche recipe.

A Practical Arrangement by kiwiana

“I know.” In fairness, he didn’t ask his mom to delay the wedding after the betrothal was made official when he turned eighteen. It wasn’t that she expected another option to materialise—he’s pretty sure she was trying to give him and Henry more time to get to know each other, maybe move past their open animosity a little. They’ve been pushed together every few months for the last three years, their marriage an inevitability. “I just… I still can’t quite get my head around it, you know? Married. To Henry.”

if you ever want me to tag you, let me know!

tagging: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

#rwrb #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfiction #firstprince #firstprince fic #red white and royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #rwrb rec list

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n7punk · 11 days

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Adventures in unlicensed buffoonary! Recently this SPOP "Trivia book" got listed on Ebay, which was baffling to me both because I had never seen it before and because it was listed for two hundred fucking dollars

My gut instinct was "this isn't real" because again, I'm a freak who knows all these things, and yeah I can confirm this is bullshit.

Clayton Gallagher makes himself scarce online (probably to hide out from the lawyers), so I couldn't find any social media or a website for him - not to mention it's the name of a character from one of the Shameless shows to fuzz the radar - but he seems to exclusively create "trivia" and activity books based on random popular... things. Mostly shows (Trollhunters, the Amazing World of Gumball, etc) but also some... other things (Dolly Parton for some reason??).

He has created not one, but FOUR trvia books for She-ra, all using stolen/promotional art but that carefully never include any official endorsement or mention of Dreamworks, Netflix, Mattel, or Filmation. I'm highly convinced these things were written with AI, mostly due to things like the below excerpt from the first book's summary:

Like. Jesus christ. Maybe it's just a second language thing but the lack of spaces screams machine bullshit and we'll look at the insides later.

Okay so the first book came out on August 19th 2021 (another reason I lean towards AI) and features the debut season art. All the others came out on August 20th 2021 (literally a day later) and feature the season two art, stolen licensed book cover art (from Island of the Magical Creatures), and the season four teaser art (Rebellion variant).

I can only find these things available as e-books but apparently, supposedly, this one eBay seller has a rare physical paperback, which surely must make it worth 270$. I fully don't believe this is a real paperback unless it was self-printed. I think you either get a shitty slapped-together print out or a puff of smoke if you order this.

Now lets get into the stunning content. They all start with the cover art and then the same incredibly generic header

After about two seconds of investigation I see this is a pattern with all his trivia books across franchises. They all start like this and have identical copyright pages as well. Instead of taking four screenshots to show content is identical, just trust me from here on out everything is exactly the same across the She-ra books, including chapter headings, formatting, and trivia questions. These are just cover swaps.

The final chapters cut off here are "Chapter 6" and "See you later", neither of which has a page number. Again, this awkward phrasing is either written by AI or the author is ESL and I'm pretty 50/50 split on which. Let's get into the "trivia" and see if it solves it, shall we?

So. A couple things.

Yes, it DOES have a fill-in the blank for you to write your name even though this was clearly intended to be primarily, if not exclusively, an e-book. That's bold innovation!

They start off strong with a misspelling of quiz in the fucking header.

The formatting is godawful (point to AI for inconsistency, any human would see the obvious problems here as they work - or if they cared enough to glance at the output, which they clearly don't. Why is there a random A. out of nowhere?).

The trivia questions are awful (is She-ra an America streaming show? You think this counts as trivia that a kid - the obvious target demographic - wants to know? Second, I KNOW you're saying streaming because you're so scared of the word Netflix but somehow you're not worried about using the show logo and literally stealing the promotional art for the cover?).

The trivia answers are awful. Mama? Really? Maria is the only kind of good option because it's close to Mara to trip kids up or whatever, but also none of these are "other names" for She-ra! Adora and Mara are people who bear the title of She-ra, but you can't say "Genocide Joe" is another name for president, that's not how titles work! If you wanted to use this question, the answer would be "Princess of Power".

(Also lol at the answer key for question 2 now being wrong. Shit that might have been wrong at the time, when did Nate choose a new name? 2021? 2022? All those years blur together).

Okay I know you've all been on the edge of your seat about that last question cut off at the bottom of the page and yes, it is as factually wrong as you're expecting, and only gets worse as we settle firmly into the "AI" territory.

More lists because jesus christ.

Everyone knows Adora is She-ra. This is not a secret. The answer is every member of the Rebellion and most random citizens. 5 is equally stupid given yes, they never existin the same space at the same time, but people always watch Adora transform before their eyes. The grammar is also bad, but whatever, this does segue into the next questions.

Question six is when it becomes obvious what happened: the writer fed prompts into an AI without fact-checking anything and the AI gave back answers related both to the reboot and to the original. He-man canonically does not exist - he isn't just not mentioned for legal reasons, Mattel said he straight up could not exist or ever be hinted at (due to not existing) - in SPOP. 7 is once again completely untrue in the reboot. Adora came through a portal - not necessarily kidnapped, not from Eternia, and again, no Adam

Why is only Sunna's name in black for question 9. Mostly shocked they spelled her name right.

