#funny that the wanted poster was a prompt

[adventuresofjasperboone]

[kaeyacollection]

Who's ready for my Master Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss Crepus Theory!!

I originally posted this over at Hoyolab and people there seemed to really like my favorite joke theory that Crepus just tries to gaslight the whole of Mondstadt right after obtaining Kaeya

Majority of this will be the same but with little tweaks for the wonderful tumblr audience

This joke stems from Kaeya's introduction:

and the use of the word "rumored"

Cause it's not like it said beyond Teyvat or the seven nations just Mondstadt

And I mean like c'mon how many families are living off the grid in Mondstadt

(Actually... Don't answer that I forgot Glory's boyfriend is just

Out there in the bush with Razor...)

Initially I had the idea of Crepus walking around the markets one day carrying Kaeya with Diluc beside him running into Varka who asks:

"Who's the boy?"

"You mean my son?"

"Not Diluc the boy you're carrying"

"I have two sons? You know this??"

But then the Caribert quest came out mentioning Kaeya ran away from home near immediately and was dragged home by Crepus just as fast and it became even funnier

Cause imagine you're by the docks one day and richest man in town gets off the boat with no cargo but instead a tiny child you may not have seen before that Crepus seems to be very cross with at the moment and threatening to turn him into a leash kid if he runs off again

In a small town that loves gossip do you know how fast that information is spreading? Cause I do and Varka's knocking on Crepus's door 30 minutes later like:

"Is this what we're doing? We're just taking kids now?"

Both paths lead to Varka asking where Kaeya comes from and getting hit with a

"I think you're a bit too old to still be confused about the birds and the bees Varka"

Varka getting frustrated to the point he just starts demanding Kaeya tell him what's up

Love to see him following in his fathers footsteps of stressing Varka the fuck out

And upon hearing how his birth father left for juice and didn't return Varka went

"Good! That was ALL I needed to know!!"

Follow ups on if his father intended to abandon him or got lost in the storm and needed a search party?

Don't care!! You weren't kidnapped!!

Welcome to the knights! 🤝

Which bringing it back to it only being a rumor

In a town of alcoholics, who's gonna call out the one guy with the winery?

Here's some add ons that got sparked from the comment section 😘

Bonus panels would have included Varka showing up with Rosaria one day mimicking Crepus about "wHaT you ForGot I haD a Kid" sparking a trend within the community of just adopting random children to the point posters are made saying "In Barbatos name: See a child Take a child"

Alice seeing it and pulling a "when in rome" tucking both Albedo and Diluc(who is yelling he is an adult) under her arms and telling Klee if she ever sees someone in need of a mom let her know she'll send over the paperwork right away

And then the last bonus: Venti wakes up, walks in through the gate while playing a tune, and stops when he sees the poster, not sure if he needs to start yet another revolution, or if this one is fine actually

I imagine the posters had to be taken down because visitors were losing their kids left and right and the solution of parents pinning a note saying "not dead & still want custody" to their kids shirt didn't catch on but the saying still lives strong in the hearts of Mondstadt's citizens I mean look Bennett and his 27 dads Mondstadt may have a lot of orphans but the demand is even higher

Comment on original post:

"I have a headcanon where Kaeya fooled first Crepus, then the rest of Mondstadt but.this is too funny!! I want to see this happening!"

Which prompted one of my new favorite lines at the end:

"Wait by fool Crepus first do you mean like Crepus finding him out in the storm bringing him inside to ask him where he lives and Kaeya's just

"? I live here? You adopted me? Are you feeling okay?"

Cause I'm absolutely cry laughing over this that's so good but that also means when Kaeya runs away Crepus is just

"hey no no l'm not misplacing you a second time come home" "

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Congrats on 400 followers!

I don't know if I can request two prompts, but could you write "they know about this. about us." and "your morning voice is so hot." "what?" with Poe? Pls make it smutty

Honey

✮ poe dameron x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.4k

✮ summary: A day off with Poe is rare, so might as well start it off right.

✮ warnings: fluff, smut, MINORS DNI, 18+, thigh riding, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, lowkey a situationship lolz.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ poe dameron m.list ⋆ four-hundred follower bash

not my gif. credit to the owner.

Having a day off was a rarity, but having a day off the same day as Poe? That was nearly impossible. 

You and Poe have been sneaking around for a while. The thought of everyone knowing about your business with the Resistance’s poster boy gave you a headache. Whatever was going on between you two was good with the both of you, and you’d like to keep it that way. 

Your sleep schedule was jumbled, from hours spent late in the night to early mornings, you were swamped. And though you wanted to sleep in, your body’s natural alarm decided to wake you as the sun rose. Cursing to yourself, you turn to Poe, sleeping soundly in your bed. 

He’s lying on his stomach, and his arm draped over your waist as his curls sprawled over your pillow. His grip on you tightened as you moved closer to him, the heat of his skin radiating, causing you to curl up next to him. 

Your eyes grew heavy. Poe’s soft breaths act as a lullaby until your holopad wrung. The blasting sound of the incoming call woke you both. You stumble to the bedside desk, fixing your appearance, not bothering to check who it is before answering. 

Rose’s face appears and you turn to make sure Poe isn’t in view before turning back around, “Hey, Rose! Is there something wrong?” A bright big smile is plastered on your face, an obvious cover for your true state. 

Her eyebrows furrow. “No,” she starts, “I was just wondering if you’ve seen Poe? He was supposed to send me the report for the new pilot.” 

Poe was fully awake at this point, and you looked in the corner of your eye to see him looking at you. He shrugs and mouths “day off”. You hold back a laugh before turning back to Rose, “If I see him I will let him know.”

“Mhm…,” her words drag out as she puts the pieces together. “Poe! I expect that report in my hands first thing tomorrow morning,” she speaks louder to make sure he can hear from your bed behind you. 

Your eyes widen. “Yep,” Poe calls out. 

“Enjoy your day off, (Y/N),” she says before ending the call. 

The moment you put down the holopad, your eyes are trained on Poe, worry and anger flooding through your veins. His arms are open, welcoming you back into his hold. You waste no time before settling in the sheets, nuzzling against Poe’s chest. 

You break the comfortable silence, “They know about this. About us.” 

“Only Rose does,” Poe mutters, his voice still raspy from sleep. He’s always been the person to try and ease your worries, but with this, he knows he won’t succeed. 

“If Rose knows,” you turn to face him, “then everyone does.” 

He laughs. He knows that your worrying isn’t funny, but he can’t help but laugh. You playfully smack his arm and try to move away from him, but his hold is too strong. “No, wait,” he says between giggles, “you look cute when you’re worried over things that don’t matter.” 

“But this does matter, Poe–,” you’re cut off by a small kiss.

Poe’s hand is holding the side of your face, his thumb stroking back and forth as he looks at your features. “Your morning voice is so hot,” he whispers.

Your face scrunches in confusion, “What?” 

Poe doesn’t even respond to your question, he dives in for another kiss. But this time, he fully pulls you in, the kiss is messy and desperate. Although you two spent the night entangled in each other’s arms, you couldn’t get enough of him. 

You’re both naked from the night before, the heat from your skin makes it almost uncomfortable under the covers. Poe must have thought the same when he threw it off, the fabric lying on the floor. You giggle at his actions, the cold air shocks your system. 

Poe pulls away panting, “Get on top of me.” His voice was soft but demanding. The lust in his eyes was entrancing, and along with the rasp in his voice, you were trapped. 

You sit up and swing your leg over his waist before lining yourself with his hard cock. You were just about to lower yourself before he grabbed your waist, stopping you. Looking up, you’re confused. Isn’t this what we wanted? 

He must have seen the confusion written across your face because he laughs before speaking. “Sorry, I should’ve been more specific,” he starts, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. His hands on your waist have subconsciously started stroking the skin there, “Ride my thigh, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” you perk up at his request. You back down to his thigh, place your wet core onto him, and start grinding. 

With the way you’re moving, the friction on your clit is perfect, causing you to throw your head back and let out a dangerously loud moan. The walls on the base have always been thin, and you knew that, but you didn’t care, especially when Poe’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the galaxy. 

His cock is resting on the outside of your thigh, the tip leaking with precum. Your hands were once placed on Poe’s chest, but now one of them is holding his hand to your hip and the other is jerking him off. 

Poe’s body tenses at the sudden stimulation before he lets out a low groan. The sound of his pleasure urges you to keep going. You move your hips faster as you tighten your fist around the tip of his cock. “You’re gonna be the death of me, honey,” he slurs. 

You take a mental note of the new name he used for you, storing it in the back of your mind. 

Your legs are shaking and tired, but you’d be an idiot to stop now, especially when you’re this close. Momentarily pausing your movements, you lean down to give Poe a quick kiss, “You wish.” 

Leaning back up, you can feel the coil in your stomach edge its way closer to the tipping point of pleasure. The grip on your hips tightened catching your attention and making you look at the desperate man below you. “You’re right there,” he kneads at the skin there, “I can feel it.” You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Cum for me. Please, I need it,” he tenses his thigh, the muscles now acting as more stimulation for your aching clit. 

With this new angle, you cum instantly. The sight of you coming undone causes Poe to cum with you. Your hand is a mess. Your fist is covered with ropes of cum, the warm liquid running down your fingers. 

As you come down, you collapse onto Poe’s chest. You’ve both made a mess, you could feel it. Your inner thighs are sticky and uncomfortably wet, causing you to try and dismount yourself off of his thigh. But with shaky legs, you fail. You barely raise your leg a few inches before the muscles shake, causing it to collapse back into the sticky mess. 

Poe notices your discomfort and quickly flips you so that you’re the one lying on the bed. He presses a delicate kiss to your forehead before whispering, “I’ll be right back.” Your eyes are closed as you nod. 

You can hear the sink running from the refresher before a warm cloth is placed on your core. Your eyes widen at the feeling, before relaxing at the sight before you. Poe is cleaning you up with such care. He wipes away all remnants of pleasure and triple-checks that he got everything before he even thinks to clean himself up. 

You grin at the gesture. When Poe tosses the cloth in the hamper, he returns to you. Laying on top of your naked frame, his curls tickle your chin. “You’re a real gentleman, Dameron,” you mumble into the crown of his head. 

His arms tighten around you, “Only for you though.” 

“Oh yeah?” You start, “Why’s that?”

He takes a deep breath before sinking further into your hold, “Good night, (Y/L/N).” 

“The day just started. You have all day to explain what you meant by that, and the ‘you’re gonna be the death of me, honey’,” you lower your voice to mimic his, eliciting a laugh from Poe. 

He lifts his head and pauses before pressing a warm kiss to your lips. “Patience is key,” he whispers before laying his head back down on your naked chest, “...honey.”

✮ author's note: i love poe dameron smut!! thank you anon :) come join us in my bash!! we can't wait to see you!!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog to support me and my work. ok, bye ily

[sailing-through-hawkins]

not a specific prompt im just a whore for kas!eddie being utterly obsessed w Regular Guy steve harrington & i think it'd be funny if they tried to just have a normal hangout w the party & eddie absolutely cannot be normal & just like gargoyles around or something

sorry about the wait, writer's block hit me pretty hard again but i did it!!! i hope it's to your tastes and that you have a very happy birthday!!!

So here's the thing.

Eddie could have been a vegetarian.

It was a whole thing when he was like thirteen years old and had just watched a very, very terrible movie that involved a lot of gore and too many metaphors about chickens. It fucked him up so bad that he refused any of Wayne's meat-infested meals, from pies to hot dogs to fucking sandwiches.

He did end up caving after one too many weeks of hiding in his room when the smell of delicious, juicy steak (it wasn't really a steak but fuck if he knew the difference) wafted around the trailer. He cried the entire time while he ate but Wayne pat him on the head and said he was still proud of him for making it that far.

Anyway, the point is Eddie could have sworn to look at nothing but vegetables and grass his whole life.

He's never been so glad that he didn't.

Not when Steve, the absolute fucking dork that he is, is eating his burger in the messiest way possible just to prove to Robin that he could do worse.

 Eddie can't tear his eyes away.

The way the dark, twilight blue of that Henley somehow makes his skin look that much warmer, the way his smile is riddled with sauce and lettuce, the way his eyes squeeze shut when -

"You can't eat Steve."

Eddie blinks, and turns his head to find Dustin with his arms crossed, his face squished into a grim expression.

Eddie tilts his head.

"I'm serious, you promised you wouldn't eat anybody -"

"I don't want to eat Steve," Eddie rasps out, his tail flicking against the wall. It's cold, the surfaces of everything in this house is too cold. He's almost desperate enough to burrow his way into the couch, just so he can soak up the warmth of Steve and Robin, even if their eating habits are disgusting.

Dustin glances at Steve, who's already got a tissue and is jamming into Robin's cheek with a laugh, and frowns at Eddie. "You're sure? Because you've been staring at him like, all day."

Sighing, Eddie resettles himself on the island counter so he's sitting cross-legged and continues to watch Steve. "I know."

There's a pause.

"That's it?" Dustin says incredulously. "That's all you have to say?"

"Have you ever seen someone so intrinsically against everything you've ever believed in that's somehow also the exact poster child for what you should aim to achieve?"

He hears Dustin blink. "What -"

"He's just so -" Eddie flails a hand, his tail mirroring the motion. "Benign! And yet, he possess the strength, the fearlessness of a man on the battlefield -"

"Why are you using your DM voice -"

"And yet again, he will sit there, with a perfect swoop to his hair, an innocence to his eyes and a delicate sweetness to his tongue and he will ask that you believe him to be harmless."

Another pause.

"Okay, that was a little weird -"

"And you will!" Eddie leaps onto his feet, standing above Dustin with power raging through his veins as the head rush of a monologue captures him. "You will believe that fine, gracious man to be harmless! As long as you don't - look - back."

"Eddie, get down from the counter."

With a laugh, Eddie spins and his tail wiggles a hello to Steve, who looks up at him with his exasperated, innocent eyes. "My liege," Eddie says, hopping down only to slink into Steve's space and wrap his tail around his bicep. "How goes the competition?"

"Robin won -"

"As usual!" said-bird calls out from the living room.

"Yeah, as usual," Steve repeats with a lovingly snarky tone. Eddie's tail tightens. "What have I said about standing on tables, Eddie?"

"Oh but sire," Eddie murmurs as he circles Steve, ducking down just to pout up at him. Yeah, he knows the power of his big brown eyes, he knows how to use 'em. "I was simply delivering an informative, nay, crucial declaration of your -"

"Eddie."

He switches tactics. "I won't do it again?"

"You fucking better not," Steve mock-glares down at him and oh, that's a look to think about later. Hooking a finger under Eddie's tail, where it's curled around his skin, Steve gently pulls it off and walks to the sink, the warmth of his finger sending shivers down Eddie's neck.

There is a moment of silence.

"You can't fuck Steve either, by the way, it'd be like - weird. For a lot of reasons. Not because you're guys -"

"For fuck's sake, Henderson -"

[luveline]

Slightly different request but maybe we can see Eddie and roan having a close loving and cuddly moment together that mostly centres them? You’ve just characterised them so well and I love their daddy daughter dynamic

thank you for your request! eddie and roan ♥︎ fem!reader 1k

"Hey, pumk-min," Eddie says, "whatcha doing?" 

