#a few times then i stopped taking normal showers

[girlgenius1111]

instincts

alexia x reader mila verse :) having a newborn is, notoriously, not easy. it catches up to you. alexia is there to pick up the pieces and make sure you know how loved you are. angst + fluff! 🙂

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When Alexia entered the house, it was to the sound of the baby crying, which wasn’t an oddity; babies cried. What was weird was that Mila’s little voice sounded raw, as though she’d been crying for a while. Alexia sighed, expecting that it had been another rough day for you. Mila had been going through a sleep regression, and would truly only sleep if she was in either your arms or your wife’s. You were exhausted, neither of you getting much sleep at all. Alexia, though, got to go to training everyday and get out of the house. You, on the other hand, spend all day with the baby, the crying baby who barely let you put her down. 

You’d been struggling in the past week, and Alexia couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion, related to PPD, or something else entirely. There hadn’t been a ton of time for the two of you to talk, but as Alexia heard her daughter wailing from the nursery, and your soft voice shushing her, she knew, somehow, that you weren’t okay. 

She was proved correct when she walked into the nursery and found you in tears, cradling your daughter close to you. Mila’s head was laid on your shoulder, her face red from crying, though she quieted slightly upon seeing her Mami. 

“Please, Milabear, please stop crying, honey, I don’t know what else you want,” you choked out, not wanting to further upset Mila with your emotions. 

“Amor, give her here,” Alexia said softly, catching your attention when she walked into the room. 

“She hasn’t slept all morning, Alexia,” you began, your wife nodding sympathetically, and taking Mila from your arms. Mila looked exhausted, her eyes flying open every few seconds, fighting sleep desperately as little whines left her mouth. 

“I’ve got her, mi amor, go relax, go take a shower,” Alexia told you, frowning as you tearfully left the room. She had to take care of Mila, first, so she could give you her full attention. 

-------

Mila had quieted slightly in the time it took you to get to the bathroom and turn the shower on, which really just made you feel worse. Was it you? Were you the reason she was so upset and refusing to sleep? The warm water washed over you, mixing with your tears, as you wished desperately that you were a better mother. More like Alexia. It was so effortless for her, so easy. Mila loved Alexia more than she loved you, you were sure. The thought only brought more tears to your eyes, until you were sobbing on the floor in the corner of the shower. 

-------

Alexia got Mila to sleep ridiculously easily. Likely, the little baby was picking up on your overwhelmed emotions, and couldn’t settle down enough to sleep. Alexia was calm, though, hadn’t spent the entire morning trying to get Mila to sleep, so obviously, she managed it in just a few minutes. 

“Sí, there you go Milabear, sleep mi bebé,” Alexia whispered, rocking back and forth on her feet, tracing lines over the baby’s small forehead. “You have to give your Mama a break, hmm?” 

Alexia normally loved to talk to Mila, though she obviously expected no response. Now, however, Alexia ached to go after you, and make sure you were okay. As soon as the baby was soundly asleep, Alexia settled her in her cot, flicked the baby monitor on, and slipped out of the room. 

You were still in the shower when your wife walked into the bedroom, hearing the water run through the door. And though she wanted to open the door and check on you, she knew better. You’d had such few moments alone recently, barely any privacy. Alexia hadn’t really either, but you definitely had it worse, and she didn’t want to overwhelm you. 

She wished she’d gone in, though, 10 minutes later when you exited the bathroom, dressed in a pair of Alexia’s shorts and a shirt that looked bigger on you than it normally did. You were still crying, just barely, but your cries picked up again when you saw Alexia waiting for you on the bed, her soft gaze meeting yours and breaking any strength you’d managed to muster up in the past few minutes.

“Oh, mi niña,” Alexia sighed, standing and opening her arms for you. You all but collapsed into them, hands fisting themselves in Alexia’s sweatshirt, clinging on for dear life. You felt so small next to her, so protected, but for once, it didn’t make you feel better. Alexia’s shampoo scent flooded your senses, and all you could think was that Mila preferred her to you, and that she always would. 

You cried, you sobbed, into your wife’s chest, much longer than Alexia thought was humanly possible, until you were wheezing in a breath after each sob, your whole body trembling against hers. You were stressed and frustrated and exhausted, but most of all, you were sad and you were terrified. Terrified, that you’d never be good enough for your perfect daughter. 

Nothing Alexia was doing seemed to work to calm you down, not her sweet words whispered in your ear, not the soothing motion of her hand on your back. You just got more and more worked up, until Alexia regretfully pulled you back a bit, taking your face in between her hands. 

“Amor, breathe,” she instructed you, nodding encouragingly when you tried to do so. It didn’t work right, your chest just spasmed and you made a choking sound, now looking up at your wife in alarm. “Hey, you are okay, mi amor, I have you,” Alexia comforted, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed, standing just in front of you. 

“Can’t-” you gasped out, shaking your head frantically as tears continued to fall down your face. 

“You have to breathe, bebe, you are going to make yourself sick,” Alexia sighed, grabbing one of your hands and pressing it to her chest. “Inhale… venga mi niña, inhale.” She insisted, getting a little firmer in an effort to make you listen. 

You inhaled a full breath, finally, using the air instantly. “Ale,” you cried, not really sure what you were trying to convey to your wife; you just needed her. 

“I know, I know,” she whispered back. “Inhale and exhale, with me. You are safe, you are okay.” You were calming down slightly, but as you did, you grew more tearful, gasps replaced by quiet whimpers as you did everything you could to breathe with Alexia. You were desperate to feel her closer to you, for some assurance that every awful thought you were having about yourself wasn’t true. 

“Ale, please,” you mumbled, grabbing her arms and wrapping them around you. She got the message, sitting on the bed next to you and pulling you in close to her chest once again. Her shirt was slightly damp against your cheek from your tears, but Alexia held you steadily, safely. She had you, you were okay. You were okay. 

You had begun to relax, just slightly, lulled into a calmer state by the sound of Alexia’s heartbeat in your ear, when a piercing cry echoed through the house. You were brought to tears instantly again, pulling away from your wife to go grab your baby. Alexia shook her head insistently, though, gently guiding you back onto the bed. 

“No, amor, I will check on her. Try to relax, everything is okay.” She said softly. 

“Bring her here? Please?” You asked, tearfully looking up at your wife. 

Alexia looked conflicted, having just intended on putting the baby back to sleep, and returning to take care of you. You needed her, and Alexia didn’t want to divide her attention between the two most important people in her life at the moment. “I’ll just put her back down,”

“No, Ale, please, I need her here, please, I’m sorry, please just bring her,” you cried, and alexia was quick to shush you, wiping a few tears off your cheek. 

“Okay, okay. If that’s what you need, mi amor. Take some deep breaths for me, okay? I will be right back with pequeña.” 

You nodded, eyes falling shut when Alexia leaned down to kiss your forehead, before she was disappearing through the bedroom door. You tried to follow her instructions, focusing on slowing your heart rate down, hearing the cries coming from the nursery continue. 

Alexia’s voice came over the baby monitor, and you were momentarily distracted from your misery by how soft she was for her little girl. 

“My little troublemaker. Are you just jealous that your Mama is getting all the attention? I’ve got you too, bebe, don’t you worry. Let’s go find your Mama.” She cooed, Mila’s cries only quieting slightly as Alexia picked her up and carried her down the hall and into your room. 

“Hey, shh, Mama is right here.” Alexia cooed, bouncing Mila in her arms gently, giant tears sliding down the baby’s very small, very red face. Upon seeing you, Mila’s cries slowed to sniffles, and she reached out for you. Alexia kept her daughter close, though, sliding onto the bed next to you, before laying Mila easily down on her chest. “See? We are all okay.” 

You weren’t really sure what to do. Mila was calm once again, drifting off happily in her Mami’s arms. And it was ridiculous, but you wanted Alexia to hold you, too. The blonde seemed to be able to read your mind, though, shifting Mila over a bit, gently so as not to wake her up, before lifting her arm and nodding at you to scoot closer. You did, burying your face in her shoulder, clinging on tightly to her sweatshirt. 

You were so exhausted, but everytime your eyes fell shut, they would snap back open again, frantically looking to make sure Mila was okay. It was completely instinctual, you knew Alexia had her, you just couldn’t relax.  

“Rest, amor, you need to sleep. I have Mila, and I have you.” 

You let your eyes slide shut, finally, so deeply comforted by the feeling of Alexia’s fingers running through your hair. She had Mila, and she had you.

-------

When you woke, you knew a decent amount of time had passed. Your head was resting on Alexia’s thigh, now, and you realized that your wife had changed, now wearing shorts instead of the track pants she’d come home in. The room seemed slightly dimmer, and you could hear the sound of a football match on TV. You kept your eyes closed for a bit, just listening. It was the Barça men’s side playing, and Alexia was keeping up a running dialogue for Mila, as she always did. 

“Sí, and when you are a big girl, you can play football just like me. Or you can take pictures like your Mama. You can do anything you want, bebe. Anything that makes you happy.” Alexia paused, and you heard her sigh happily. You knew she was gazing down at your daughter, an expression filled with love on her face. “It would be fun if you played football though.” She whispered, as if she was telling a secret. 

You rolled off of your wife, onto your back, though you turned your head in her direction and opened your eyes. Alexia was sat up against the headboard, in a cozy pair of pajamas. Mila was tucked under her arm, sitting up too. The blonde was effortlessly holding a bottle to the baby’s mouth, her eyes flicking back and forth between her daughter and the TV across the room. Mila looked like she’d had a bath, her wispy hair a bit damp, and she was also in her pajamas, a light pink onesie with small lions on it. A gift from Mapi, of course. 

Alexia looked down at you when you rolled over, though, the smile on her face not at all hiding the concern and worry that overflowed off of her. 

“Hola mi niña perfecta,” she whispered, reaching out to run her fingers through your hair. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better. Less tired.” You croaked, clearing your throat slightly when your voice came out all choked. “What time is it?” 

“Just after 7.” You’d been asleep for upwards of 7 hours, then. “Mila has taken her bath, had another nap, and finished an important meeting with her lawyers.” Alexia said, chuckling to herself at her own joke. 

“Oh no, is she getting sued again?” You asked, looking reproachfully at your daughter. “She has to stop running people over with her car.” 

“It is a bad habit.” Alexia agreed, grinning down at you. The smile fell from her face, though, when she noticed how upset you suddenly looked. “What is it?”

“I’m so sorry for before, for freaking out. I don’t know what happened to me.” 

Alexia shook her head. “No, no apologies. You are exhausted and stressed and you spend all day at home with Milabear. A screaming baby is a lot for anyone. You were overwhelmed. It is completely understandable.” 

“You’d just got home from work though,” you argued tearfully, but Alexia shushed you. 

“Stop, amor. We are both Mila’s moms, sí? We are both responsible for her, and we are both responsible for taking care of each other. I haven’t been doing a good enough job, I see that now. You need more help, and I need to give that to you.” 

You nodded begrudgingly, biting your lip when it began to tremble. 

“Talk to me, bebe, por favor.” Alexia pleaded, running her thumb over your bottom lip. 

“It’s stupid.” You began, ignoring the frown on your wife’s face. “I’ve just missed you.” 

Alexia felt her heart shatter. “Oh, mi amor. I’ve missed you too. I haven't been around enough, and I am so, so sorry.” 

“It’s work, Ale, I get it,” 

“That is not an excuse. I already talked to my manager. I am taking a step back from brand deals and commitments. I am focusing on football, and my family. On you and my Milabear.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that, Ale,” 

“You are not asking. I am doing it. You need more from me. I don’t like to see you so upset. I am happy to do this, mi amor. I promise. You are my priority, my family is my priority. Always.” 

You nodded gratefully, but Alexia could tell by the slightly preoccupied look on your face that there was more that you were upset about. It wasn’t just being exhausted and overwhelmed. You looked insecure as you fixed your eyes on Mila, who was beginning to drift off in her spot in the crook of Ale’s arm. 

“Hey.” Alexia said softly. “Come here.” 

You sat up like she wanted you to, leaning your head on her shoulder. 

“Something else is bothering you.” She noted, pairing her words with a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“No, there isn’t,”

“Yes, there is. Tell me.” She encouraged, removing the bottle from Mila’s mouth and sitting her up on her legs. She did it so effortlessly, everything so effortlessly. Alexia was an incredible mother, and you felt like she had instincts that you just didn’t have. 

“Do you think I’m a good mother?” You asked finally, letting Mila grab onto your hand and start to play with your fingers. You felt Alexia’s eyes burning into the side of your head after you spoke, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. 

“How can you ask that?” Alexia said incredulously. “You are the best mama.” 

You sighed. “Mila is perfect. 

Alexia blinked, trying to keep up with the sudden apparent subject change. “She is perfect.” 

“I don’t think I’m perfect. I don’t think I’m good enough for her. She deserves so much better than me.” 

“No, no no no.” Alexia said frantically, standing to lay the baby on the play mat next to the bed so she could turn her attention fully to you. She practically dove back onto the bed, resting against the throw pillows as she pulled you fully into her arms. “No, mi amor. You are good enough for Mila, bebe, you are perfect.”

“I just feel like I can’t do anything right. This is so much harder than I was expecting it to be.” 

“I know, cariño, I know. It is hard, but you are doing so well. I am so proud of you, and I am so sorry that I did not realize you were struggling sooner. So sorry, amor.” Alexia cooed, running her fingers through your hair. She was doing anything she could think of to bring you some comfort, to make you feel even slightly better. 

You snuggled further into your wife, trying to get as close to her as you could. “You’re better at this than I am. I think Mila loves you more.” You whispered, your cheeks burning from embarrassment, knowing you were being a bit ridiculous. 

Alexia shifted, trying to get a look at your face. She looked so devastated to hear how you were feeling, and you almost felt guilty for being honest with her. Almost, because you knew she was about to put those insecurities to rest. 

“Mi amor, no. You spend all day with her, you are around so much more than I am. It is inevitable that she will be upset around you more than she is around me, just because of the timing. And, amor, it is not like she does not cry with me. She is normally so upset when she wakes up at night, and the only way to get her back to sleep is to put her next to you. Mila lights up when she sees you, baby. She loves you so much. You brought her into this world, you are exactly what she needs. You are good enough for our baby, amor, and you are good enough for me.”

You were tearing up, but right on cue, a soft cry rang out into the room, emanating from Mila’s play mat. Your wife grabbed the baby, picking her up and bouncing her gently in her arms. Mila just cried harder, though, her face turning red as she reached her little hands out towards you. Alexia easily shifted Mila into your arms, and you cradled her to your chest, pressing kiss after kiss to her tiny forehead. Your wife pulled you both back into her arms, a soft smile on her face. 

“See? She knows you are upset, and she wants to make you feel better. Because she loves you.” Alexia murmured, resting her chin on your shoulder, shutting her eyes as she nuzzled her face into your neck. “And I love you. You are the best Mama, and the best wife, and I love you.” 

“And you, Milabear. Te amo, mi niña pequeña.” Alexia whispered, looking adoringly down at your daughter. 

You relaxed into your wife, feeling a thousand times better than before. You were happy, completely overflowing with joy and adoration for your little family. You’d never be sure what you did to deserve such perfection, but Alexia made you feel worthy of it everyday. Worthy of her love, and worthy of the most perfect baby on earth. 

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it's been a bit since i've written a mila fic. enjoy and let me know all your thoughts 🙂🥰🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[faghubby]

NOT ALL BUSINESS

I packed Stacy's suitcase. She wouldn't have time, besides I was used to taking on untraditional roles. Four years ago after Stacy gave birth to our daughter. Lucy. We found ourselves in a odd situation. Stacy's career was on the rise. While mine was well non existent. The company I was working for closed. So after some discussion I chose to stay home be a stay at home Dad. This turned out to be the best idea ever. It allowed Stacy to focus on her career and she rose quickly. A year ago that meant a some travel. Just a few days a month.

"Paul, you are the best" Stacy told me. When she saw I had already taken care of everything. She took me to bed. I kept myself in great shape. No reason to let myself become a fat househusband. I used to joke. Stacy looked better then before we had Lucy. Our lovemaking was pretty normal I guess. Consisted of two positions. Missionary and if adventurous a leg on my shoulder. With me usually preforming oral on her. While I settled for the once a year blowjob on my birthday. Tonight started no differently. We went right to missionary. But I finished quicker then usual.

"OH baby" I will be away for three days" Stacy pouted. "Help me" she rolled her eyes toward her nightstand. We had played with her vibrator before. I made a face but grabbed it. I teased her first with the toy. I couldn't help ignore that it was much bigger then my 5 inches. I slid it inland she moaned. It was thicker then I was as well. But slid in easily.

"Lick my clit" she moaned in my ear. She hardly ever spoke like this. Without thinking I slid down and did just that. I instantly tasted myself. I lifted my head quickly. But Stacy pulled my head back down.

"Don't stop" she moaned. I licked her clit again ignoring the taste. Stacy loved it she went wild. Shoving my head down hard. I never seen her cum so forceful before. She laid there trying to catch her breath. She just held me against her breast. As we fell asleep. When I woke Stacy was already gone. We talked everyday of course. This trip was three days. She accompanied her boss.

"Last night was special" she told me. The first night as we said goodnight. She always spoke about dinner time when she traveled sometimes she had late meetings. And didn't want to miss our time. If I fell asleep.