Things somehow manage to fall apart even more in the final remaining questions available in the Kindle preview sample!

Genuinely have no idea what the answer to 15 is supposed to be. "What is the original country of SPOP have?" isn't a sentence. All I can figure is you're supposed to pick America as it's the country of origin, but I don't trust this book to even have an answer key at the end, so who knows. All that said, Earth was canon in the original, so this might be (intended to be) related to the 80s series.

The Cure took me out.

Okay but Adora isn't leading the "Great" Rebellion!! She's definitely a major leader on the field, but the answer is Angella! There is no correct option here! If they said "the Princess Alliance" I would let that go because you could argue she is the leader of the Princesses, but the rebellion? No, that's the whole military and Angella/Glimmer lead that.

17. THE ANSWER IS ANGELLA. I fully do not believe you're supposed to pick false here, this is not a trick question, they're just wrong (see question above for evidence they're stupid)

They don't even call it the Great Rebellion in the reboot....

The sample ran out and I'm not paying money to feed this AI bullshit but I don't expect it to improve from here.

Anyway this was an interesting display of Bullshit and fuck AI generated books fr

#words and things

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i-me-mine · 1 year

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𝙈𝙧. 𝙁𝙞𝙭 𝙞𝙩 | 𝙀𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Header done by the loveliest soul in the world @aftermidnightwriting Thank you! 💜 Older!Eddie pic is from by the incredibly talented @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Summary: Moving to a new home after your divorce meant having a house requiring a lot of repairs - and Eddie, who was once your crush, was the helpful staff member of the hardware store that would help you fix what was broken.

Word count: 3.3k

My Masterlist | AO3

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

As you entered the hardware store for the first time, a strong smell of sawdust and paint filled your nose, and the store was quieter than you expected. At a glance, you saw some of the things you were looking for, nails, screws, a hammer… but you know that to get everything on your list, you would need help.

It shouldn’t be a problem, right? Except it was. The only employee you saw around was sitting behind the counter, discreetly eating a donut while checking what seemed to be a catalog or an order book, wearing an apron with the nametag written “Eddie”. Not that it was needed; you would recognize those curls anywhere.

He glanced up, greeting you. “Welcome to Boyd Hardware Store. How can I help you today?”

He didn’t recognize you. You felt your chest heavy, reminding yourself he had no reason to remember you.

The last time you spoke was still burned in your mind. You were just a stupid girl asking the Corroded Coffin guitarist to go with you to the Junior Prom and being rejected.

You knew that Eddie despised those school events, but you had a crush on him, and back then, it seemed like a good idea, but the outcome left a bad taste in your mouth.

You swore that no one would reject you again; you started cheerleading, and as you joined the popular circles, you and Eddie grew apart as he was seen as the town freak, and you never spoke again. You hated to admit that even over a decade later, you never got over his rejection.

“What can I do for you?” Eddie insisted, staring at you intently.

Blood flushed your cheeks as you noticed how weird you were acting, standing there silently. The back of your hand rubbed against your forehead to clean the sweat forming. While you wished you could blame the hot weather, it wasn’t even that hot - the matter was that you felt like a spotlight was focused on you, waiting for you to mess up. It was stupid to be so self-conscious, and you knew that, but learning how to deal with everything alone was not getting easier with time. Finally, you took a deep breath and opened the piece of paper that contained your shopping list, which was already crumpled from being handled so much.

“Would you help me get these, please?” you handed over the list to him, wishing that it wasn’t in such a deplorable state.

His eyes scanned the list, and he turned to get a shopping cart, nodding for you to follow him while he entered the aisles, starting to pick the items listed, occasionally asking if you had any preference, while you just answered with a shrug.

“So the happy couple is getting a house renovation…” he teased.

“Something like that,” you shyly replied, your right hand instinctively reaching out to the finger on your left hand where your wedding ring used to be. So he did remember you after all; he just didn’t know how your life had turned upside down recently.

“I never imagined I would see you here; I thought you’d hire contractors or something like that to get things done.”

“No, I’ll do it all by myself,” you replied, staring at your hands.

“I cannot picture you as a do-it-yourselfer at all; I’m afraid that’s too much for you. I’m not sure if you can make it…” he said quickly, smirking, and you felt that he was laughing at you.

‘For Christ’s sake, Eddie! I don’t even have a choice! I’m all alone and don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t need you to tell me I’ll fail; my mirror already tells me that every day; thank you very much!”

You bit the inside of your cheek and shut your eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling; the feelings of rejection and insufficient filled your body and itched your legs, fueling them to run away from there. The warm touch of his hand on your shoulder stopped you, and when you opened your eyes, his chocolate button eyes filled with concern were looking straight into you.

“Hey, I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mean to upset you. Shit, that was awful. I was trying to make you laugh. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay, Eddie; we don’t talk anymore. You couldn’t have known,” you murmured, embarrassed.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak but closed it again without saying anything, with a conflicted look. He finished taking your items and helped you wrap them when your fingers touched. You felt an odd exhilarating shiver run through you. You withdrew your hand, embarrassed.