Roan looks up at her dad and squints. She's as Munson as they come, pale-skinned with dark curls, dark brows set over big brown eyes that look adorable when narrowed. 

"You're being 'spicious," she says. 

Eddie kneels down, knees in the soft rug Roan has claimed as her colouring den, and huffs. His pyjama pants are yours, purple with black and dainty flowers, and his t-shirt is a washed out charcoal grey that Roan's seen all her life. His hair is half dry, half damp from the shower, curls weighed down with water. He looks young, though Roan doesn't know that. To her, Eddie just looks like her dad. 

"I do have something to ask you," he admits.

She hums and makes an expression beyond her years. Yeah, I thought so. "What?" she asks. 

"I need help making dinner tonight cause Y/N's going out." 

Roan smiles at the mention of you, then frowns when she remembers you're leaving on a Saturday. "Where's she going? I want to go." 

"She's going to see her friends," he says. 

"I'm her friend," Roan whines. 

"You're my best friend!" you call as you rush down the stairs. 

You walk into the living room where they're sequestered, not so much as perturbed by the bombshell mess of pencils and crayons. 

"Like, in the whole world," you add, threading an earring through your ear before pressing on the back. "What do you think, do I look pretty?" 

Roan stands up and a collection of pencils fall from the fluffy skirt of her princess dress, shiny layers of turquoise blue that dance around her ankles as she rushes to climb up onto the sofa. She leans over the back and you receive her for a short hug.

She complains as you pull back. 

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," you say, smushing a kiss to her little forehead. "I won't be gone too long, princess, and that's a promise." 

Eddie stands too to see you out the door. Roan deflates against the couch cushions but doesn't cry, just says, "Bye, mom," in a sulky mumble.  

Eddie takes your hands. 

"Why does she always call me mom when I'm trying to leave?" you ask. Roan calls you mom sometimes, your name mostly, and sweetheart when she's feeling funny. 

"'Cause she knows it'll make you wanna stay," he says, which you already knew. "You look beautiful. Tell your other boyfriend I said hello."

You hug him and you smell like lots of things, perfume and hairspray and soap, arms behind his neck. Your jewellery sparkles almost as much as your smile. He squeezes your waist. 

"See you later. Love you." You poke your head around the door jam as you step back. "Love you Ro!" 

"I love you!" she shouts cheerfully. 

A quick kiss and you're gone. 

Eddie's glad to see, despite your departure, that Roan is in good spirits. She puts her hands under her face and holds herself up by the elbows, a poster child for pretty babies in her dress and her messy hair. 

"What's for dinner, anyway?" she asks curiously. 

"Anyway," Eddie repeats, laughing, "I was thinking we'd have what we always have when Y/N's not home."

Roan squeals and holds out her arms. "Cheeseburgers!" she shouts, climbing up into Eddie's chest as he wraps his arms around her. 

He'd been planning on carrying her to the kitchen. It's been a couple of hours since lunch and Eddie knows she must be hungry, but he gets a whiff of her jellybean shampoo and holds her closer. 

Roan melts into the affection. Her tiny nose jabs him in the chest, her silky soft curls tickling him all over as she cuddles in. He drags his hand up the breadth of her back. 

"It's not so bad, is it? Spending time with dad?" 

"It's the best." 

Eddie spins her around. He holds the small of her back and let's the momentum carry her head back, prompting a wave of delirious giggles. She enjoys it, and Eddie assumes that'll be the end of it, but when she gets her bearings back she wraps her warm hands behind his neck and stares up at him lovingly. It's the only word that can describe her little expression. 

"I love you," she says, beaming. 

"I love you, too. You're not just saying that because you want extra cheese, are you?" 

"I do want extra cheese," she says honestly. "But I will still love you if you don't give me any. Maybe." 

He hikes her up higher so they're face to face. For Eddie, it's like looking into a cuter, younger mirror. She's so funny and quirky and lovely, he gets a stab of emotion, heat behind his eyes. 

"I love you," he says, kissing her cheek. "Love you so much," —he kisses her other cheek— "you can have every slice of cheese in the house." He kisses her cheek again, too many times. 

When he pulls away, she's pink in the face. 

"As long as you don't–" 

"Don't tell mom, I know." 

They gather their resources and make the best burgers ever. Eddie melts the promised cheese on the griddle in the patty grease and Roan eats what won't fit on her burger with a spoon. She's crashing hard from a food coma when you finally get home, but she still makes a point to tell you how much cheese Eddie gave her. 

"Like, the whole packets," she brags sleepily, face half hidden in Eddie's chest. 

You press wine cooler kisses against their foreheads. "Yeah? Leave any for me?" 

"Oh…" Roan blinks at you with wide eyes. "Sorry." 

"In the microwave," Eddie mouths. 

You grin and dance away, clearly tipsy and humming. When you find the burger he'd made you, you laugh. "Aw, yis. My boyfriend's the best," he hears your say, awed. 

"Don't forget that ring on your finger!" he calls. "God knows my savings account won't." 

"My fiance is the best," you amend to yourself. 

Roan snuggles into Eddie's chest. Eddie pets her hair. 

"Love you, pumk-min," he says. 

Roan snores.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (IX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here and this is part nine 💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Wonder Woman has secured the coveted position as The Only Reliable Adult in the sore eyes of an injured half-ghost. World's saddest presumed-alien takes his meds on purpose for once. The author wrestles with Roman numerals.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny is not in the container.

He very much doesn’t like the container.

The new lady and all the milling-about humans and his quickfast human have, however, encouraged him back to this room that looks just like the container's room, with one key difference. This one has a bathtub.

Danny touches the water.

It is too hot.

Danny does not want to go into the bathtub.

No one…no one is making him go in the bathtub. But everyone is gesturing, and making encouraging noises, and it makes Danny shrink into the sparse shadows of a partially-lit room, too afraid to get near the water, and too unhappy to cooperate.

It’s too hot. It smells funny in the way that cough drops and antiseptic tastes funny so it’s probably good for him, but Danny’s not a person and the water is too hot for him to put his core into.

The youngest human is so sad that it reverberates throughout the room, moaning and groaning and toying with Danny’s pull-toy fidget, which Danny is kindly letting it keep. It is laying on the floor. Danny does not have any feet for it to trip over right now, but Danny is hovering above it, so no one with a flesh body falls and hurts something when they trip.

Breaking bones hurts. Danny would know.

The new human lady tries to encourage Danny with his rocket ship. It doesn’t work. The bath is too hot even with the rocket ship in it. Danny wishes there was something he could use to change the temperature.

…He reaches over the side of the tub. Danny swishes a finger around in the water.

Nope. Still too hot.

Okay. Danny needs… Something. He needs. Something.

He quietly removes himself from the most familiar human and just…floats around the room. It is mostly bare. There is space for lots of humans to work with lots of technology to make things happen, but the room is mostly empty right now, except that it has a whole bunch of humans and Danny in it.

There isn’t anything helpful in this room. Danny goes to the next room.

(The new human lady follows behind.)

The next room has…the container. Danny hisses when he sees it.

No one does anything.

…Okay. Danny slides further into the room. No one is making him go in. Okay. He can…explore.

There are other things in the room. Danny can’t tell what all of them are, so he just starts opening things. He finds stuff made of wood and cotton. He rips something small in half, and a bandage falls out. He sticks a wet wipe in his mouth before he realizes it’s a wet wipe—that one drops out of his mouth and onto the floor. It tastes so bad.

The human makes a sad noise that might be a laugh too, but Danny can’t interpret now. He’s on a mission. He has more important tasks to finish.

There are more rooms with more things and Danny keeps looking. He finds towels and medical robes in cabinets and machines that do things that Danny can’t tell and tubes of all sorts and packages of medication Danny can’t eat. He keeps opening doors and looking inside and closing them because none of them help.

…There’s some white packets inside of clear plastic wrap. Danny can’t tell what they are. Is this something that he can use? Will it help?

Danny flexes his comeherelookitthis aura with a curl of his tail, and the human buzzes to attention in Danny’s current room.

Danny hands him the pouch.

The human does something to it. The crinkly-shiny wrapper falls to the floor. The human makes a noise, the packet creaks ominously, and the human holds out its hands so that Danny can take the packet back.

He takes it back.

Danny immediately drops the packet back to the floor because it’s hot!!!! Ugh!!!! If he had known that the package was one of the hot packets, he wouldn’t have bothered!

He floats elsewhere into the room, sulking. He opens more cabinets and doesn’t close them after. He—

Wait.

—Danny feels out with a hand. It’s…cold inside.

Danny shoves his face into the cabinet. There’s no food, just little vials, but yes! Cold! He shoves a hand inside and roots around, even though he is also trying not to crush or break the little vials. The white-coated humans don’t get close or try to get him, but they do make sad noises. Danny hummmmms an apology. But—

Out of the fridge comes squishy packs. There is nothing in them but squishy wet material. They are only cold.

Perfect!

Danny grabs as many as he can with his hands and one in his teeth and his teeth tear through the plastic a little and he kind of tastes the goo inside (gross!), but he has armfuls of cold packs and they are all very good at being cold packs.

The buzzing human comes back to find him and laugh, laugh, laugh all the way through the soft layers of the universe, but Danny doesn’t care, and also he needs it to show Danny where the bathtub is again so he can go sit in the gross medicine water. He might be a little lost.

Thankfully, once Danny stops moving and just stands around, it does. Great!

The lady is still there with the rest of the humans. Whatever. Danny spits the cold pack in his mouth into the bathtub and medicine water probably goes everywhere, but he can’t tell and doesn’t care. The rest of his pile he dunks into the tub by himself.

Now. Danny sticks an arm in the water.

It’s…better. Not so warm. Danny could probably tolerate it now. He doesn’t want to, sure, but he’s also covered in his own waste products and hasn’t cleaned anything in ages and ages and who knows how long. So probably washing out his insides in uncomfortably warm water and a little bit of cold pack medium is better than, uh…not doing that.

Danny slides carefully into the bathtub. Gross. The water is gross. Also it smells bad. Wait. Could he smell before?

He sniffs again. His hands slide through the water, and Danny has to work not to make himself intangible so that he doesn’t get wet. Getting wet is the point right now. He brings one of the cold packs a little bit closer to his body, the cool water radiating from it, and gently splashes water onto his abdomen.

Danny can’t exactly tell where and how he’s injured, and this form hides his wounds even from himself. Still, he remembers…he remembers most of the bad things. Being pinned down. The restraint bruises.

The bright lights.

The…scalpels…

When the human lady is suddenly at his side again, Danny flinches back into invisibility. She doesn’t yell at him for disappearing, or pull out a weapon to punish him.

She has ice packs in her soft flesh hands. One by one, without looking where Danny is hiding in thin air, she drops them into the bath, cooling it further.

…Danny quietly slithers back out of the shadows. The woman makes a quiet noise, and then she leaves the side of the tub.

He doesn’t know how to respond. He continues to wash himself by gently splashing water on his torso. There’s organs under there he’s gotta clean. Probably. If not, he ought to wash anyway.

Huh. There’s no soap here. Can he get soap? Maybe the weird water is supposed to be the soap. Bathwater doesn’t exactly lather, though.

Whatever. Danny washes everything from his sore scalp to his largely-nonexistent toes/tail. The water turns a filthy, corroded black-brown. Danny doesn’t even ask if the white-coated humans want anything to do with the water; he doesn’t want to see them, and this is nasty. 

He pulls the stopper out. The water goes down. Danny watches it drain.

…Okay. So. They’re on the moon. Where does his gross water go? Danny hopes they don’t recycle it. A base full of mostly-humans probably doesn’t know how to filter ectoplasm out of the water supply. Or, depending on what they know or don’t know, they might not even know they have to.

Do they know what Danny is?

Danny hopes they don’t. Maybe they would give him back to the lab if they did.

…He doesn’t want to think about that. He wants another bath. Danny fusses with the taps by the bathtub long enough that the human lady comes back, with her fully articulated fingers that can grasp and twist and pull.

This time Danny gets cold water, which he likes. He doesn’t like that she’s so close, but he appreciates the help. The tub fills, and Danny washes again, and the lady comes back with a very soft towel that Danny wants to add to his bedding.

Danny definitely pushes the towel through his body a few times. It’s mostly to get the most water off of his body as possible, even though the human woman keeps her attention on him as he does.

He doesn’t relinquish the wet towel.

The woman holds her hands out for it.

…Danny scoots a little further back. It’s a nice towel. He wants it on his cot so that the sheets don’t absorb as much waste ‘n blood ‘n stuff.

One of the other humans in white walks forward, and Danny pushes himself as far back as he can go. It ignores him. It hands a second towel to the human lady with the red colors, and walks away.

The human lady turns back to Danny. She holds out her hand and a fresh towel, not suffused with contaminated medicine water.

…Kay. Danny can do Tradesies.

Danny gets a new towel, is nice and dry, and roams invisibly back to his cot.

The sheets are all nice and new when he gets there. The humming human’s little friends are all there, chatting and toying with Danny’s stuff. Hey!

He makes the head and his chest sticking through the ceiling visible to human eyes, and he hisses. They scatter quickly. It’s a little funny—he’s not actually mad at them, but they can’t tell, since they can’t hear the little tones in his core. Danny drops to float over his cot, lays down the towel, wraps himself in it, and puts his things back into his bed.

It’s kind of like having a grave. It’s nice and cozy.

When the small humans poke their heads out from behind the curtain again, Danny purrs so that they know he’s laughing at them.

If they fuss, that’s their fault. Danny pulls his rocket ship into his pillows, finds a stretch toy that’s easy to chew on, and eases himself onto his cot for a nap.

[familyvideostevie]

if you write our lovesick Steve with the “being observant to their likes and dislikes” prompt from the little romantic gestures promptlist, I will give you a fat smooch (even if you don’t I’ll still smooch you)

okay, lets smooch <3 | being observant to their likes and dislikes ---

The pizza arrives while Steve is in the bathroom. You try not to worry about whether or not you cleaned enough, what he'll think of the silly poster on your wall, of your floral shower curtain.

You've only been dating for a few weeks and this is the first time Steve's been to your place. Pizza and a movie, you'd proposed, and he could spend the night if he wanted to. He'd flushed a little at that, but kissed you swiftly and said it sounded like a great plan.

So here you are, wondering if you're ever going to get your heart rate to slow down to a normal range. You pay the delivery boy and grab plates and napkins before setting everything on the coffee table, plopping on the floor.

"Was that the pizza?" Steve calls from down the hall.

"Yeah," you say pulling the box open. When you see what's inside you groan. "Damn, Steve, they put mushrooms on the whole thing." Without waiting for his reply, you start to pick them off of half of the pizza.

"What?" he asks, and you glance up to find him back in the living room with you, looking slightly confused.

"I asked for them on half, since I like them and I know you don't," you say as you finish your task. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Hold on," he says. "I don't think we've ever talked about how I hate mushrooms." You wipe your hands on a napkin and pull a piece of pizza onto your plate without looking at him. Your heart does something funny in your chest. It's true -- Steve never told you about this.