Stacy plane got delayed and she didn't get in till late coming home. I was already asleep. I was still half asleep when Stacy guided my head between.her legs. I didn't resist just licked and sucked. It was off bit I figured from travel and hadn't showered. Stacy went crazy pulling my hair and crying out I was soon fully awake. Unfortunately so was Lucy being woken by her mothers cries.

"Sorry baby I just needed that" she told me. I wiped my face and went to get Lucy back to bed. Stacy was sound asleep. I picked uo my phone and watched some porn as I jerked off. Before returning to bed. In the morning I got made breakfast. Stacy running late grabbed coffee and kissed me goodbye before heading to the office. Lucy had half day nursery school. I took that time to unpack Stacy. I found Stacy's underwear, was that dried cum? I thought as I hand washed them. The ones from last night were still damp. Four pairs of panties all with traces of cum in them. Stacy was having an affair? I found myself excited by this. Over the years it had become a fantasy I often found myself masterbating to. But it was just that a fantasy.

I arranged for my mother to take Lucy for the night. And waited for Stacy to come home. She arrived on time.

"Where's Lucy?" She asked I had not thought about her not seeing her for three days. And felt bad.

"Are you having an affair?" I asked.

"Yes, why?" Stacy replied calmly.

"What?" I was stunned by her response I expected denial or at least remorse.

'Don't act surprised. Why do you think you always pack my sexiest lingerie when I take a trip? You been hoping I was" Stacy told me.

"And last night when you sucked my bosses cum out of my pussy? Tell me that you didn't want that as well. You showed me you did when you ate yours" she continued.

Stacy stepped close.

"I been fucking Greg for a year now. Ever since that first business trip." She told me. Greg was her boss. He was at least 15 years older then her I thought. She reached into my pants and stroked me. I was rock hard.

"He is so much bigger then you are" she whispered in my ear. "I am so glad you know" she stripped me. I stood before her naked. She knelt and took me in her mouth I lasted only a minute. She stood and kissed me. I tasted the salty taste on her lips I tried to pull away. But she insisted and kissed me. Feeding me my own cum.

"I love you and don't want to lose you. But it turns me on so much knowing you are home waiting for me. When I am with him" she told me. Stacy was still fully dressed as she pulled me naked into bed. She held me again in her arms my head against her chest. She told me everything. In detail. How he Greg had seduced her ever so gently. How he fucked her made her feel lime a total slut. She had given him her ass. And always sucked his cock. I cried knowing she wouldn't do these things for me.

"It's different he makes me, he makes me want to please him" she told me. "He loves how you always pack sexy things for me to wear for him. I tell him I usually wear simple cotton bras and panties for you don't i"

"Does it hurt, you know anal? " I asked.

"At first, why would you like to try" she asked. I just blushed.

"You can fuck my ass if you like, or eat it for that matter" she laughed. She shifted and pulled up her dress exposing her ass.

"Try it" she teased I moved and she pulled her panties down she laid onnher side opening up her ass.

"Eat my ass" she told me. I licked and kissed her ass. Then drove my tounge into her hole. She moaned but giggled as I ate her ass. As it amused her. After a few minutes she had me stop.

"So we are clear about Greg then, you can pretend you don't know. Or embrace it either way its not going to stop" she assured me. I stayed naked the rest of the night. She got off on it.

Stacy often would text me "private meeting" when she was going to be late because she was getting fucked. She loved when I would clean her after those meeting as well. She did learn to be at least alittle quieter when I did. As a special treat once a month or so Lucy would spend a night at my moms and I would spend it naked listening to all of her sexual encounters. I never have fucked her ass. But enjoy eating it often. Our weekly sex session may change on occasion now. The first one after I discovered the affair she just chose to jive me a handjob, but she prefers me to make my mess in her and lick it clean now.

Stacy is pregnant again. And we are both pretty sure it isn't mine. We couldn't be happier.

[windtraces]

tiktok sucks we all agree but seeing other people walk through the shower routine i have is. weird? in a good way. like yay i'm not the only one who has to do it in pieces, i can't just step in. sucks for us all but well at least i'm not the only freak who starts crying and hyperventilating when i get water on my face in the shower

[criscura]

I wish I wasn't so exhausted and I could make more art.... I even planned out a whole prompt-a-day month for Saigenos/Genosai, TWICE, but the first time no one seemed like they could participate when I asked about it, and the second time I friggin lost the damned plan. I could remake it a third time, but I just....I don't know.

I've been really struggling to get along for a while, and I think if it didn't hit it off--or even if I just got really productive and it seemed like I was reaching crickets--I'd be so incredibly discouraged that it would bring me down even further. It usually takes my stuff a few months to a year to get reach, and that really doesn't do anything for me when I need the support immediately.

It's not that I don't have a billion ideas for so many different things, but my battery has been taking longer and longer to charge up and it's been running out faster and faster, and it's been like this for....a year?? Ish?? Maybe longer, I don't know.

I wish I could just stop needing so much fucking time to bounce back.....

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

[hyunniesgirl]

My cat likes you

Pairing: Lee Know x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: your cat is behaving strangely lately and a walk outside your apartment shows you exactly why.

Warnings: none

A/N: I saw a video on Instagram with a cat rubbing on the floor when they saw a cute guy and I was like "why is this so Lee Know coded?" And had to make something like that with him heheheh

It's been a few days since your cat started behaving strangely, she'll wake you up early in the morning meowing at your room’s door. At first you thought she did that because she was hungry, but when you put food in her bowl she ignores it and keeps meowing.

You realized then, that she wanted you to follow her as she twirled and rubbed on the floor. She would wait for you at the door and would keep scratching it, waiting for you to open it.

“It's too early for a walk, Bo-mi”, you tell her, shaking your head and turning around, going back to your bed to try and sleep a little bit more before work.

She keeps insisting on the early morning walks, but you don't give in, you can't have her get used to going out when it's still time for you to be sleeping.

After a few days, Bo-mi starts having that same behavior late at night, when you are already in bed, ready to go to sleep. She meows for minutes straight until you get up and walk with her to the door.

“Bo-mi, we can't go out now, I'm already in my pjs”, you sigh, patting her. But she keeps scratching the door and meowing for you to go out. “Tomorrow is Friday, okay? So I can stay up late to take you out for a walk”, you tell her before going back to your room.

You spend the next day trying to figure out why she's acting this way. You think about the possibility of her being sick, but she's eating and drinking water normally and she's sleeping the same amount as she always did. Her last check up wasn't even two months ago, even so, you should definitely make an appointment with the veterinarian.

You arrive at home and Bo-mi comes running to you, purring and rubbing herself on you. After you pet her, she goes back to the couch, getting comfortable there again, she doesn't even try to go to the door. Why does she just want to go out when it's late? Or early in the morning? It’s just strange.

Thinking too much about it won't help you find out what's going on, so you give up on the thoughts and just go to the bathroom to take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes since you have to take the lady of the house for a walk in a few hours.

Everything kind of makes sense when you open the door and Bo-mi goes running to the corridor, however, she stops at your neighbor's door, sniffing a bit. The sound of the elevator takes you out of your thoughts and your cat walks in that direction finding a strange man coming out of the elevator.

He looks at her and smiles, trying to go past her but she throws herself in the ground, showing her belly to him and rubbing herself on the floor.

Before you can speak, the guy bends down, petting and making her meow. You look at your watch to see that he's arriving at the exact time that Bo-mi tries going out every night. The weirdest thing is that she hates strangers, especially men.

“I’m sorry”, you finally get out of your head to say something, “she has been acting strangely lately”

“It's okay”, he says, without looking at you. Hypnotized by your cat's little meows and cuteness. “I actually saw her on the balcony one of these days, but couldn't pet her because of the distance”, he chuckles. “What's her name?”

He finally looks at you when asking that and for a moment it seems like the world stops for the both of you. He's the most handsome man you have ever seen in your entire life, with cute boba eyes and an innocent look.

“It's Bo-mi”, you tell him, feeling your cheeks a bit warm.

He clears his throat, petting your cat for the last time before standing up again, fixing his clothes. He didn't look at you at first, but you are so pretty it actually left him speechless and that is a hard thing to achieve. He was even going to make a joke about cats, but couldn't even manage to get that out while looking at your face.

“I'm sorry to ask, but do you also go out around five a.m.?” You ask out of nowhere, making him look at you suspiciously.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I think my cat is in love with you”, you tell him, pointing at Bo-mi, rubbing herself on his legs. “She always tries to go out around five in the morning or at this time of the night, I guess she wanted to see you again”

You really understand Bo-mi on that, you would also want to see him everyday if you had the chance.

“Oh”, he smiles, “I'm Minho by the way, I moved here two weeks ago”, he says pointing to his apartment.

“I'm y/n”, you give your hand for him to shake, “I know it's weird to ask this, but can I bring her out sometimes so she can see you?” You ask, shyly, making Minho chuckle.

“Yeah”, he nods, “maybe you can also meet my cats”, he says, feeling his ears warming up. “I mean, in a housewarming party, of course”, he completes.

“I would love that”, you smile and he feels like he could melt just with that, “I'll take her home now”, you catch Bo-mi in your arms even though she struggles to get out of your grasp and go back to Minho, “I'll wait excitedly to meet your cats”

Minho watches you go into your apartment, waving to him before closing the door. Now, how the hell does a housewarming party even work?

[waughymommy]

Diaper Discipline Guide

Emma & Henry

My boyfriend of 4 years has always had regressive and sub tendencies while I’ve wanted to talk more control in our relationship. We tried several bdsm activities including smacking and bondage but the occasional nature wasn’t really doing it for me.

After finding out more online about Female Led Relationships I came across DD, initially dismissing it. But the more I read, the better and better the idea appealed to me. After some planning I decided to confront my partner and say I wanted to add an element of control and domination into our relationship, by saying I hadn’t decided how to do it yet we had a long discussion without diapers being mentioned where he agreed in principle to “lifestyle dominance” as long as it could be kept between them and not impact his job, friends, etc. 

This guide was invaluable to me to plan the rest and it solidified my decision. It took me two weeks to discreetly buy the required supplies, getting them delivered to our apartment on days he was at work. I decided that I wanted a high initial level of DD where he’d be in diapers 24/7 at home.

I decided to start on a Friday night after work. He’d known that I had been preparing for something and I started the conversation by saying my proposal was weird, reassuring him that it wouldn’t be painful/harmful and nobody else would find out but you wanted him to agree to try it for at least 6 weeks.

Although nervous he also seemed excited by the prospect and agreed. We moved to the bedroom where I told him to get undressed before I diapered him for the first time. There was a lot of objections at this stage but I talked him round and the agreement to try it for 6 weeks was helpful.

To make the shock less I started with a medical diaper which wasn’t too thick and let him wear his normal pjs over it. I left him to explore it on his own while going to make dinner. After dinner it was time to tell him all the rules, the main one was that the toilet at home was now banned and he’d be in diapers whenever he’s at home. I kept the baby elements to a minimum and said he’s have to also wear out the house sometimes but I’d make sure nobody could tell and never when he’s at work or with friends/family. I’m not going to lie and say this didn’t involve an argument, especially when he realised that no toilet meant #2 as well but we got through. We ended up watching a movie which was a good way for him to calm down.

He wet his diaper for the first time after the movie which was funny to watch as he was so nervous it was going to leak everywhere. Even though it wasn’t too wet I did change him straight away and made his change extra special too. That night he slept in a diaper for the first time.

Over the first weekend he did get more used to wearing and I allowed him to use the toilet for a bm on Saturday. Sunday however I decided to fully enforce the rules and he messed himself for the first time. I didn’t change him this time and he took a shower. There was a lot of protests again but I said it was none-negotiable. The smell did seem to be the biggest thing that bothered him so I bought some Devrom tablets which had been recommended, it took a few days for them to arrive and a few more of taking them but now his messy diapers hardly smell and the protests have stopped. I’d actually recommend you use these from day 1 to make the transition easier.

The first week was tough but we got through it and I’m happy to say we’re now 7 months in to him being in DD. Over that time I’ve moved to thicker abdl diapers, he wears onesies regularly around the house and the toilet has remained unused by him with only a few exceptions.

We both work mainly from home so I’ve gotten used to checking and changing his diaper but thick diapers + devrom has meant he generally only needs a change after waking up, sometime in the early afternoon and before bed. I’ll also let him change himself if I’m busy or cba. 

The best news is after an initial rocky patch, our relationship feels stronger than ever! He proposed to me 5 months in and I can’t see his DD ending any time soon. I’ve increased elements overtime and now the toilet is banned even when out of the house together. Public wearing did take him a while to get used to but actually it’s easy. 

I’m sure DD is not for everyone and is much more involved and hard work than other lifestyle changes but for creating a caring bond between you and your partner I’ve found it to be great!

[ghostlywhiskey]

price who proposes to you in private. there is no camera waiting to capture the moment. there is no stress or planning ahead to try and get you ready and in a specific area without raising suspicion. it’s just the two of you.

it’s when you don’t expect. it’s a few days after he’s home from deployment and you’re spending the weekend at his house. your body snug on top of his as your lips place soft kisses on his chest, the blanket draped over the two of you to shield half naked bodies; your body covered in his t-shirt while he wears boxers.

fingers lazily scratch up and down your back, causing you to hum to show your content. your kisses on his chest coming to a stop as you rest your cheek on his chest. the only movement your body makes is the result of his steadied breaths.

“we should probably shower,” the suggestion is one that will most likely be ignored, neither of you will make the effort to move from the current position. you’re not even sure why you suggested it in the first place.

the lack of response from him makes you think he’s fallen asleep already, so you move your head to catch a glimpse of him. except eyes are focused on you while fingers continue to scratch your back, but his hand moving behind your neck to keep you focused on him.

“are you—”

“marry me.”

the words run through your brain as you process them. lips part as if you are about to say something, but quickly close as you take another moment.

“i’m marryin’ you one day.”

“yeah, when we’re married.”

“you're the one, y'know that right?”

it was never just ‘marry me’ and you’re not sure how long you stayed quiet, but long enough that his hand slips away from your neck. gently, he urges you to move up his body so you’re now face to face with him.

“going deaf on me r’you?” his chuckle deeper than normal, and you watch as his arm reaches over to the nightstand. sitting up straight on his lap, you feel your breath catch in your throat again.

this was different than every other time he alluded to marriage. this time there was a ring to accompany the words that suggested it.

“john—” and as you speak, he sits up and moves one arm around your waist. his other hand using his thumb to flip open the box with the ring inside it.

“marry me,” it sounds like he’s telling you; it isn’t a question he wants a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to. “and i know you can hear me.”

does your mouth always feel this dry? is it always this hard to try and speak? your lips parting again as words try to come out, but silence hangs heavy in the room. eyes don’t even glance at the ring before your hands grab his face. the facial hair you once called scratchy and ticklish when you first met him pressed against your palms.

tugging his face close to yours, you give him a small nod. lips graze against his briefly before you press them against his and he’s kissing you back. it tastes salty and wet, despite the feeling of your mouth feeling dry. but, the realization that tears have started to spill down your cheeks hits you.

“okay,” the word barely audible against his lips, but his arm around your waist tightens and pulls you closer when you say it; hand grabbing at your waist to keep you on his lap as if you’re trying to move away, but you aren’t.

when the kiss breaks, his arm slips away to remove the ring from the box. the box quickly discarded onto the bed as he gently takes your hand, you’d think he was holding glass with how delicate he treated it.

the ring slowly slides onto your finger, his own fingertips making your skin feel hot at the touch. once its on, price is guiding your hand to his lips; your ring finger the target for his kiss.

[joelsgreys]

weakness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s place takes one hell of an unexpected turn for you and Joel when hidden feelings start coming to the surface.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s). mentions of reader having longer hair/her hair gets brushed, reader wears a dress, no specific mention of reader’s size, but there is a brief mention of the dress fitting loose on her, Frank is sweet and makes her feel pretty, Bill is a grump, Joel is kind of soft, hidden feelings. dashes of angst, fluff, and an abundance of Frank being an absolute angel.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 5.7k

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolds you lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moves his hands back up to your hair, which is out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much, much needed wash. The sickeningly sweet scent of the floral shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingers deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing and welcome change from what your hair normally smells like—grime and smoke from hours of work detail in the Boston QZ. After coming out all of the stubborn tangles that he can find, Frank then picks up a boar hairbrush and he carefully begins to run it through your locks. He starts from the roots of your hair and brings the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. He chuckles and says, “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sigh softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he has you perched on before finally giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” you mumble You bring your knees up against your chest and exhale another small sigh. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the smug, satisfied smile on Franke’s face as he continues brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” you question him just a minute later, as if he hasn’t already explained it to you about a hundred times—he wants to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think so?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve to get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank states in a matter of fact tone. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he’d imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it’s something of a special occasion today,” he adds. “It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice outdoor lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your mount turn upwards into a small smile. One might think it was all rather silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you have to admit, you admire the way Frank manages to find genuine happiness and joy in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looks like. He has such a beautiful soul, something that very, very few people in this new world possess. 

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observes a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. Taking two handfuls of your hair from the front, he twists them gently and brings them around to the back of your head. He then secures them with a clear, elastic band and runs his fingers through your soft locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascades perfectly around your shoulders. Frank walks around your chair to face you, fussing until he makes sure that every stand is neatly in place. He smiles. “You should wear your hair down more often, you know. It really suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the zone require anyone who has longer hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You push your legs out away from your chest and plant your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do,” you swear. “It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s really no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my normal clothes.”