“My shift ends in 15 minutes. I can give you a ride home, so you don’t ha-”

“I’d hate to be a burden, Eddie,” you interrupted him.

“You won’t be. Please, let me take you home.” he tried to infuse his ask with as much sincerity as he could and opened a big smile when you agreed.

You haven’t noticed how much you craved to have a normal conversation with another human being until being in the car with Eddie. At first, you were worried that there would be an awkward silence during the ride, but being apart for years meant that there were a lot of stories yet to be told, and the atmosphere was like you were still just two kids having fun and laughing.

The sudden car stop at your door brought you back to your reality. You were genuinely having a good time in what seemed to be forever and didn’t want it to end.

“Wanna come in? For a coffee, a beer, or something?” you wondered if he would notice that you were desperate for his company or would just think you were being polite.

“Sure!” he rejoiced, picking up your bags and following you to your door, happily entering right after you. “Wow, where are your things?” his voice echoed in the empty house.

You were so blind by your excitement of having Eddie tag along that you forgot that your house was in no condition to receive guests, with little furniture and scattered boxes.

“He left me empty-handed. I was able to get my personal stuff, but no more than that… I… I lost everything.”

Sadness sinked its claws into your heart and filled you with the pain of having wasted years of your life in a failed marriage and being left with nothing, not knowing how to move on. You could feel your body curling in as the shivers that loneliness caused you started to appear again until a wave of warmth and coziness invaded you: Eddie’s arms wrapped around you. The comforting feeling of his hand petting your hair and breaking down the walls you’ve built to appear strong.

He kissed the top of your head, whispering that it was okay, that you’re not alone right now, and you allowed yourself to cry, to be vulnerable for the first time in ages. The weight of life has been too much for you, but Eddie, in these few moments you’ve shared, seemed like a ray of sunshine chasing away the dark clouds that have populated your life for so long, and you decided to enjoy it while it lasts.

“The house is not that bad; it just needs some love, some repairs here and there… we can do it! We can go to the thrift shop later and get you some nice furniture...”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘we’?” you interrupted him.

“You and me. I’m your neighbor; my house is just down there, so it’ll be easy to come here to help.”

“You don’t have to.” you countered without thinking.

“But I want to. If you allow me, of course.” his smile was so contagious that you just mirrored it, agreeing with it.

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

For the following weeks, you threw yourself into the house repairs, with Eddie stopping by almost daily to help you with something. You were in the middle of the room, surrounded by paint cans, brushes, and drop cloths - You had decided to face the daunting task of painting the walls, but instead of being scared of it, you were both grinning from ear to ear. It was so much easier to face life having Eddie by your side!

Your fingers brushed very briefly, and you felt that current zapping again through you like a shock. You gasped involuntarily as you felt it going all the way down to somewhere deep inside you. Eddie had his sleeves rolled up and his hair in a wild bun, and you couldn’t help but notice how big his biceps were, the details of his tattoos, and how cute he looked with the small curls that the bun couldn’t hold falling on his face, imagining how it would feel to be in his arms or to touch his face, his hair…

“Hey, sweetheart, let’s get to work; I’m not painting this alone!” he chuckled while pressing play on the radio, metal being the soundtrack for your work.

You wondered if he noticed that you were daydreaming about his beauty but decided to focus on the task, brushing into the paint and spreading it across the wall. He followed you, filling the spaces you missed, you both working together in a kind of synchronicity, moving around each other, laughing as you painted, as Eddie pretended to play guitar using the paint roller, and occasionally, you had fun painting each other instead of the walls.

As the work progressed, you were more and more covered in paint, your clothes and faces splattered with colorful splotches, but you didn’t care; you were having too much fun. You danced around each other, singing along to the radio and making jokes as you painted.

When you finally finished, the room was transformed, and you were both tired but happy. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, taking out and sorting some things still in boxes.

“What kind of filthy things you hide here, huh?” his lips quirked up in a half smile. Eddie was holding one small box with “Do not open” written on its side.

You tried to take it from him, but he was already opening it. Photos, music tapes, cards, drawings… that box contained many things from when you were young that you locked there and did not allow yourself to look back on anymore.

“Is this what I think it is? Have you kept it?” he asked while holding pieces of wood.

“Yes…” you murmured, burying your face into your hands, ashamed.

Many years ago, you were paired with Eddie during an art and craft activity in school. You created a wooden heart piece that he painted, transforming it into a flaming heart. “It will look more metal,” he said. Later he also drew the corroded coffin logo and signed it, giving it to you as a gift.

Unfortunately, you mistakenly took it as a sign that he liked you, which got you the courage to ask him to the Junior Prom. He reacted very badly, you discussed, and when you pushed him in a moment of anger, you dropped the heart, and it broke into pieces, the same pieces that he was holding now. You kept those pieces because they represented how heartbroken you were that day.

“I was so stupid… I got scared. It’s not an excuse, I know… believe me, I would change it if I could.” He put the box aside and gently tried to hold your hands, to pull them away from your face. “I lost you that day, didn’t I?”