"I just noticed," you say, softly. "You order that pasta at Enzo's without mushrooms and that one time at Robin's you picked them off of your pizza, too." Steve plops down on the carpet beside you, eyes wide with something that looks like...wonder.

"But that was before we got together," he says. "You noticed that?"

You kind of want to melt into your carpet right now. Obviously you liked Steve for a while before you started dating, but it feels like a lot to reveal that, especially if he doesn't already know. So you don't answer him, instead taking a bite of pizza and reaching for the TV remote.

But gentle fingers grab your chin and turn your head so that you're looking at him. "Hey," he says. "Don't be embarrassed." Steve likes to say that he's not the smartest guy in the world, but he's remarkably observant when it comes to your moods. Maybe you're easy to read, but you like to think he's just paying attention. That he knows you.

"I notice everything about you, Steve," you say after you swallow your mouthful. Steve releases your chin but cups your cheek with his palm, not letting you pull away just yet.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" He's teasing you now, just a little, but you know him well, too. You can see the sight draw of his brows, like the answer to this question matters to him.

So you swallow your embarrassment and lean into his hand. "You don't like to wear orange," you say. "And you tie your shoes with bunny ears. You talk to your car and your crack your knuckles when you're nervous. When we napped last week on your couch you uh, talked a little. In your sleep."

Steve looks so fond it makes your breath catch. His thumb catches the corner of your mouth. "Alright, that's enough," he says, but the's smiling. He leans in and you close your eyes on instinct. "C'mere."

His lips are soft against yours, gentle and sweet. It's a chaste kiss and you sigh into it, into Steve. His tongue traces the same of your mouth before he pulls away. "You taste like mushrooms," he mutters, and you laugh, falling into him and pressing your forehead to his shoulder.

request a prompt here!

[satoruhour]

SPARE CHANGE?

a/n: 0.9k words of me making fun of toji. a terrible crack fic i dont even know whether this is funny or not but ofc this is gifted to @kazushawty after making fun of her for changing her themes sm. briefly based off this fking ask from anon, i added that same charity box LMFAO / badly written p -> v sex, no foreplay, man idek whether you guys want warnings 😭😭

“baby, did you manage to get the—” karma turns at the creak of the door, but stops abruptly upon seeing toji enter through the door, which wasn’t exactly a proper door, more made of cardboard because he had punched through it once. the writer would’ve replaced it, but toji was always out killing sorcerers, and that made it difficult to go shopping for a door where they could be seen and identified everywhere. plus, karma was susceptible to complaints by toji at times for picking a door too expensive.

“why do you look like that…” toji’s hair was all over the place, shirt crumpled and chest heaving from probably running over.

“got us some change.” he grinned, showing karma the charity box he forcibly yanked from the counter. it was hilarious in retrospect, seeing such a big burly man attempt to order some mcdonald’s for him and his girl, but got distracted by the spare change in the charity box that’s installed to the counter. it was no problem for him, since he had already scared everyone with that big ass worm on his shoulders, and with one clean sweep of his sword he was able to dislodge it. his stupid face was sure to get plastered in posters all over the store now.

“are you serious, toji?” karma crossed her arms, clearly displeased, and yet the dishevelled state toji was in reminded her of the many nights he had her under him, panting and out of breath as both him and the worm stared down at her—

“what? a little theft doesn’t hurt anyone, doll.”

“that’s charity money, baby!” she says one thing and yet something else is tugging at her, the tight shirt on her boyfriend to the clench of his muscles and the thighs through the occasional shorts that toji wore; everything about toji was attractive that it send her pussy fluttering, prompting her to walk up to her. the other almost thinks he’s going to get another lecture but all he can feel is her hand throwing the box to the side, a hand tangled in his sweaty hair and she yanks him down to plant a sloppy kiss on her man’s lips.

it wasn’t difficult, then, for toji to take over, one hand on her waist, walking her backwards into their bedroom. the mattress was nearing its end, peeling at the sides while the springs start to show, but karma didn’t care, letting the other take over easily as he removes her shirt along with her underwear, the desires getting too much. the bedframe below them creaked just a little, sending panic through her, but toji waves it off with a hand.

“i’ll fuck you until this shitty bed breaks.” he laughs, spreading karma’s legs easily, with her already wet, it’s easy to slip in. 

“YOU were the one who chose this, you broke bitch!” karma licks her lips despite her outburst, at the way toji fishes out his member, and while crude names were the norm, toji knew they held no malice.

“yeah, this broke bitch—” the other strokes his dick, already prepared to slam into karma, but there’s a faint echo of police sirens in the background, “is forever and ever, karma’s.”

“yeah, but not for long if you get arrested! hurry and fuck me already—”

“bet.” as with the many times they’ve fucked, she hardly needs any prep, feeling toji’s large horse cock enter her and soon toji sets a pace, getting his girl moaning while he rocks into her with the pace of an old man. all that running has got his hip feeling a little wonky.

“oh yeah!! right there tojiiiiii!”

“yeah, take it like the bitch you are—”

“hello? how dare you call a woman a bitch?” karma gives him the finger, but knows it’s a slip of his tongue, either way she knows toji tries his best. she flips the both of them over and taking the lead cause he was just too goddamn slow, like a fucking snail, he is.

“heh, apologies, baby. old habits die hard, just like stealing.”

karma speaks in between moans, “yeah, after this i’m returning that charity box.” she reaches her high fast, toji’s shaft reaching deep easily before she climaxes, hips still rocking atop him but she stills when she hears that the sirens are closer with each breath she takes and doesn’t let toji cum, pulling him by his dick to pester him to change quickly.

“let’s get out of here, toji, c’mon.”

“thought you said you were gonna return it?” toji grins, slapping karma on the ass before getting changed. he almost falls over trying to get the other foot into his underwear. “also i didn’t even cum yet!”

“shut up, i’ll suck you off in the car. but either way, whatever my boyfriend does i’ll support him,” karma reaches forward to plant a kiss on him, but not before they both hear the wood cave in behind them, the once bedframe left in a heap on the floor as dust flew everywhere.

toji and karma simply exchanged laughs, running out to their cardboard toji built by hand to evade the police easily, although they had to create a new one because toji had came too much and also his worm vomited all over the cardboard and melted through it unfortunately. ah, well.

(they both forgot to take the charity box of change)

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 19/2/24

prompt: outsider POV

pairing/character(s): steddie + dustin

-

Sometimes Dustin kind of regrets pushing for Steve and Eddie to be friends so hard.

Like, today Steve said he couldn't give Dustin a ride to the mall a town over because he has a date. So Dustin had to get his mom to give him a ride, which means he won't be allowed to look in the games store because his mom doesn't want him to 'waste his money' and also won't leave his side on shopping trips. But now he's at the mall, walking next to her, and what does he see?

Steve and Eddie walking side-by-side, eyeing up the movie posters on display outside the mall's cinema. Steve's laughing as Eddie gestures at what must be a nerdy movie poster.

What the hell?

Dustin slows to a stop, ignoring his mom questioning him, and watches them for a moment.

Steve looks around a few times and then leans forward to say something to Eddie, and Dustin can't see his face clearly, but he can see the way he's got his hip cocked to the side a little. (It's eerily similar to the way he used to stand when he tried to flirt with girls on the job at Scoops.) Eddie laughs at whatever Steve says, and then grabs a piece of his hair to hold over his mouth. What the hell?

This is what Dustin means when he says he regrets getting them to be friends sometimes. He's torn between being ecstatic he was so right about them getting along, and betrayed at them abandoning him to hang out.

They're clearly closer than Dustin thought, because clearly! Clearly they have inside jokes- Eddie only pulls his hair in his face like that in two scenarios. Scenario one is when he's being flirted with and doesn't know how to react because of his 'tragically single teenage years' (Jeff told Dustin about that one), and scenario two is when he's laughing too hard in a public place and needs to be quiet.

It's pretty clear to Dustin which scenario this is.

Obviously Eddie's been laughing too hard at Steve's jokes. Which Dustin doesn't 100% get because Steve's not even that funny, but... whatever.

Steve doesn't have time to take Dustin to the mall, but he has time to drive Eddie to see some nerd movie Steve doesn't care about? What about the date he supposedly has?

What a liar. What a betrayer. Leaving him behind like this to hang out with Eddie? Dustin could be there too!

"Dusty, what on earth are you doing?" His mom finally says, and Dustin just shakes his head and leads her off toward one of the department stores.

And if he's in a bit of a mood for the rest of the shopping trip, there's only two people to blame.

He'll be confronting them later.

[the-therapist-needs-therapy]

Cheek - Hansol

Let's just say Hansol couldn't sleep the whole night (for some unknown reason) because currently, he's sleeping in the library for god knows how long. Did all that history stuff you taught him enter his brain?

As much as he looks too good and you want to look at his face until he wakes up, you don't because obviously, you're mad. He slept while you were teaching him history. He deserves to be thrown into a dungeon.

So, you take a marker out of your pencil case, opening the cap. The caption you have in mind makes you let out a snicker and you write it in bold letters on his cheek, without thinking twice. When you're done with your artwork, you take a picture of Hansol, reminding yourself to make it your wallpaper as soon as you go home.

He wakes up after half an hour, feeling very much rested but he doesn't really like the look on your face.

"Y/n," he starts, "I'm sorry for sleeping. I'll do extra homework if that's what takes you to forgive me." You raise an eyebrow, and Hansol gulps in fear. Where would you hide his body? Will his parents be able to find him?

"Write me a 3-paged essay of all the reasons why you slept, what you dreamt of and all about your lovely tutor. Now, you can leave or I'm snuffing the life out of you," and Hansol knows better than to stay at that place.

When Hansol goes home looking very much like a poster on the streets, his sister breaks into fits of laughter, "Bro, did you get a face tattoo without me?"

Hansol looks at her in confusion, "What are you talking about? I just escaped from Y/n. She was ready to murder me for sleeping during her tutor session."

He doesn't get what's going on so he just walks to a mirror and there it is, your 'Hansol Hates History.' He admits that it does look funny, and maybe he did deserve it for dozing off while you were teaching.

requested by : @weird-bookworm

One Word Prompt Event (For No Reason)

Masterlist

[sgiandubh]

Hello! I am Caitriona anon. My ask was prompted by a comment from succulently speaking who commented in your post a few days ago “what has Sam done wrong and what exactly do you want him to do”? You responded he needed to step up his game. That’s why I asked about Caitriona because I thought it funny how much you post about Sam and what he should or shouldn’t be doing and I thought, I wonder why Caitriona doesn’t get that same treatment? I've been following you since you got here. I understand your position. My only quibble is I don’t think of them as one entity and I think Cait especially has pushed against this for years. She’s offended at the notion. As I said, of course it's your blog and you can post whatever you'd like and certainly don't owe me an explanation, but I thank you for the one you gave anyway. I’ll continue to read you because I enjoy you. I hope I didn’t offend or that I was impertinent.

Dear (returning) Caitriona Anon,

For an Anti, you sound pretty literate and polite. So, I am going to answer you and try to keep this dialogue line open. Try me: keeping dialogues open is my bread and butter, IRL. Has been so for twenty years.

Thank you for understanding my position, but I do not really need to be 'understood', like a minor Romantic poet by his posterity. I try very hard to rationalize yours and I believe it is your constitutional right to believe what you want about this saga. Conversely, it is my prerogative to believe exactly what I want about it, based on what I do consider to be relevant facts. Not social media, press circus or PR induced tacky blogger manipulation.

Having said that, it is also my constitutional right to express my opinions and try to encourage others to do so, in a no-drama, friendly environment. It would also seem that determined Mordor to marginally step up their game, for I seem to be the nightmare these people collectively manifested every single time they howled 'the shippers are stupid', on full moon nights.

Shippers are everything but stupid, pumpkin. They are witty, funny and completely immunized to bullshit. For rhetoric bullshit with honors is your question: why Caitriona doesn’t get that same treatment?

You know very well why and I am going to tell you a Romanian proverb: cine nu muncește, nu greșește. Loosely translated: no work, no mistakes. How do you want me to say anything about a statue, who doesn't show us anything else about her life anymore, spare her outfits, her make-up and some rare events, with or sans the PA? Oh, and marGINally, her erratic business projects, for ever ongoing, hinted and never ever, God forbid, materialized? SAG-AFTRA strike? News of it never seemed to have made it to Caitrionaland. Israel-Palestine conflict? Prudent silence, but hello Tilda, darling, how are you. Ukraine? Last I heard/seen, a short appeal for helping the refugees and then crickets. Women's rights? Again, a short snippet on Persia, then mum. Just what the fuck is this supposed to be? Surely not a coherent PR strategy for a gifted, intelligent and fun (yes, fun!!) 44 year old actress who wants to keep her lucky strike going on! Let me tell you: she doesn't come across as dignified. She comes across as despising, condescending and entitled. Too cool for school, too sexy for your car, peons.

She is not Queen Victoria, for crying out loud, and we are definitely not amused!

You then proceed to say 'she pushed against it for years'? Please, do not insult my intelligence! She pushed against shippers who deface the nice Narrative, when she needed sympathy and massive support for her Belfast promo, unwittingly making a major PR blunder and for ever fracturing this fandom in at least two savagely antagonistic camps. Then, a cold, totally DGAF attitude, including towards her stans: tough to be her stan, when your Goddess is more silent than a Poor Clare (pun totally intended) nun! And she denied being an item with S (which is a complete, pious lie), because that is the Narrative, ever since IFH.

So, it's safe to say: yes, public Caitriona Balfe is dismissive of the notion, but since when is social media indicative of an undeniable or even intimate truth, especially in that particular world of hers? Oh, and by the way: sorry to be pedantic, but - it's offended by the notion, not 'at the notion'. Simple curiosity: you translate your thoughts from which language, exactly? My bet would be either German: bei, or Russian: обидеться на - yes: literally 'offended at'.

My complete Romanian proverb includes a conclusion. In full, it would be: cine nu muncește, nu greșește, dar nici nu reușește. No work, no mistake, no success.

How I wish to be proven wrong, Anon, on that one: you can't even imagine! Thank you for the time you took to answer me. I am afraid we agree to disagree. Change my mind? Not in a million years.

[alwaysbethewest]

Triple Frontier fic: Put Yourself in My Place

It's a fishben body swap fic 🤷‍♀️ This is for the @pedrostories 1000 follower celebration 🥳 I was browsing the prompts last week and felt a little overwhelmed by how many great options there were, but when I saw body swap listed in the tropes I knew that was what I had to choose. I also worked in two of the dialogue prompts but I don't want to spoil which ones.

Title: Put Yourself in My Place Pairing: Frankie Morales/Benny Miller Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.1k Content/warnings: Friends to lovers, body swap, big dick Frankie, oral sex, anal sex (the sex is while body swapped, just to be clear), mysterious magical objects, Pope gets threatened with bodily harm, brief cameos by Frankie's ex-wife and daughter, food, just absolute nonsense. Unbetaed (please let me know if you spot any typos!) I had a lot of fun writing this, lol, so I hope it will be a fun read.