“Exactly. So how about you just zip it and enjoy this while it lasts?” he suggests with a tiny, cheeky grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He takes your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and with a reluctant sigh, you do as you’re told. Frank leads you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open and your mouth parts slightly in surprise. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur underneath your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looks absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of blush on your cheekbones—the color he’d found was one one that flatters the tone of your skin—and the thin coat of decades old mascara that he’d applied to your eyelashes; the tube had been bone fucking dry, but Frank used a few drops of water to bring it back to life, swearing up and down it was fine to put near your eyes. And then there was the dress, the goddamn dressed he’d force you into. His favorite part of the makeover and your least favorite. 

“Wait until you see what I found for you to wear,” he’d told you, giddy as if it were him who would be donning a new outfit. “You’re going to love it!”

Skeptical, you had asked, “Am I though?”

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it, pulling the fabric taut. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it became too chilly outside. 

“You look perfect,” he gushes. “Like a daydream!”

You look different. But that isn’t what brought on the shock. More than anything, you’re completely taken aback by how fucking normal you look. 

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, gave you the opportunity  to properly wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into a new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t stained or chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in Boston. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You’d never thought that you could look like this, not in this fucking lifetime. 

Frank immediately picks up on your emotions, senses how you’re feeling. Standing behind you, he places his two hands on your shoulders and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes meet your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but if I can at least give you this much, then my mission is accomplished.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamp your mouth shut and give him the tiniest little nod of your head accompanied by a quivering smile of gratitude. 

Frank smiles back. “Good. Now, come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands fall from your shoulders and he ushers you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gives you a wink. “I’m really eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” you sputter, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What the hell is he going to say when he sees you like this?

What’s he going to think?

Probably that you look utterly fucking ridiculous, that’s what.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorts. “Yes, I’m talking about Joel.”

You glare at his back. This isn’t the first time Frank has teased you about Joel Miller, and despite the countless times you’ve sworn to him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insists on believing otherwise, adamant that there has to be something more there. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he leads you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” you say. Normally, weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you’re not finding his antics amusing in the slightest, not while you’re wearing goop on your face and sporting a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing going on between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You pause briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and add in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. We smuggle shit together. That’s it.”

Frank stops at the bottom of the staircase and turns to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, you sleep in the same bed together, you spend every waking moment from sunrise to fucking sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you shake your head. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap?” he questions. “Really?”

“Frank,” you plead his name, groaning. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He throws his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoes through the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a whole lot of Bill,” he muses. He notices the horrified expression that crosses your face and laughs again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same fucking person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Would you say that’s pretty accurate?”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” you have to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what is his,” he further explains. He pauses and then asks, “Let me ask you something. You trust him, right?”

You don’t even miss a beat, answering, “Of course. With my life.”

He ticks his  index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly!” he exclaims. “You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stare at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Huffing, Frank rolls his eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him, sweetheart. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel Miller.”

For a moment, it feels like all the wind’s been knocked out of you. 

Could Frank actually be right? 

Do you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel Miller doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything—all he cares about is surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day, and even then, he never speaks of his younger brother too kindly. He’s been hardened by this world, closed himself off, put up a barrier around himself that nothing can permeate. Not even you.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmer, speaking a truth he’s been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” you confess, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You cross your arms over your chest, growing uncomfortable under his knowing stare. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bites his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He’d said it so simply, and yet there goes the rest of your air leaving your lungs, an invisible first driving itself right into your gut. 

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarks, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” you counter in the steadiest voice you can muster. “You’re wrong, Frank.”

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He speaks gently, but with purpose, with such seriousness that it makes your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you speak again, your voice is strained, thick with emotions you’re trying so desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the fucking romance novels.” Before he can say another word to you about it, you place a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he gets the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course. Come on” Frank takes your hand. He opens the front door and leads you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he sees you two approaching, Bill throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion. “It’s about goddamn time!” He grouches loudly. “Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m fucking starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tosses his partner a sweet smile as he releases your hand. “But look, I found myself something pretty!”

Heat floods your cheeks. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about your new appearance. “Frank, please. Don’t.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrows his eyebrows and he glances over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widen just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown curls  might have even had a comb run through them, but it;s  difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beams proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel doesn’t respond. His eyes remain glued on you, following as you walk around the table and take your usual place beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” you mutter, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticks by. You silently urge yourself to get a grip as you reach for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and drape it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up for lunch  smells heavenly—Frank knows  it’s  your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu, bless his heart. 

Joel still hasn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompts as he picks up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glare daggers at him from across the table and hiss, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel sets down his glass of wine and turns slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he speaks, his voice is low, but clear as day as he looks at you, “Yeah. She looks very pretty.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest and a strange warmth to bloom in your belly. 

Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he adds, giving you a subtle nod of his head. He lets his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He then turns back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again, chugging what’s left of it before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. 

Bill clears his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant. 

Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant.

 Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies. Only then would he step in. 

As you’d tucked into your meal of wild rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was so used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grime caked onto your skin and in your hair. 

Surely, he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his smuggling partner.

About an hour later, once everyone has finished eating, you offer to help Frank clear and clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settles for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shoos you away before you can even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he says, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hands. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggests. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like. Go ahead and check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” you joke lamely, although it earns you a sincere laugh from your friend. You pad out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that is packed tightly to the brim with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been all that much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months, a sweet little escape that took you out of your shoddy apartment in the zone and into another world. You start searching the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you pluck it from the shelf, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you begin thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing that it’s play—you’ve never read a play before. Still not convinced if it’s one you would like to take home with you, you flip back to the first page and start reading with a curious little hum. 

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he clears his throat, and asks, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirl around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you breathe out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate slows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he states, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escapes you, almost nervously, as he slowly starts walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He takes the book from your hands, humming as he reads the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” you toss him a teeny, lopsided smile as you tease, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacks your arm with the worn paperback. “Yeah, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flips it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read all his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He hands it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real fucking dream,” you deadpan. You glance down, running your index finger down the spine of the book. You’re trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes glaze over you from head to toe. 

“Y’know, it’s kinda nice,” he remarks quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the book and scoff. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He pauses, then adds, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even fuckin’ better, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. More than his words, it’s the genuine tone in which he had said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You force a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his gaze, you turn around and walk over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shove the book inside. 

When you hear Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffen slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel says. He seems to hesitate, but then continues, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay here?”

“You kidding?” You snort in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that. Never.”

Joel’s hands go to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turn around to face and find yourself caught off guard by how close he’s standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raise an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something, Miller?”

Joel quickly shakes his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that—” He stops and lowers his voice, just in case Bill or Frank happen to be wandering nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugs his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content—” He trails off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence, y’know? You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know that with Frank’s help, we could probably talk Bill into letting you stay.”

The second you realize he’s being serious, your smile fades.

“What? But what about you?”

“Darlin’, Frank’s good, but he’s not a goddamn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admits, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, you think to yourself.

“I know that much,” you reply with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That ain’t no fuckin’ life—”

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly soften. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen.

The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy here, not without you.”

Joel tilts his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body can even make the connection, you find yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You glance up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel exhales the breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass fucking world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” you declare, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were even finding the balls to confess all of this to him. “Okay?”

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lift your hand to his face. At first, there’s minor hesitation on your part, but you will yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch is gentle, Joel can’t help but wince. Not because he doesn’t want you to touch him, but because it had been so fucking  long since anyone had ever touched him like that. 

Since he’d let anyone touch him like that. 

He closes his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allows himself to relax his tense muscles and he sinks  into your touch.

Joel lets himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gives a subtle tremble when you softly start to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully tease him about now that it’s beginning to gray just like his hair, feels rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur, and he forces his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” you assure him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel manages to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that, darlin’.”

You carefully move your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“‘Cause. Shit like that is dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” you repeat, almost laughing. “Of all the things—”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier come to mind.

He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.

Joel’s dark eyes flicker to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he can even think to stop himself, he reaches out and pulls it up back into place, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed together, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…” 

Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he starts to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish of me, but I’m real glad you said it. ‘Cause no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lift yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with fills your senses and you yearn to have more of him, you nearly ache to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knows to take over from here. One of his arms snakes  its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reaches up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swipes lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly grant him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remains gentle.

The way that he kisses you, the way he holds your body against his, the way his large hand—the same hand that slits throats and breaks bones—delicately cradles the side of your face like you’re made of porcelain. 

“Joel,” you nearly whimper his name when he breaks away.

His face remains just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon.”

“I know.” You nod, hoping you don’t sound as disappointed as you feel. You can sense that Joel, much like yourself, is  at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly don’t, but the realization that you two have just crossed a line you’ll never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifts his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forces himself to release you from his arms and steps back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill. Y’know, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nod again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You pause, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened—”

He silently shakes his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss is short and quick, and when he pulls away, he says nothing. He turns on the heel of his boot and disappears, heading out to meet Bill in the garage. 

Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your throat goes dry when you see Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a knowing, smug expression on his face. 

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turn away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness. 

But he was yours too.

[rinslutz]

pleasepleaseplease may i request where reader and gojo get scared of megumi when hes out of the shower and he has his hair down since its wet and they have some sort of ptsd from fighting toji in the past!!

ᥫ᭡ “REFLECTIONS” — GOJO SATORU

ㅤꞋꞌꞋꞌ fem!reader, megumi calls reader “mom”, megumi calls gojo “dad”, angst, hurt/comfort, megumi is a few years older than canon (18?)

a/n : not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but i tried

“can i have a kiss?” gojo mumbles against your neck. you tried to escape him leaving your shared bed and taking refuge on the living room couch. unfortunately for you, gojo follows you like a lost puppy. he had immediately flopped his body on top of yours. now you’re uncomfortable engulfed in his arms.

“mmm no.” gojo frowns against your neck, tickling your skin. you flinch and pull away from him.

“that tickles.” you jab your finger against his shoulder to push him away from you. you immediately notice a flash of mischief in his eyes. your eyes widen in realization.

“don’t even think about it satoru.” of course he’s thinking about it. his slender fingers inch towards your sides. you slap them away but that only makes him laugh. you jump up and hold your hands up in defense.

“stop!” you squeal playfully. as gojo stands up, wiggling his fingers playfully you decide to make a run for it. you start off running down the hall. gojo is right on your heels and you’re sure he’s going to catch you.

unfortunately, you don’t see the bathroom door open and megumi stepping out. you almost crash into him but you're able to stop before you reach him.

his hair still drenched, droplets of water dripping on his freshly cleaned shirt. the loud screaming that he heard before exiting the bathroom seized. he watches as the playful look in your eyes is replaced with a look of pure terror. for a second he thinks that he’s startled you by existing the bathroom, but when his eyes shift to gojo’s he realizes that it’s something else.

the look in gojo’s eyes matches yours. pure shock and terror. neither of you move from your spot. megumi’s worried eyes shift back to you. he doesn’t like how you’re looking at him. you’ve never looked at him with anything other than love.

“mom?” he reaches his hand out to rest on your shoulder but you step back, startled. he snatches his hand back as if he’s touched an open flame. he feels as if his heart has fell into the pit of his stomach.

“mom? dad?” he calls again. he refrains from touching you this time. he looks at gojo again. the look in his eyes has seemed to return to normal.

“what’s wrong with you both?” megumi asks. his voice is bare above a whisper. he’s startled by your lack of reaction. gojo sends him a sad look before grabbing you and turning you towards him. he places his hands on your cheeks and stares into your eyes. this is when he notices that your shaking.

“it’s okay. it’s okay.” gojo whispers. his fingers caress the apples of your cheeks. the relentless pounding in your chest seems to slow. you swallow the lump that’s formed in your chest. his soft voice pulls you from your deep emotional state.

“mom? are you okay?” you hear megumi speak again. this time, now out of your trance-like state, you turn to him. his eyes are a little watery, making your heart hurt. you didn’t mean to scare him and you’re sure he didn’t mean to scare you.

megumi notice that the love has returned to your eyes. he reaches his hand out to touch you but he hesitates, afraid that you’ll flinch away from him again. you notice so grab his hand into yours. you place your other hand on top of his

“yes, i’m okay.”

“what happened? did i- did i do something?” your heart crumbles at the fact that he thinks he’s done something to warrant your reaction.

“no, no. it’s not you. i just had a bad memory.” megumi sends you a questioning look and then shifts his eyes to gojo. gojo sends him a look. he knows that look. he’s telling him not to ask you any more questions about it. and because megumi never wants you to look at him that way again he leaves it at that.

“well i’m glad you’re okay now.”

©rinslutz

[munsonfamilyband]

I have no time right now to elaborate too deeply on this thought but I just had a brain worm and I need to write it down before I forget. Who knows, I may elaborate and make this a whole thing with dialogue tonight, we’ll see. TW for depictions of Steve’s injuries post s4, vomiting, gore(?)

Steve refuses medical treatment at the end of s4, they drop off Eddie and he hides in plain site until it’s time to take Dustin and Robin home.

They stop at Dustin’s first, both he and Robin getting out to get Claudia Hugs (I just know she gives INCREDIBLE hugs). He drops Robin off at home with her promising to keep her walkie on their frequency. And then he goes home alone.

He tries to shower, it hurts his feet and back too much. He tries to change the “bandage” but just gently tugging almost makes him black out from pain. So he collapses on his bed and passes out.

Days go by, he’s trying to act normal, like he isn’t always running a fever and his sides are itching and starting to smell under the cologne he practically bathes in. It works for a few days at least, but Claudia gets suspicious by day 3 post earthquake when Steve shows up for lunch with flushed cheeks. 2 days later he doesn’t show up.

She drives over alone, Dustin is at the Wheeler’s, and she lets herself in with the key Steve gave her and Dustin after last summer. She calls his name, doesn’t get an answer but something smells off. She’s a nurse, she recognizes the scent of disease.

She hurries upstairs and finds Steve in bed, only wearing boxers and the filthy scrap of cloth wrapped around his stomach. He’s sweating and has vomited on himself at least twice, recently too. She immediately knows that he is what smells, she can see the pus and blood on his abdomen. He’s delirious, mumbling to himself and part of her wants to shut down and cry, to go cradle this boy, her son in all ways but blood, but she can’t. She steels herself and walks to his bedside to feel his forehead, almost recoiling from how hot his skin is.

As she keeps checking him over, she grabs the phone on his bedside table and calls 911, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder to keep working. When the operator answers she explains who she is, where she is and what’s happening.

It’s a blur after that until she’s sitting in the hospital waiting room and she realizes that 1. her shirt and her hands reek of Steve’s blood, and 2. she’s completely alone in the waiting room. Swallowing her tears, Claudia goes over to the payphone and fishes out some coins to call the Buckely’s. Robin’s father picks up but quickly hands it over when Claudia mentions Steve.

She will never forget the choked off sound of pure distress Robin makes when she hears what’s happening.

Hours pass, Robin had arrived shortly after the call and her and Claudia have been curled up together in the waiting room every since. They haven’t called anyone else, haven’t even thought about it, too worried about Steve. Later, Claudia will remember the other kids who adore Steve, Hopper who treats Steve like a son. But in that moment, still not knowing if her boy is okay, she can’t.

Finally, a doctor steps out, clearly fresh from surgery, to speak with them. She explains that Steve had a very severe infection in multiple wounds, especially the ones on his side. They had to debride the wounds, which is what took so long. He was lucky that she found him when he did and that he hadn’t picked up any truly terrible bacteria. He hadn’t gone septic, thankfully, but he was going to be on seriously strong antibiotics for a while. She explained that he was in the ICU and they aren’t supposed to let anyone but family see him.

Claudia wanted to scream and sob and go find the Harringtons and get them to come see their son, but before she even says anything Robin explains that Steve’s parents had all but disowned him and her and Claudia were both in his emergency contacts, not his parents.

The doctor lets them see him. They have to wear face masks and gloves, but they can see him. Claudia had never seen him look so small. And there, in that ICU room, her and Robin both broke and started crying. That was how Jim Hopper found them when he arrived shortly after, the nurses having called him. He’s wearing a mask and gloves but his eyes are wild and scared. He nearly falls over when he sees Steve.

Steve is unconscious for almost two weeks, though the first four or five days or so were due to sedatives - the doctor wanted him to rest and let the antibiotics work. After he was taken off the sedatives he was moved out of the ICU, to a regular room where other people could visit. The kids came and decorated his room, even brought something Eddie had “commissioned” from Will (it looked like Steve ripping one of those creepy things from that alien movie apart, which she really didn’t get). Joyce brought him the quilt from her couch that he always enjoyed at movie nights and Robin came in every other day with his shampoo and conditioner to wash his hair for him (on days she didn’t come to wash his hair, she would come do something else with him. One day Claudia walked in on her painting his nails and her heart felt like it was melting).

The day he finally woke up was the first day Robin hadn’t been able to come. Her parents had forced her to take a break and get some sleep, so Claudia was there on her own just reading a book. She was so engrossed in it that she dropped it in shock when she heard the person on the bed in front of her make noise. Her eyes instantly went to Steve and she could see him scrunching up his face and groaning.

Claudia was by his side in a heartbeat, gently grabbing his hand and brushing a hand over his cheek, speaking softly to let him know she was there. His eyes slowly squinted open, clearly struggling to get the energy to move at all. Their eyes locked and his mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile at her. Then, as she was watching him with tears in her eyes, he opened his mouth and spoke for the first time in weeks.

“Mom….”