“It’s in the past, Eddie. We were just teenagers; it doesn’t matter anymore.” you let go of his hand and stood up. “I think we both deserve a rest. Thanks for the help.” you left the room, running to your bedroom before he could see the tears in your eyes.

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

You regretted later the way you reacted. There were not many house repairs left, which already made you worry that he would stop coming to see you after it was done, and you were afraid that you just gave him more reasons not to come back. But the next day, he was at your door, happy to continue helping as if nothing had happened. The final touches were done, you had lunch, and he went to complete the last fix needed.

You stood in the doorway, watching Eddie work diligently to repair a broken shelf. The way his muscles flexed while lifting the heavy tools and materials was mesmerizing for you. Despite the sweat on his brow and the dirt on his hands, he was still gorgeous.

You were captivated by how the light streamed through the window and illuminated his body. You couldn’t help but notice how his curls caught the sunlight, how much you wanted to run your hand through his hair, how his eyes sparkled with concentration, and how his smile lit up his face when he finally fixed the shelf.

You could barely remember the pain and the loneliness that you felt when you had to move to that house. But meeting Eddie again changed everything; his company made you feel happier, lighted the weight of the hardships of life, he made you feel like life could be great again.

At that moment, you felt overwhelmed with gratitude and admiration for him. You felt lucky to have him, someone who was strong, capable, kind, and caring. As he wiped his hands on a rag and turned to you with a smile, you felt your heart swell with love and appreciation.

“Thank you, Eddie,” You said, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re amazing.”

He chuckled and pulled you close, holding you tight. You then felt that strange sensation in your chest, your heart beating faster than usual, the fluttering in your stomach. You try to push the feeling aside, telling yourself it was just the excitement of seeing things done and Eddie being friendly to you.

But as he pulled away and looked at you, You saw something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. There was a tenderness there, a warmth that you had never noticed before or maybe have not allowed yourself to see it - and you realized that you were really in love with him.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You tried hard to shield your heart against it, but it had no use. You felt torn between your feelings for him, the knowledge that he might not feel the same way, and the fact that he already broke your heart once. You wanted to tell him how you felt, to pour out your heart, hoping that he would feel the same, but you were also afraid of ruining what you have built together recently, of losing him again if he didn’t feel the same way.

“I need to go now… but would you let me take some of that lasagna home?”

You smiled and hurried to the kitchen to pack his lunch leftovers. When you came back, he was already at the front door. As you said your goodbyes, you walked back inside, and he walked away. You then stood there momentarily, noticing an addition to the repaired shelf.

The wooden heart from your childhood stood there in one piece, with a card next to it. You recognized Eddie’s handwriting, which has not improved over the years: “Here I am, trying to glue your little heart back together.”

You were not sure if he realized how much this meant to you. You felt lost and confused, afraid to be once again misinterpreting the signs. You knew you had a decision to make but didn’t know what to do. All you know is that you have never felt this way before.

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

You had been nervous all day, your stomach hurting each time you thought about telling Eddie how you felt. So when he showed up in the afternoon suggesting watching a movie, you accepted it, thinking that this would give you more time to plan what to do.

It turned out that it wasn’t such a good idea. You couldn’t concentrate on the movie, feeling again that familiar electric current that seemed to happen between you two. Once in a while, you glanced in his direction, and he didn’t look relaxed either. You felt an overwhelming craving to touch him that was not fading, but you made an effort to keep your hands holding a cushion until you mustered up the courage to talk to him.

“ThankYouForTheHeart,” you said quickly, and it sounded like it was a single word.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. D-Did you like it?” he turned his body to look at you, ignoring the TV altogether.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with a serious expression.

“Yes. But I have to tell you something.” your voice shook slightly. “I already made this mistake once; I won’t do it again.”

Eddie looked surprised and took a moment to process what you had just said. You notice the sadness in his eyes as he starts looking down. Then, he takes your hand, and you feel the warmth and connection you longed for.

“I understand…” he said softly. “I blew my chance years ago, I know… but it was worth trying again.”

“Wait, no. I have not finished” You shake your head, your eyes filling with tears. “My mistake was assuming things and never coming to talk to you about how I felt.”

You took another deep breath and raised his head so he could look at you and told him, your voice barely above a whisper, “I love you, Eddie. And I’m scared as hell about it.”

Eddie gently squeezed your hands and smiled a warm, affectionate smile that made your heart skip a beat. “I love you too. Maybe I always have; I just didn’t realize or had the courage to admit it until now.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You were afraid of confessing your feelings, but he said he loved you too. You sat silently for a moment, both lost in your thoughts and emotions.

“I don’t want to rush things if you are not ready,” he said. “But I also don’t want to hide how I feel. I care about you too much to stay away.”

Your face lit up with joy as Eddie leaned forward to kiss you. You smiled into the kiss and cupped his cheeks as you kissed him back. Unlike other kisses you had before, kissing Eddie seemed natural and comforting.

Your lips molded into each other, finding a perfect rhythm, and soon you were opening up, breathing him in, and letting him kiss you dizzy. You kissed with a tenderness and passion that you have never experienced before, feeling as if you had just discovered a love that was both new and familiar.

“You deserve more than being loved by a broken girl with a broken heart, Eddie.”