The phone buzzing on the nightstand awakens Frankie. Groggily, he grabs it and checks the caller ID.

It’s a glitch. His own image fills the screen, an old picture of him with the baby sitting on his shoulders, matching sunglasses and baseball caps atop their heads. She’s grabbing his hat, twisting the brim so it’s nearly covering one eye, and he’s trying to keep a straight face for the camera as Benny gets the shot.

In his half-asleep state he’s so distracted by the picture that the call times out, only to start up again vibrating in his hand. This time he notices the caller’s name: 🐠Fish👨🏻‍🦱. Someone’s fucking with him.

He hits answer.

“Very funny,” he mumbles into the phone. His voice sounds strange in his own ears and he clears his throat.

“Dude,” the caller says, urgent. The voice is familiar but he can’t place it. “This is fucked. Up.”

“Who is this?” Frankie asks. He still sounds off and he’s got a bad feeling brewing down in his gut, well-honed instincts starting to scream for attention as he blinks fully awake. Something isn’t right.

The walls are the wrong color. Sunlight is filtering in from the right instead of the left. There’s a poster of Georges St-Pierre hanging nearby.

He’s in Benny’s room. In his bed.

Had he blacked out last night? He could swear he’d gone to bed in his own house.

“Dude,” the man on the phone says again. The voice almost sounds like— “It’s me.”

—himself.

Frankie closes his eyes. He’s starting to feel a little lightheaded.

“I don’t understand.”

“Francisco,” the voice says, “Go look in the mirror.”

Dumbly, Frankie stands and steps in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the wall by the closet. He looks at his reflection—and finds Benny’s shocked blue eyes staring back at him.

“I’m you,” Benny tells him, in Frankie’s own voice. “And you’re me.”

“What the fuck,” Frankie breathes. There’s a moment of silence between them as he tries to absorb the vision of himself standing here in someone else’s body.

“You know whose fault this is,” Benny starts.

Frankie blinks, curling Ben’s long fingers into a fist. He thinks about it, just for a second.

“Pope,” he says. There’s a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Fucking Pope,” Benny agrees.

Benny-in-Frankie’s-body drives Frankie’s car over to his own apartment, where Frankie has the bizarre experience of opening the door to find himself standing in front of him. After a brief discussion in which Benny insists he probably could fly a helicopter, no problem, Frankie puts his foot down and hovers over his shoulder as Benny calls him in sick to work.

Then they get Santiago on a video call. He’s sitting at his kitchen table and he answers them casually through a crunchy bite of cereal. “Hey, fellas. What’s happening?”

“You’re an asshole,” Benny tells him flatly. Pope raises an eyebrow and takes another bite of cornflakes, waiting for elaboration.

“I told you there was something hinky about that shit you had us moving yesterday,” Frankie says, “and you swore up and down everything was fine.”

Pope tilts his head, confused. “I thought it was just Fish who was complaining about it. You didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly,” they say in unison.

“It was Fish,” Benny says.

“Me,” Frankie continues, pointing to himself. He gestures between them. “We woke up… like this.”

“I think I’m missing something, boys,” Pope says. He sets down his spoon and picks up a mug from the table.

“We fucking swapped bodies,” Benny exclaims, and the whole thing is almost—almost—worth it to watch Santiago choke and splutter on his mouthful of coffee.

“Okay,” he says, still coughing but mostly recovered. His eyes shift uneasily. “Okay, uh. Okay. I need to make a phone call. Do you… do you remember anything you… touched?”

They’re both silent for a beat, staring at him like he’s stupid.

“We touched everything,” Frankie says finally. “That’s the point of moving shit from point A to point B.”

“Right. Okay. Right.” Pope lets out a nervous laugh. “It’s probably—I’m sure this is going to be fine. I need to call—” and he’s hung up before he can even finish the sentence.

Fucking Pope.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?” Benny asks.

They’re still at his place. Pope had texted a little while after their phone call, Looking into it. Sit tight. Maybe an hour, and then, like a coward, left them on read when they’d replied with more questions. Frankie has been spending the time rifling through Ben’s kitchen—his metabolism is higher in this body and once he’d gotten past the initial shock of their situation he’d been hit with the kind of hunger he hasn’t felt since his active service days. Benny has spent most of the time looking at his own reflection, poking and prodding at his face and fussing with the texture of his hair.

(“What if I shave my head while I’m you?” he’d mused earlier.

“What if I rob a bank while I’m you?” Frankie had countered.)

Now, Frankie stares at him over his bowl of oatmeal. “I don’t think I heard you right,” he says.

Benny stretches a leg out to hook under the crossbar of the chair across from his, looking annoyed when he doesn’t quite make the distance. “I’m not short,” Frankie says preemptively, for the third time this morning. Benny pulls a face.

“No but—haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to sleep with yourself?” he asks earnestly.

Frankie looks at him—at his own face, the full curve of his bottom lip and the broad stretch of his shoulders under the old t-shirt Benny had put on—and he does start to wonder. He clears his throat, shifting his weight.

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well. I’m just saying. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“Unless we’re stuck like this forever,” Frankie says, and Benny gives him a look that says that’s not helping.

“Maybe if we come at the exact same time it’ll switch us back,” he suggests.

“Benjamin. What??”

Benny shrugs, but he’s laughing, too. “If I was an ancient evil wizard cursing an amulet that’s how I’d configure it. Just to fuck with people.”

Frankie shakes his head at the absurdity of this entire day, and the last two minutes in particular.

But—

“Amulet?”

Benny’s eyes shift.

“I just thought—remember? We touched it at the same time when I was showing you the design. And it had that inscription we couldn’t make out.”

“Jesus,” Frankie says. “Yeah. You didn’t want to mention this earlier?”

Benny shrugs. “I didn’t think of it until just now.”

Frankie unlocks Benny’s phone with facial recognition and texts Pope again. We think maybe it was an amulet?????? Blue stone w strange writing around edge. Tarnished chain.

Together, they stare at the screen for a minute until Pope sends back a thumbs up reaction.

“I swear to god,” Frankie says, “If he doesn’t get us switched back I’m never speaking to him again.”

Benny nods distractedly and drums his fingers on the table. It’s as if the movement catches his own attention, because he looks down and rubs his thumb over the bullseye tattoo on his hand.

“So do you want to?” he asks. Frankie cocks his head and Benny offers up a vague, filthy gesture by way of explanation.

“You want to blow me?” Frankie interprets. He’s still not sure if Ben is serious or just fucking around. But his response is an enthusiastic nod, warm brown eyes widening earnestly, and Frankie feels a hit of arousal course through him.

He hesitates. “Wouldn’t it be kind of… narcissistic?”

“So what? When has a little narcissism ever hurt anyone?”

Frankie laughs out loud. “Well—for one, there was Narcissus.”

Benny is already sinking to his knees.

“Wait,” Frankie says. “Don’t do that.”

He hesitates, looking chastened.

“You’re gonna fuck up my knees,” he tells him.

“Old man,” Benny grumbles, but he carefully gets to his feet and heads down the hallway towards his bedroom.

And Frankie gives in and follows.

Benny takes a long time getting acquainted with his dick before he ever gets it in his mouth. He’s touching it lightly, moving it around, inspecting it from every angle. He runs his fingertips down the length, making Frankie tense up and shiver.

“It looks different from down here,” he observes. “Never realized that vein looked like that.”

When he finally does it—

Well.

It’s surreal watching his own mouth close around the head of his cock—like watching a porno of himself. He’s holding his breath, and it comes out shaky when Benny works his tongue over the tip.

Benny’s gaze flicks up to meet his and they lock eyes. Frankie lets out a breathless, nervous laugh and it sets Benny off laughing too, a shared moment of euphoric insanity, but then he surges down onto the length of Frankie’s cock again and Frankie’s no longer laughing.

He’s called Ben a cocksucker before—a crude, boys will be boys insult among friends, and Benny’s called him worse things in return with no hurt feelings between them. Now that it’s come true, he’s surprised to find Benny’s not half bad at this. At least, not while equipped with Frankie’s mouth. He can’t help but wonder if they might do this again so he can compare, if they switch back.

When. Not if. Under the haze of arousal that’s overtaken him, there’s still a knot of anxiety sitting in the bottom of his stomach, distracting him.

Ben presses a knuckle behind his balls, nudging into the space there and using his other hand to push Frankie’s legs open like he wants to reach back further. Frankie hesitates, shifting away, and Benny looks up at him.

“Uh—that doesn’t really do anything for me,” Frankie explains.

“What d’you mean?”

“Like…” He wiggles his forefinger. “Anything with my ass. My ex tried to finger me one time because she said it was going to be the best orgasm of my life and it just—felt like a visit to the proctologist.”

Benny is silent, looking at him thoughtfully from between his legs. Frankie’s cock is starting to feel neglected.

“What if… since you’re in my body, it feels different this time? Can I try?”

Frankie shrugs his assent.

It turns out that, kind of like the active metabolism thing, the nerve endings in Ben’s body are sensitive in a way Frankie’s not used to.

“I’m so—fucking jealous of you,” he gasps, when Benny has two thick fingers buried deep inside him. “I never knew it could feel like this.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Benny says smugly, a little muffled with his mouth hot against Frankie’s balls. “Do you wanna find out what your dick feels like?”

With Benny’s fingers inside him and his face between his legs, Frankie feels tingly all over, almost dizzy from it so that it takes him a moment to answer the question.

“I—yeah, kind of. That’s weird, right? This is weird.”

“Super fucking weird,” Benny agrees with a laugh. It’s funny to see his smile lighting up Frankie’s face. He wonders at it, while Benny’s focused on grabbing the lube stashed by his bed, trying to work out which parts of his face are his and what is Benny shining through. Transforming him into someone altogether new.

“Oh shit, that’s big,” Frankie gasps when Ben pushes into him, clutching hard onto his forearm.

Benny laughs silently. “How many girls have you heard that from before?”

“I always thought they were—stroking my ego,” Frankie says, breathing out a laugh. Benny grins, cheek dimpling.

“Try to relax,” he says. “I’ll go slow. Tell me if you want to stop.”

They’re not making love—that would be beyond the level of super fucking weird they’re already at—but it’s what Frankie would call this if they were a couple. Benny fucks him slow and careful and full and distracts him by leaning in for a kiss. It’s totally surreal, and somehow oddly comfortable at the same time, kissing his own mouth. Realizing he’s tasting Benny on his lips and deepening the kiss without even thinking about it. Feeling the anxious tension in his gut dissolving into something hot and dangerous, pleasure like the high of a drug.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, and Benny makes a low noise in his throat and hides his face against his neck, tickling Frankie’s skin with the brush of his mustache. He closes his eyes and gives himself over to the waves of euphoria, and in the end, improbably, they do come together at the exact same time.

It doesn’t change them back.

Frankie’s phone lights up with a text. They both scramble to look, hoping to see Santiago’s name on the screen, but it’s from Laura, Frankie’s ex-wife.

Stuck at work, she’s written, adding a dismayed emoji. Any chance you’re able to do the preschool pickup and watch M for an hour or two? I can get her from your place.

“You’ll have to come with me,” he tells Benny. “They don’t hand over the kids to any random guy that shows up.”

His daughter grins when she sees them, but she falters as she draws closer, looking between the two of them skeptically like she can tell something is up.

“Hey, Minneola,” Benny greets her. She wrinkles her nose at the nickname and gravitates towards Frankie, who picks her up. There’s not even a twinge in his lower back, he realizes. He might be happy stuck in this body after all.

“You have a good day, baby?” he asks her. She rides comfortably in his arm, talking his ear off about the butterfly-themed craft her teacher had led the class in, and Benny saunters along beside them as they make their way back out to the car.

Whatever intuition his kid has that the man who looks like her daddy isn’t actually him today, her mother does not share. Laura barely spares him a glance when she swings by the house, a little flustered at the late hour as she collects her daughter and grills Benny on what he’s given her for her afternoon snack.

“Thanks again,” she tells him, leaning in to peck him on the lips, and she’s out the door again before she can notice the dazed expression on Benny’s face.

“I can’t believe I got lucky with two Moraleses in one day,” he says, when she’s gone. Frankie smacks him upside the head and then tousles his hair back into place, with a little more affection than he’d like to admit.

They’ve demolished an extra-large pizza and googled “body swap,” “body swap magic,” “body swap real,” “body swap historical,” and, in an act of desperation, “freaky friday real life,” to no avail when Pope finally—finally—calls them back.

“So my guy looked into it—” he starts.

“What do you mean, your guy?” Benny asks.

“My occult guy,” Pope says, as if that’s a thing. “The guy who owns the amulet you touched.” Frankie swears under his breath but Pope continues on as before. “So, it took him a while to track down the information about that exact artifact, but he found it and it’s good news.”

The ball of anxiety that has been twisting itself up in Frankie’s system all afternoon as the hours had passed very slowly begins to unwind.

“It’s like a 24-hour bug,” Pope continues brightly. “You’ll just switch back again by tomorrow. No harm, no foul.”

Benny and Frankie exchange a look that makes it clear they both still fully intend to exact revenge on Pope for putting them in this position to begin with.

“Between you and me,” he continues, oblivious, “this guy is a little out there—”

“No shit,” Benny says dryly.

“—he kept saying something about a ‘soul bond’ that I didn’t totally understand, but the final word was, like I said, everything will be back to normal.”

Soul bond is a heavy phrase to hear mere hours after having what was supposed to be very casual, platonic sex with a friend while he just so happened to be inhabiting your own body. Frankie feels Ben’s eyes on him and busies himself by gathering the mess of pizza-stained paper napkins on his coffee table into a single, scrunched up pile.

“Thanks, Pope,” Benny says after a moment. “If your guy is wrong, just so you know, we’re gonna kill you.”

“10-4,” Pope says, and makes quick work of hanging up the phone.

“Maybe I should sleep here tonight?” Benny suggests. “So we know it works. Like. In case there’s a… proximity thing,” he finishes lamely.

“Yeah,” Frankie says. “That makes sense.” It doesn’t, really, since they were in their own houses for the first switch, but he feels antsy with anticipation and, if he’s honest, he doesn’t really want to be alone right now. He thinks Benny doesn’t either.

The sun is barely risen when he wakes up, just dim light starting to break through around the edges of his blinds. His heart is racing, like the adrenaline rush when your body jerks awake from falling in a dream. There’s a dull ache in his lower back and a familiar curve to his nose when he lifts a hand to grope at his face. Next to him, Benny is back in his own body too, one long leg draped heavy over Frankie’s. He looks younger, asleep like this—deceptively innocent, Frankie thinks wryly.

Benny’s eyes flutter slowly open and Frankie can’t quite look away. They stare at each other for a long moment and Benny gives him a small smile.

“Well that’s a relief,” he murmurs, voice all early morning deep. “I was starting to miss your face.”

“Yeah,” Frankie says. “Me too.”

Benny’s smile widens and he rolls closer in the bed, face tucked next to Frankie’s shoulder and the whole length of his body pressed up against his side.

So just like that, just like Pope’s guy had said, they’re totally, completely, thoroughly, unquestionably, and entirely—back to normal. Not a soul bond in sight.