[iateyourparents]

red kisses | j.w.

pairing: jake webber x fem!reader

summary: you got a new lipstick and you just had to prank your boyfriend with it.

warnings: nothing really, just bad writing and grammar(sorry, english isn’t my first language).

an: i got this idea from tik tok but i unfortunately couldn’t find this girl:((

pictures are from pinterest:)

You got a new lipstick. But not any lipstick, it was a color changing lipstick.

At first it was in neutral color and then after few minutes it was starting to get red and redder until it was bloody red.

So of course you had to use this on your lovely boyfriend.

You already pranked him with normal red lipstick and he wasn’t mad but well, now he was making sure you doesn’t have red lipstick on when you kissed him before he was supposed to go out.

Currently Jake was in shower so you quickly took your phone deciding to share this prank with your viewers on instagram later. You recorded a quick intro telling them about your purchase and plan.

Then when you heard that water stopped running you pretended that you still were on the couch with your phone.

„Hi baby.” Jake smiled at you and sat next to you.

„Hi love.” you also smiled at him opening your arms and he gladly laid half of his body on yours and snuggled into you.

You stayed like that a few minutes.

“Go dry your hair babe, we don’t want you to get sick and you have to go in few minutes.” you reminded him. He was supposed to be out with Johnnie in thirty minutes so that was perfect opportunity for your prank.

Jake sighed but did what you said and went to bathroom to use dryer.

„Baby, can you do my hair?” you heard Jake asking.

„Sure.”

Few minutes later he was sitting on the floor in front of you with you brushing his hair. You styled it the way you knew he liked and then he was almost ready to go.

„I’ll go change. I’ll miss you.” he pouted and you giggled quietly kissing the top of his head.

„I’ll miss you too but i’m not sure if Johnnie will be happy with that reasoning.”

„Stupid Johnnie.” you heard Jake muttering under his breath and you only shook your head with small smile while he was getting up from the floor.

He went to yours room and you quickly started recording on your phone and you put on your new lipstick. As you expected, it was almost clear like a lipgloss. You quickly hid your phone and not five seconds after you were done with hiding, Jake was back from the bedroom in new clothes.

You acted like you were taking something from a cabinet in kitchen.

„I have to go.” you didn’t have to look at him to know he had a pout on his lips.

You smiled at him and opened your arms and he quickly ran to you and was snuggling into you.

Few seconds later he took his hands from your back to grab your waist and lift you onto the kitchen counter.

You giggled and took his face in your hands and kissed his lips, he gladly deepened kiss.

When you disconnected your lips you also left kiss on his left cheek and side of his neck. You made sure to press your lips a little harder to leave a lipstick in those places.

„Don’t keep Johnnie waiting.” you lightly patted his ass and he smiled at you.

“I’ll be back soon.” he promised at kissed your forehead and then nose “Bye love.”

“Bye baby, have fun!” you waved at him and he got out.

You took your phone from its hiding spot and you stopped recording.

You waited few minutes and then updated your video with how your lips and places Jake kissed were almost bloody red.

You waited for some message from Jake about your prank but got nothing so you waited for him to be back home.

Finally, some time later when you were watching a film you heard a keys jiggle on the other side of the door so you quickly started recording and pointed phone camera on the door.

Jake came in with wide smile and red lips shaped spot remaining on his neck, but the ones from lips and cheek were gone.

“So I noticed your prank.” he accused pointing his finger at you “How the hell it appeared after I was out?”

You laughed and explained “I bought color changing lipstick.”

He gasped and came to sit next to you.

“I was so shocked when Johnnie told me about lipstick stains because you had no lipstick on.” he pouted and you giggled, but then he smiled widely and pointed at the kiss on his neck “I kept this one and I think I should make a tattoo like this one with your kiss.”

You smiled at him because well, he for sure looked good with this kiss.

“You definitely should.” you nodded and stopped recording to start kissing him and he gladly accepted this.

“But be careful.” he warned when you disconnected your lips “I’ll have my revenge!” he laughed mischievously and you only nodded with small smile.

“Sure love.” and you were back to kissing him.

[a-hazbin-reader]

SHOWERING OR BATH TIMES WITH HUSBAND ALASTOR?!?!?!

YES

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

Bath time with Alastor is one of the most relaxing things you can do with him

It's the best because of the obvious trust he's giving you with his body, his guard down

As his wife, you're the only person who gets to see this side of him

He starts to find excuses to get you to shower or bathe with him, sometimes he's subtle about it and other times, he's not

"Alastor!!"

"My dear, you're soaking wet! Luckily, I have just the remedy for those cold bones~ A hot bath~"

🥶🙄😑😮‍💨🙂‍↔️

He likes bubble baths but won't ever admit it to anyone besides you, the bubbles just add something a little ✨️

Will literally melt into your chest the moment you start scrubbing his hair, the attention making him go lax

Not his ears going flat against his head and twitching

Sometimes he lets out a few happy growls or bleats whenever you massage somewhere particularly sore

Sometimes forgets he's in a bath and will try to snuggle into you only to get a shock of water in his face, arms wrapped loosely around your hips

There's just something so special about spending uninterrupted quality time with your husband like this

Not that he just takes baths to have you pamper him, he likes doing the same for you as well

He's used to people being wary of him or not fully trusting him, so watching you relax under his care-knowing just how dangerous he is

And trusting him with his claws and his teeth with your bare body? In your most vulnerable state?? It does things to him

Sometimes you forget how strong your husband is, but in these moments when he's maneuvering your body around to better wash you??

He could easily manhandle you if he wanted to

Takes his time washing your body but not necessarily in a sexual way, more like he's admiring fine art that he's allowed to touch

It's like the most heavenly massage, especially when his claws scrape ever so gently against your flesh

Sometimes, the two of you will just lay together and listen to music while waiting for the water to go cold

Maybe you two drink some tea

Showers with Alastor are a little bit different, not by much though

He kisses your body a lot more in the shower, no longer deterred by soap or stagnant water

You two don't normally have as much time together in the shower so the touches are a little more rushed, more rough

Still pleasurable though

It's not as much about cuddling and being close as it is about cleaning each other

Sometimes sex

If you come out with a few more love bites on you than before well...

Alastor is going to be stepping out with some of his own because we all know he started it

You two literally take up ALL the hot water when you shower together, Angel fucking HATES IT

Too bad bby boi

Your husband in all his wisdom even manages to always have the softest, warmest towels waiting for you

If you really play up the cute wife act then you're sometimes able to convince him to carry you to the bedroom

"Oh fine! Just stop using those doll eyes on me~"

As much as he wishes he could just lay in bed with you and never get dressed...you both have work to do

But he cherishes the moments he gets to bathe/shower with his beautiful wife and always looks forward to the next

This one was so adorable 🥹 I hope you liked it

[churipu]

Hello (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠) Can I request Itadori, Geto, and Gojo getting "cuteness aggression" over their girlfriends? Like they want to bite her cheeks, pet her hair, suffocate her with cuddles, shower her with kisses, etc.! Thank you so so much, have a wonderful day/night! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

JJK MEN + CUTENESS AGGRESSION ˚✿˖

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, itadori yuuji x fem!reader

warnings. none, just them being lovesick for you tbh :>

note. hi anon, i'm so sorry for the super late update for your request :( i hope you like it! <33 i'm gonna be continuing the 1k milestone in a bit, just a few more requests 😸

GOJO SATORU. gojo has this habit of nipping on your flesh, then sucking on them gently every time he looks at you — once, he made a bruise (a hickey) on your cheek. the male will not hide the fact that he's so in love with you, he just wants to put you in his pocket and takes care of you.

"baby, you're so cute, i can't help it," he gushes out, fondling your cheeks with his big hands before peppering your face with wet kisses.

with every kiss he plants, he sounds out a loud, "mwah!"

"'toru, stop that," you always try to tell him despite the big smile on your face — along with the soft giggle that escaped your throat every once in a while.

gojo just couldn't help it. something in him, just tells him that he should touch you. the giddy feeling he gets when he sees you just sitting, doing nothing. he always makes his way to you in a flash, just to either hug you tightly, squish your cheeks, even take a nip or two on your flesh.

"'toru, give me one reason why you're chomping my shoulder right now?" the male unhinged his teeth from your clothed shoulder and blinked innocently.

"'cause you're cute. give me a kiss," he then puckered out his lips slightly, swooping down to steal a kiss from your lips, "mmm, more," he spoke to himself — planting his lips to yours multiple more times.

gojo just can't help it, every time he comes over to visit you, or to pick you up for a date. he doesn't care no matter what make up or skin care you have latched on your face, he will nip on your flesh any time he gets to do it (every time).

GETO SUGURU. different than gojo, i feel like he will be more discreet about it in public. his fingers would gently squeeze your plump thighs, or your hips. but when you're both all alone — he will squeeze your cheeks, give you head pats, and just gush over his girlfriend.

"sugu, no more, my hair's a mess," you shooed his hand away from your head before patting down on the disheveled strands.

"'ts okay, you still look pretty," he gently grabbed your hand and put it down, and there his hand went. on your head, patting your hair here and there.

geto has this small habit of just — biting down on your finger when he holds your hand, your index, your thumb, your pinky. he just does it, out of the blue, and when you ask what he's doing, he just spews out about how cute and small your fingers are compared to his.

"sugu, no bite."

"baby, your finger is so small and cute," he chuckled, biting down gently onto your pinky.

"'ts not. it's normal — your fingers are too big," you reply back, pulling your finger out from being sandwiched by his teeth.

no matter how many times you tell him to stop, he does it again and again. and you just let him do whatever he wants.

ITADORI YUUJI. like gojo, he doesn't really care where he is or who's watching — even when he's talking with his friends or even gojo himself. yuuji's hand will find a way to pinch your cheeks, his eyes not even sparring at you. but his hands just maneuvers over to your skin.

like a stress ball. except, yuuji does it gently.

when he sees you, he becomes this extremely happy boy. hugging you tightly and just peppering kisses all over your face, his hands cupping both sides of your cheeks as he does that.

"my pretty girl," he kisses you on the tip of your nose, moving on to your cheeks and then your forehead, before eventually to your lips.

yuuji gets so giddy when he sees you wearing either lip gloss or lip stick, he turns into this fanboy and can't help but to give you a kiss or two on the lips — smearing his own with shades of red, pink, or glossy oil.

"is this a new shade, baby?" he asks, pointing at his lips — which had tints of dark pink.

you nodded, "it looks good on you."

"it looks better on you," he planted another kiss on your lips, "pretty," he glees out, biting your chin gently.

when he sees you in a new make up or outfit, he just gets so giddy at how adorable you look. he just has to praise you, hug you, kiss you, anything really as long as it's you.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[beskarandblasters]

Bluffing Season

Enemies to Lovers!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Author’s note: Ya know like “cuffing season” lmao!! Thank you to @pascalispretty and @hyzer34 for beta reading! 🤍

Summary: Frankie Morales is your next door neighbor of the worst kind. To put it simply, you two can’t stand each other. But when his girlfriend breaks up with him right before the holidays he asks you to be his fake date for Christmas, not wanting to go home to his family single yet again. You reluctantly say yes and as you spend time with him you realize he’s not as terrible as you once thought.

Word count: 14.6k (what the fuck lol)

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, reader is a baker, two years post Triple Frontier, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fake dating, jealousy, made up lore for Frankie/his family tree, reader lowkey got mommy issues (just a shitty family in general), drinking, mentions of drugs, food/eating, Frankie describing his trauma, some Spanish used, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names (cariño), sort of ambiguous time skips, Frankie is either a Libra or a Scorpio!!, no use of y/n

Late October

Beep Beep Beep

Ugh. Another shit start to your day with shit sleep as per usual. Running your own bakery means a lot of early mornings. Normally you don’t mind waking up early since you love what you do. You bought a new house on Magnolia Drive eight months ago which made your commute to the bakery much shorter. However… Your realtor neglected to tell you that it came with the worst neighbor on the face of the Earth. His name is Frankie and you can’t stand him. When you first moved in, he seemed normal, an ex-military, single guy living on his own. The deception didn’t last long, though. Because after about two weeks of living next to him, the shitstorm commenced. And now you wished you picked literally any other house in this city. His friends are at his house all the time, one of them always blocking your driveway with their pickup truck. They stay until at least four in the morning, blasting music when Frankie knows you have to work early the next day. He’s probably the worst neighbor in the entire state of Florida. 

You’re getting in your car to start your morning commute for work when Frankie is grabbing the morning paper from his mailbox. You physically recoil when you see him. There’s a harsh line of demarcation separating your lawn from his because he cuts his grass once in a blue moon. It’s such an eyesore.  

“Have you thought about, I don’t know, cutting your lawn?” you ask before shutting your car door.

He shoots you the middle finger and mouths something you can’t hear. You roll down the window for him to take a few steps closer to your car and repeat, “Stop feeding the fucking stray cats.”

Okay, maybe you aren’t the perfect neighbor either. But doesn’t he deserve it anyway?

“Bite me,” you respond, rolling your eyes and backing out of your driveway.

He rolls his eyes, too, and storms off. You giggle to yourself, feeling proud that you got a rise out of him. If he’s going to piss you off the least you could do is return the favor. 

-

Work is fine, a little busier than normal. But the afternoon exhaustion is hitting. You can’t wait to go home, take a shower, and maybe get some sleep before Frankie’s friends come over. It’s Friday and they’ll be even more unruly than they normally are during the week. Don’t they have lives? Or like… a fucking family to go home to?? Probably not if they’re hanging out with the likes of him. 

But alas, it’s finally time to go home. You close up the bakery and get in your car to drive back, excited to just melt into the couch for a few hours. As you turn onto your street you see that Frankie’s driveway is empty, for now, that is. He’s not outside, either. So that means you get to just slip inside your house without a hostile interaction for once. Score!

You pull into your driveway, get out of your car, and start walking towards your front door when a disgruntled voice stops you dead in your tracks. 

“Hey!”

Not again. 

“What do you want now?” you say, whipping around and using the bitchiest voice you can muster. 

“Cut your fucking tree,” Frankie says, holding up a lemon. 

…Is he fucking for real? 

You have a lemon tree at the edge of your backyard and a few branches hang over the fence and into Frankie’s yard. You never thought to trim it because you assumed you were doing something nice for him, letting him have some of the lemons. But no, apparently he wants to complain about free fruit. 

“You’re complaining about… free fruit?”

He stutters a bit, tripping on his words as if he just realized how stupid he sounds.

“I guess not.”

“That’s what I thought,” you say, turning and heading into your house.

The fucking nerve of that man. 

The rest of the night is pretty uneventful aside from a bitter man complaining about free fruit. You hear Frankie’s friends next door and grumble to yourself. How do they have the energy to party every single day of the week? You turn in early and do your best to ignore how loud they are, getting ready for another busy day at the bakery. Tomorrow’s Saturday, the busiest day of the week, and you need to be well rested. Well rested as you can be with all the noise from next door. 

-

The morning’s been typical so far; wake up feeling exhausted, argue with Frankie in the driveway, drive to work, open the bakery; and the usual stuff. It isn’t until halfway through your business hours that something… interesting happens. A woman enters the shop and browses the cakes in your display case. 

“I’d like to get some writing on a cake.”

“Sure! Which one would you like?”

“That one,” she says, pointing to one on the bottom, a vanilla cake with vanilla buttercream and strawberries in the middle. 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing it out of the case and taking it to your decorating table, “What would you like it to say?”

“Well, it’s for my boyfriend, Frankie so I’d like it to say “Happy birthday, Franklin” with a fish. I guess his nickname was catfish in the military.”

You know for a fact this is for Frankie because of the nickname. You’ve heard his friends screaming it next door when they’re drunk. But you also know for a fact his name is not Franklin, it’s Francisco. You didn’t have to ask him or anything, Amazon has delivered some of his packages to your house in the past by mistake. So this is fucking hilarious. 

“Any specific color for the writing?” you ask, stifling a chuckle. 

“Black is fine.”

You get to work on the writing and have mixed feelings. It’s kinda shitty that his own girlfriend doesn’t know his full name. And it’s also shitty that he’s going to have a birthday cake at his party with the wrong name on it. You should feel bad but… Nah, this guy sucks. 

You glance over at his girlfriend before moving on to the fish. Although she clearly doesn’t know her boyfriend that well at all, you can’t deny that she’s beautiful. And all of a sudden you’re feeling… jealous? Wait, why are you getting jealous of her? For a guy you can’t even stand?

You gotta finish decorating this cake and get her out of here so you can try to deal with your conflicting feelings. You package the cake back up and walk it to the counter to cash her out. 

“Okay, your total is fifty-three forty-nine. Cash or card?”

“Card,” she says, tapping it on the counter. 

The receipt prints out of the machine for her to sign but before you hand it to her you look at the name printed on the bottom; Heather Ryan. 

“Okay, just need your signature and then you’re all set!” 

She signs her name on the receipt and slides it back to you. 

“It looks great! Thank you so much!” she says before grabbing the cake and leaving. 

Now that she’s gone you can process your weird and sudden emotions. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend and to be honest, it kind of surprises you that he has one in the first place considering his… lifestyle. But why are you jealous? He’s the worst. 

Although… When you first moved in, you did think he was kinda cute before he showed his true colors. He got you with his curly brown hair peeking out underneath his hat but the attraction didn’t last long. Once his antic began, the attraction dissipated. 

…Or so you thought.

Stop it, you tell yourself. He has made your life hell for the better part of a year. 