“I thought you would have noticed by now, sweetheart… If it’s broken, I can fix it.”

You then kissed him fiercely, grabbing his shirt to tug him closer. But, instead of satisfying you, the kisses had the opposite effect of increasing your need for him. He skipped his hand under your shirt and traced his fingers over your abdomen, and you felt as if you were melting into him as he held you closer and closer while exploring each inch of your body.

You didn’t want him to stop. And he didn’t.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fic #eddie munson friends to lovers

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whorekneecentral · 2 years

Text

mick schumacher masterlist

all blurbs are listed from oldest to newest - oldest being on the top and newest on the bottom. // it’ll be updated as I post!

header by @stuffspaddock

“are you trying to turn me on ?” & “don’t be so rough, there can’t be any marks”

gazing into each other’s eyes during sex when you make love instead of just hooking up for the first time

“don't wear a skirt to dinner unless you want to be fingered under the table and fucked in the bathroom”

yacht day with mick

morning after

“is that my hoodie?”

phone sex

breeding kink

mick forgets to lock the door and angie interrupts

first time as a married couple at home

mick distracting you while reading

discovering your praise kink ft. miss angie

“you wanna do this right now? even thought we could get caught?”

save a horse, ride a cowboy

teasing mick during his press conference

mick punishing you when he gets home ^part 2

freak in the sheets, gentleman in the streets

based on “so it goes” by t.swift

making out on his motorcycle

getting caught by his friends

getting caught by his friends pt.2

girlboss!reader x soft boyfriend!mick + office head

creampie

breeding pt.2

thigh riding at the haas shoot ft. the cowboy hat and the racesuit

the first night we met - world champion!mick

choking

“I want to be ruined a little more than I want to be loved”

“you’re so filthy… all this for me? how cute.” + thigh riding

“don’t pretend to be innocent now” + “spank me then”

caught - tsunoda!reader

don’t touch

“here? with everyone in the next room?”

“be good and i’ll fuck you/let you cum”

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher x reader #f1 smut

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veah10 · 1 year

Text

Candy boy - KEVIN X GN!Reader

For sake of the story, Kevin is tall. No specific height he's just tall 🙏

CW: Face fucking, hair pulling and tugging, and semi-public sex? Not too sure

Guys, it's 5:30 am spare me some mercy on grammar

THIS IS RUSHED PLEASE MY FRIEND WANTED ME TO WRITE THIS 😭😭

—

You knocked on the door of the home with a giddy smile on your face. “ Trick or treat, “ you smiled as the man placed down a couple of jolly ranchers into your bag, “ thanks have a good night!! “ You waddled off with your almost full bag and a happy smile on your face. You always loved this small town for the lack of discrimination of adults trick or treating. You loved doing it as a kid, so you were glad you could still do it now. You stopped in your tracks and glanced around at the houses. A small frown stretched on your face as you walked around different streets a couple of times.

“ Huh... I went to every house. “ You mutter as you blinked. You sighed and looked at your bag. Although it was very full, it was not full enough for your expectations. At least one more house...

You heard an entry bell from a nearby building. You snapped your head around as to your pleasure a lovely candy store stood ahead of you. You grinned as you fumbled around the pockets of your simple costume. You managed to count out 5 dollars with 2 measly bills and a ton of quarters you found on the floor. You scrabbled over to the candy store and looked around. You found recklessly grabbing candy and forgetting things cost money. Once you’ve grabbed yourself a good two handfuls you walked over to the cashier and smiled. Your eyes fluttered as you met eyes with the tall man. You squinted, maybe he’s standing on a stool to be that tall.

“ Uh. What can I help you with? “ the cashier said as he raised a brow. You focused back into reality as you realized you were staring like a weirdo.

“ Oh, I’m sorry. I was just caught by surprise by your height “ you placed your candy on the counter and gave him a soft embarrassed smile. “ I get that a lot believe it or not, “ he muttered as he slowly sorted and counted the candy, “ the weather up here isn’t that different as it is down there. “ He rolled his eyes with a muffled chuckle.

You laughed a bit, glad he left the staring issue in the past. “ Must suck hm? Unless you play basketball or something. “You shrugged and yawned as you looked around the store. It sure was dirty, but what do you expect from a store on a Halloween night? He looked up from the candy and gave an awkward smile,

“ aha... I don’t think I’d be athletically fit for basketball no matter how tall I am. “ He looked very tired. His eyes fell with visible-if-you-look-hard-enough eye bags. You felt pity for him but you kept a small smile. You didn’t wanna freak him out, plus it's almost closing hours for this little candy store anyways.

“ Hah, little candy boy playing basketball. That’d be a header for a story I’d definitely read. “ You joked around as you raises your hand and flapped it around playfully. He frowned and rolled his eyes, “ I’m not some Candy-Boy. “ You lowered your hand and grinned at him. Your eyes met his again, but they didn’t have that awkward feeling as they did before. It was different.

“ Ah but you're a boy that works at a candy store giving me candy. Unless you wanna be a candy-MAN or something. Still the same thing. “ You shrugged as you placed down your candy bag. It was heavy and carrying it around was definitely gonna make you sore tomorrow.

