#now if you'll excuse me i need to go to a confessional

[bro-atz]

edit: you can now read the extended version of this here!

YOU KNOW WHO WOULD LOOK ABSOLUTELY FUCKING SPECTACULAR WITH A CHEST TATTOO

SONG MINGI.

AND NOT LIKE THAT STUPID WOLF THAT SAN HAD BUT LIKE MAYBE SOMETHING MECHANICAL LIKE IMAGINE THAT MAN WITH A SLEEVE AND CHEST TATT WHERE IT'S JUST GEARS AND STEEL OOOOOOOO BOY MINGI WOULD FUCKIN ANNIHILATE W THAT LOOK

like god okay imagine this right— imagine song mingi is a lawyer but oops lawyers gotta look professional but he's got the full sleeve and the chest and shoulder and all the works, but he can never expose that in court oh no! no, he has to wear the full three piece suit and keep the shirt and tie tight as fuck

and his dumbass only wears white buttonups (he can't wear a black shirt to court that'll make him look like a mafia member) so he can't even take the jacket off so his muscles are constantly strained under the shirt and jacket and everyone really wants him to take the jacket off but he CAN'T because of the damn chest tattoo! (why'd he get the tattoos then become a lawyer tsktsk)

but one day, the two of you are working late on a doozy of a case like this case is absolutely mind boggling and lowkey it's stressing him out. his hair is a mess, he's wearing his glasses, and oh god, he's finally taking the jacket off. he was lowkey sweating under the jacket, so his white shirt is slightly transparent and ugh THE TATTOO she's starting to peek through

but you gotta keep your eyes to yoself just remain calm and oH LORD IS HE LOOSENING HIS TIE IS HE UNBUTTONING THE FIRST COUPLE OF BUTTONS OF HIS SHIRT?!

and you get a peek— a slight peek— of the tattoo. you see the black ink peaking out from the corner, and when he bends over so he can grab a folder from your side of the table, you look down and see the artwork a little better and oh shit.... oh shit it's so hot wtf

"a-attorney song... i'm gonna brb"

"we're in the middle of this fucking case wdym you're gonna brb"

"b-bathroom—"

"you can pee when we're done. sit your ass back down and find me this fucking piece of evidence"

lordy you don't need to pee you need him to rail you into the files and documents but you can't tell him that— plus, he told you to sit your ass back down, so your ass is SAT.

maybe you'll just fantasize about him later... or maybe... if you ask nicely... he'll fuck you into the oak table... maybe...............

[visceravalentines]

What did you do for Easter, Meg? Oh you know, colored eggs and wrote sacrilegious porn, hbu? Couldn't stop thinking about the comments on this post so surprise whores here you go

Worship

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

Bo has a few sins to confess and in the process he commits a whole bunch of new ones.

2.5k words. Smut. Super blasphemy, like so bad, and lots of religious ideas and phrasing. Oral (fem!receiving) and PnV sex in a semi-public extremely inappropriate place w/ creampie at the end bc that's what we deserve. Soft Bo, almost sub Bo if you squint. Reader wears a dress & heels and uses she/her pronouns. Extensive liberties taken with confessional booth architecture and suit pants physics.

A note: this can be read as a non-chronological part of my ongoing dilf Bo series or as a standalone.

You haven't been in this church since you were a teenager. Your eyes wander up and over the stained glass, the soaring rafters. It's a beautiful building, stately, tranquil.

"Got somethin' I need to confess," Bo whispers with his lips against your ear. Goosebumps roll down your skin.

You shoot a sidelong glance down the pew at your parents, less than two feet away. They're holiday Catholics and the sermon has them rapt, like tourists watching a wild animal from the safety of their vehicle.

You incline your head subtly in Bo's direction and hold your breath so you don't miss his next words.

"I can't get you outta my head."

You exhale slowly and shift on the bench, careful not to set the ancient wood creaking. When you sneak a look at him, he's the picture of innocence, taking in the gospel like a man who doesn't need it. You clasp your hands on your lap.

Casually, like he's commenting on the father's delivery, Bo leans in again and murmurs, "Bet you'd let me touch you here, huh? Get my hands under that little skirt...."

You shiver and shift. The bench tattles on you and your mother sends a reprimand your way with her eyes. You tug the hem of your skirt towards your knees and try to channel a modicum of the faux virtue sitting to your left.

He quiets down and behaves himself for just long enough that the flame flickering in your center dies down to an almost-appropriate level, but the heat of his leg against your bare thigh keeps you from turning all your thoughts to God. The weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the pew for Communion is a stitch past purity. The look he manages to slip you as the father places the wafer in his open mouth makes you feel like you need to get back in line for a second pass at contrition, and maybe this time you'll mean it.

His hand brushes across your ass as you scoot back into the pew and you think about obedience, how you hate to be told what to do but you'd drop to your knees for him right now, right here, if he'd promise to quell the simmer he's started between your legs.

The father is thanking those who helped prepare the picnic on the lawn outside and Bo props his arm on the back of the bench, leans close and lets his lips graze your skin, and whispers, "Meet me up there once everybody's outside." He gestures with a nod.

You look at him with wide eyes. "The confessional?" you hiss.

He winks at you.

You follow your parents out onto the green, but Bo doesn't follow you. In fact you lose him immediately in the crowd, can't help but search for him among the abundance of pastel dresses and khaki suits. You agree vapidly with everything your mother says about the mass, nod politely at all your dad's closest acquaintances.

You excuse yourself at the second or third possible opportunity, afraid of running into the father if you sneak back too soon. Your footsteps are deafening in the now silent sanctuary, your eager uncertainty echoing back at you like an accusation.