You bury down your weird and confusing feelings for now, trying to continue the rest of the day as normal. The rest of the day is pretty uneventful and soon enough five o’clock rolls around. Just as you’re locking up the bakery, you get a text from your friend, Ally. 

Hey, bestieee!! Drinks tonight?

You know what, why not?

You respond with: 

Oooh, what time and where?

You get in your car and drive home, excited to have something to look forward to tonight. And at least you’ll be gone for some of Frankie’s antics. As you pull into your driveway you notice his friends aren’t there yet, all the better for you. You  check your phone and Ally says;

7:30. Let’s go to the Harp tonight!! I’ll meet you there. 

She’s referring to a bar downtown but to you, it honestly doesn’t matter where you go. You need to blow off some steam and work through your weird feelings with your friend, get her opinion on this random burst of jealousy you’re feeling. 

You take a shower, change into a skirt and fitted tee, and do your makeup before getting ready to leave. Just to find one of Frankie’s friends blocking your driveway, of course. Why wouldn’t they do this shit on the one night you have plans?

Nah, this isn’t going to fly. You gotta say something. You march right over to his door and judging by the noise coming from inside, his birthday party is tonight. Alright, maybe you won’t be a huge bitch about this right now. Especially when you know how his birthday cake turned out…

You knock and someone other than Frankie answers the door. You recognize him as one of Frankie’s friends but you can put a name to his face. 

“Oh, shit! Neighbor girl is here!” he says, calling out to Frankie over his shoulder. 

Before you can ask him about the truck blocking your driveway he says, “I’m Benny. Come on in!”

Yeah, he’s clearly drunk. Whatever this will be quick. You reluctantly step inside and look around. You’ve never actually been inside Frankie’s house before. It’s honestly nicer than you expected considering his lifestyle and the way he keeps his lawn. You’re standing in his living room with Frankie and three other men. You’re feeling anxious all of a sudden but you don’t show it. Who knows what Frankie said about you to these guys? 

“Look who it is, Fish!” Benny says, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Guys, this is my neighbor,” Frankie says. He looks a little… nervous? You’ve never seen him like this before. 

“I’m Santiago,” a man with dark hair says, shaking your hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, forcing a fake smile. 

“And this is Will,” Santiago continues, gesturing to a man with short blond hair. 

“You got anyone else coming, Fish?” Santiago asks, turning towards Frankie, “What about Heather?”

“Uh, she’s not coming.”

“Shit, man. Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine. But actually, can you help me with something in the kitchen?” Frankie asks, making eye contact with you. He looks bothered, like there’s something he wants to say but isn’t letting it come out. 

“Sure,” you reply, following him to the kitchen where he opens the refrigerator. The cake is sitting on the shelf in its box and your stomach drops. Poor guy. 

He grabs the cake from the refrigerator and sets it on the kitchen counter. 

“Can you help fix this? She put the wrong name,” he says, opening the lid to reveal the cake you decorated earlier today.

“I can try. Can you get me a butter knife?”

He opens his silverware drawer and hands you a knife. 

“Well, I think I can smear out the name and make a swirly pattern around the happy birthday?”

“Whatever you have to do,” he says softly. 

You take the knife and swipe away the “Franklin”, making a tie-dye design on the cake but stopping at the fish.

“You want me to leave the fish?”

“Nah, scrap it. Catfish is pretty much the only thing she knew about me anyway,” he says dejectedly.

“Right…” you respond awkwardly, swiping away your hard work from earlier. You can only assume he doesn’t know this birthday cake is from your bakery. But you fix the cake the best you can so it just says “Happy Birthday” with a swirly design. 

“That better?” 

“Yes. Thank you,” he says, letting out a sigh, “I just didn’t want them to see it.”

“I get that-”

“Let’s get this fucking party started!” Benny says, entering the kitchen and slamming a six-pack of beer on the counter. 

“Oh, actually I have to go-” you start. 

“What?? No way, you gotta stay,” Benny says, putting an arm around your shoulders. 

You could stay and just cancel your plans with Ally. But this is Frankie’s birthday party and you weren’t exactly invited. And you’re both aware of how much you painfully dislike each other. You look at Frankie, searching his eyes for an indication of how he’s feeling. 

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” he says softly. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

“Nooo, stay,” Benny says, looking at you with a wide grin on his face. 

“By all means,” Frankie says. 

“Fuck yeah,” Benny says, “Can I get you a drink? We have all sorts of shit.”

“Hard cider?”

“A woman with taste. I like it,” he says, removing the arm around your shoulders and opening the refrigerator. 

You pull out your phone to text Ally. It has to be something inconspicuous. She knows you hate Frankie with a passion so you can’t exactly say you’re partying with him and his friends right now. Maybe just lie and say you’re sick? 

You do exactly that, saying your stomach is bothering you. Just as you press send, Benny’s hanging you your hard cider. And now it’s just the three of you in Frankie’s kitchen, standing around awkwardly. 

“I have some of the MMA guys coming, too. That alright?” Benny says. 

“Fine with me. The more the merrier,” Frankie smiles. But the smile seems forced. 

Just Frankie says that there’s a knock on the door and it’s the guys Benny was referring to. A handful of men pile into Frankie’s living room with Will and Santiago, and now you’re the only girl here. And also sort of regretting your decision to cancel on Ally. 

“Let me introduce to you some of my friends!” Benny says cheerfully, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the living room. You exchange hello’s with Benny’s friends, a group of four guys whose names you can’t really be bothered to remember. 

Soon enough the folding table is pulled out and all of the guys are playing beer pong. You decide to just stand and watch, sipping your drink and keeping to yourself… except for Benny, who has been by your side all night. At first, it was kind of annoying but now that you’re talking to him he’s actually pretty cute. Or it’s just the alcohol talking. 

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks when yours is empty. 

“Sure,” you smile, handing the empty bottle to him. 

Now that you’re alone for a moment your eyes are scanning the room again, and they lock eyes with Frankie, who’s playing beer pong but not really paying attention. Benny comes back with your drink, handing it to you and leaning against the wall with his arm raised over his head. 

“Frankie never mentioned just how gorgeous you are.”

“Oh! Thank you,” you respond, caught you off guard. You’re feeling awkward, not knowing what to say back so your eyes are searching the room again. And once again, they lock with Frankie’s, whose eyes are… angry? But why is he angry? Is he… jealous? Nah, no way. He has a girlfriend. But she’s also proved herself to be shitty. And besides that, you two hate each other. Unless… you really don’t?

You decide to do a little experiment. Benny is super hot, but maybe you could turn up the flirting a bit and see just how jealous Frankie gets. 

And that’s exactly what you do. You’re laughing at all Benny’s jokes, falling for every cheesy pickup line, doing the thing where you look from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes, literally anything to flirt. And even though it’s for an experiment, you’re having fun and you could actually see yourself maybe liking Benny.

You look over at Frankie, and to your surprise (and also delight?), he’s looking directly at you. His eyes are almost pleading with you. But at the end of the day, you don’t owe him anything. And he’s taken. So why stop all the fun?

“I just can’t believe this is the first time we’re meeting,” Benny says, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know Frankie had such nice friends!” you respond. 

Benny leans a little closer to you, his eyes fixed on your lips. Oh shit, is he really gonna kiss you? Right here? Right now? In front of everyone? 

But also… why not? 

You lean forward more too, inching closer and closing the gap between you two. Just as your lips are about to meet, Santiago shouts, “Jesus, Fish! What are you doing?!” 

You pull away from each other and look at what’s going on. It seems that Frankie royally screwed up the round of beer pong because he and Santiago just lost. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t yell at the birthday boy,” Will laughs. 

Santiago sighs and says, “Best two out of three?”

The other men shrug but Frankie excuses himself, saying, “I need another drink.”

You can’t help but feel like that was your fault. Shit, maybe Frankie does have some sort of crush on you? Because why else would he get jealous over his friend flirting with you? Wouldn’t he want that to happen, as a means of burying the hatchet between you two?

“I have to use the bathroom,” you say to Benny. 

“Down the hall on your right,” he says.

You set your drink down on the coffee table and walk through the kitchen, but before you head to the bathroom you take a look at Frankie, who’s sipping a beer and looking at his birthday cake. A look of confusion and uncertainty on his face. You just can’t help but feel bad for him in some sort of weird way. But there’s also a nagging feeling deep down inside you that’s telling you that you shouldn’t feel bad for him. This guy has been nothing but a complete asshole to you. Why do you care so much about his feelings? 

You head down to the bathroom and pull out your phone. There’s a text from Ally and thankfully she wasn’t upset about the plans getting canceled. But you look at the time and decide, you should just go home. Besides, it’s getting a little boring watching the men play beer pong and you’re running out of things to talk about with Benny. 

You head back into the living room and say to Benny, “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Aw, okay. I’ll catch you later. But maybe you can come to one of my matches sometime?”

“I’d like that,” you smile. 

You poke your head into the kitchen and tell Frankie you’re leaving.

“Happy birthday by the way,” you say. 

He nods and waves his hand a little before you bid your goodbyes to everyone else and walk next door. And the only thought on your mind is… What the hell just happened?

You flop down on your couch and the room feels like it’s spinning, your mind swirling with all sorts of thoughts and emotions. You’re feeling a weird mix of confusion, pity, and also… apathy? You run through the basics: 

1. Frankie’s girlfriend sucks. 

2. It’s shitty that his birthday cake was messed up. 

3. You really don’t mind Benny at all and can see yourself liking him. 

4. At the end of the day, Frankie is still an asshole. 

And that trumps everything else, no matter how bad you feel for him. 

-

Mid-December 

Several weeks have gone by and you haven’t seen much of Frankie, or his friends for that matter. Lately, it feels like you've been living at the bakery twenty-four-seven. Especially since Thanksgiving just ended. But that also means you’re heading into another busy season; Christmas time. 

The holidays are your least favorite time of year. But running your own bakery means that you get to keep busy during the holidays. It’s always the perfect excuse for when your mother calls and asks why you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. You can usually get out of one and not the other. This year you skipped Thanksgiving so you’ll be due home for Christmas… unless you can think of another excuse to stay home again. But then you’ll get another phone call from your father claiming that “you’re breaking your mother’s heart” or whatever. 

From what you can tell, Frankie stayed home for Thanksgiving, too. Though you don’t know if his family is around here or not. His friends didn’t come over for Thanksgiving so you assume they were with their own families respectively. And you’re not really sure what happened with his girlfriend. So the two of you were just… alone that day. For some reason, the thought makes you kind of… sad? But like you told yourself weeks ago, don’t feel bad for Frankie, like at all. 

But now that you’re thinking of Frankie… he’s been his typical self, but maybe scaled back a bit? His lawn hasn’t been cut in God knows how long and his friends still come over to party here and there. But it’s definitely been a lot less than usual. Maybe the holidays are tough for him, too. 

Just as you’re leaving to go open the bakery the week before Christmas, you get a phone call from your mom. You sigh and roll your eyes because you already know what this is about. And you’ve been dreading this phone call since Thanksgiving. 

“Yes, mom?” you say as you answer the phone. 

“Is that any way to answer a phone call from your mother?” she says. God, you can already feel the judgment and disappointment seeping from her voice, even over the phone. 

“Ah, sorry Mom. How are you?”

“I’m just calling to see if we can expect you home for Christmas this year.”

“Uhh-”

“You know, since you broke your mother’s heart and didn’t come home for Thanksgiving.”

“I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy, uh, with the bakery and all.”

“That’s always the excuse. I’m getting sick of your shit. I need a straight answer as to whether or not you’ll be home for Christmas now.”

As you open your mouth to respond, probably with some poorly thought-out rebuttal since you’re so heated, you spot Frankie walking across his lawn toward you. Perfect escape from this phone call maybe?

“Shit sorry Mom. Gotta go. My neighbor’s coming up to me.”

As you pull the phone away from your ear and hang up, you hear your mom’s angry protests. But you’re too focused on Frankie to care. Because what could he want with you now? You haven’t done anything to piss him off lately. That you can remember anyway… 

“Hey,” he says with a shaky breath.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

“I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Okay…”

“Feel free to say no because it’s weird but I don’t know what else to do. And I’m sorry to drop this on you but-”

“Spit it out.”

“Will you come home with me for Christmas as my date? It would be fake, of course.”

Oh. You definitely weren’t expecting that to be the favor he needed. And for some reason him adding in “it would be fake, of course” is so funny. It’s so funny that you actually burst out into a fit of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not being serious.”

“I am.”

“But… why?”

“My girlfriend broke up with me right before Thanksgiving.”

“Let me get this straight. She put the wrong name on your birthday cake and you let her break up with you first?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I know it’s not.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

“Why can’t you just go home alone?”

“Because I can’t go home for another holiday alone. I already skipped Thanksgiving. My family’s always pestering me about settling down and I can’t take it anymore.”

“What’s in it for me?” you sigh. 

“Uh, you don’t have to go home to your shitty family? I mean I’m just assuming from that phone call you just had.”

“Yeah and instead I get to go home to yours?”

“My family’s not shitty. They’re nothing like me.”

You can’t lie to yourself and say that the offer isn’t tempting. Because as soon as you mention the word “boyfriend” to your mother she’ll be all over it. Like Frankie’s family, your mom’s been pestering you to settle down, too. If you offer her some sort of crumb to give her the indication that you’re finally “settling down” maybe she’ll leave you alone for once. 

“Just think about it,” Frankie says while you’re contemplating his offer to himself. 

He turns to walk back to his house but you stop him before he goes anywhere.

“Wait!”

He turns around to face you again with a hopeful look in his eye. You can’t believe you’re actually agreeing to this.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess it beats going home to my family.”

“Thank you,” he says, pulling you in for a hug.

“Alright, the fake relationship hasn’t started yet,” you say, wincing at his embrace.

“Shit, you’re right,” he says, pulling away.

“How long are we there?”

“From the twenty-third until New Year’s. That okay with you? I know you have the bakery and all…”

It’s a little earlier than you prefer to close and it’s quite a long time to be gone but you suppose you can make do. Maybe you can catch a short flight home if you need to be back to the bakery by then?

“Yeah, fine with me. Where does your family live?”

“Savannah, Georgia.”

Oof, five hours in Frankie’s truck, just the two of you… But it’s worth it.

“Okay,” you sigh. 

“Great. Thank you so much. We’ll leave around ten, okay?”

“Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

“Oh, one more thing. Can you bake something?”

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure. I’ll think of what to make.”

“Thanks again,” he says, putting his hands together like he’s praying before turning and walking back to his house. You’re left in your driveway questioning all your life choices that led up to this moment. But now you get to call your mom and tell her about this mysterious boyfriend you just happened upon. 

You get in the car to leave for work and call your mom again, making sure to act a bit more pleasant this time. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom,” you say, putting on your cheeriest voice.

“What happened with your neighbor?”

“Oh, nothing. He just had a package for me. Got delivered to his house by accident.”

“Oh, okay. So are you coming home for Christmas or what?”

“Actually, I’m not. I’m sorry. But I have a good reason?”

“And that is?”

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s family’s Christmas.”

“Boyfriend? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

“Uhh, it’s sort of new.”

“What’s his name?”

“Frankie.”

“Well, don’t fuck this one up. I want to meet him after Christmas, okay?”

Classic mom. She always has to make this about how much you suck.

“Of course. I’ll talk to you later, though. I gotta go open up the bakery.”

“Alright. Love you, bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

That’s the best phone call you’ve had with your mom in a while. Maybe pretending to date Frankie will be a good thing?

-

It’s time to go. You're dressed in a comfy outfit for the drive. Everything’s packed and ready to go. You decided to make lemon bars from the lemon tree in your backyard. They’re packed away neatly in your to-go container. You head outside with all of your bags and Frankie meets you in your hard to help you. 

“Jesus, did you pack the kitchen sink, too?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

You’re already questioning why you said yes to this. But then your mother’s nagging voice is deep in the back of your mind. 

It’s better than going home, you tell yourself.

You get into the passenger seat and Frankie backs out of the driveway. You look at his lawn out the window as you leave. Still not cut, of course. 

For the first thirty minutes of the drive, it’s painfully silent. Until Frankie says, “You let me know if you need to stop to pee or something.”

“Okay…” you say awkwardly.

Another fifteen minutes goes by and he breaks the silence again. 

“You know, if we want to sell this we have to act like a real couple.”

You were dreading this conversation.

“Yeah…”

“For one, we’ll probably gonna be sharing a bed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we have to act like we somewhat like each other when we’re not alone.”

“I know,” you sigh.

“Think you can do that?”

“I said yes to this, didn’t I?”

“Right…”

You can’t sit through another uncomfortable silence again. You’ve still got like four more hours of this drive to go. 

“I guess we have to get to know each other.”

“Right. So what do you do? Oh fuck, I know you have the bakery but I meant tell me about it.”

“Uhh, right. I opened it four years ago. I just make desserts, like pastries and shit.”

“Gotcha.”

“What about you?”

“I used to be in the Army, specifically the Delta Force.”

“Oh, wow. How long were you in the Army?”

“I joined right after I got out of high school.”

“Long time,” you comment, “When did you leave?”

“About three years ago. I was just a pilot for a while.”

“Gotcha. What do you do now?”

“Not much. I’ve been living off my pension for the past two years after some shit happened.”

“We don’t have to talk about-”

“Our friend passed.”