“ Actually, a Candy Man sounds better than a Candy boy, “ he said with a fake annoyed tone, “ Candy boy makes me sound like I'm some scrawny thing “ You squinted at him and stared him up and down, “ the only thing that makes you not scrawny is your height. “ Your observation of him was taken a different way as his eyes widened. He turned away with a nervous sweat.

You blinked a couple of times before yelping with an embarrassing red flush surging across your face.

“ I didn’t mean it like that-! Sorry! “you broke your eye contact with him as you nervously shuffled your feet.

God dammit...

You kept your eyes on your shuffling feet and stapled your mouth shut. He finished calculating the price of your candy and awkwardly said, “ 6.35, please. “ He put your candy in a paper bag and set it on the counter. You felt his gaze on you as you fumbled for your money. You counted your money again and then let out a long groan. “I'm a dollar 35 short! What candy can I remove to limit it to 5 bucks- “

“ Well you can get rid of these, they’re the most expensive of your candies. “ he pointed to (Favorite candy). You closed your eyes and rested your elbows on the counter. You placed your head in your palms and groaned. “ Aww, but those are my favorites- any other candies I can take out? “

“ Well you could take out all of these and then keep those “ He pointed to the other candy you had then back to your favorite candy. “ mmph.. but I like those too! Ugh.. capitalism sucks. “ You groaned before looking at your favorite candy. You might as well get rid of those and find a cheaper candy to fill your bag. Or you would get rid of the filler candy so you could feast on your favorites. But your bag wont be full. Does your bag being full even matte-

“ I could give you it for free if you- “ he hesitated before rubbing the back of his head. “ Do me a small favor. “

You perked up and stared at him with an intrigued glance. You smiled and shrugged. “ It depends on what it is, Candy Boy “

—

And here you are, sitting on your knees as he pushed himself against a wall. You felt dizzy. You can’t believe you were gonna do this for 1.35. You weren’t going to complain either though. You looked up at him as he let out an embarrassed noise looking down at you. You two sat outside in an alleyway. It was quiet with only the sound of crickets and a few occasional chatters of people passing in front of the shop. You took no time to unzip his jeans and let them fall loose to the dirty ground. He placed a hand on top of his mouth as he just let out a shaky breath. He was adorable like this. You ran your hand on his clothed cock as he let out a muffled noise from under his hand. He closed his eyes and tensed up his shoulders. You pulled down his boxers to reveal his length. Of course, it wasn’t abnormally long or large. It was just the perfect size for you to handle. You hesitated for a second. You just met this man, you don't even know his name, and now you're sucking him off in an alleyway behind the store you just met him in.

Eh.. Fuck it. You only live once.

You gave him a small lick under his tip, and that made him let out a startled whimper. Surprised at how sensitive he was, you looked up at him with a grin. You were gonna enjoy this. You wrapped your hand around his base and slowly began to jack him off. As you were doing so you were softly licking and sucking his tip. The teasing made him whine and shift his legs. You let out a grunt and then looked up at him. You didn’t wanna be too rough on him, but if he kept shifting his legs like that it was bound to start getting annoying. You lifted your hands and grabbed his thighs and pushed them against the wall. He let out a yelp from the sudden move, and he opened his eyes and looked down at you with a desperate gaze. You disconnected from his tip and stared up at him with a devious smile. You shifted your head over and began to give him kisses on the side of his cock. He muffled his moans again under his hand as he immediately shut his eyes. He began to slightly shake, and the teasing began to become unbearable for him. You shifted back over to his end and wrapped your lips around it. You gave his tip small licks over and over, you were craving for his reaction.

To your surprise, a free hand found its way to your hair and lightly tugged it forward. it caused you to push some of his cock down into your mouth. You whined at him, but I guess that's enough teasing for now. You began to bob your head slowly, and the Candy Boys' hand guided you while keeping a rough grip. You moaned on his dick and the vibrations made him shiver as he groaned. He began to bob your head faster, and you tried resisting him. But he was quite strength-y and made you bob at a greater speed than before. You licked and sucked him, and you kept your hands roughly on his thighs. He takes control of your head and you control his legs. That's fair enough. You began to get adjusted to the pace and moved your head more aggressively on him. The change of feeling and speed caught him by surprise as he opened his eyes to stare at you again.

“ F-fuck.. “ was all he managed to mutter out as he lifted his head to stare at nothing. You still kept groaning and moaning on his cock, letting those vibrations from your throat rumble on his cock. His groans began to get long and a tad bit louder. You were getting nervous that someone was gonna come around the corner and see this man getting the life sucked out of him.

Then suddenly, he snapped. His grip on your hair tightened as he tugged you forward. The sudden move made your hands loosen from his thighs which let his legs break free. He began to relentlessly fuck your face with no sign of mercy. His hand that muffled his moans moved down to grab your hair. With his two hands grabbing your hair, they kept your head still as he moved his hips to fuck the life and soul out of your face. With the pace he was going at, it wasn’t too long before he slowed down. With his hands, he forced your face forward on his cock and came into your mouth. The sweet yet salty taste of his seed went down your throat, but some came up. He pulled his dick out of your face and let out a relieved sigh.