Bo is nowhere to be seen, but neither is the clergy, so you step lightly across the stone floor and approach the confessional booth. The penitent's bench is hardly private, hung with a red curtain that only conceals from the waist up. You duck instead into the priest's chamber and inch the door closed behind you, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding once you're safely out of sight.

The small space is dimly lit by a single bulb recessed in the ceiling and the fractured light coming in through the screen on the one side. There's a bench built into the back wall and furnished with a velvet cushion. You sit, adjusting your skirt, and think about guilt.

Abruptly the door flies open and Bo slips inside, closing it all the way behind him. He's appropriately debonair in a blue suit, white shirt, no tie. For a moment, he looks a touch harried, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door is closed. But then he looks down at you, meets your gaze, and flashes you a grin.

"Well what do we have here?"

You move to stand and he shakes his head, fighting to shrug off his suit coat in the confined space. "Don't get up, darlin', you're perfect right there. Betcha this is the first time anyone with tits has sat in that seat."

You giggle, a touch nervous. He reaches his hand out for yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. His mustache prickles your skin.

"You enjoy the mass?"

You're not sure if he's serious. "...parts of it, yeah."

He smiles. "Which parts?"

You open your mouth for a sharp reply but your gaze is hung up on his lips and when he shifts his weight you become unbearably aware of how close his bulge is to your face.

Bo laughs low and squeezes your hand. "I myself had a hard time focusin' on the good word. Had my mind on...other things." He eyes you with something like mischief. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me...unburden myself."

The smell of him is slowly permeating the tiny space, overwriting the stuffy scent of incense and oiled wood with tobacco and aftershave. He barely fits, too tall, shoulders too broad. He could swallow you whole and you wish he would.

"Anything you want," you say softly.

Bracing himself against the walls, he sinks to his knees in front of you. The pattern of the screen is emblazoned on his face in light. The wood pops and creaks. You remember to breathe.

"I'm a sinner, darlin'." He gazes up at you through those lashes, smiling sheepishly, big hands curving around your calves. "Done too much wrong to confess. Can't even remember it all."

You touch his cheek, brush your thumb over the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. "Start small."

His hands slide down to your ankles and he works at the strap of your heels with ungainly fingers. "I been tellin' lies, baby." He slips off one shoe and starts on the other. "Your mama asked me if I've been seein' anyone and I said no." His thumb runs along the arch of your foot. "Your daddy asked me if I knew where you was the other night and I told him I didn't have a clue."

He wraps his fingers around your ankles and squeezes gently, and then pulls your legs open. You stifle a gasp, try to press your thighs together to maintain a smidgen of modesty.

Bo kisses your knees. His hands creep up the outside of your legs. "Been gamblin'. Riskin' my reputation, my livelihood."

"Why would you do that?" you whisper.

He grins against your skin. His fingers are sneaking beneath your skirt. "Well y'see, there's this girl...."

You bite your lip as he curls one finger around the waistband of your panties on either side and tugs them down your thighs.

"She ain't for me...but she's all I want. And that's another thing." He tucks your panties in his pocket and you pretend you don't notice. "I been plagued by lustful thoughts. Day and night I'm thinkin' about this girl, thinkin' about the sounds she makes...picturin' her underneath me...." He guides your knees apart, drags his mouth over your skin, lighting you up from the outside in. His shoulders are solid under your hands, a foundation to cling to.

"See, I know it's wrong, but whenever she's around me I just...forget myself. Start wonderin' what she's got on under her clothes, what I gotta do to get 'em off of her...." He nips at your flesh, one, two, three up your thigh, and you gasp each time. "Keeps me up at night wishin' she was in my bed." He pauses, looks at you with cocked eyebrows. "I think about her damn near every time I defile myself, which is...often."

You exhale slowly, release the death grip you have on his shirt and run your fingers through his hair. "Sounds like you've got a lot of penance to do."

Bo lets out a helpless chuckle. "I know it, baby. I'm desperate." He blinks up at you, looking earnest. "I'm hopin' you got some salvation to offer me."

"I might." You tug your skirt up, baring yourself to him, and he groans, fingers digging into your flesh. "But you've got to earn it."

He inches forward and pins your legs open on either side of his shoulders. "Never been much of a god-fearin' man," he says, "but I know how to worship." He bows his head and you close your eyes when you feel his breath on your skin. "What d'you know about devotion, angel?"

"Nothing," you say, breathless. "Teach me."

The first pass of his tongue is feather-light and devastating and you sigh as that flickering flame roils brightly back to life. He teases the edge of your entrance, warming you up with the heat of his attention. You make a small sound and he responds with a slow, insistent lick up the length of your slit that makes you whine and clutch at his hair.

He cradles your clit in the cup of his lips and venerates you with his tongue in lazy spirals, up and over, and your blood throbs in the same rhythm. He sucks gently, and then harder, and you moan in the bliss of transubstantiation as his mouth makes the mundane into the divine.

With a growl in the back of his throat he hoists your legs onto his shoulders and penetrates you with his tongue, lapping at your pussy in search of absolution. Your eyes bounce around the blank ceiling of the booth as your hips buck mindlessly against his chin. His mustache tickles your lips, beard coarse against your inner thighs.

"Bo," you gasp as he sucks hard at your clit, "oh, god."

"I'm a bad person, baby," he mumbles. "Promise."

"No." You try and fail to stifle a cry, back arching, toes curled. "You're so good...you're so good."

Between your gasps you hear the sound of footsteps on the stone. Your steady-building climax skids to a halt and you stare wide-eyed at the confessional door.