“Oh, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more and you’re so curious for more information but you don’t want to pry either. It falls silent again and then you decide to pry for more information about a less heavy topic. 

“So… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your girlfriend?”

“She broke up with me two days before Thanksgiving.”

“That’s rough. What did you tell your family?”

“I pretended I was sick.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. I probably should’ve ended things a while ago. I don’t think she had any idea about who I really am.”

“Right.”

“She didn’t even know my full name.”

The cake that you made. 

“Yeah…”

“She put the wrong name and didn’t even get a cake I like.”

“About that.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know where she got that cake from?”

“No.”

“She came to my store.”

“…Did you know it was the wrong name?”

“Well yes, but what was I supposed to say? She’s the customer. I can't correct her. I just have to write what she ordered.”

“I know…” he sighs. 

“Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that she was the wrong person for you, okay?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I felt bad making it.”

“You did?”

“I mean, it’s kinda shitty if your girlfriend doesn’t know your name, right?” You chuckle. 

“Right again,” he nods, looking over at you from the driver's seat. 

“So what kind of cake do you like then?” you ask. 

“Chocolate. I’m a simple guy.”

“Noted. So now I know Frankie Morales used to be in the Army, used to be a pilot, and likes chocolate cake. Anything else I need to know?”

“That about sums me up I guess.”

“Oh, come on! There’s more to you than that. What do you like to do for fun? Besides partying.”

“Oh, uh, I like to play poker with my friends. I’m into cars. And we’ll go support Benny at some of his matches. That’s pretty much all I do these days.”

“And also not cutting your lawn.”

“Listen-”

“And complaining about free fruit,” you tease. 

“Alright, alright. I know I haven’t been the best neighbor in the past.”

“Uh-huh,” you say sarcastically. 

“I guess after what happened I went down a spiral. And I was just… selfish for a while. Only caring about what I wanted to do and not thinking how it affects others.”

“That’s fair. You went through something traumatic.”

He opens his mouth to say something else but no words come out. It feels like he’s hiding something or not telling the full truth. And he wants to tell you, but he feels just can’t, that you’re not ready for that just yet. 

It’s silent again and this time you find yourself dozing off with your cheek pressed up against the cool glass window. Somehow you’re able to fall asleep to Frankie’s music that he put on to fill the silence. You recognize it’s a Tom Petty song, but as you’re trying to put your finger on just what song it is, sleep fully overtakes you. 

-

You were only out for about an hour and a half. It’s hard to sleep for long periods in a truck. As you open your eyes and stretch a little, Frankie says, “Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re officially the worst co-pilot in the world.”

“Whatever,” you say sarcastically, also while stifling back a yawn. 

“I’m just teasing. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t sleep for too long anyway. It’ll mess up my sleep schedule.”

“Oof, my sleep schedule is pretty fucked up.”

You glare at him from the passenger seat. But he doesn’t get why, looking at you and going “What?” with a shrug.

“I noticed,” you say coldly. 

Everyone knows the best time to air your grievances with each other is when you’re trapped in a moving vehicle together!

“Okay… Why do you seem mad?”

“You and your friends are just… loud.”

“Oh.”

“And I have to be up early in the mornings to open the store.”

“Oh,” he says again like the realization is hitting him. 

“It’s alright…” you say awkwardly, even though it’s not. 

“It’s not alright. I wasn’t being considerate.”

“I know, but I didn’t say anything either.”

“You sure said something about my lawn,” he teases. 

“Because it’s a fucking eyesore, Francisco!”

“Be honest. You just wanted to see me mowing the lawn with my shirt off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t lie! I saw the way you looked at me when you first moved in.”

“Oh, shut up!” you say, playfully slapping him on the arm. 

“You’re not denying it,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Maybe I thought you were cute when I first moved in. Didn’t last long, though.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m trying to be better. Ironically enough I think Heather dumping me was what I needed.”

“I think so, too.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Frankie’s passing a sign indicating there’s a rest stop ahead. 

“Can we stop? I have to pee,” you say. 

“Sure thing,” he says, pulling off the highway and into the rest stop parking lot. 

“Meet you back here?” you say, opening the door. 

“I’ll go with you. All sorts of seedy characters hang out at rest stops,” he says, getting out of the car and walking around to your side. 

He helps you get out of the truck and walks inside with you, placing a hand on the small on your back as you cross the parking lot. His head’s in a constant swivel, eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. 

“I think I’ll take it from here,” you say, stopping in front of the women’s restroom. 

“I’ll be waiting here,” he nods. 

You nod back and look at what he’s wearing; a burgundy t-shirt with a black zip-up sweatshirt, gray sweatpants, and of course the Standard Oil cap. Now that you’re starting to see Frankie for who he really is… you don’t mind him at all? Seven months ago you never thought this would’ve happened, that you’d actually be civil with him. Maybe you just had to give him a chance. 

You do your business and walk back out to the lobby to meet Frankie. He’s on high alert, standing stiff as a board and taking in all of his surroundings. Until he sees you and his face lights up. 

“I got us some stuff for the road!” he says cheerfully, holding up a plastic bag. 

You look inside the bag and “some stuff” was an understatement. It looks like Frankie bought out the entire store. There are bottles of water, soda, different kinds of chips, candy, and gum- you name it, he bought it. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked. So I just got a few different things,” he says, most likely noticing how wide your eyes got. 

“Thanks, Frankie. That was sweet of you.”

“Do you need anything else before we get back on the road?”

“I think I’m all set,” you nod. 

You walk back to the truck with him and he does the same thing he did before, placing a hand on your back as you cross the parking lot. He opens your door for you and you take the bag from him once you’re settled in your seat. He gets back into the driver seat and soon enough, you’re back on the road.

“So I should probably prepare you for meeting my family,” he says, reaching for a Slim Jim in the bag. 

“Oh god, why?” 

“They’re not bad. They’re just… a lot? But they mean well.”

“Okay.”

“So you have my mother, Rosa, and my father Francisco Sr. But he passed away when I was twenty.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I have three older sisters.”

“You’re the baby of the family?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. It just tracks.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks. My sisters are Ria, Isabel, and Laura. Ria is married to Emmanuel and they have two kids, Luna and Camila. They’re college-aged. And then Isabel is with her wife, Aurora.”

“Okay,” you respond, mentally trying to keep track of all this. 

“And then Laura is married to Rafael and they have three kids, Sofia, Anthony, and Marcelo. Sofia is twelve. I think Anthony’s nine or ten. And Marcelo is four. He’s my favorite.”

“Frankie! You’re not supposed to have favorites.”

“It’s not like I tell them that. I also have two aunts, Aunt Linda and Aunt Maggie. They’re my mother’s sisters. And then my Uncle Tommy, he’s my dad’s brother. And then there’s Cousin Ben, he’s Tommy’s son, around my age.”

You’re doing mental gymnastics, trying to memorize everyone’s names, ages, and who they’re married to. 

“Got all that?” Frankie says with a smirk, noticing the puzzled expression on your face. 

“I think so?”

“Don’t worry. Everyone will introduce themselves when we get there. They’re not gonna leave you alone so sorry about that in advance.”

“It’s alright. It beats going home to my family.”

“What are they like? I’m assuming they’re… not good if you don’t want to go home for the holidays.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it pretty much. My mom is super overbearing and nitpicking. I can’t do anything, or wear anything, or even say anything without her giving her two cents. My dad just sits there and lets her spew her bullshit without a filter. And then my younger sister, Erica, is just… perfect. She can’t do anything wrong in their eyes.”

“That sounds tough.”

“It is. I stopped going home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I try to just do one each year but I can’t take it anymore.” 

“I understand,” Frankie says softly. 

“My sister’s in medical school to be a cardiologist. So to my parents, running a bakery just doesn’t compare.”

“That’s stupid. Don’t they know how hard it is to run your own business?”

“No, and they probably don’t care to be honest.” 

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright. Thanks for getting me a way out of Christmas this year, though.”

“Of course. You’re doing me a big favor.”

The rest of the drive goes smoothly and eventually, you’re pulling into Frankie’s parents' house in Savannah. The second Frankie’s truck is in the driveway, an older woman, probably his mother, is running out of the front door and into the driveway. He parks the truck and you get out to meet her. She immediately pulls Frankie into a big hug. 

“My baby’s home!!,” she says, embracing him and placing her hands on the back of his head. 

“You and that damn hat,” she says, “You have such beautiful hair, mijo. Why do you hide it?”

“You know I like the hat, Ma.”

She pulls away and her eyes are immediately on you. You’re nervous about her first impression of you, even though you’re not even Frankie’s girlfriend. But she thinks you are and you need to play the part. 

“It’s so nice to meet you!” she says, pulling into a hug, too. She gives the best hugs, rubbing your back and swaying just a little, even though you just met. 

“I want you to be comfortable here, okay? My house is your house,” she says, pulling back and grabbing your hands. 

“Thank you so much for having me in your home, Mrs. Morales,” you smile. 

“Please! Call me Rosa. Let Francisco get the bags and we’ll go inside, yeah?”

“Okay,” you nod, following her inside the house. 

It’s a beautiful home, decorated to the nines with the Christmas spirit. She leads you to her living film where there are pictures of everyone Frankie mentioned on the way here. On the coffee table, there’s one of Frankie’s parents with him and his sisters. You can really see the resemblance there between him and his mom. They have the same warm brown eyes and dimples. 

“You have a beautiful home, Rosa,” you tell her, sitting on the couch next to her. 

“Thank you, honey,” she says, “Tell me about yourself. It’s so hard to get Francisco on the phone these days. I feel like I know nothing about you.”

“I live in Tampa like Frankie. We don’t live too far from each other And I run a bakery.”

“Wow, good for you. It’s hard running your own business. Your parents must be very proud.”

“They are,” you say, lying through your teeth. 

“How has my son been? He’s been a little off since he lost Tom in Colombia two years ago. He’s not doing drugs again, is he?”

“Oh! No, to my knowledge, he isn’t?” you respond, stumbling over your words. That was a lot of information to take in, most of it Frankie hasn’t told you about yet. 

“That’s good,” she sighs, “I worry about him.”

“I get it. But I think he’s on an upward trajectory.”

“Thank you, honey. I know he’s a lot to put up with.”

Frankie meets you in the living room and plops down on an armchair across from the couch, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Tired?” you chuckle. 

“Yeah,” he pants, “Someone had to pack everything they own and the kitchen sink, too.”

“Francisco! You grew up with all women. Don’t you know this is how we are?” his mother says. 

“Yeah, Frankie,” you add sarcastically. 

“You two are gonna be the death of me,” he says, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. 

“Where did you put the lemon bars?”

“In the refrigerator.”

“You made lemon bars? Francisco told me you liked to bake.”

“Yeah!” you say, turning towards her again, “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

“Why don’t you both help me prepare dinner for tomorrow night? After you rest, of course. You had a long drive.”

“Oh, yeah. I need a nap,” Frankie says, getting up from the chair and heading up the stairs. 

“Get some rest, honey,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs. 

“Okay,” you say, feeling a little awkward that you’re supposed to just go lay in a bed with Frankie. 

Frankie’s waiting for you at the top of the stairs, smiling down at you. For some reason the sight makes your heart skip a beat. You meet him upstairs and he leads you to his childhood bedroom. His walls are blue and his bookshelves are filled with baseball trophies from when he was a kid up until high school. There are a few car posters scattered on his ealls. The bags are at the foot of his bed that’s tucked away in the corner of his room and thankfully, it’s not a twin-sized bed. Across the room is his desk, a few comic books stacked in a messy pile like he never left. 

“This is my room,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the space around him. 

“Cute,” you say, walking around and eyeing some of the stuff he has on his shelves. There’s a picture in a frame of Frankie as a kid with presumably his father right after one of his baseball games. He was a cute kid, wearing a toothy grin with some holes for the baby teeth he lost. 

“That’s my dad,” he says, noticing you looking at the picture. 

“Now that I’m looking at him, I can’t tell who you look like more,” you comment. 

“Definitely my dad,” he says. 

You turn to look at him and realize he’s right. A lot of his facial features match his father’s, but his eyes- those are his mother’s. 

“Are you tired?” he asks. 

“A little,” you yawn. 

“I don’t have to sleep in bed with you,” he says quickly. 

“I thought you said we were going to? You know, to keep up appearances or something,” you say, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Oh, right. Just making sure.”

He takes off his sweatshirt and his hat, his curls matted down from wearing it on his head all day. He sets them down on the desk and walks over to the bed, pulling back the comforter and slipping in between the sheets. He moves to the side closest to the wall, letting you have the outside and the wall with the outlet to charge your phone like a true gentleman. You crawl in beside him, lying down side by side, mere inches from each other. 

“You don’t sleep naked, do you?”

He doesn’t say anything at first and you take that as a yes. 

“…I won’t while we’re home.”

“Cool,” you say awkwardly, rolling on your side and closing your eyes. 

“Goodnight?” he says. 

“It’s just a nap, but sure. Goodnight, Frankie,” you chuckle. 

…You do your best to fall asleep but to be honest, you’re freezing. You don’t really get why. You’re only a few hours north and Georgia doesn’t typically get too cold. Unless his mom has the air on or a window open; something. That doesn’t make sense, though. Don’t elderly people keep their houses entirely too hot?

“You’re shivering,” Frankie says, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can see you shaking.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to be cold.”

“What’s your solution then?”

“I could tell my mom to adjust the-”

“No, do not do that.”

“Or there’s the other option.”

“Uh huh…”

“I could hold you.”

“…You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.”

“…Fine.”

You feel him scooch closer to you and all of a sudden his warm chest is pressed up against your back. The comforter lifts for a second before his muscular arm wraps around you, pulling you even closer towards him. You’re immediately feeling warmer. He’s like a human space heater or something. 

“Better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

As much as you hate to admit it, you’re much more comfortable now. However, there is one thing that’s keeping you from falling asleep. And that’s Frankie’s bulge presses right up against your ass. 

…You don’t hate it, though. If anything it makes you feel… good? Knowing that you have that effect on him. Maybe he really was jealous weeks ago at his birthday party. All of this begs the question; when did his feelings for you begin?

Lost in thought and enveloped in Frankie’s body heat, you drift off to sleep. 

-

You wake up an hour or so later to the doorbell ringing. Frankie wakes up, too, stretching and removing the arm that was slung over your waist. You already miss its absence. 

Frankie’s mom is talking to someone at the door. And it sounds like she’s talking to… a pizza delivery guy?

Frankie rolls onto his back, stretching again and yawning. You fall onto your back, too, lying side by side. 

“I think she ordered pizza,” Frankie says sleepily. 

“That was nice of her.”

“Just so we don’t have to worry about making dinner tonight while we prepare tomorrow’s.”

“Make sense,” you reply, rolling out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor. 

“Did you sleep well?” Frankie asks, sitting at the edge. 

“I did. Thanks for keeping me warm.”

“You’re welcome but it wasn’t all for you, though.”

“Oh?” you ask, wondering if he could be referring to the hard-on he had while holding you…

“Yeah, I can’t sleep next to you if you’re shaking like a leaf.”

You roll your eyes and he chuckles, leading you down the hallway and down the stairs, straight into the kitchen where the pizza awaits. 

“Dinner’s here!” Rosa says cheerfully, gesturing to the pizza boxes on the counter, “There’s a salad and garlic bread, too.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Frankie says, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you say, “Are you sure you don’t want anything towards it?”

“Nonsense! When you’re in my house, I take care of you,” she says, waving you off. 

A saint of a woman she is. Frankie’s lucky to have a mother like her. The three of you sit at the kitchen counter eating while Rosa talks about what Christmas Eve dinner will be. 

“So tonight we’ll prepare the pasteles. And tomorrow we’ll do the rice and beans. Ria is bringing rolls. Laura’s bringing salad. And Isabel’s bringing flan.”

“Ooh, I love flan. I can make gingerbread cookies for Christmas Day, too,” you say, finishing your slice of pizza. 

“Thank you, honey. We’ll have a great time tomorrow. And you’ll get to meet all of Frankie’s sisters.”

“How exciting,” you say looking over at Frankie. 

“Frankie’s the baby of the family,” his mother says. 

“I could tell,” you snicker.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You just have little brother energy,” you shrug.

“What about you, dear?” his mom asks. 

“It’s just me and my sister. I’m the oldest.”

“Well you have older sister energy, so how about that?”

“So I’m wiser and more responsible?”

“Whatever,” Frankie sighs. 

“It’s true, Francisco. You can ask Ria.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he says sarcastically, taking all your plates to the sink. 

You clean up from dinner with Frankie before preparing the pasteles. You’re standing at the kitchen island, stuffing the pasteles and listening to Rosa tell stories about Frankie when he was a kid. 

“He was my toughest kid to potty train,” she says, shaking her head. 

“Mom!” Frankie says, shooting daggers at her with his glare. 

“What? You were. And I have the pictures to prove it. For the first two years, you would only use the training potty. I’ll bring out the photo albums tomorrow.”

“No,” Frankie says quickly. 

“Oh yes,” you laugh. 

“Ughhh,” Frankie sighs while you and Rosa share a laugh. 

Soon enough all of the pasteles are prepped for tomorrow and the kitchen is clean again.

“Thank you both for helping me. Now get some sleep! You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with this family.”

“Goodnight, Ma,” Frankie says, heading towards the stairs. 

“Goodnight. Thank you again for everything,” you say to her. 

“Of course, honey. See you in the morning!” she says. 

As you’re heading up the stairs, she calls out to Frankie, “Francisco! Make sure you show her where the fresh towels are!”