You turned into a small coughing mess before getting your sense of air back and resting your head on his thigh. You closed your eyes and caught your breath as he just rubbed and massaged your head. After a few good minutes you got up and he straightened his back. He put his dirty pants and boxers on with a disgusted face but he had no choice. You two walked back into the store in silence as you grabbed your big bag of candy AND your cool little paper bag. Suddenly he gasped and took out a paper from in the counter and wrote something on it. He handed you the paper and let out an embarrassed chuckle. You waved him goodbye as you walked out of qthe store with a sore throat. You dumped the contents of the paper bag into your bigger bag. You continued your journey back home and stared at the paper he gave you.

There was his phone number and his name, Kevin.

—

#spooky month kevin #spooky month #spooky month kevin x reader #kevin x reader #spooky month x reader

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silentmoths · 1 year

Text

As Fragile as a Brick wall

Masterlist||First||Previous||Next

I realized if i didnt get this chapter out soon, ya'll probably wouldnt be getting one till like, june. tears of the kingdom drops on friday boissss

Chapter 8: ding dong, sneznhaya calling

Zhongli x Afab (fem pronoun) Reader

NSFW elements in later chapters

Multi-chapter, Royal AU, angst, mentions of death, eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

(Wonderful header image made by the wonderful @ainescribe)

The unfortunate part about agreeing to help Zhongli with this was…well, helping Zhongli.

In the weeks leading up to the arrival of their Ambassador, you had to give Zhongli a crash course in how to impress a Sneznhayan. The northernmost kingdom was often seen as icy and distant, but once you got to know their customs, it was not as difficult as one would think.

However, despite your help, he still insisted you spend the next few weeks resting in your chambers, recovering from your broken rib, which meant it was you and he, stuck in very close quarters as you explain every little detail. You had spent plenty of time in the land of snow in the years he had been gone, after all, you had been set to marry their prince…which is why they were now upset with Zhongli.

“So what was the prince like, anyway?” He asks you one day as you go over things again with him, you wince.

“Ugh Ajax?” you grumble “I mean…he’s alright? He’s not actually the Tsaritsa’s kid…apparently she could never conceive, so she adopted him.”

Zhongli raises an eyebrow as he looks up from his paperwork “Truly? I’m sure there’s some sort of loophole we could exploit there…” “Don’t try.” You warn him “She loves Ajax more than life itself. It’ll just make more problems.”

Zhongli hums, leaning his head against this hand as he watches you.

“Did you like Ajax?” He asks after a moment.

“Like I said, he’s alright…but he…I dunno…there’s something about him that always kinda freaked me out?”

“Oh? Do explain.” Zhongli presses, watching as your brow furrows.

“It’s… hard to explain I guess.” you start with a sigh “Sometimes he’s great…he’s funny, smart…a genuinely cool person to hang out with…I would consider him a friend.”

Zhongli notes the conflicted look upon your face, and the way you fall silent as you consider you next words, he finds himself invested, what on earth was wrong with the prince of the snow to cause his own little love such confusion?

“Sometimes it’s like…a switch would flick in him.” You eventually manage out after several long minutes of trying to figure out the right words. “So…Ajax has always been interested in combat, he’s a member of the royal guard as well as being the prince….right?”

Zhongli nods, not entirely unheard of…hell, the king had once spoken to Zhongli about the potential of his sons, her brothers, joining the guard…an idea Zhongli had quickly discouraged because…to be honest, they wouldn’t have survived a day.

“No one will spar against him.”

“I mean, he’s the prince-” Zhongli adds.

“No you don’t understand, Zhongli. It’s not that no one will fight him because of his status…it’s because those foolish enough to fight him…don't usually come out in one piece…literally.”

At first, He thinks she’s joking, but he can see it in her eyes, that… haunted look, and he finds himself invested.

“Like I said…it’s a switch…the moment combat happens… he goes from this sweet, kinda goofy guy to… the only words I have for it is… bloodthirsty monster” you sigh.

“Hm…he seems a rather… interesting character…”

“That’s a word for it.” You huff.

“And what of this Ambassador? Do you happen to know him?”

At this, you perk up a little “Yes actually! I’ve met him a couple of times… he’s one of the funny ones that goes by a weird name.” “You mean like the captain of the guard is literally called Capitano?” Zhongli snorts, you nod.

“Yep, just like that.” you sigh “His name is Pantalone- Don’t you start!”

“Start what?” Zhongli snickers, receiving a pillow to the face “His name is pants-”

“ I know!” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose “I know his name is pants.”

Sometimes…

Sometimes you found Zhongli’s presence a little less frustrating than you used to

—-

“Um…your highness-” Zhongli mutters from beside you.

“I see him.” you grunt; already feeling a vein ready to pop in your head “I thought you said they were sending the Ambassador”

“They said they were”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, already you were very tired of today. Sure your rib had been healed for several weeks, but it had been a very long time since you’d had to dress up this fancily… and you’d even broken out the formalwear the Tsaritsa had tailored for you upon your first visit to them.