Bo doesn't stop. In fact, he redoubles his efforts.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to keep still even as your body flexes and writhes against your will. You can hear two voices--you recognize one as the father but the other could be anybody, some stranger, some sinner seeking Easter confession.

Bo seals his mouth over your cunt and grinds his tongue against your clit again and again, gripping your ass, holding you to him as you squirm and seek purchase on the featureless walls.

The voices are getting closer and against all odds, so is your release. You're past the point of redemption, couldn't stave it off if you wanted to.

"Bo," you squeak under your breath, clawing at the back of his neck, grasping the edge of the seat, "please--"

He grunts softly. He's devouring you, hellbent on a miracle, bound and determined to introduce you to God. And seconds later, when your cup runneth over and your spine arches against the velvet and you have to sink your teeth into the meat of your palm to keep from howling his name, you see starbursts of pastel pink and sky blue behind your eyes and figure this is probably the closest you'll get to the pearly gates.

Your breath is hitching in your chest and you feel him slip out of your hands and you whimper, floating back into your body, unsteady as you try to sit up straight on the bench. The voices and footsteps are fading and you breathe a sigh of relief and release.

His hands are on your arms and he's coaxing you to your feet, supporting your weight on behalf of your shaking legs, turning you around in the tight space and murmuring in your ear.

"Need you, baby, right now, c'mere. Need to be inside you. Let me--"

He takes your place on the bench. He's undone his belt, freed his cock from his pants, and you clamber eagerly into his lap and let him guide you down onto him. Your head lolls back as he pushes into you, fills your empty space. The image of him looking desperately up at you is burned into the back of your eyelids.

"Angel," he breathes as he takes your face in his hands and brings your mouth to his. His kisses are hot with lust, with greed, with envy of everyone who's ever touched your lips before him. You can smell yourself in his beard, sweet and heady like original sin.

You move, rocking back and forth on his cock, and he moves you, hands on your hips, your skirt in disarray, his shirt falling open as you wrestle with the buttons. He pulls you closer, pulls himself deeper, and you can feel his heart pounding when you brace yourself on his chest.

"Ain't gonna last long," he pants. "So fuckin' tight, baby, so perfect...."

"That's okay, that's okay," you say, stumbling over your words. The frame of the booth is groaning in legitimate complaint, the entire structure trembling slightly, and you're going to get caught, surely you are, and you'll be cast out together beyond the reach of forgiveness but that might be alright as long as you've got him with you.

You press yourself against him, as close as you can get and not close enough. He cums with his face buried in your chest and your name in his mouth like a prayer. The kick of his cock inside you grants you another little climax, a little death, little moans jarred from your lips with each waning thrust of his hips.

"Kiss me," you whisper, and he obeys, his eyes glazed, his gaze soft and adoring. His needy grip on your waist melts into caresses and you finger the buttons of his shirt like rosary beads. One is missing; you're both hopelessly disheveled, undeniably sin-touched. You push his hair off his forehead and back into place. "Did this help?"

He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "No."

"Made it worse."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"'S okay." He kisses you again. "You're forgiven."

[jensensfanfic]

A CONFESSIONAL ESSAY

[or: a part 2 to 'kissing montage']

pairing: imogen heaney x f!reader

prompts: heartstopperweekly's week 1 prompts -> 1: summer break/holiday) & 3: "Please help me with my homework. I'll owe you one."

word count: 2.2k+

warnings: flirting, established relationship, an almost-love confession, reader literally runs away from her feelings, anxiety

a/n: this was written for week 1 of @heartstopperweekly. it can be read as a standalone fic, but i do recommend reading my fic, "kissing montage" first for the best experience. also, idk if the 'essay themes' mentioned would actually be a thing, but let's just pretend for the sake of this fic

—☆—

Imogen flops onto the bed face first, and the contents of her pencil case all fall out and roll onto the floor where you have your own stationery and books spread out into organised spaces. You hear her begin to talk, but it's muffled due to the pillow her face is now buried in.

"What was that, Im?" Laughing, you rise to your feet and plop onto the edge of the mattress. "Didn't quite catch it."

She lifts her head just long enough to repeat herself. "I said we only have a week left to finish our summer homework, and I have no idea what to write for my English essay."

Imogen slams her face back into the soft pillow and groans loudly. You shuffle up the bed and lay down, peppering her shoulder in little kisses to get her attention.

Imogen sighs and then rolls over to face you. "It's your fault, you know?"

"Excuse me? What's my fault?"

"This... I could've had this stupid essay done already, but you're just so d—" She cuts herself off.

"'So', what?" You lift your brows and wait for her to explain the blush that starts to spread over her cheekbones, but then she suddenly shifts. "Hey, come back and tell me why this is my fault."

"Just forget I said that." Imogen slides off the bed and back onto the floor, picking up her book again to find a blank, lined page. She starts to draw a cloud with little lines coming out of it. "Come on, help me brainstorm ideas."

You follow her to where she's sitting with her legs crossed on the carpet and pull out your phone.

"Wait, what are you doing?" She asks, leaning over to try and look at your phone screen. "You're not gonna help?"

"I'm taking a break."

"But I need you! Help me, please!" She tries her hardest to plead with you, eyes wide and lips pouting. Reaching over, she lightly ghosts her manicured nails over your arm rhythmically.

You'd be lying if you said that the feeling didn't send shivers down your spine; make you want to give in, and then lean over and kiss her– homework forgotten.

"Nope." You shake your head, rapidly blinking heavenly thoughts of flicking her hand away and pulling her over you. "Not until you tell me why it's my fault that you can't write your damn essay."