“I will, Ma,” Frankie says, calling down the stairwell. 

“You want to shower?”

Before you can respond he quickly adds, “Not with me of course.”

“I know,” you snort, “But sure. Where’s the bathroom?”

He leads you down the hallway and stops at a door on the right, opening to reveal a linen closet. 

“Towels are here. Bathroom’s over here,” he says, pointing to a door directly across from the linen closet. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, grabbing a towel and heading to the shower. You shut the door behind you and now that you’re alone for once, you let your mind wander…

What happened in Colombia? And what sort of drugs was Frankie on?

You turn on the shower and strip, letting the hot water run down your body as you think about all the possibilities. He did say he lost a friend. Maybe that’s what happened in Colombia. But that doesn’t explain the drugs. 

A knock on the door brings you back to reality. 

“Can I come in?” Frankie asks. 

“Uhh-”

“I just have to brush my teeth. I won’t look.”

“I guess.”

He opens the door and enters the bathroom, keeping his word and looking away from the shower curtain. In fact, he looks at anything else in the bathroom but the shower curtain, picking up a bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and reading the warnings. You poke your head out of the shower, watching as he brushes his teeth and reads the label on the bottle. And there’s something so… cute about it, so endearing. And now that you think about it, you wouldn’t particularly mind if he saw you in the shower. You can’t believe you’re actually admitting this to yourself. 

But before you know it he spits the sink and rinses his mouth, exiting the bathroom and leaving you with your confusing feelings yet again. You finish your shower and dry off, thinking about his mysterious past again. All of this strange information begs the question… What was he doing in Colombia in the first place? Does he have some dark secrets he’s hiding? And if so, how could he be so cute? 

You look at the toilet and see that Frankie also brought you your pajamas, flannel Christmas pants, a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of lacy underwear…

That means he went through your bag, which should make you mad but the fact he decided to bring you your pajamas so you didn’t have to walk down the cold hallway sopping wet is adorable. 

You’ll ask him about his past later you decide. For now, he’s your cute pretend boyfriend and you’re going to live in that fantasy for a while. 

Once you’re dry and dressed, you hang your towel up on a hook and walk back to Frankie’s room, where he’s tucked into bed waiting for you. You crawl into bed beside him, lying down on your side and feeling his warm embrace again. His arm returns around your waist and soon enough you’re falling asleep, comforted by his warmth and his scent. 

-

The smell of food cooking downstairs wafts up to Frankie’s room, pleasantly waking you up. Frankie’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded neatly on his tummy. 

You roll over and ask, “You okay?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous for what? Your family sounds awesome.”

“They are. They can just be overwhelming, I guess.”

“I get it. It’ll be fine, though. Like you said, I don’t think they’ll leave me alone.”

“Right,” he says, shaking his head, “It’s stupid. Today’s gonna be fun.”

“Wanna help me with the gingerbread cookies?” you say, getting out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor. 

“Sure,” he says, sitting at the edge and yawning, “Do you need to get anything for them?”

“I could just DoorDash some stuff. I don’t want to raid your mom’s kitchen.”

“Ah, she won’t mind. Let’s go downstairs.”

He stands up and stretches, the short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing lifting a little and exposing some of his tummy. His flannel pajama pants are hanging low on his hips and he’s got a little bed-head going on, his curls slightly matted in the back. God, he’s just so… cute. You can’t deny it any longer. As much as you don’t want it to be true, Frankie Morales is a cute man.

You follow him downstairs to the kitchen where his mother is cooking away, stirring different pots and pans on the stove. 

“Good morning you two,” she smiles. 

“Good morning,” you respond, “It smells amazing down here.”

“Thank you, honey.”

“Ma, I think we’re going to make the gingerbread cookies if we won’t be in your way.”

“Go ahead! By all means. Maybe you can decorate them with the kids tonight?”

“Good idea! Do you need me to get anything from the store?”

“Nonsense! I should have everything you need.”

“Told you,” Frankie says, opening a cabinet and looking through the shelves with you. 

To your surprise, she has everything you need for the cookies. And as you sit down at the dining room table Frankie says, “This kitchen is always fully stocked.”

As you roll the dough you think about tonight, meeting the rest of Frankie’s family. You’re excited to meet them but you’re also wondering what you should wear. You packed a few different options for outfits because every family’s vibe is different. Your family tends to lean more formal when it comes to holidays but Frankie’s family could be the complete opposite. 

“Frankie?” you ask, cutting the gingerbread men out with a cookie cutter. 

“Yeah?”

“What does your family wear on Christmas? Like do they dress up?”

“Oh, we abandoned trying to look nice a long time ago. Especially once my sisters started having kids.”

“Oh, okay. So don’t dress up?” 

“Nah.”

That makes you feel at least a little relieved. For some reason, you’re dying for them to like you. And you don’t even get why. You’re not Frankie’s girlfriend. There’s a large chance you’ll never see them again after you leave and go back to Florida. 

Once the cookies are on the trays, you pop them in the oven and set a timer on your phone. Rosa’s just about finished with dinner for tonight and Frankie’s cleaning up the mess from the cookies. You look at the clock on the stove and ask, “What time is everyone coming?”

“Around five or so.”

It’s already two-thirty now. You should probably get ready soon, in case Rosa and Frankie need the shower. 

“I’ll pull the cookies out if you want to go get ready,” Frankie says as if he read your mind. 

“Oh okay, thanks. Fifteen more minutes.”

“Gotcha,” he says, leaning against the counter beside the stove. 

You go upstairs and into Frankie’s room, going over all of your outfit choices in your head. You decide to wear option 3, light wash jeans and an emerald green sweater, nothing too fancy. You grab your clothes and your makeup and head to the bathroom, taking extra time to get ready. The timer on your phone for the cookies goes off and you hope Frankie remembers to take them out. You continue your shower, anxiously thinking about meeting the rest of his family. 

Eventually, as you’re dressed and putting on your makeup, Frankie knocks on the door. 

“Can I come in?”

“Go ahead,” you say, leaning forward toward the mirror and putting on your mascara. 

He opens the door and looks at you, practically bent over the sink. 

“You look…”

“Huh?” you, turning your head towards him. 

“You look nice,” he says, eyes wide. 

“Thanks. I’m almost done and then the bathroom’s all yours.”

“No rush. Take your time.”

You finish your makeup and gather all your stuff, leaving him in the bathroom and heading back to his room. You plop your stuff down on his bed and think of what to do next. Might as well make yourself useful while he’s showering and get the icing bags ready for the gingerbread cookies. You head back down to the kitchen, where Rosa’s sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. 

“You look beautiful, honey,” she says. 

“Thank you,” you say, sitting down across from her. 

“Francisco’s in the shower?”

“Yes, he is. I think I’m going to get the icing bags ready for the cookies if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she says, springing up from her chair and rifling through the kitchen cabinets. 

She pulls out an electric mixer, confectioners sugar, and food coloring, setting them down on the table. 

“Milk’s in the refrigerator and let me get you some Ziploc bags…” she says, reaching into the cabinet again.

“Thanks,” you say, getting to work on the icing while she sits across the counter and watches. 

“I know I’ve just met you but I want to say thank you, for taking care of my son,” she says. 

“Of course,” you smile, scooping icing into the ziploc bag for makeshift piping bags.

“He hasn’t been the same since Tom died. But now that he’s here, it’s like he’s his old self again.”

Tom. There’s that name again. You have to know what happened if you’re going to keep up this charade. This is the second time she’s mentioned it and you’re playing along like you know what happened. It’s bound to come up again. 

“I’m glad he’s doing much better,” you say, adding food coloring to the bags. 

Eventually, you hear the water turn off which means Frankie must be getting out of the shower. Rosa gets up from her stool and says, “Well now that Francisco’s finally done, I guess I’ll go shower. I’m sure he left me no hot water.”

You two share a laugh and she heads up the stairs. You’re left alone with your thoughts until Frankie comes back downstairs again. So for now, in the fleeting moments of solitude, you think of ways to ask Frankie about his past that don’t sound completely insensitive. You could ask him under the guise of just trying to keep the charade going. This whole thing was his idea. He’d have to understand, right?

“Hey,” he says, snapping you from your thoughts. You didn’t even notice him coming downstairs. 

“Hi.”

“These look good. The kids will have fun decorating them.”

“I hope so,” you say.

You’re both just standing awkwardly in the kitchen, not saying a word. You think to yourself that maybe now would be the best time to ask, in case you need this information for tonight to go smoothly. 

You open your mouth to ask, “What happened in Colombia?” but you’re interrupted by the front door opening. 

“Feliz Navidad!” a woman’s voice shouts. You’re assuming it’s one of Frankie’s sisters or aunts. 

He pokes his head down the hallway and shouts, “Ria!” 

You glance over at the clock and she’s early. Frankie looks over at you and says, “She’s always early.”

“She’s the oldest?”

He nods. It makes sense. 

She comes into the kitchen and pulls Frankie into a big hug. She looks like a younger version of Rosa, a little bit shorter than Frankie. Her husband and kids pile in behind her, her girls hugging Frankie and her husband shaking his hand. 

“So nice of you to show up for Christmas. Not battling some mysterious illness this time, huh?” she teases. 

“I’m not lying! I was really sick.”

You’re standing there awkwardly in the kitchen, not trying to interrupt the family reunion. It isn’t until one of Ria’s daughters looks over at you and asks, “Who’s this?” that your presence is acknowledged. 

Frankie walks over to you and snakes an arm around your waist, proudly saying, “This is my girlfriend!” followed by your name. 

“Nice to meet you!” Ria says, “It’s been such a long time since Francisco’s brought a girl home!”

This is the second family member to refer to him as Francisco and now you’re wondering if you should be doing the same. Before you can continue she motions her daughters over and says, “This is Luna and Camila. Luna’s in her junior year of college and my Camila’s a senior in high school!”

“Exciting times for both of you,” you comment, not really knowing what to say. 

But Ria continues anyway. “And this is my husband, Emmanuel,” she says, gesturing to her husband in the corner. He seems like the quiet type, letting his wife do all the talking in social situations. 

“Where’s Ma?” Ria asks Frankie. 

“In the shower. Are the others on their way?”

“Laura’s almost here. Isabel and Roro will probably be late as per usual. Will you grab the rolls out of the car?”

Emmanuel nods, again not saying much of a word at all before heading out to the car in the driveway. Ria and the girls take off their coats, hanging them on a coat rack by the front door. While Luna and Camila retreat to the living room, Ria takes the rolls from Emmanuel and puts them in the drawer underneath the oven, putting them on a low setting to keep the rolls warm until dinner starts. Soon enough, you’re all sitting in the living room together, awkwardly exchanging glances and waiting for either Rosa to come downstairs or for someone else to arrive. 

And for a while, it feels like the front door doesn’t close, a slew of family members coming in left and right. First, it was Aunt Maggie. Then it was Laura with her husband, Rafael, and their kids, Sofia, Anthony (who insists you call him Tony), and Marcelo, Frankie’s favorite. And Frankie wasn’t lying about Marcelo being his favorite, his eyes practically lit up the moment Laura walked in the door, carrying him on her hip. After Laura’s family, Uncle Tommy and Cousin Ben came. Frankie’s arm around your waist tightened when Ben looked you up and down which made your heart do somersaults. Aunt Linda followed soon after. And finally, last but not least, Isabel and Aurora (who goes by Roro) arrived. 

Somewhere in between all of the commotion Rosa returned downstairs. And you’re left with your head spinning, trying to keep track of everyone’s names and trying to make a good first impression. And you think you succeeded? Laura and her kids are really nice. Marcelo’s been hanging off you and Frankie since he set foot in the door. Isabel is definitely the coolest Morales sister out of the three of them. You don’t really have any complaints about Frankie’s aunts. And Uncle Tommy’s been dozing off on the couch, reminding everyone to wake him up when it’s time for dinner. You don’t mind Ben at all but he definitely has a little crush on you. You don’t spend too much time talking to him, just enough to learn he teaches high school English.

You also noticed that Isabel, Roro, Uncle Tommy, Ben, and his brother-in-law all call him Frankie and not Francisco. But his mom, Ria, Aunt Maggie, and Aunt Linda call him Francisco. And to the nieces and nephews, he’s Uncle Frankie of course. 

Eventually, Rosa announces that it’s time for dinner. Frankie and Ben set up a small folding table for the kids, except for Marcelo who sits on Laura’s lap. You sit in between Frankie and Isabel. Rosa sits at the head of the table and before everyone digs in she says, “Now who would like to say grace?”

“I will,” Tony says, raising his hand from the kids' table.

“Go ahead,” Rosa says.

“Grace. Okay, we’re done. Let’s eat, everybody!”

Everyone shares a laugh and Rosa decides, “You know what? It’s good enough for me!”

The rest of Christmas Eve goes smoothly. After dinner, you help the adults clean up before bringing out the gingerbread cookies to decorate. All of the kids, even Luna and Camila, sit around the table with you, decorating the cookies with your makeshift piping bags. Ria takes a picture of you guys, brows furrowed in concentration as you all try to make the cookies absolutely perfect. 

“Aren’t you gonna do one?” you ask Frankie, who’s standing beside you and watching. 

“Sure,” he says, pulling up a chair. 

He grabs a gingerbread woman and begins to draw a face on her. But before he’s done he gives her a frown and angry eyebrows, holding it up and saying, “Look! It’s you when I don’t mow the lawn!”

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, grabbing your own gingerbread man and giving him not only angry eyebrows but a yellow blob in his hand. 

“Look! It’s you when you complain about free lemons.”

The kids laugh even though they don’t know the full context of the joke. But once the last cookie is decorated, people begin to head out, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and saying goodnight. Once the main level is cleaned up you and Frankie say goodnight to his mom. She tells you that Christmas dinner is at Ria’s and that it starts at two. 

With that, you’re off to bed, returning to your rightful place of being spooned by Frankie. And for once, the two of you are alone again. Your mind goes back to Tom, what happened in Colombia, and Frankie’s drug addiction. You’re just gonna do it, rip the bandaid off

“Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well, earlier your mom was talking about your friend Tom and what happened in Colombia… I know it’s not really my business but should I know what happened? You know to keep up the act-”

He sighs and you fear you’ve overstepped.

“I figured it was going to come up sooner or later.”

He pulls away to rest on his back, staring at the ceiling and recounting what happened. You lie on your back, too, looking over at him as he begins his story. 

“A few years ago, I developed a really bad addiction to coke. And it cost me almost everything. I lost my pilot's license. Santiago approached me, Tom, Will, and Benny about going to Colombia to steal money from this drug lord, Lorea.”

“I see,” you comment, letting him continue.

“It seemed appealing at the time. I needed the money, you know?”

“I get it,” you say softly.

“The mission was a fucking shitshow. We took fucking two hundred and fifty million dollars and lost all of it. It was too heavy for the helicopter so we crash-landed in a cocaine farm. They thought we were DEA and Tom killed some of them. So then we had to pay them as some kind of reparation. We went through the Andes on mules and two of the villagers followed us. One of them shot Tom and we had to carry him, the rest of the money through the mountains. When we finally reached the coast, the getaway boat was there waiting for us but the town was filled whatever was left of Lorea’s crew. There was no way we could carry all that cash with Tom’s body and make it to the boat without being killed. So we had to dump most of it down a fucking ravine.”

He’s getting more and more upset as he tells his story. And you feel guilty you even asked in the first place. He didn’t need to tell you all the details. He could’ve said his friend Tom died on a military mission in Colombia and that would’ve been enough to quell your curiosity. 

“Somehow we made it to the boat, but not without a fucking car chase and shootouts. By the end, we were left with a little over one million dollars each, but we decided to give it all to Tom’s family,” he says, finishing with a deep breath. 

You roll onto your side and look over at him. He’s not crying but you can tell he’s visibly upset, his eyes misty. 

“Thanks for sharing that with me. I know it’s hard to recount a traumatic experience like that.”

“It’s okay. Figured you should probably know. My family thinks it was some sort of mission for the Army, not that we went rogue. I don’t want them to know the true nature of what it was… greed.”

“Understandable.”

“So after all that I came home with a dead friend and no money.”

“I guess the overgrown lawn and the constant partying make sense now.”

That actually gets him to laugh. 

“I guess it does,” he chuckles, “But thanks for putting up with me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And thanks for coming here and doing this for me. That happened two years ago and my family has been worried sick about me since. Whenever my mom calls me I just… I just lie. I think if she saw how I was doing now it would break her heart. But here with you, she thinks you’re like my saving grace.”

You don’t say anything because you really don’t know what to say. It’s nice his mother feels that way, but it’s all a lie. 

“I know that was a lot…” he says.

“You’re okay. I’m here to listen,” you reassure him. 

“You should probably get some sleep. You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with my family for another day.”

“Okay,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side. Frankie spoons you again like he always does. This time you don’t feel something hard against your lower back, instead you feel Frankie’s breath by your ear. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, holding you a little tighter as he falls asleep. 

-

You wake up to Frankie still holding you just as tight. You’ve never had a Christmas like this, one so peaceful. 

And then it hits you… it’s Christmas. Which means you need presents, something you completely forgot all about. You were too wrapped up in pretending to be Frankie’s girlfriend. 

“Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

Has he been awake this whole time? And still holding you just as tight… 

Whatever, worry about that later. 

“I forget to get everyone fucking presents.”