Benny’s hand finds its way onto Frankie’s thigh.

“I’m glad we switched back,” he rumbles sleepily. His breath is warm on Frankie’s skin, mouth nearly touching him. “But it was kind of cool, I guess, getting to be you. Anyway—now the next time someone tells me to go fuck myself I can say, I’ve been there, done that.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie groans, appalled at the bad joke. Benny laughs, setting his teeth into Frankie’s flesh when he tries to smother him with a pillow, and Frankie finds he likes that a little too much, so maybe—it’s a slightly new and improved normal, after all.

(mini taglist of a few fishben appreciators: @loversandantiheroes @littledozerdraws @littleferal @thirstworldproblemss @green-socks)

[ichorai]

blueberries ; three.

pairing ; joey tribbiani x gn!reader chapter synopsis ; the one with lumpy potatoes, new years parties, and mother-kissers. wc ; 9.0k warnings / includes ; talks of sex/suggestive content, mild cursing, reader wears a dress but obv still gn, and a new love interest !!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Chandler asked Joey as the actor sauntered into Central Perk, sinking into a chair beside you. 

“Yes, sir, I am,” replied Joey, rolling up his sleeves with a smirk. “As of today, I’m officially Joey Tribbiani: actor-slash-model.”

Snorting, Chandler piped, “That’s so funny, because I was thinking you look more like Joey Tribbiani: clown-slash-mime.”

You wanted to laugh, but you kept a straight face, sending Joey a reassuring grin. “Don’t listen to him, you look great!” Tilting your head to inspect him further, you added, “Though—your foundation could be a shade darker, you look like a ghost!”

“What were you modeling for, anyway?” asked Phoebe.

“Well, you know those posters for the City Free Clinic?” he asked excitedly.

Monica gasped, “Oh, wow! So you’re gonna be one of those healthy, healthy, healthy guys?”

Practically dripping with pride, Joey struck a ridiculous modeling pose, which made the rest of you scoff with laughter. 

“The asthma guy’s really cute,” you chimed. When Joey sent you a glare, you were quick to tack on, “And you’ll definitely give him a run for his money!”

“You know which one you’re gonna be?” asked Chandler.

“No,” the actor-slash-model sighed. “But I hear lyme disease is open, so…”

Patting Joey’s shoulder, Chandler said, “Good luck man, I hope you get it.” That earned strange looks from the rest of you while Joey just beamed brightly, blissfully oblivious to his phrasing.

It was then that Ross stormed in, a strained mope marring his features. He sank into a chair with a heavy sigh, prompting you to roll your eyes and ask, “What’s wrong now, Ross?”

“Monica told me mom and dad weren’t spending Thanksgiving here—and I didn’t believe her at first, but it turns out she was right. How could they do this to us?”

Sighing, the black-haired woman proposed, “How about I cook Thanksgiving dinner at my place? I’ll make it just like Mom’s!”

“Will you make the mashed potatoes with lumps?” he asked.

Monica hesitated. “You know they’re not actually supposed to have—” She cut herself short at Ross’ sour expression. “Fine, I’ll work on the lumps! What are the rest of you doing tonight? Joey, you’re going home, right?”

From beside you, he nodded enthusiastically, excited to finally go back home and visit his parents.

“And I assume, Chandler, you’re still boycotting all the Pilgrim holidays?”

The man snorted. “Yes, every single one of them,” he sarcastically quipped.

“Pheebs, you’re going to be with your grandma?”

“Yeah, and her boyfriend. But we’re celebrating Thanksgiving in December because he’s lunar, so—”

Slightly confused, Monica asked, “So you’re free Thursday, then?”

“Yeah, why?” replied Phoebe, equally miffed before realization dawned upon her. “Oh, can I come?” 

Monica nodded with a grin. “And Rachel’s planning on going to Vail—so what about you, Y/N?”

Tracing the rim of your teacup with a finger, you pursed your lips to the side in thought. “I think I’ll be free! You have room for one more?”

Ross crossed his arms in Monica’s kitchen, making him look abnormally burly in his chunky, woolen sweater. “If she’s talking to it, I just think I should get some belly time, too!” he complained. “Not that I believe in any of this.”

“I do,” you chimed, helping Monica season the turkey in the kitchen. “Babies begin developing ears well before thirty weeks, so I’m sure they’d be able to hear a little bit of what goes on outside the womb.”

Phoebe nodded her agreement. “I think babies can totally hear everything! Here, lemme show you, Ross—this might seem a little weird, but you put your head inside this turkey and then we’ll all talk and you’ll hear everything we say!”

“I’d like to say that I’m totally behind this experiment,” said Chandler. “In fact, I’d very much like to butter your head.”

You snorted in laughter, before turning to see Rachel walking into the apartment, sulking. 

“Hey, Rach,” you greeted, hopping up to grab her coat for her. She sent you a half-hearted smile. “Did you make enough money to go to Vail?”

“Forget Vail,” she sniffled. “Forget seeing my family, forget shoop, shoop, shoop.” She mimicked skiing down the snow as tears pricked her eyes. 

From the kitchen, Monica handed you the envelope, and you tapped Rachel’s shoulder. “Hey, honey, you’ve got some mail.”

“Just leave it on the table,” she replied, burying her face in her hands.

“I think you’re gonna want to see this,” you responded softly. When Rachel didn’t move, you rolled your eyes and smacked her arm lightly. “Now!”

She jolted in shock, before snatching the mail from you with a mildly offended look. The expression immediately melted away when she ripped it open, pulling out crisp dollar bills. “Oh, my God! You guys are great!” she exclaimed, lunging forward to drape her arms around you and pull you into a hug so tight that it was a wonder your ribs didn’t cave under the pressure.

“We all chipped in,” you assured her. “Except Ross, who now owes me twenty bucks.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, before pulling away and streaking into her room, yelling out something about packing her suitcase. 

When she was gone, Monica headed back to the kitchen, shoving a bag full of goodies into Chandler’s awaiting arms. “Here you go, your standard holiday feast—canned tomato soup, grilled cheese fixings, and a family-size bag of Funyuns for one!”

“You sure you want to spend Thanksgiving alone?” you asked him, peering into the bag with distaste. “What is it with you and this holiday, anyway? I never got around to asking—honestly I was too scared to know the answer.”

Sighing, Chandler placed his hand on your shoulder. “Alright, I’m nine years old—”

Ross and Monica and Phoebe all groaned, muttering how much they absolutely hated this story.

“We’ve just finished Thanksgiving dinner. I have, and I remember this part vividly, a mouthful of pumpkin pie. And this is the moment my parents choose to tell me they’re getting divorced.”

“Oh,” you said. “Oh, my God, Chandler, I’m so sorry.”

Holding a finger up, Chandler shook his head. “Ah, but it gets worse—you see, it’s really hard to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner again when you’ve seen it in reverse.”

He began miming throwing up all over you, and you wrinkled your nose, bile rising up your throat.

“Oh, stop! You’re going to make me puke, too!”

There was a knock on the door, and before anybody could get up to answer it, Joey walked into Monica’s apartment, shoulders slumped.

“Jo?” you asked. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were spending Thanksgiving with your family?”

“They think I have VD,” he sighed, moving to pull you away from Chandler who had frozen mid-puke, and wrapping you up in a tight hug. 

A bit surprised, you awkwardly patted his back, mouthing to Chandler to shut up when he began to say, “Be careful, Y/N, wouldn’t want you to get VD, too!” With a stout nod, Chandler bid himself adieu, claiming that he needed to ‘get away from all the merriment’. 

When Joey finally let you go, he wound his way into the kitchen, following Monica around like a lost puppy as she cooked. “Hey, Monica, I got a question—I don’t see any tater tots.”

“That’s not a question,” she replied, cocking a sharp brow at him.

“But my mom always makes ‘em—it’s like a tradition! You get a little piece of turkey on your fork, a little cranberry sauce… and a tot!” huffed Joey, sitting down at the kitchen table by Ross. “It’s bad enough I can’t be with my family, you know—because of my disease that I don’t actually have.”

Rolling her eyes, Monica blew out a heavy sigh. “Alright, fine. Tonight’s potatoes will be both mashed with lumps for Ross, and in the form of tots for Joey.” 

The two men grinned at each other victoriously, fist-bumping beneath the table. 

“I’m off to talk to my unborn child! I’ll be back before dinnertime,” announced Ross, grabbing his coat, waving goodbye to the rest of you and disappearing out the door. 

You took his spot at the kitchen table, resting your arm on Joey’s shoulder as the two of you watched Monica berate Phoebe for whipping the potatoes.

“Ross needs lumps!”

“Oh, well,” the blonde started sheepishly, “I thought we could have them whipped and then add some peas and onions.”

Frustration flooded across Monica’s features. “Why would we do that?”

“Then they’d be, uhm, be just like how my mom used to make it before she died,” said Phoebe, which made Monica blanch out of part-guilt and part-exasperation.

“Okay, three kinds of potatoes coming up! Unless you have a specific kind of mashed potatoes, too, Y/N?” she glared at you expectedly, eye twitching.

You raised your hands in a placating manner. “No, ma’am, I’m fine with whatever you’re making.”

The glare melted away and was replaced by one of relief. “You’re officially my favorite.”

Right at that moment, Rachel stumbled out of her room haphazardly carrying about half a dozen bags that looked to be on the verge of breaking open because of how stuffed full they were. She was beaming radiantly nonetheless, rushing to the door. 

Before she could leave, however, Chandler ran back into Monica’s apartment, out of breath and blurting out, “The most unbelievable thing just happened! Underdog has gotten away!”

Joey’s eyebrows quirked upwards. “The balloon?”

Chandler shot him a sharp look, before leering, “No, the actual cartoon character. Of course the balloon! It’s all over the news—he broke free and was spotted flying over Washington Square Park! I’m goin’ to the roof, who’s with me?”

All of you began bolting for the door, except Rachel, who lamented that she had to leave for her flight.

“Come on, Rach, an eighty-foot balloon dog is flying loose over the city? You don’t wanna miss that!” you exclaimed, tugging her along. She reluctantly followed after all of you, dropping all her bags to the floor. 

“Got the keys!” exclaimed Monica as all of you rushed out her apartment.

“That moment when we first saw the giant shadow fall over the park!” squealed Rachel, eyes sparkling. “I felt like I was in one of those big action movies!”

You chuckled. “Yeah, and the big bad villain was an inflatable balloon in the shape of a smiling dog.”

“But did they really have to shoot him down?” asked Phoebe. “That was just mean.”

The group arrived in front of Monica’s door. 

“Okay, right about now the turkey should be crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside! Why are we all just standing here?” she said, rubbing her hands together anxiously.

“We’re waiting for you to open the door,” said Rachel in a ‘duh, isn’t it obvious?’ tone. “You’ve got the keys.”

Monica blinked. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. When we left, you said you got the keys!”

“I didn’t!” Monica’s voice went shrill. “I asked if you had the keys!”

“No, no, your voice went all flat at the end, like you already got the keys!” Rachel stressed, her own tone getting higher to match Monica’s.

“Do either of you have the keys?” Chandler unhelpfully asked, exaggerating the last word. 

Panicked, Monica jangled the doorknob. “The oven is on!”

“I gotta get the money and my bags!” Rachel cried out. “I’m gonna miss my flight!”

“Oh!” said Joey. “We have a copy of your key in our apartment, right?”

“THEN GET IT!” Monica screeched, which made the two men step back out of shock.

“Alright, jeez, that tone won’t make me go any faster, you know?”

At the raven-haired woman’s withering glare, Joey bolted into his apartment to grab an entire box full of keys, which made the rest of you groan in exasperation.

After about ten minutes of trying out different keys, Monica bit out, “Can’t you go any faster with that?”

“I got one keyhole and about a zillion keys—you do the math!” he replied, tossing another unfit key back into the box. 

“Why do you guys have so many keys in there anyway?” barked Rachel.

“Hm, for an emergency just like this?” deadpanned Chandler.

Rachel was practically vibrating with frustration at this point, grabbing Chandler by the lapels of his button-down shirt and yanking him down threateningly. “Alright, listen here, smirky! If it wasn’t for you and your stupid balloon, I would be on a plane watching a woman show me where the emergency exits are right now! But I’m not!”

“God, I swear I asked if you had the keys,” sulked Monica. 

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t say I had the keys unless I had the goddamn keys! I obviously didn’t have the keys!”

“Oh, my God,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Really, guys, there’s no point in arguing about it anymore—blaming someone won’t make the door magically open.”

Ignoring you, Monica rounded back to Rachel, hissing, “Why would I have the keys? You were the last one out!”

“Because you said you had them!” Rachel replied, practically screaming at this point. Joey momentarily stopped trying to jam random keys into the door to watch them fight, but you swatted his arm to get him back to work. 

“Why?”

“Because!”

“Why? Because everything is my responsibility? Isn’t it enough that I’m making Thanksgiving dinner for everyone? Yeah, everyone wants a different kind of potato, so I’m making different kinds of potatoes! Does anybody even care what kind of potatoes I want? No! Just as long as Phoebe gets her peas and onions, and Joey gets his tots, and Chandler gets to watch from the side, and Ross gets his gross potato lumps and—and—it’s my first Thanksgiving all on my own and now it’s all burnt and I can’t—” She burst into a mess of tears and running mascara, and you shook your head sympathetically, walking to her to wind your arms around her and comfortingly pat her on the back. 

She hiccupped into you, about to hug you back when Joey said, “Hey, I got the door open!”

Monica ripped herself away from you and shot into her apartment, leaving you blinking in surprise. 

“Thanks for being there for me, Y/N, you always know how to make me feel better!” you muttered under your breath, before following the rest of the group in. 

The apartment was full of smoke, the stench of burned poultry lingering in the air. You waved your hand in front of your face just as Monica yanked the oven open and threw the ruined meal onto the counter. “Well, turkey’s burnt! Potatoes are ruined, potatoes are ruined, and potatoes are ruined!”

It was then that Ross strode into the apartment, whistling a merry tune beneath his breath, before noticing the smoke and the sullen expressions. “This doesn’t smell like Mom’s,” he quipped, which earned him a cuff to the shoulder. 

“No, it doesn’t,” grouched Monica. “But you know what, Ross? You want lumps? Here, you got one!” She yanked one of the burned, hardened no-longer-mash potatoes out of its bowl, waving it around with a manic look to her eye.

From across the room, Rachel slammed the phone onto the coffee table, screaming out, “God, this is just great! The plane is gone, so I guess I’m stuck here with you guys!”

Joey crossed his arms. “We all had better plans, okay? This was nobody’s first choice.”

You winced—technically this had been your first choice, but you opted to remain quiet.

“Really?” said Monica, clearly hurt. “So why was I busting my ass to make this delicious Thanksgiving dinner!?”

“You call that delicious?” Ross gruffed. 

The entire group erupted into screams and accusations and loud arguments.

You sighed, moving to the door, where Chandler was leaning. 

“Now this feels like Thanksgiving,” he whispered to you, which made you snort in laughter. 