She huffs, and you hear the little thud of her pen dropping onto paper as you continue playing a game on your phone. You purposefully turn up the volume and grin.

"Really?"

"Really." You look over the screen at her and wiggle your brows. "You can't just blame me and then not tell me why."

"It's just a stupid thing. I didn't mean it, alright." She rolls her eyes. "Just... ugh! Please help me with my homework. I'll owe you one. You're so smart and so creative and so good at—"

"Hold up, hold up, go back. You'll owe me one?"

"Yeah, anything." She perks up, desperate to keep you interested in the possibility of a deal. "We could, uh... go out after? Maybe a cinema date? Or we could order in pizza? I'll pay for it."

You drag your bottom lip in between your teeth and look up at the ceiling, thinking, then shake your head. "I'm not really feeling like going anywhere... or pizza."

"Okay, okay..." Imogen glances around her room. "Um... ooh! You can pick one of my plushies to keep. You can pick any one that you want! Besides my queen frog, of course."

You look over at the green frog plush sitting on her nightstand, a little crown on top of its head. You briefly remember when you'd given it to her years ago, when you were both in primary school and your friendship was beginning to bloom into something special; into a forever kind of deal.

You smile, but you don't answer, so Imogen carries on looking around her bedroom until she spots something lying under her bed.

"What about this guy?" She plucks the Luigi plush that she'd practically stolen from you at the arcade almost a year ago. She waves his arms around and pats his head. "I know you still want to steal him right back after I kidnapped him from you."

"Hmm." You reach out like you are going to take him, but then pull back just as quickly. "Nah. I'll have plenty of chances to reclaim him when you're not looking."

Imogen sudddenly throws her head back, and tosses Luigi across the room, making you flinch a little. He bounces off the door and lands perfectly upright in her laundry basket.

"God sake! You're so annoying." She exclaims.

"Rude!"

"You..." Imogen ignores you and she now looks both equally annoyed and nervous, the second emotion puzzling you. "You want me to tell you why I said it's your fault, don't you?"

"Ha, you know me well. Oh, yes." You smile. "I sure do, Im. I'll help you figure out an essay topic for the low, low price of..." You clap your hands against your legs, creating a drumroll sound effect. "Revealing why this is all my fault."

Imogen looks exasperated, but there's a hint of amusement in the slight pull at the corner of her mouth. Her lashes touch the bottom of her eyebrows when she rolls her eyes again, dramatically.

There's also a feeling of nervousness that momentarily washes over your own body and mind. You worry that she might be about to say anything that could cause discord, or a fight.

What if she was about to say something that would upset or anger you?

It's not like you had never had arguments as a couple before. After all, you had been going out for almost a year. When they did happen, it would usually be resolved in true Imogen and [your name] fashion; with a long talk, a couple of emotion-desolving jokes and lots of kisses.

Before you can overthink too much, Imogen groans loudly before saying, "You better not make fun of me. This is dumb."

"Im, I would never."

"Okay, fine!" Her head falls and she fixate on her fingers, starts to pick at a loose thread on the lilac-coloured cardigan she's wearing. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and shy, not like her usual bubbly self at all. "It's because of you. It's your fault because of... you."

"What does that mean, I don't—"

"Ugh! It's because you're so freaking distracting, okay!? You're cute laugh, and your face, and you're so pretty it's very annoying." She looks up like she's asking for help from a higher power. Continuing on, her eyes drop back to her fidgeting fingertips. "Ugh, it's so embarassing... but, I can never concentrate when you look at me the way you do— like that! Like you are right now! I can't focus when you're always so... you!"

You could swear that your heart literally flips inside of your chest as you hear the words tumble from her lips. It takes several minutes after she's finished to say anything back.

"I..."

One word is all you can manage before you take a steadying breath and try to regain a slither of the confidence you had been wearing before her outburst of honest affection. It takes a moment, but you find it, shuffling closer to Imogen.

"You find me... distracting, huh?"

You bump her shoulder with yours, in the space where her cardigan has fallen down to her inner elbow. The familiar sensation of tingles chase themselves all over your body at the innocent, yet intimate press of skin against skin.

It feels like fireworks.

"That's why you can't decide on an essay topic?"

Imogen tries to turn away, but you swiftly take one of her hands, stopping her. You use the other hand to take her chin between your thumb and fingers, and guide her face to look at you properly.

The rose-coloured shadow that dusts her cheeks is now visible, and you find it both adorable and a huge compliment towards you; making you feel all kinds of lovely and warm and prized.

"Im, that's so sweet. And you know I find it hard to get anything done around you as well." You lean forward and kiss the corner of her mouth. "All I want to do when I'm with you, is grab your gorgeous face and kiss you forever."

Imogen's fingers interlace with yours as a small, shy laugh escapes her. She finally replies, tinted cheeks still evident and pleasantly hot under the tender stroke of your thumb. "Really?"

"Can't you tell?" You move impossibly closer and peck the space between the top or her nose and her forehead. "That's why I can't stop looking at you, but I never thought you noticed, to be honest."

"Well, I wish you would stop, so I can get some work done."

"I don't think I could stop if I tried." You rest your forehead against hers and smile. You chuckle then, repeating the same phrase that has become your thing since you began dating. "I really, really like you."

She hums, content. "Hm. I really, really, really like you, too."

Imogen's hand comes up to hold the back of your neck, and you stay locked in the moment for as long as it takes for you mind to come up with an idea, dragging you out of the bubble moment and causing you to pull away.