“Already took care of it.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm,” he says, propping his elbow on the pillow and looking down at you, “You’ve never met them before. How could you get presents for people you don’t even know?” 

“Right,” you say, lying on your back. 

“Merry Christmas,” he smiles. 

“Merry Christmas,” you respond. 

“Let’s go exchange with my mom.”

You roll out of bed first and let him grab the presents from his suitcase. 

“What did I get her?”

“A sweater. It’s her favorite color.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

He hands you the present and it’s wrapped like a typical guy would wrap it. 

“I’m telling her you wrapped it.”

“Oh, she’ll be able to tell,” he laughs. 

You follow him down the stairs where his mother is sitting on the couch watching a Hallmark movie. She smiles and wishes you a Merry Christmas when she sees you, grabbing presents from under the tree. 

You give her the present “you” got her and she clocks Frankie’s wrapping job right away. 

“I can tell Francisco wrapped this,” she chuckles, unwrapping the gift and opening the box. She tells you she loves it and pulls you in for a big hug. Even though you didn’t actually buy the gift, you can’t help but appreciate the sense of approval. Your mom would’ve criticized whatever you got her, no matter how great the gift was. 

Rosa got Frankie a wallet with his initials engraved in the leather. She got you an apron with your name embroidered on it. Both presents were very thoughtful and as she’s pulling out the photo albums like she promised the other day, Frankie whispers in your ear, “She’s big on getting things personalized.”

The three of you spend the rest of the morning looking at photo albums until it’s time to get ready to go to Ria’s. For once, Frankie can’t wait to jump in the shower, anything to get away from the “embarrassing” pictures his mom is showing you. 

Once the three of you are ready you drive to Ria’s in Frankie’s truck, with the gifts piled in the back seat. He parks on the street and you head inside to the already bustling house. Everyone shouts “Feliz Navidad” as you’re taking off your shoes before joining them at the table. 

The menu for Christmas dinner is empanadillas, tostones, pernil, and arroz con gandules. And for dessert, there’s tembleque, the gingerbread cookies you and the kids decorated, and of course, the lemon bars. 

Christmas Day goes even better than Christmas Eve. All of the presents got for you to give to his family were a hit, but not without a sly comment from Frankie.

“You know… She did have some help,” he says with a smirk and a wink.

That earned him a smack on the arm.

Eventually, the evening is winding down. The kids are sitting under the tree playing with their toys and the adults are scattered around the house. For once, there’s no one paying attention to you two.

“Come with me,” Frankie says, getting off the couch and grabbing his coat.

“Where are we going?” 

“For a walk,” he says. 

You follow him to the front door, slipping on your shoes and coat. The two of you walk side by side on the sidewalk. It’s silent between you two but it’s a comfortable silence. But as you stop underneath a streetlamp, Frankie says, “I have something for you.”

“Frankie! You didn’t have to.”

“No, I really did. And I wanted to. It’s not just a Christmas present but it’s also a thank you for doing this for me… And also an apology for being a shitty neighbor,” he chuckles.

He pulls out a box from his coat pocket and hands it to you. You lift the lid to reveal a gold chain with a pendant, and a lemon stamped into the metal.

“Aw, Frankie… This is so sweet.”

“Look at the back,” he says softly.

You flip over the pendant and engraved on the back is your street name, Magnolia Drive. You look back at Frankie and his face is nervous, as if he’s waiting for your approval. His brow furrowed, his face dimly lit under the streetlamp, and his curls peeking out under his stupid fucking hat. All you can do at that moment is kiss him. He’s shocked for a second but it doesn’t take long for him to melt into your touch and wrap his arms around you. 

He pulls away for a second to ask, “I take it you like it?”

“I love it, Frankie,” you nod, leaning in for a kiss again.

And for a moment you two stay there, holding each other under the streetlamp on Christmas night. 

“I didn’t get you a present,” you admit, resting your head against his chest.

“You already did. You did me a huge favor. It’s a lot to deal with my family.”

“I didn't just deal with them. I liked being with them.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, like you said before, they’re nothing like you.”

“Shut up,” he says, pulling you in for another kiss. 

After a while he says, “We should probably get back.”

You nod and follow him back to Ria’s house where you bid your goodbyes to everyone and head back to Rosa’s for the night. She turns in early and now it’s just you and Frankie alone again. But being alone with him feels different this time. Not only because you just kissed but also because you think… you have feelings for him. Maybe it’s the holiday spirit talking or how vulnerable he was last night, but you have to admit to yourself that Frankie Morales is not only a cute man but a man you misjudged this whole time. 

Once you’re back upstairs to Frankie’s room, you’re sitting side by side on his bed. The silence is back and you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have kissed him earlier. Maybe all you are to him is someone who did him a favor, someone who’s just his neighbor and nothing more. 

“I’m sorry about the kiss. I-”

“You’re sorry?”

“Well yeah, I-”

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, cariño.”

“How long?”

“Soon after you moved in next door.” 

“Really? I thought you hated me.”

“No, I never did. I just liked pushing your buttons. You’re cute when you’re irritated.”

Your brain is short-circuiting, in disbelief at what he’s saying.

“Even when you were with Heather?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that why you were so jealous of Benny at your birthday party?”

“...Maybe,”

“Mmm, you’re cute when you’re jealous,” you say, leaning in for another kiss.

This time the kiss is needier, and more passionate, like you can’t get enough of each other’s touch, scent, and taste. His hands caress either side of your face as his body leans into you more, coaxing you to lie down on his bed. His mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jawline and down your neck. Your breath hitches as he nips at your skin, immediately licking the bruised skin afterward. He moves down lower, lips moving along your collarbone, until he’s completely kneeling on the floor in front of his bed. His hands hook around the waistband of your pants, sliding them off in one clean motion before going to remove your panties.

“Frankie?” you ask, resting on your elbows and looking down at him.

“Yeah?”

“What about like… your mom?”

“She sleeps like a rock,” he says bluntly, returning to what he was doing before. 

He pulls off your panties and spreads your legs, looking at how wet your cunt is already. 

“Mm, so wet for me, cariño,” he muses, his warm breath tickling your core.

Before you can respond, he licks one long, slow stripe up your cunt, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you breathe out, eliciting a chuckle from him.

He goes back in for another, licking up and down your entrance slow, enough to drive you crazy. And then, he moves to your clit, tongue swirling around it as your back arches up off the bed. He hooks his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he gets to work, nose grinding against your clit while his tongue licks your cunt. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, his face taught against your cunt as you do so. 

Once you’re done, he rests his head against your inner thigh, admitting the mess he just made. The lower half of his face is soaked, his patchy facial hair glistening. He returns back to your cunt for one more lap of his tongue, just to taste you one more time before rising from the floor and taking off his clothes. You sit up and take off your sweater and your bra, tossing them on the floor and lying back down. You inch up a little higher on the bed to make room for him as he hovers over you. 

“I have a confession to make,” he says, looking down at you with a sly grin.

“Oh??”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you naked.”

“Uhh-”

“Your bathroom window faces mine.”

“...It does?”

“Mhm. Saw you drying off one day.”

“Oh yeah? And then what?”

He bends down and whispers in your ear, “Jerked off in the shower to the thought of you.”

Your whole body shudders.

“Touch me, Frankie, please,” you whine.

“Are you begging, cariño?”

“Fuck. Yes, I am,” you whimper.

“Good girl,” he whispers in your ear, his hand caressing the outline of your breast before moving to your nipple. His other hand gathers some of your releases and strokes his cock, getting extra hard before sliding inside you, all while he plays with your nipple. You gasp at the sensation, feeling his length stretch your walls; feeling like you’re being split apart.

“You can take it,” he softly commands, bringing his face away from your ear and looking into your eyes again. He studies the expression on your face; the open mouth and the tears in the corners of your eyes, and his lips curve into a smirk. He draws his hips back and thrusts into you again, your cunt feeling completely full. Your soft moans are like music to his ears but he needs to hear more, not necessarily more sounds but a confession from you, too.

“Be honest, cariño. You’ve thought about fucking me too, haven’t you?”

It’s actually insane that this is the same sweet man who gave you the most thoughtful Christmas present earlier tonight. The same man who confessed to jerking off in the shower after seeing you naked.

“Y-yes…” you confess.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you,” he says as his hand to your other breast, taking your nipple in between his fingertips. 

“Fuck, Frankie yes, I’ve thought about it.”

“When?” he presses further, keeping the same pace with his thrusts.

“All the time. Even when you piss me off.”

“Knew it,” he teases, slamming his hips back into you. He rests his elbows on the other side of your head, face to face with you as he fucks you relentlessly.

“Frankie, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Let me feel it, cariño,” he says, studying your face again.

You close your eyes as you cum but that just won’t do for him. He wants you to look directly into the eyes of the man who made a mess of you.

“Look at me,” he softly commands.

You open your eyes, locking with his as you cum around his cock, feeling your walls flutter and pulsate in rhythmic patterns.

“Good girl,” he praises, thrusting into you one final time before coming, too. He paints your insides with his cum before pulling out of you and lying down on the bed. You roll over and situate yourself in the crook of his neck, resting your hand on his chest.

“You’re amazing,” he says, taking the his hat off his head and propping it on the bed post before wrapping his arm around you. There’s his sweet side again.

“I can’t believe you saw me naked,” you tease, still sort of in disbelief.

“Two times now. It’s a Christmas miracle,” he jokes.

You have to agree with him. He feels you twitch against him and he whispers, “Goodnight. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper back, letting sleep consume you.

New Year’s Eve

You’re spending New Year’s Eve at a bar with some of Frankie’s friends from high school. Ever since the night you got together, you’ve been leaning into the girlfriend role more, feeling like it’s not a charade anymore. Frankie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he welcomes it. This is what the two of you wanted all along, even if both of you didn’t know it.

You’re watching the ball drop in New York City on the TV at the bar with Frankie’s arm snaked around your waist. As the clock strikes midnight, you kiss, feeling like you’re starting the year off right for once.

“Look at you,” you whisper against his lips, “Ending the year in a fake relationship and starting the new year in a real one.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he whispers back. 

Tag list: @wannab-urs @noxturnalpascal @hiddenbabynyc @littlegrungegirlaf @hyzer34 @catchallfangirl @pamasaur @paleidiot @runningmom94 @butiknewyoudlinger @sydneyinacoma @yorksgirl @wilderwizard @hnt-escape @axshadows @fanficlover1414 @lavema @yazsos @tarot-freader @dundienominee @pedropascalfan221 @khindahra @janaispunk @tuquoquebrute @perotovar @clawdee @immarocketman @whoreofabuckethead @grogusmum @idungoofed @fluffygoffpanda @meveispunk @beefrobeefcal @magpiepillsjunior @pr0ximamidnight @elvinaa @survivingandenduring @lincolndjarin @missladym1981 @heavennumber2 @covetyou @anoverwhelmingdin @hellfire-state-of-mind @joels-shitty-puns @stevie75

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ safety net; t.f.

synopsis: when toji decided to be a good man and rescue two puppies for his son... content: canon divergence (I want a happy story for the fushiguro's!), fem!reader, reader is mamaguro, in this world your last name is fushiguro and toji took it bc f*ck the zenin, megumi is ur son (he's just a baby!), domestic bliss, not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: seeing how successful my gojo anthology series is going (only two parts but going strong), I wanted to do one for toji bc I've always wanted to write his story with mamaguro (aka you!) and do a bunch of one shots that can be read as stand alones or together! pls lmk if you want more and if u wanna be tagged in the future <3 p.s. the divine dogs are actual dogs that inspired megumi's later manifestation of his shikigami in this au

It was one of those late nights for Toji. A summer evening with a heavy downpour to blur his path before him. The windshields were moving as fast as they could, swiftly clearing his vision with every wipe across the glass. He was quite used to this, running around town in the wee hours of the night, nothing new to him. It just annoyed him how difficult it could be driving in the rain when his windows fogged up and the headlights could only do so much. 

He wasn't too far from home, running a quick errand before returning to his abode, wanting nothing more than the warmth of his bed. 

A bed... A home...

Toji couldn't help but sigh and lean his head back against the car's headrest. Had this all been a dream? Was it real? Him, Zenin Toji, living a normal life? It had been quite some time now where he left it all behind to be domesticated—as if he were a wild animal. He didn't mind, though, a part of him was begging for a simple kind of life. 

Sat at a red light as his pointer finger tapped away against the leather steering wheel, his eyes wandered the environment around him—well, as much as he could see during an evening shower. From building to building, the empty sidewalks and dim storefronts, his eyes suddenly bounced back to a bus stop. Squinting, he leaned in before turning on his blinkers. 

This was very unlike him, his curiosity getting the best of him... Maybe it was because he was a changed man. Maybe it was because he had someone to go home to. Someone who made his deflated heart triple in size; someond who made him care about little things that he never did before.

Pulling over and parking his car next to the bus stop, Toji pulled up his hoodie and reached for the small umbrella that sat on the floor of the passenger seat. Rushing out and popping open the coverage, he stood before a small, cardboard box. 

It was falling apart, the rain tearing at the flimsy material as the little towel beneath was completely drenched. Hearing the faint whimpers and cries of the tiny creatures that stared up at him, Toji took in a sharp breath and shook his head. He was a good man now. Better than he ever was before. He had a heart. He had a home. He had someone who loved him. These little bodies did not. 

Lifting the box, he quickly maneuvered it underneath the umbrella before carefully placing it in the backseat of his car. "I hope she won't mind..." he said before making his way to the front, closing the umbrella and shutting the door after, resuming his route. 

The drive home was quicker this time around, zooming to gather the bags and box he had within the car, shutting the doors and locking them behind him before he made his way towards the front door. Taking the steps and fumbling with his keys, he unlocked the door and slipped inside before kicking off his shoes and making his way towards the living room. 

Settling the box down before moving towards the kitchen with the bag, he washed his hands and emptied the contents within it. Pulling out the small device, Toji made his way upstairs, ruffling his dark hair as he pressed a few buttons on the gadget. "Babe, this one should be fine," he spoke as he approached one of the two bedrooms. 

"Oh, good," the voice responded as he entered the room. You were sitting on your son's rocking chair, holding him close to your chest as you caressed his little back. He was about six months old and the constant change in weather was getting to him, causing a slight cold to disrupt his immunity. It pained both of you to see your boy anything but happy and healthy... but, he was such a little trooper. Both of you weren't sure where he got his calmness from, seeing as you nor Toji were such a way, but you thanked the heavens for blessing you with a child like him. 

"How's Megs doin'?" Toji asked as he handed you the new thermometer, squatting and gently caressing his son's head. His hand practically engulfed it, always entertaining him how tiny his boy was. It brought a small smile to his face. "Doesn't seem so fussy."

"A bit better, I got him to fall asleep. You weren't gone for too long, thankfully," you sweetly smiled, settling the small device down before caressing Toji's face. "Raining hard, huh?"

"Yeah," he nodded, only to widen his eyes. 

"What is it?" You furrowed your eyebrows. 

Scratching the back of his head, Toji stood up. "Got a surprise along the way... hope you don't mind."

"What do you mean?" You tilted your head. 

"Let's go downstairs," he nudged his own, waving you to follow him. 

Standing up carefully as to not wake your baby boy, you followed your man down the hall and staircase, towards your living room. You were confused at first, unsure as to what surprise he could've gotten you. But then you heard it. The faint cries and rustling coming from a box. The box in front of you. "Toji..."

"You've changed me, y'know?" He said. "I wouldn't have cared back then, would've left them suffer... but, guess it's because I'm a father now and I have you... I couldn't let them die out there..." rubbing the back of his neck as he stood by the box, you curiously peeked over before gasping. "Thought it would be nice to keep 'em... give Megs something to grow with."

"Toji... there's two," you nearly whispered, eyeing the puppies. One in pure white and one in all black, both equally precious. Tiny, scared, cold... you couldn't deny them either, even if you were currently raising your own baby. 

"Yeah..." Toji sighed. "I was thinkin' about giving them a quick bath now and take them to the vet early tomorrow. Don't have much to feed them but we can make it work, right?" He said, keeping his eyes on them, a bit afraid of your reaction. 

As upset as you should've been, seeing as it was two more mouths to feed, instead, you felt... elated? You weren't sure why, maybe it was because you were seeing more and more sides of Toji you didn't think would exist. Or maybe you loved the idea of giving your son two furry best friends to grow with. It could've also been that you were just happy that your son was okay and getting through his cold that you couldn't be as bothered. 

It also didn't help that you may or may not have mentioned a few times (while taking your strolls during your pregnancy) that your little blessing should have some furry friends around. You just didn't think it would happen... this way. 

"So?" Toji asked, looking at you with timid eyes. "Can we keep 'em?"

"Toji," you chuckled. "I'm not going to abandon these poor babies. You brought them here, you're gonna have to do a lot of raising. You're now a father of three," you teased as he nodded. 

"I'm well aware."

"I'm surprised you're okay with this, let alone, brought them," you pointed out. 

Shrugging, he looked back down. "Like I said, it's cause you changed me and I'm a father now. As scary as that is... I dunno... guess I want that normal life and normal people have dogs, right?" Seeing you nod with a small smile, Toji couldn't help but reflect your facial expression. "I wanna give him everything I've never had," he nudged his head in Megumi's direction. 

"Such a good dad," you softly spoke, caressing your sons back before stepping closer and kissing Toji's arm. "Then I guess we have two puppies now. What should we name them?"

Eyeing the two, Toji hummed. "Kuro and Shiro."