“So why then…am I seeing the prince…and his happy gaggle of men…approaching the castle?” you ask, your voice is terse and thin, this was not what was meant to happen, even Zhongli looks absolutely and utterly confused.

“You know him better than I do…” Zhongli sighs, also looking equally as uncomfortable. For all the king he was, it was not often that he had to dress so regally, even you knew he was far more used to chainmail and plate, not heavy, ornate suits.

“Is it to late to back out-”

“Absolutely.”

”Damn.” you sigh, this was about to get…*uncomfortable*

You find yourself standing beside the throne: on Zhongli’s right, as the throne room doors burst open. In the corner of your eye you see both Zhongli’s grip on the arms of the throne tighten, and Xiao, stationed to his left, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword as your ex-fiance bounds into the room like an unruly child.

There is a moment where all is still, as if time stops as his eyes land on you.

And in the next moment, he’s sprinting towards the throne, manic look upon his boyish features. You see Zhongli poise to stand, Xiao taking hold of his sword properly, and then you’re engulfed by strong, and unfortunately familiar arms as Ajax laughs warmly.

This was what you were afraid of.

The prince lifts you from your feet and twirls you like you weigh nothing, as you spin, you spy Ganyu, by the doors, her eyes wide in shock at his display.

“My little krolik!” Ajax laughs as he finally ceases the godawful spinning and sets you down, his eyes are bright and his smile is wide as he looks you up and down. “It’s so good to see you again!”

You don't see it, but you can feel the absolute fury radiating off of Zhongli when Ajax leans in to do exactly what you knew he’d do next, and you thankfully, shift your head in time. He kisses you, thanks to your quick movement, it’s only on the corner of your mouth, before he continues kissing affectionately up your cheek and to your forehead.

If it wasn't for the fact you were trying to pry this idiot prince off you, you probably would have found this situation funny, but there was no room for ruining Zhongli’s day here.

“Ajax…I wasn’t expecting you.” You finally manage to huff out as you push the overly affectionate prince away, but he simply grins, totally uncaring that he’s not yet introduced himself to the King, right beside him. “We were told Ambassador Pantalone-”

“Oh! Yeah as soon as I heard ol’ Pants was being sent here I immediately took over! I wanted to see you again my darling krolik!” Ajax interjects “I wanted to make sure you were alright!”

“Ajax.” you sigh, shaking your head, you knew he was impulsive but this? This was something else entirely. “I know I left in a hurry last time but have you no faith in my abilities?”

“Ahem…” Xiao is the one to finally save you with his well timed, if not violently forced cough, snapping the prince’s attention away from you and to Zhongli, who is raising a none-too-impressed eyebrow at the boy.

“Oh, Right! Heya!”

Heya… this idiot has just come all the way from his home country as the representative…and he greets the king with a heya.

You’re sure the sound of your palm making contact with your face echoes loudly throughout the throne room.

—-

You are thankful that after such a long trip, dinner and sleep is the only thing on Ajax and his men’s minds, you personally escort Ajax to his room and bid him goodnight, if only to know he would no longer bother you. Considering he’d all but attached himself to your arm the entire day, just like he did every time you had been to Sneznhaya since being promised to him.

You did your best to keep him from saying anything… inflammatory in front of Zhongli, you didn't want a war breaking out, but goddamn you also did not want to be here.

Even if watching Zhongli’s eye twitch every time Ajax got affectionate with you was somewhat entertaining.

In order to return to your own chambers from the guest wing, you find yourself shambling past the king’s study…you didn’t even notice the lantern lit inside, until you hear your name called from within.

Zhongli sits, at his desk, a bottle of a fine looking, amber coloured liquid in his hand. As you poke your head inside, he grabs not one, but two glasses.

Honestly after the day you’d had? You don't question it, entering silently and shutting the door behind you before you drop, ungraciously, into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, with enough force that the pile of paperwork set upon the mahogany and gold tabletop shudders.

It’s silent, as Zhongli sets down both glasses and pours the whiskey, there is silence as you take your glass.

There is silence as he raises his own and clinks it against yours and there is silence as you both throw back the drinks.

”That is a prince!?” Zhongli howls as he slams down his glass, the paperwork gives another shudder.

”Excuse you.” you grunt ”that. Is my ex-fiance!”

Zhongli snorts at the exact moment you crack a small grin, he motions for you to hold out your glass again as he refills his own. You share another shot in silence.

“He is aware that he is an ex, yes?” He asks, you shrug.

“He should! I mean…even his mother knows…”

“Is he stupid?”

You look over your glass at Zhongli, raising a single eyebrow.

He pours you another glass as an apology for a stupid question.

“If you are as smart a man as I remember, you will have more of this on hand.” you eventually mumble as you turn the amber liquid around in your glass “we’re going to need it.”

Zhongli scoffs at you.

“This is the youngest of my collection.”

“By the time this is over, we’ll need the vintage.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

#Silentmothwrites #moth is not silent #Moths fragile as a brick wall #Zhongli genshin #Zhongli x reader

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