Imogen's looks dazed and confused, her hand hovering in the air from the sudden loss of contact. "What— Come back! That was nice!"

"Sorry, I just got an idea for your essay."

"Really? Okay, wait a sec." Imogen's eyes widen, and then she reaches for her book and scrambles for the pen she wants; a purple one with a little fuzzy ball on the end. Once found, she rest the book on her leg. "Alright, tell me your brilliant idea."

"You can write about me." Imogen smirks and quirks a brow.

"I— ha— I don't mean that in like, a self-centred type of way. I don't mean you should write about me, specifically, but the theme is romance, right?"

"Or friendship, or family relations. Basically any type of relationship... it's pretty vague."

"Well, maybe you could write about chemistry, like in a relationship. Like ours." You pause for a beat. Imogen's smile is fond as she patiently waits for more. "It could be about how two people can become drawn to each other. How they can feel so connected that sometimes it's all they can think about, to the point where it becomes, you know... distracting."

"Mmhmm." As Imogen nods along excitedly, practically transcribing every word you say into her book, you start to feel breathless. You find yourself pressing a hand against your sweater covered chest.

You try to push on, wanting nothing more than to help Imogen, despite the beads of sweat suddenly adorning the line of your hair.

"Write about how it can actually interfere with your day, thinking about that person and how much you crave being around them, and how much you lo— uh, how much you... like them." You such in a sharp breath, wiping your now-clammy hands on your jeans. "Like being around them. Yep, okay."

You stop abruptly, and Imogen glances at you with expectant, sparkly blue eyes. Her head tilts in the way you've always found so alluring, and she gestures with her hand in a way that says 'carry on' without words.

"Uh— yeah... just write about... all that, and—"

"Wait, keep going, please. This is great." You blow out a breath, and Imogen frowns. "Are you okay?"

Your skin prickles with goosebumps when Imogen picks up your hand and runs her thumb gently over your trembling hand.

"Wait, are you feeling okay?" She puts down her book and lays a hand on your cheek. "What's wrong? You've gone pale, babe."

"Oh... God, don't call me that right now."

You shove her hand away, and immediately notice her mouth fall slightly, a hurt look crossing her features. "I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no. No, don't be, just—" You quickly pick up your phone and stand up. "I need to get out of here."

"You're leaving? But—"

"I have to..." You mumble, then swing open her bedroom door. "I have to go home."

"Wait—" You hear Imogen rustling around as you run down the stairs.

Once you've reached the door and gotten outside, you close the door and lean against in for a quick breath. "Oh, my God."

"What just happened?" You hear Imogen's mother say from inside, her voice prompting you to starting running again.

As your pulse races and your body moves on impulse, your mind reels with the words you are certain were about to spill out of your mouth if you hadn't left when you did.

It's not as though you don't want to tell Imogen how you've been feeling for the past few weeks now... it's just incredibly daunting to think about what her reaction could be.

That night, you don't get any sleep whatsoever as your mind acts like a never-ending camera roll of possible ways a confession like that could have gone; all of the awful, perfect and heartbreaking ways.

"Ugh!"

—☆—

Taglist: @whereimwritingfrom @wqxianwriting @httphayn @imdoingbetternow (lmk if you want to be added or removed to all future imogen fics!!)

[seth-burroughs]

Worshipper x Priest ramble because I'm soooooo normal about the chapter 1 characters.

Listen. As chapter 1's biggest defender these two had it going on. the names: The Priest & the Worshipper - Worshipper is a NM fanatic, dedicating himself to learning everything about him and wanting to catch him sooo bad, being so utterly *obsessed* with him he eventually BECAME the Nail Man (albeit the less cooler one), it's blatantly obvious the Worshipper is supposed to be worshipping his favourite serial killer over any deity in the Metal Fox church. The Nail Man being, well, Priest guy. That's his God guys. The priest that also wanted to play god sooo bad he copied the urban legend of NM to make it real the same way Worshipper guy copied the real Nail Man. The. You could make so much fucked up religious imagery old man toxic yaoi with this. The Worshipper wants and NEEDS foxy grandpa carnally he comes into the confessional booth every few days so he can try and fail to flirt with him using the most egregious and disgusting pick up lines and the Priest not even getting the hint and just saying "awe thanks that's very nice of you my fellow child of god :)) now if you'll excuse me i need to return some video tapes" and skedaddling to the woods. The vibes are immaculate forever sorrowful over it not being popular or even present at all in the fandom... Priest/Worshipper walked so hellxander could also walk just not as fast they were the BLUEPRINT OF TOXIC RAIN CODE YAOI❗❗❗That is all, I will now depart.

[kanai-ward-census]

Worshipriest propaganda

"Listen. As chapter 1's biggest defender these two had it going on. the names: The Priest & the Worshipper - Worshipper is a NM fanatic, dedicating himself to learning everything about him and wanting to catch him sooo bad, being so utterly *obsessed* with him he eventually BECAME the Nail Man (albeit the less cooler one), it's blatantly obvious the Worshipper is supposed to be worshipping his favourite serial killer over any deity in the Metal Fox church. The Nail Man being, well, Priest guy. That's his God guys. The priest that also wanted to play god sooo bad he copied the urban legend of NM to make it real the same way Worshipper guy copied the real Nail Man. The. You could make so much fucked up religious imagery old man toxic yaoi with this. The Worshipper wants and NEEDS foxy grandpa carnally he comes into the confessional booth every few days so he can try and fail to flirt with him using the most egregious and disgusting pick up lines and the Priest not even getting the hint and just saying "awe thanks that's very nice of you my fellow child of god :)) now if you'll excuse me i need to return some video tapes" and skedaddling to the woods. The vibes are immaculate forever sorrowful over it not being popular or even present at all in the fandom... Priest/Worshipper walked so hellxander could also walk just not as fast they were the BLUEPRINT OF TOXIC RAIN CODE YAOI❗❗❗That is all, I will now depart."