“Guys, look!” Phoebe exclaimed from the window, interrupting everybody’s yelling. “Ugly Naked Guy’s taking his turkey out of the oven!”

Everybody was in too sour of a mood to care, until—

“Oh, my God. He’s not alone! Ugly Naked Guy is having Thanksgiving dinner with Ugly Naked Gal!”

All of you bolted to the window, both cooing at how cute they were and how gross it was at the same time. 

“Ugly naked dancing!” Monica pointed out, a smile breaking out across her face. 

“It’s nice that he has someone,” said Phoebe.

The rest of you sighed, before looking at each other fondly.

Soon after, all of you were seated at the kitchen table, watching Chandler cut grilled cheese sandwiches in half.

“Who wants light cheese and who wants dark cheese?” he asked.

“I don’t even wanna know what’s in the dark cheese,” replied Ross as he grabbed half of a sandwich. 

“You wanna split with me, Jo?” you asked, holding up an uncut sandwich.

Phoebe clapped her hands. “You guys have to make a wish! You know, like a turkey wishbone!”

With a smile, you held out the grilled cheese to Joey, and he clutched the other side, before pulling. He ended up with the bigger half, a wide grin split across his handsome features.

“What’re you wishing for?” you asked, biting into your smaller portion.

“Duh, the bigger half,” Joey replied, which made you kick him beneath the table. He tilted his head. “What would you have wished for?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’m really happy with what I have now,” you smiled at him, before turning to look at Chandler, who was clinking a fork against his glass. 

He cleared his throat. “I know this isn’t exactly the kind of Thanksgiving any of you had planned, but for me this has been really great. Mostly because it didn’t involve divorce or, you know, projectile vomiting. I was just thinking if Rachel had gone to Vail, or if you guys had been with your family, or if Joey didn’t have… syphilis and stuff, we wouldn’t be all together. I guess what I’m trying to say is—I’m very grateful all of your Thanksgivings sucked.”

The rest of you raised your glasses. 

“Here’s to a lousy Christmas,” said Ross.

“And a crappy New Year!” you chimed, before taking a long sip. 

“Hi, guys,” you greeted everybody as you sat down beside Ross on Central Perk’s largest couch. “I’ve got news!”

Ross was just about to ask what it was when Rachel came with a steaming cup of tea for you, smiling softly. “Hey, Y/N! Do you guys know what you’re doing for New Years?”

Suddenly, the entire group threw their arms up in the air, groaning loudly. 

“Jeez, what? What’s wrong with New Years?”

“Nothing for you, you have Paolo!” Chandler replied hotly. “You don’t have to face the horrible pressures of this holiday—the desperate scramble to find anything with lips just so you can have somebody to kiss when the ball drops! Man, I’m talking loud!”

Frowning, Rachel cocked her head. “For your information, Paolo’s gonna be in Rome this New Years, so I’ll be just as pathetic as the rest of you!”

“I am so sick of being a victim of this Dick Clark holiday! I say this year, no dates—we make a pact. Just the seven of us, dinner,” proposed Chandler, spreading his arms out invitingly. 

As the rest of them chimed their reluctant agreement, you winced, setting your tea down. “Sorry, Chandler.”

“Sorry? What do you mean, sorry?” he asked.

“Sorry, as in I already have a date for New Years.” Your words were a little hushed, and you sank further into the sofa out of mild embarrassment.

The entire group seemed to double-take at your words, practically bursting at the seams with questions.

“Who?” Joey asked.

“A guy from work—his name’s Connor, and he’s one of the head researchers for quantum photonics,” you said in response, playing with the fraying threads of your sweater. “I’m not even in that field but I’ve become more or less his consultant and peer reviewer for his papers and just this morning, he came up to me with flowers and asked me to be his date for New Years, and gosh, I just felt like a giddy teenager, you know?”

Monica slapped your arm, an excited smile spread across her lips. “That’s great, Y/N!”

“What does he look like?” asked Phoebe.

“He’s got the most gorgeous dark hair, and soft brown eyes,” you began describing, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. “And he’s just so soft-spoken, you know? Honestly, I never really saw him in a romantic light until he came up to me this morning and it all just came rushing at me—it’s honestly a bit too good to be true.”

Joey scoffed. “Yeah, especially after the last person you were with.”

Stiffening, you clenched your jaw and shot him a half-hearted glare.

“Who was the last person?” Ross queried.

Purposefully, you dodged his question and said, “Well, good luck with your no-date pact! I’d love to spend New Years with you guys, but—”

“Why don’t you bring him?” asked Rachel.

“No! No, it’s for single people only, that was the whole point!” Chandler butted in.

With a sour glare, Monica said, “Come on, it’s Y/N! The last time we’ve met one of their partners was… come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone you’ve dated. We can make an exception, Chandler. Just one. Besides, I’d really love to meet this Connor guy!”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Just Y/N, but that’s it.”

The next day, the entire group was gathered in Monica’s apartment, helping her decorate a small Christmas tree. Joey wasn’t here, however, having gotten a job as a helper elf at a local mall. You couldn’t shake the feeling of him being upset with you, he’d barely spoken a word to you ever since they had made the date-pact yesterday, but you tried not to read too much into it.

“I can’t believe he hasn’t kissed you yet!” Rachel told you. Untangling the silver tinsel, you wrapped it around the pine on Monica’s coffee table. “God, by my sixth date with Paolo, he’d already named both my breasts!”

You blinked in surprise. Ross made a choking noise from beside you.

“Ooh, did I just share too much?”

Ross huffed out of his nose. “Just a smidge.”

Hanging up another ornament, you shrugged. “I don’t know—I kinda like that he’s taking it slow, you know?”

Phoebe nodded enthusiastically. “David hasn’t kissed me either—are all scientist guys like that? Very methodical.”

You remembered Phoebe mentioning that she was seeing a physicist. “I can assure you, Pheebs, not all scientist guys are like that. A lot of them don’t waste any time with sex, much less kissing!”

“I think it’s romantic,” Monica chimed.

You smiled softly. “It’s really nice. Connor is just—he’s just so nice and smart and gentle and sweet. When he looks at me it feels… I don’t know, I just forgot what it feels like to be wanted by someone else, you know?”

Phoebe sank into a chair, grinning like a lovesick fool. “I know what you mean. I just want to be with him all the time, you know? Day and night, and night and day. And, uhm… special occasions…”

With an exaggerated gasp of betrayal, Chandler pointed an accusing finger at her. “Wait a minute—I see where this is going. You’re gonna ask him to New Years! You’re gonna break the pact!”

“No!” Phoebe vehemently exclaimed. After a moment’s pause, she sheepishly asked, “Can I, though?”

With a defeated sigh, Chandler propped his hands on his hips. “Yeah, cause I already asked Janice.”

“What?” you asked, nearly dropping a fragile ornament you’d been holding. “Chan, the entire pact was your idea.”

“I snapped, okay? I couldn’t handle the pressure and I snapped!”

Monica shook her head. “Janice, though? That was, like, the worst breakup in history!”

“Well, I’m not saying it was a good idea, I’m saying I snapped!” Chandler defended, face reddening.

The door to Monica’s apartment swung open, and Joey strode in, dressed head-to-toe in a ridiculous array of bright green, red, and white fabric that came together into a shoddy elf costume. His shoes were pointy and little bells hung off the ends, and jangled with every step he took. 

“Too many jokes,” Chandler gritted out, doubling over as he suppressed the urge to make fun of his roommate. “Must mock Joey!”

“Oh, stop it,” you said, grinning at him. “I think he makes a handsome elf.”

Strange, you thought. Joey almost completely ignored your comment, opting to head back to his apartment, claiming that he had to change because around a dozen kids sneezed on him during his shift.

Back at Central Perk, Ross was throwing a fit after Monica had told everybody that she had also caved and asked Fun Bobby to be her date for New Years.

“Okay, so on our no-date evening, four of you now have dates!” he grumbled. 

Raising his hand, Joey said, “Uh, five.”

You raised your eyebrows, but you weren’t really surprised. Joey had an uncanny knack for getting random strangers to fall in love with him.

Rachel bowed her head, also saying, “Six. Sorry, Paolo’s catching an early flight!”

“Yeah, and I met this really hot single dad at the mall. What’s an elf to do?”

Before you could question him further, Ross buried his face into his palms. “Okay, so I’m gonna be the only one standing there alone when the ball drops?”

“Come on, Ross! We’ll have a big party, and no one will know who’s with who!” Rachel reassured him.

“Ugh, this is the last thing I needed right now! Marcel’s shutting me out, and now this.”

It took you a moment to realize that Ross was talking about a monkey that he had gotten, which you believed was really to fill the lesbian-wife-shaped hole in his heart, but you never vocalized those thoughts. 

“Why’s Marcel shutting you out?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, he’s moping around all the time, dragging his hands.”

You bit back the urge to say like owner, like pet, but bit down on your tongue and sipped on your tea. 

“That’s so weird,” Chandler added. “I had such a blast with him the other night when you asked me to petsit! We played, we watched TV—that juggling thing is amazing!”

Ross blinked. “What, uh… what juggling thing?”

“With the balled-up socks? I figured you taught him that.”

A muscle ticked in Ross’ jaw. “No.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Chandler said placatingly. “It was just a couple socks… and a melon.”

The party at Monica’s place was in full swing. 

You had shown up early with Connor, an assorted tray of nearly-burnt homemade cookies in hand. Everybody was fawning over Connor, and he was a doll the entire evening, constantly keeping a warm hand on your lower back and whispering sweet compliments into your ear that made you swoon like a seasick sailor. 

There was one point when he had excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Monica rushed to you, telling you that if you didn’t hold onto him for dear life, she’d smack you silly.

The rest of the guests were acquaintances that you barely recognized, and you could feel your social battery draining by the minute. You stood in the kitchen sipping on a glass of punch as you listened to Janice talk your ear off about a new diet that she’d been on, trying your utmost best to come up with an excuse to leave her. 

“Sorry, Janice, I gotta head to the bathroom real quick. Nice dress, though, you look amazing!” 

“Oh, thank you, you’re such a sweetheart! You know, if Chandler hadn’t already asked me, I wouldn’t have minded having a piece of you to myself—!”

You squirmed away before she could try to flirt with you any more, bolting into the general direction of the bathroom. Suddenly, you crashed straight into somebody’s chest, which you were utterly relieved to be Joey.

He grasped your forearms, concerned, before promptly letting go of you.

“Hey, Jo,” you said, strangely timid. This was Joey, for heaven’s sake, what were you being so shy for? “You look good!”

“Thanks,” he said, before giving you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A dark brown leather jacket was thrown over a tight white turtleneck, and his dark hair was combed to the side. “You look great, too. Dresses suit you.”

Tonight, you had decided to wear a silky dress that was a mottled shade of olive green, draping just right over your figure. It shone dimly beneath the lights, and Joey couldn’t help but notice how it brought out the brightness of your eyes. 

“Really? I can’t remember the last time I’ve worn a dress,” you nervously replied, tucking a loose curl of hair behind your ear. “I’m only wearing this because Connor told me it complimented my eyes.”

Immediately, Joey’s expression seemed to falter. “O-Oh, yeah. Well, he’s right.”

A knock on the door drew your attention away from Joey, and Monica opened it to reveal a man—and judging by Joey’s wave, you guessed that it was the hot single dad that he had mentioned was his date. Your inference was further confirmed when two small children walked in after him, much to your amusement.

“Oh, uh, bye—” you began to say, but Joey was already moving away from you.

Before disappointment could fester within you for too long, Connor was by your side, curling an arm around your waist. You smiled at him, leaning forward and softly pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. Rouge dusted across his cheekbones and he returned the favor, before nuzzling his nose against the side of your temple.

It was sickly sweet—nauseatingly so. But you loved it, anyway.

 From across the room, Joey watched the two of you cozy up to each other and he cursed under his breath. He forced himself to tear away his gaze and focus on his date and… the two kids awkwardly following behind.

The door flung open not five minutes later, revealing Rachel. Only, she was covered in mud and dirt, and a mysterious goopy substance that dripped down her hair. Her lip was busted and swollen, and deep bruises littered her pallid complexion. 

“Oh, my God,” you whispered under your breath, whispering an apology to Connor before rushing to Rachel, who was being fawned over by Monica. “Rach, are you okay? What happened?”

“Fuckin’ Paolo missed his flight!” she spat out, a bit muffled and hard to understand because of her swollen lip, taking a seat on the sofa. 

Hurriedly, you grabbed a glass of water for her and dampened a small towel with warm water, and rushed back to her, cleaning away the speckled dirt on her face.

“And then your face exploded?” Phoebe asked hesitantly.

“I was getting into a cab at the airport, when this woman, this blonde bitch with a pocketbook started yelling at me! Something about how it was her cab first, and the next thing I know, she’s just pulling me out by my hair! So I start blowing my attack whistle thingy and then three more cabs show up! So as I’m getting into a cab, she straight out tackles me! And I hit my head on the curb and cut my lip on my whistle!” She burst into tears, before quickly composing herself, realizing that there were more than a dozen people watching her blubber bloody, dirty tears. “Oh. Everyone having fun at the party? Y/N, is that Connor? He’s very handsome!”

Connor waved hello, but you sighed, gently pressing the back of your hand to Rachel’s forehead. “Honey, you might’ve hit your head really hard and gotten a concussion. Can someone get some ice, please? Or a frozen bag of peas, or something?” When Chandler brought you a small pack of ice, you gingerly held it to her head. “Alright, this should bring down the swelling soon. Are you feeling sleepy at all? Is it hard to keep your eyes open?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, I think. Thanks, Y/N.”

“No problem,” you replied, patting her leg softly. “No alcohol for you tonight, though.”

With a meek smile, she nodded, before heading into her room to get changed and clean herself up a bit more. 

You blew out a breath, before allowing Connor to sweep you away closer to the windows. “That was…” he began.

“What?”

“You’re really great,” he said, eyes softening. “I know this thing between us is really new, and I don’t want to rush anything, but I really like you.”

You swore you could feel your heart liquefying within your chest and drip down between your ribcage. “I really like you, too, Connor.”

Not too far from the two of you, you overheard Joey’s date purr, “When I saw you at the store last week, it was probably the first time I’ve ever mentally undressed an elf.” 

Disgust coiled within your stomach when you noticed that her kids were watching. 

“Hey.” Connor’s fingers lifted your chin up to meet his gaze. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m good. Let’s go get some more food, I’m starving!”

The next hour was spent mingling some more, and you were already hiding yawns behind a fist. Connor, ever so considerate, had asked you if you were feeling tired and wanted to leave, but you had waved him away. Though you were tired, you really did want to kiss him on New Years.

Before you knew it, it was five minutes before midnight.

You had bumped into Chandler, who had sullenly told you that he had broken up with Janice. Again. 

“Will you kiss me at midnight?” he asked you. 

You reared back in surprise, gesturing to an equally bewildered Connor. “I’m here with Connor, Chandler.”

He squinted. “Okay. Connor, will you kiss me at midnight?”

“Oh, go away, Chandler!” you swatted his arm, and he hissed, scuttering away to ask another poor soul to kiss him. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Joey tuck in two kids on the sofa with a large blanket, passed out cold. You tilted your head, heading towards him. 