[despair-to-future-arcs]

Let’s see Imposter!

Well... seems Byakuya and the others are working on the suggestions that he suggested.

At first, everyone wasn't too thrill of going back to school...

...

...

...

*Flashback*

Wa-Wait your telling us to go back to school?! Fuck no we aren't!

Have you see how shitty Hope's Peak was? Fuck that!

I am aware but I am suggesting a proper school and not that sorry excuse that was Hope's Peak.

While it focus on our talents; it didn't prepare us so attending school would help us.

Well that's good and all but sadly I can't do that, I need to remove the virus from those still in the program so I can't go to school or be much help. So can I be excuse?

...Very well, with the exception of Hajime; the rest of you will start attending school.

That will be final, no one will be ditching class or trying to avoid it!

And if we don't?

Then I'll request the Usami bots to drag you to class which I'll be sure to order 16 of them so you'll all be personally tutor.

Which will help you all and unless you have a reason like Hajime, then you won't be skipping class or your after school activities.

All 3: Are you serious?!

Well... I guess it's time to return back to class everyone...

Also if your curious about me and Hotaru, don't be - will be having school as well.

Very good, now you better be prepared...

*Back to present*

So now they are getting the teaching Usamis, confessional booth and journals all set which will start using them starting tomorrow.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: Mother Superior, I am done with the morning routine- Ah, I didn't know you're talking with someone. Please excuse me.

The abbess: No. Stay. I need you to give Father Simeon a short tour of our church.

Simeon: *smiles*

MC: ...

MC: *smiles back*

The abbess: And afterwards, put him to the confessionals. Do that right after all the noviciates see him.

MC: May I ask why, Mother Superior?

The abbess: It's the season where the souls are weak. *giving them a stern look*

MC: *smiles softly* But Mother Superior, my soul remains strong.

The abbess: I'm not referring to you. *waving her hand, dismissing them*

-------------------------------------------------

Simeon: *silently staring at MC while they're walking*

MC: Father, I don't think you'll be able to recall the places if you keep staring at my face. *their eyes remain on the path*

Simeon: *chuckles* Don't worry. With you as my guide, I only need to remember your voice, Sister.

MC: *smiles* It seems I would have to report you to His Reverence.

Simeon: *smiles shyly* Forgive me, Sister. Did I make you uncomfortable?

MC: Not at all, Father. We just need to tone down with the flirting. *waves and smiles at the noviciates that passed by*

The noviciates: *blushes and giggles at the sight of Simeon*

MC: Mother Superior won't be happy about this.

Simeon: *smiles* Their souls are not weak, Sister.

MC: That's for Mother Superior to decide.

Simeon: *follows them as they continue walking*

--------------------------------------------------

The noviciate: *in a panic* *runs to MC* Thank god, Sister MC! I've been looking for you!

MC: What's wrong, Sister?

The noviciate: S-Sister Ann! Sh-She's been acting weird this morning and now she won't leave her room!

MC: ...

MC: Have you informed Mother Superior?

The noviciate: Y-Yes! But she only told me to come and find you!

MC: *smiles* I see. There's nothing to worry about, Sister. I'll go to Sister Ann's room now.

Simeon: Can I come along?

The noviciate: *gives Simeon a quick glance* *annoyed*

Simeon: *noticed that and pretends he didn't*

MC: Yes. You may, Father.

Simeon: Thank you. *smiles*

MC: You may go to your duties now, Sister.

The noviciate: *her expression brightens* Okay, Sister!

Simeon: *slightly bowing his head*

The noviciate: *forced to greet back and left*

Simeon: ...

--------------------------------------------------

MC: *knocks on the door* Sister Ann. It's me, Sister MC.

*the door slightly opens*

Sister Ann: *flushed cheeks* *sweating and panting* Sister...?

MC: Yes, Sister Ann. Would you let us come in?

Sister Ann: *noticed Simeon behind them*

Sister Ann: I don't mind you entering, Sister MC.

MC: Is it because you're still in your night gown, Sister?

Sister Ann: Yes... I completely forgot to change my clothes.

MC: *smiles kindly* That is fine, Sister Ann. *about to walk in*

Sister Ann: *having this malicious smile*

Simeon: *grabbing MC's hand, stopping them*

Sister Ann: !!!

Simeon: Sister MC, I think it's better if we leave Sister Ann for now.

MC: Hm?

Simeon: *looks at Sister Ann and smiles* You wouldn't want to pass Sister MC your fever, would you?

Sister Ann: *forces a smile* Y-Yes, of course. Forgive me, Sister...

MC: Oh. Don't apologize, Sister Ann. *pats her head* I'll ask someone to deliver some food and medicine to you.

Sister Ann: *blushes* Th-Thank you, Sister MC...

Simeon: ...

-------------------------------------------------

Simeon: You have quite an admirer, Sister MC.

MC: I wouldn't say that.

Simeon: ...

Simeon: Sister MC.

MC: Yes—

Simeon: *kisses their forehead*

MC: ...

Simeon: May god give you protection from people like that.

MC: *smiles*

MC: Does that include you, Father?

Simeon: *chuckles*

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

Summary: Winry sat in the optimal place to study in the school cafe for the entire fall semester. Then spring came, and suddenly some self-entitled twit who dressed like off-brand Gerard Way decided it was his territory. He was so not going to get off easy.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.8k words of coffee shop/college AU with a side of enemies to almost-lovers

A/N: It's finals week, I posted this on Ao3 at almost 5am, and if the rest of the sentence didn't make it obvious, I'm writing from unfortunate experience. Not beta-ed or proofread, although I happened to see one thing to fix when I woke up this morning. Feel my raw power. Rawr.

It wasn't that big a deal.

It kind of really was, though.

Every Thursday morning during the fall semester, Winry sat in the same spot at the same school coffee shop. It was the spot sent by the entire patron pantheon of cram papers. Maybe one person didn't need an entire booth, but it was in the corner, and the tops of the bench seats had opaque plastic barriers that just so happened to be perfect for minimizing excess visual chaos. For the most part, there weren't loud conversations, and the jazz music that came through the speakers helped her tune out people ordering coffee. Add to that the fact that she could use campus flex dollars and not her own bank account that was begging for mercy, and it was the perfect spot to get papers done.

But apparently not this spring.

As soon as Winry walked in, she noticed him in the corner. Some emo wannabe guy on his computer. Probably on Reddit complaining about how women didn't appreciate the amazing pics he sent them on Tinder. Or at least, it was a fair guess based on the sour look on his face. Why did this guy of all people have to steal the holy grail spot? Ugh. She was still gonna get her coffee, darn it.

"You know the deal, Sciezska. Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer."

"On it! You paying in flex?"

"Yeah." She scanned her student ID and lowered her voice. "Who's off-brand Gerard Way in the corner?"

"Who's Ger—"

"The punk kid."

"Ohhh. I can try to get his number for you, if you want."

"No, he looks like a total tool! And not the kind I like dealing with!"

"Which means you think he's hot. I didn't think you were into that type, but you're not wrong."

"For the last time, no, Sciezska! He took my spot! And I'm trying very, very hard to keep this to a stage whisper, but if you keep trying to set me up with some random creep, I won't be able to!"

A distinctly male voice grumbled, "I'm not a creep."

"Keep telling that to the girls on Tinder. I'm sure they'll understand eventually."

"Yeah, and I'll bet if you look at your 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign a little more, you'll understand it eventually." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Nice Guy?"

"Lay off, it's eight in the morning. I said the only reason I even have a Tinder account is because my roommate stole my phone while I was going to the bathroom."

"Well, if you didn't want it, why didn't you delete it?"

"Eh, I figured if I really got sick of being single one day, it'd already be there."

"Never would have guessed you were single," Winry said dryly.

"Come on, it's way too early to be rubbing that kind of crap in. Who says I'm not fine with being single anyway?"

Sciezska timidly spoke up. "Medium roast with espresso and vanilla creamer?"

Winry thanked her as red jacket boy continued. "'Edward Elric, Bachelor.' Almost sounds as good as 'Edward Elric, Bachelor of Science.'"

"B.S. degree. Sounds about right."

"About time you stopped acting like I'm an idiot!"

Winry snorted. "That's not what I meant."

"Hey!"

"And with that, I'm going to go find some other spot to write my paper."

Edward, as his name apparently was, scoffed and mumbled something that sounded like "good riddance". Maybe the librarians wouldn't get on her case too much for bringing in coffee.

-----

A week later, Winry walked into the cafe, assuming the circumstances of the previous week were an anomaly. They were not.

"Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer," she grumbled and sulked in the direction of the corner seat.

"Hey, don't start with me again, blondie. I've had a whopping four hours of sleep and I can't promise you'll like what comes out of my mouth."

"We're at a coffee shop. Get some coffee. I can't help it if you're too hung over to be polite."

"Now look, genius. I did not stay up until 4 A.M. working on a stupid chem paper for that sadistic pyromaniac excuse for a professor just for some random chick to accuse me of being hung over."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And for your information, coffee doesn't really help me wake up. It just helps me focus on homework." He lifted up his empty cup and gave it a shake.

"That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard."

"ADHD is a weird thing, and yet, here I am."

"Huh, interesting."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pick up where I left off with the same stupid ten page paper I started last night."

"Oh right. Sure," Winry stammered. "Listen, I'm really sorry I just assumed things about you. It was wrong of me, and I'd like to make it up to you, if that's okay."

Edward eyed her suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well...I could look over your paper once you're done writing it? I've got a paper of my own to write while I'm waiting, and I can sit right across the table here so you don't have to come get me. I won't try to talk to you or anything. Neither of us need that kind of distraction."

"Alright, alright. Get your coffee and sit down. The girl at the counter's been up there waiting for a good minute or two while you've been at confessional over here."

"Wait, she has?" Winry's eyes widened, and Edward laughed at her expense. He was kind of attractive when he wasn't scowling...wait what? She pouted and got up to retrieve her coffee. When Winry returned, she plopped down on the bench opposite Edward and opened her laptop. Peeking out from behind it, she added, "By the way, I'm Winry. I figured you ought to at least know the name of the person who's proofreading your paper."

"Well, Winry, you're the one who volunteered." The corners of his mouth twitched upward. The two worked on their assignments in silence, occasionally speaking up when necessary.

-----

Edward was in the corner again the next week as well.

"Hey, Edward! Mind if I join you for homework again?"

"Normally, I'd say no, but you didn't bother me too much last week, so you might as well." He turned away slightly.

"Great! Have you gotten your coffee yet? I didn't see a cup, and you got something the last two times."

"Eh, I haven't been here long. If you're going up and getting yours, would you mind ordering a caramel macchiato for me?" He asked, sliding his ID across the table.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be back in a sec."