“Where’s their dad?” you whispered quietly, not wanting to awaken them. 

“Chandler told me he saw him in Monica’s room, getting it on with some chick,” replied Joey, distant. “I’m just watchin’ over the kids.”

Your gaze softened. “That’s real sweet of you. Happy new year, Joey.” A bit more hesitantly, you spread your arms out. You were tired of walking on eggshells around him—you wanted your best friend back. He looked at you for a second, gaze flickering to Connor, who was chatting pleasantly to Ross, and then back to you. Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you tightly, blueberry perfume invading his senses, a tirade of overwhelming emotions winding through every nerve. All of a sudden, your glossed lips were on his cheek, nose bumping into his cheekbone. “In case you don’t get a new year’s kiss,” you whispered against him, before pulling away.

Throat tight, he nodded stoutly, watching as you sent him one last devastating smile, and turned on your heel to head back to Connor.

A minute before midnight.

“Looks like the no-date pact worked out,” Chandler huffed. “Except Y/N, the bastard.” He glared at you from afar as Connor placed his hands on your waist, tugging you closer, his nose brushing yours. 

“Everybody looks so happy! I hate that,” said Phoebe. Sure, she had been the one who urged her date to go to Russia for a big break in his career, but it still hurt that he’d left nonetheless.

As the clocks hit midnight, the couples around you cheered and began embracing each other. Connor pulled you flush against him and kissed you deeply, and you couldn’t help but grin into him when he skimmed his fingers down your side, tickling you slightly. Your hands cradled his jaw as if he were made of fine china, inching to the back of his neck to lace together.

You pulled away, breathless, just in time to turn and see Joey exasperatedly grab Chandler’s face and plant a firm kiss on his lips to shut him up about being forever alone.

Nora Bing was a delight, despite Chandler’s vehement difference of opinion. 

She was confident, a good conversationalist, and often divulged a bit too much information than needed, which made for a rather entertaining evening. She was a pretty popular erotica writer, and though you haven’t had the chance to pick up any of her books yourself, you’ve heard it to be rather… raunchy.

The entire group was out at a fancy Chinese restaurant, and she had asked you to bring your ‘little boy toy’ as she had called Connor. 

You sat between him and Chandler, with Nora being on the other side, and Joey across from you. 

Soon after you arrived, Rachel and Paolo rushed in, looking disheveled. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late. We kinda lost track of time,” the brunette said, breathless. Paolo was kissing down her neck from behind her and you had to resist the urge to gag. Down the table, you could see Ross discretely fist the tablecloth so tight his knuckles turned white.

The two sat down, and the food arrived shortly after. You shared a dish with Connor, who placed a warm hand on your knee.

“Mrs. Bing, I have to tell you, I’ve read everything you’ve written!” said Rachel as she fed Paolo a prawn cracker. His tongue dragged down her hand and the rest of the group watched in disturbed, awkward silence. “I mean it! When I read Euphoria at Midnight, all I wanted to do was become a writer.”

“Please,” the blonde woman smiled at the compliment, “if I could do it, anybody can! You just start with half a dozen European cities, throw in thirty euphemisms for male genitalia, and bam! You’ve got yourself a book!”

From beside her, Chandler gagged around a soup dumpling, pounding his chest. “My mother, ladies and gentlemen,” he hacked out.

Amiable chatter filled the rest of the dinner—Phoebe was telling a story about a homeless man that once chased her in the street wearing a full-body chicken suit, Joey filled Nora in with his upcoming auditions, and you and Connor told the group about what you’ve been up to at work. 

Both Nora and Ross had excused themselves to go to the bathroom, and you looked to Joey with a soft smile.

“How are your auditions going, Jo? Do you need any help practicing your scenes? You know I always love doing those with you,” you said, pulling a small plate of wantons towards you. 

“Oh, no, it’s fine—they’re more solo acts than anything,” he reassured, before falling quiet once more.

It was your turn to choke on your noodles when Connor’s hand began inching up your thigh. Irrational panic cramped your insides. 

Concerned, Monica asked, “Are you okay, sweetie?”

“I, uh… need to go to the bathroom.” Abruptly, you stood up from your seat, face practically set aflame. Connor’s hand fell away from your leg, but he stood up as well. “No, uhm, I’ll just be a second—you can stay here.”

As you rushed to the back of the restaurant where the bathrooms were, you were driven further into a mess when you saw Ross and Chandler’s mom making out against the wall, making obscene, porn-like noises.

You were just about to turn and leave when you saw Joey right behind you, concerned gaze fixed on you. “I was just makin’ sure you were alright, you looked a little—” He cut himself off when he looked back and saw Ross and Nora. “Oh, my God!”

The two sprang away from each other, staring wide-eyed at you and Joey. 

“We’ll, uh… just go pee in the street!” you uttered in an abnormally squeaky tone, grabbing Joey’s arm and yanking him away from the bathrooms.

When you returned to the table, Connor smiled at you kindly, but there was a glimmer of apologetic worry behind his hazel irises. 

“That was quick,” he commented. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah—no. I don’t know,” you whispered, still a little shell-shocked.

Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to you. “Was it about me touching you? If it was, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have done that and I should’ve asked if you were comfortable with it first—”

“Oh, Connor, it’s fine! That wasn’t what I was worrying about, I promise.”

With a sigh of relief, Connor nodded. “You’ll tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied distantly, glancing towards Joey, who’d been boring holes into you the entire time since you got back. “Of course I will.”

Early the next morning, you knocked on Joey’s door, greeted by him wrapped in a bathrobe and his dark hair a disheveled mess.

“Hey,” you said with a warm smile. “I brought you some croissants from that bakery down the street.”

With a grin, he took the bag from you and inhaled deeply, groaning. “Thanks, Y/N, these smell amazing.”

“So, uh, about yesterday…”

You were about to bring up Ross and Nora, but Joey asked before you could, “Was Connor bothering you?”

The mention of your doe-eyed partner made you rear back in shock. “What? No! I mean… he did kinda touch me in a suggestive way and I was just surprised, was all. He’s really great, but…”

“But?”

“I don’t know! Being in a relationship is terrifying,” you huffed, leaning against his kitchen table.

There was a beat of silence. “You guys are in a relationship?”

“Well, we haven’t really made anything official, but I think we are,” you said.

“Oh.” Joey swallowed heavily. “Don’t worry about it too much, okay? Just do whatever makes you happy. I… we’ll always be here for you. I’m one of your best friends, remember?”

Worrying on your bottom lip, you quietly murmured, “Lately it just hasn’t been feeling that way.”

Joey’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean—there’s like this sort of weird tension between us. Do you not like Connor or something? Or is it something that I did? Because you know I love you, Jo—I’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose.”

A troubled expression melded over his features. He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything—and Connor’s great for you! Nothing’s wrong, I promise. I’ve just been in a weird funk—but things are gonna go back to normal soon, I swear.”

“Oh, Jo,” you whispered, pushing off the table and stepping closer to him. Gently, you wrapped your arms around him in a warm embrace and he returned the hug immediately, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I care about you a lot, you know?”

Before he could respond, there was another knock at the door. You let go of him so Joey could answer it. 

Ross was standing behind, looking distraught.

“Oh, good, Y/N you’re here too. Is Chandler in there?” 

“Yeah, he’s sleeping,” replied Joey.

At the confirmation, Ross grabbed the two of you and yanked you out of the apartment, much to both of your dismay.

“Okay, about last night, you know,” Ross began, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “You guys didn’t tell Chandler, did you?”

With a sigh, both of you shook your heads. 

“Great, because I’m thinking… we don’t need to tell Chandler, right? It was just a kiss—just one kiss, it was no big deal. Right?”

“Right, no big deal,” said Joey. “In Bizarro-World!”

Disappointed, you prodded Ross in the shoulder, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You broke the code!”

“What code?”

“You don’t kiss your friend’s mom!” you said, a bit too loudly, which made Ross shush you with paranoid glances back to the apartment. 

Joey nodded his agreement. “Sisters are okay. Maybe a hot aunt, but moms? Never a mom! They’re off limits.”

It was then that the door swung open again, and Chandler appeared, yawning. 

“What’re you guys doin’ out here?” he asked as he bent down to pick up the newspaper on the doorstep. 

“Uh, the three of us had discussed getting in an early morning racquetball game!” squeaked Ross, before gesturing to Joey. “But apparently somebody overslept!”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have your racquet,” Joey shot back. 

Scratching the back of his neck, Ross nodded. “No, uh, no I don’t. It’s being restrung. Y/N was supposed to bring me one!”

You blinked in surprise. “Yeah, I, uhm, you forgot to call me yesterday and tell me what kind you wanted! So many different racquets to choose from, you know?”

Chandler rubbed his eyes sleepily. “You guys are spending way too much time together,” he quipped, before turning on his heel and heading back inside, closing the door behind him.

“I’m scum,” lamented Ross once Chandler was out of earshot.

“How could you do that to him?” you hissed lowly.

Ross threw his hands up. “I don’t know! It’s not like she’s a regular mom, you know? She’s sexy, she’s—”

“What, you don’t think my mom’s sexy?” asked Joey. 

“Well… sure, but in a different way.”

Joey scowled. “I’ll have you know, Gloria Tribbiani was a handsome woman in her day, alright? You think it’s easy giving birth to seven children?”

“I think your mom’s beautiful, Jo.”

“Why, thank you. See, no wonder she keeps saying you’re her favorite—”

Ross blew out a frustrated huff. “Alright, I think we’re getting a little off topic here.”

From the opposite side of the hall, the door swung open to reveal Rachel and a barely-dressed Paolo. 

“Hey, what’re you guys doing out here?” she asked, clearly in a chipper mood.

“Not playing racquetball,” you hummed in a glib tone, shooting Ross a dagger-sharp look.

A little confused, Rachel nodded, but didn’t care enough to ask more about it, leading Paolo out of the apartment and heading up the stairs to kiss him goodbye.

The three of you filed into Monica’s apartment. “Are you gonna tell him?” Joey asked. “You can’t just lie to him forever.”

“Why would I tell him?” asked Ross as he fished a carton of orange juice out of Monica’s fridge.

“Maybe because if you don’t, his mom might?” you chimed, cocking a brow. 

“Oh, God. Oh, man—you’re right. I have to tell him.”

With Chandler seated and Ross standing in front of him, you and Joey lingered in their kitchen as you listened in to their conversation. 

“You’re my best friend. I had to tell you,” said Ross, which made you roll your eyes. 

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe Paolo kissed my mom! I mean, I barely saw him leave Rachel’s side that night!” Chandler said in disbelief.

Joey crossed his arms and glared at Ross. Guilt welled up in your long-time friend’s face, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

“Alright, no, I can’t do this. I was the one who kissed your mom. I’m sorry.”

Shocked, Chandler got to his feet. “What?” he asked, jaw unhinging. 

Stammering, Ross began to explain, “I was just really upset about Rachel and Paolo and I had too much tequila in my system and Nora—uhm, Mrs. Mom—I mean, your Bing, was… she was just being nice, you know? But nothing happened, I swear. Ask Y/N and Joey—”

Rounding on the two of you in the kitchen, Chandler asked incredulously, “You guys knew about this?”

“Uh… well, knowledge is a tricky thing,” Joey began to cough out.

“I spent the entire day with you!” gruffed Chandler. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Defensively, Joey retorted, “Hey, you’re lucky we caught them when we did, or else who knows what would’ve happened!”

“Not helping!” barked Ross.

A muscle jumped in Chandler’s jaw. “And you, Y/N? We spent the rest of that night together and you didn’t say a single word! Too busy making googly eyes at your boyfriend?”

“Don’t bring Connor into this,” you bristled, glaring knives into all three of them. “Listen, Chandler, I obviously wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t mine to tell. Ross had to own up to his mistakes and tell you himself.”

Lifting a finger, Ross said, “Mistake—as in, not plural. Just one. It was just one kiss—okay, I’ll shut up now.”

“I can’t believe this. What the hell were you thinking?” admonished Chandler. “Of all my friends, no one knows the crap I go through with my mom more than you. I can’t believe you!”

Despite Ross’ desperate attempts to get Chandler to hear him out, he turned tail and made his way out of the apartment, slamming the door on the way.

“See what happens when you break the code?” Joey huffed, before rushing out to catch up to Chandler. 

You sighed, slumping against the kitchen counter. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Ross said, making his way to you.

“I shouldn’t be the one you’re apologizing to,” came your stout reply. You fixed Ross with a pointed look. “I know you’re hurting over Rachel right now, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re hurting others, too. Give Chandler some time to mull it over, and then talk to him again. Okay?”

Ross pursed his lips. “Okay.” He slung an arm over you, pulling you into a side-hug. “Say, what were you doing with Joey so early in the morning?”

Your cheeks flushed with a surge of heat, and you ducked your head. “We had some things to talk about.”

Dubious, Ross narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything in response.

Later that night, you were sitting beside Connor, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Joey—something about how waffles were really just the ugly, older sister of pancakes. You were glad to see them finally getting along, despite the initial awkward stage.

Chandler walked in, sinking into the empty spot beside Connor, asking him how he was doing.

When Ross opened his mouth to speak, Chandler held up a finger. “I was asking Connor, not you, mother-kisser.”

Much to Ross’ dismay, Joey burst out into raucous laughter, which left Connor confused.

“I’m doing great,” your boyfriend replied, evidently puzzled. “How about you?”

Before Chandler had the chance to reply, Ross sat up straight. “Can I just say something? I know you’re still mad at me, I just wanna say that there were two people there that night, okay? There were two sets of lips!”

“What’s going on?” Connor dipped forward to whisper into your ear. The smile melted off of Joey’s face. 

You twisted to mumble back, “Ross kissed Chandler’s mom.”

Connor’s eyes widened, and he nodded in understanding before settling back to watch the two hash it out.

“Yes, well, I expected this from her, okay?” retorted Chandler. “She’s always been a Freudian nightmare.”

“If she always behaves like this, why don’t you say something?” Ross postulated. 

“Because it’s complicated! It’s complex! Hey, you kissed my mom!” Chandler exclaimed loudly, which made some of the other people in the cafe stop and stare at the two. You sank lower into your seat.

Placing a hand on Chandler’s chest, Ross said, “Hey, you have every right to be angry at me and I’m still really sorry. But you’re not gonna talk to her at all and tell her how you feel about all this?”

“Look, just because you played tonsil tennis with my mom doesn’t mean you know her!”

“I might not, but I still think you need to let her know that you’re upset with her, Chandler.” 

Chandler’s face hardened as he considered Ross’ words. With a stiff nod, he stepped away from the taller man, waving goodbye to the three of you on the couches, before heading out to presumably talk to his mother.

“Well,” you said, rubbing your hands together. “I think that’s my cue to head back home.”

“Let me walk you home,” said Connor, gently grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger before dipping forward to kiss you, all soft and sweet. You pulled away to press another quick kiss to his cheek, then swiftly got up from the couches, his hand intertwined with yours. 

Ross watched as Joey barely said goodbye to you and Connor, his expression tight and closed-off.

When both you and Connor were long gone, Ross turned to Joey.

“You’re in love with Y/N, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

Joey’s head snapped up so quickly that it was a wonder he didn’t get whiplash. His eyes widened a fraction. “What?”

“You are,” said Ross. “I can see it in your face. It’s written all over you.”

The Italian shook his head vehemently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Y/N’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, sure. One that you’re in love with!”

“Well, how would you know, huh?” Joey crossed his arms, panic coiling within his gut. 

Exhaling, Ross lowered his voice, muttering out, “Because that’s how I look at Rachel… and that’s how I feel when I see Rachel with Paolo.”

A second of silence passed before Joey cuffed Ross on the shoulder, laughing. “You’re a funny guy, Ross. Just because you’ve gone and fallen in love with Rachel doesn’t mean Y/N and I are the same. You got it all wrong—Y/N’s like my sibling, if anything!” 

“You sure?” 

Joey sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “Positive.”

Ross couldn’t tell if his friend was telling the truth, or if he was just a really good actor.

[writemekpop]

Stay the Night | Park Jisung

5K Follower Series Ep. 22

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend Jisung turns up at your door, asking to stay the night... Turns out you never got over him. 

Genre: Angst, suggestive

Word Count: 1.1k

Prompt: “Then why do you keep coming back?”

You must be dreaming. There is no way Jisung is standing at your front door.  

It’s a dark, stormy night, and Jisung’s rain-soaked clothes are plastered to his lean body.  

He’s your ex. At first, you thought he was the one. But then his band started to get famous, and suddenly, he had no time for you. It got to the point where you knew your Jisung poster better than the man himself. One year ago, you had to break up with him.   

“You’re not welcome here,” you say, your heart thumping uncomfortably. You try to shut the door, but Jisung grabs it with one hand. 

“It’s impossible to drive in this rain,” he says. Jisung leans closer, his voice sweet like honey. “Please?”  

Electricity jolts through you. All of a sudden, you’re staring straight into his endless brown eyes. Every thought in your brain is wiped clean, and replaced with a wild, inexplicable need to kiss him. 

You have not gotten over Jisung. 

“Okay, fine. You can stay one night. But you sleep on the couch, you’re out at 6AM, and-“

Jisung steps forward, and you restrain him with one hand on his chest. His heart beat races under your touch. “Get those muddy shoes off before you ruin my carpet.”  

You try to stay calm around Jisung, but it’s impossible. He drives you insane. Everything he does annoys you. 

He crashes and bangs through the house when you’re trying to sleep. He spills crumbs all over your floor. He’s way too tall to fit on your couch, so you’re forced to let him sleep on an air mattress in your bedroom.  

At midnight, just as you’re finally getting to sleep… you hear fast, heavy breathing. 

You sit up, groaning. “I can hear you breathing from here!” 

Jisung scoffs, but his voice sounds a little funny. “Really? Now my breathing irritates you? Would you prefer if I suffocated to death?”

You laugh dryly. “Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad-“

Then you look down, and see his face. His chest is rising and falling fast, and his eyes are glassy. 

“Are you okay?” 

Jisung snaps, “I’m fine,” wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s the storm. They… get to me.” 

Your heart twists, and you don’t know what to say. You remember the time when you were on holiday together in Hong Kong and a storm was so bad the walls of your hotel shook. Jisung didn’t let go of your hand all night. 

“I’m sorry…” you whisper. 

“Oh, so now you care about me?” Jisung’s red eyes stare angrily up at you. “You’ve been giving me hell this whole night.” 

That gets on your nerves. “Me? I’m the one giving you hell? You’re the one who barged in here, sleeping in my room, eating my food, doing everything you possibly could to annoy me!” 

“This might be surprising to you, but I don’t eat, sleep and breathe solely for your benefit. It’s obvious that you hate me. Really, you couldn’t make it any clearer.” 

“I do hate you,” you snap, standing up, your muscles shaking with frustration and rage. 

Jisung jumps to his feet too, his face inches away from yours.  “I hate you, too,” He snaps. “You dumped me, alright? You broke my heart.” 

“Don’t you dare make me sound like the bad guy! You cared more about your YouTube subscribers than me!”  

Jisung shuts his eyes, breathing hard. “Okay. Fine. I hurt you a year ago. Why do you act like I’m still hurting you?” 

“Because you are!” you groan. “You hurt me every… day.” Tears push at the back of your eyes, threatening to break through. “Not a year, or a decade, or even a lifetime could be enough to stop you hurting me.”

You gasp for breath. “All I want is to move on with my life, but instead, I’m stuck with this endless pain. This endless… desire.” 

Only now, you realise how close Jisung’s face is to yours. How close his lips are. If you leaned in, just a little, you could touch your mouth to his. 

You stare into his dark brown eyes, glinting in the lightning. They’re strangely magnetic, like however hard you tried, you couldn’t look away. 

You murmur, “You make it impossible for me to get over you. That’s why I hate you.”  

There is a long pause. 

Finally, Jisung murmurs, “If you hate me, why didn’t you throw me out into the storm?”  

You reply, “If you hate me, then why do you keep coming back?” 

Jisung answers your unanswerable question the only way he can – with a kiss. 

Kissing Jisung is like coming up for air. Like this whole year, you were slowly suffocating, and finally, you’re alive again. Your hand moves instinctively to scrunch up his soft hair in the way he loves. You never have to control yourself around Jisung. When you’re together, your bodies just move in sync. Magnets.  

All the painful memories swell up: Jisung neglecting you, you lashing out, the point when you lived in a minefield and one wrong step could explode into an argument. 

But that pain is nothing compared to the ecstasy of being with him again. You would live that breakup a thousand times over rather than let Jisung go now. 

He leans back to look at you, biting his lip. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“I know.” 

“I… I missed you.” 

“I know.” 

Jisung wears away at his pink lip even more. “I was a terrible boyfriend, okay? I know that. But… I want to do better this time.” He looks up, searching your eyes. “If you’ll let me.” 

You take in a shaky breath. Then, you nod. “I want to try again.” 

Clasping your hands in his, Jisung says, “Well, considering you don’t hate me anymore… can I join you in the bed?” 

You smile. “Easy there, tiger. I think the floor is plenty for now.” 

He raises his hands in mock surrender, getting back down to the floor. “Okay, okay. But tomorrow, you’ll be in the sleeping bag.” 

You scoff, getting back into bed. Despite your annoyed tone, you can’t stop the smile from spreading over your lips. “Never.” 

​—

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[rosepascal]

The Light Of All Lights: Chapter 1 || Teacher!Joel Miller x Teacher!Reader

summary: You and Joel get assigned to work together and you learn some things about him that you weren't supposed to know.

warnings: mentions of death/loss, shitty school admin

series masterlist

Things with Joel haven't gotten better since the first day. He kept to himself and rarely spoke to anyone else. Even at mandatory meetings he’d sit with his arms crossed and a bored expression on his face.

Though you did notice he left his door open during lunch which shocked you to be honest. His room was filled with students at lunch time all while he sat at his desk eating what appeared to be leftovers every day.

At least school was going well. Teaching freshman English helped because they were just as new as you were. Your students were mostly nice and pretty funny but no one had done anything that warrants calling the office yet.

“Who’s excited for homecoming?” You ask your students as the clock ticks down, signaling the end of the school day.

There’s lots of chatter amongst them as they all try to tell you their plans at once. For many of them this was going to be their first school dance. Homecoming was still a month away but the ASB are already selling tickets and putting up posters.

“Are you going?” One of your students asks, prompting the rest of them to look at you for an answer.

“No, I won’t be.” Well, turns out you’re wrong.

The moment the bell rings and your students leave you get called into the principal's office. It feels like you’re in trouble as you walk down to the office, you swear that they're going to sit you in a chair and call your parents or something. Taking a deep breath you smooth out your shirt to look as professional as possible and you open the door.

“You wanted to see me?” You say timidly as you look around his office.

To your surprise you see Joel sitting in one of the chairs across from Principal Meyers. He didn’t look too happy to be there either. From what you heard Joel and Meyers didn’t get along too well.

“Yes please come sit,” You sit down and start to fiddle with the sleeve of your shirt.

Were you in trouble? Did someone complain? Did you do something wrong? And why was Joel here? Did he complain about you? Questions race through your brain as you try to listen to the conversation happening.

“As you both know Homecoming is approaching and it’s a big deal for the school and the students.” You could hear Joel scoff quietly but you stay silent.

“Anyways the PTA usually handles planning and such but they are a few members short so, I’ve decided you two will help them.”

“What?!” Joel shouts as he stands up.

“Sit down Joel. You and I both know you have no place to argue with me right now.” He snaps.

Looking up at Joel you shiver at the intensity of his stare. His fists clenching at his sides. Slowly he sits down. Your eyes stay glued to the desk in front of you, your heart pounding as you feel like you weren’t meant to witness what just happened.

“Tomorrow after school. Both of you.” Meyers says firmly.

There’s no room to argue even if you wanted to but you were too nervous to even speak up at this point. You were new here and you didn’t think you really had the authority to say no.

Nodding quickly you stand up and leave, wanting to get out as soon as you can. Joel follows behind you, it feels weird because he’s literally behind you going in the same direction but you’re walking in silence.

“I’m sure it won’t be too bad.” You say, trying to make things better. Joel looks at you and rolls his eyes. Well, so much for that.

“If you like spending your time with entitled parents.” Okay he’s talking to you, that’s an improvement for sure.

“I don’t think either of us really have a choice so, might as well make the most of it.” He sighs, knowing that you’re right.

Though he’s still pissed off about it. He truly hated the administration here. They don’t care about anything but themselves and their public image. Send your kids here and they’ll get a great education! Just look at our test scores but make sure you ignore everything else.

When he started teaching he wanted to make a difference. He knows it’s cliché but you don’t become a public school teacher for the money. He loved watching his students learn and grow and discover the world.

To Joel, it was his job to help these kids, not to punish them for a missed assignment or a bad test score. The administration and the principal had other ideas.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow,” You say, raising your hand about half way up and waving awkwardly.

It’s weird for Joel. You’re so nice to him. Or at least you’re trying to be. You’re new, a fresh face that hasn’t been broken down yet. It’s almost cruel that you’re so sweet. He hears the laughter and excitement that comes from your class. He hears how excited you become with every lesson.

It reminds him of the first year he was a teacher. If he could he’d warn you of what is to come. But there’s a chance that you don’t turn out like him and that’s all he can hope for you. He just nods his head curtly and disappears into his room.

Your hand falls to your side, maybe Jen was right and you should just leave him alone. Speaking of Jen, you decide to ask her about Joel. About why Joel and principal Meyers don’t get along at all.

“Hey Jen, can I ask you something?” You peek your head into her empty classroom. She’s typing away on her laptop but stops when she hears you.

“Sure, What’s up?” You walk in and sit on one of the desks, Jen’s been very nice to you since you got here. You’d even consider her your first friend here.

“So I just got called into Meyer’s office and I'm stuck on homecoming planning with Joel and-”

“Woah wait, Joel?” She asks in disbelief.

“Yeah and Meyers said that he didn’t have a place to argue with him? What did he do?” She thinks for a moment before a look of realization crosses her face.

“Meyers is punishing him,” She says, like it all makes sense to her now while you’re still left in the dark.

“Joel teaches mostly seniors right, so basically one of his students was failing. I know the girl and she was super smart but something happened at home and her grades started to slip.” You listen intently to her story.

“Anyways you need to pass English to graduate and well, she wasn’t going to.” It breaks your heart to hear that. Working so hard just for something out of her control to ruin all of that. 

“So Joel changed her grades. Gave her some bullshit assignments and she passed and graduated.”

Oh. Joel is an established teacher, he’s been here for a long time but doing that was a huge risk. It’s not allowed but truthfully, you couldn’t blame him for what he did. It’s surprising to hear though. That he risked his job, his career to help that girl.

“The administration was really angry. They couldn’t prove what he did but they knew he did something. So my guess is that he’s being forced to do this as a way of getting back at him.” Get back at him? What? What Joel did was against the rules but it's tricky. How incredibly petty for the admin to do that to him.

“Thanks for telling me,” Jen smiles and closes her laptop.

“Joel is strong willed, always has been. The admin doesn’t like that so be careful associating with him.” That just doesn’t seem fair. To be punished for helping a student.

Isn’t that what everyone is here for? To help these kids succeed. Sighing you head back to your own classroom, packing your bag and locking up your door. Your eyes linger on his open door. There’s a few kids in there just hanging out and doing homework.

Joel has become a lot more interesting in the past hour and you don’t think you can stay away.

- - -

“Welcome!” You wince at the high pitched voice of Mrs. Williams. She’s sweet but her voice is quite loud.

“Today we’re going to be talking about Homecoming.” You shift in your seat as you watch parents get excited.

You didn’t have a lot of experience with PTA parents but from what you could gather, about half of them were living vicariously through their children. Some of them were here because they’re forced to be and the rest of the parents are actually here to help. Still, this isn’t how you imagined spending your nights.

You look around for Joel and find him in the corner of the room. He looks incredibly uncomfortable and you feel bad for him. Every once in a while he’d be approached by a mom who’d try to feed him food or ask him some personal question. He meets your eyes and you shrug, sending him a silent sorry.

“Isn’t he just dreamy?” Someone behind you whispers to her friend.

“Totally, I can’t believe he’s actually here.” The friend whispers back.

“I can’t believe he’s single.” You feel weird listening in on their gossip. Joel’s life is none of your business. Even if you want it to be.

“I mean I don’t blame the guy, you know what happened right?”

“No.” You begin to feel uneasy as they gossip, not even trying to be discrete about it. You glance at Joel, hoping he can't hear them.

“His wife walked out on him and his daughter when she was just a baby,” You shrink down in your seat, trying to block out their voices but they’re just too loud and as guilty as you feel you want to know.

“Who would do that?” 

“I know, but it gets worse.” Closing your eyes you try to tune them out but the last bit of their conversation makes your heart stop. 

“He lost his daughter Sarah in a car accident about 10 years ago.”

“Wow, poor guy.”

Yeah. Poor Guy.

[joen-lenawley]

GUYS!!!

The band, choir, and art teachers at my school all like The Beatles!

The band director has a sign that says ABBEY ROAD on her office wall, and she also has a Beatles LEGO set! I also gave her a John Lennon Funko pop as a belated birthday gift. I *may* have also tried to get her into Tally Hall when I sent her some funny music-related videos (I sent her the Honk War clip accompanied by some blurb about the band), but that's unrelated.

Musical rehearsals used to take place in the choir room, and the choir teacher has four Beatles posters and a figurine of Yellow Submarine Paul! He has a group photo of them by his desk, and individual posters of Paul, Ringo, and John.

My friend takes art class, and she says that the art teacher has a poster of John and Cynthia! (at least I think Cynthia? never seen it in person.) Apparently, she also did one of those "find someone in the room who x" games, and one of the prompts was "find someone in the room who can name all four Beatles."

Now I want to see if the orchestra director likes the bugs lol. Will update!