She returned and slipped his ID back before pulling out her computer. "Do you have anything for me to look over this time?"

"Not this week. But if you have anything you need looked over, I can do that, too."

"Actually, I do, if you wouldn't mind."

"Winry, I just volunteered. Just send the paper to my school email. Mine's 'elricedwa'," he instructed as he proceeded to spell it.

"Medium roast and a caramel macchiato?" Sciezska called out.

"Coming!" Winry replied and turned to Edward. "I just sent it, so you should be able to start while I'm getting our stuff." Eyes glued to his laptop, Edward gave a thumbs up.

Once she returned with their drinks, Winry sat down and wordlessly set Edward's drink next to him.

"Thanks," he muttered distantly. His lips mirrored the words he was reading. Though his lips weren't plump by any stretch of the imagination, they were shapely. His steely concentration made the air leave Winry's lungs. To top it all off, the first rays of sunlight came through the window just right, hitting Edward's hair in a way that made it positively glow.

What was she thinking? Those were only the sorts of things people thought when they had a crush. She'd only had two positive interactions with him, including this one. ...well, maybe it was a crush. She could certainly do worse than someone with a questionable fashion sense. After all, he worked hard, and he got good grades, if the quality of his writing was any indication. Okay, fine. He was also drop dead gorgeous, if you could see past his clothing choices. Yeah, she had a crush.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"...no."

"Figures. I finished reading your paper. It's not bad, I just left a few suggestions for sentence structure. Now I am going to enjoy my caramel macchiato." He took off the lid and breathed in the steam with his eyes closed, nearly drooping into the cup in content. When he opened his eyes slowly, Winry was awestruck by the similarity between the color of his eyes and his drink.

"What?" Edward furrowed his eyebrows.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. At all. Nope."

"Okay." He shrugged. She reopened the document and went through his suggested edits. Gnawing her lip in concentration, she leaned forward a bit to settle in and tackle the editing.

"...hey, uh, Winry?" Edward gulped. "Are you going to drink your coffee?"

"Oh! Yeah, I almost forgot. Thanks, Edward!" she smiled.

"No–no problem. And you can call me Ed, you know. Most people do. Except for that excuse for a professor that calls me pipsqueak. Can you believe he's my advisor? I mean, come on, I'm a grown man. I'm not that short."

Winry made a poor attempt at containing her laughter. "Okay then, Ed. Prove it. Stand up."

"Fine." He slid out of the booth and stood. Winry followed suit and appraised their respective heights.

"Well, I'd hardly call you tall, but you're at least taller than me by a few inches, for whatever that's worth."

Edward grinned as if he had won some sort of prize. "Time for shorties to sit down now!"

"Watch it now. You're not too far from that label yourself, mister."

They both returned to their positions in the booth and worked steadily for the next hour. At the end of that time, Winry closed her laptop. "Ed, are you okay? You seem distracted."

"ADHD. I'm always distracted," he dismissed.

"No, like, are you sick or something? You did get more than four hours of sleep this time, right?"

"No comment." Ed's mouth twitched. He mumbled barely loud enough to hear, "Wouldn't have mattered anyway."

"Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, I can drive you over to the health center."

"N-no. That's not it." He exhaled, then slid a napkin across the table. His hands trembled slightly. "Anyway, here's my number. In case you need me to look over a paper. Or whatever. I've got a class soon."

Winry blushed, but tucked the napkin in her laptop. "Thanks, Ed. See you next week?"

"Yeah. Next week."

-----

Winry: This goes with your major, right?

Edward: Blocked

[punkscowardschampions]

Ava & Buster

Ava: Are you lot en-route? Buster: 'Course Buster: But we've had one foot out the door for like half an hour, honestly Ava: Good, 'cos I have presents Buster: Yeah? Buster: Pot of gold or what, like Ava: Hardly appropriate for a two-year-old Ava: None for you, soz 💔 Buster: I'd argue it's very appropriate Buster: All the shit he needs haemorrhages cash Ava: You were warned Ava: Extensively Buster: And I ain't sorry I didn't listen Buster: They can all try and sue me Ava: Enter an arena where they aren't the experts? Ava: Doesn't sound like mum and dad Buster: No such arena exists, clearly Buster: Know it all, have done it all Ava: Your degree must be a waste of time then Buster: You'd have to ask 'em what they reckon Buster: But I'd wait til they've got a few more drinks down 'em first, get closer to the truth Ava: Ugh, shut up Ava: You know they're proud of you Buster: Yeah yeah, blah blah Buster: But are you proud of me? Real MVP and everything Ava: When you get your cap and gown Ava: Funny wig, even better Ava: I still only got stuff for the kids and Ri though Ava: I'll chase a 🌈 down ASAP Buster: You're alright Buster: Already got a girlfriend, don't you? Buster: No need to get gayer just to wind me up, Nance has got that covered Ava: Ha, don't even chat to me about annoying Buster: I won't Ava: 😏 Ava: No, you're meant to ask, idiot Ava: You're so lucky you only have a son Buster: Tell me then Buster: I want a girl next Ava: Well she's not coming back, not that I'm surprised Buster: What bullshit excuse did she go with this time? She's got too much work on, girlfriend drama or she just hates fam functions SO MUCH Ava: It was column A presented but 1000% came across as column C Ava: She can be so Buster: I know Buster: Did she try and buy you off with an NYC trip that ain't gonna happen just like the last one didn't? Ava: Twin telepathy is real, yeah? Ava: 🙄 Buster: Fuck that and her Buster: I told you before, when you actually wanna go I'll take you Buster: Then you only have to see her a bearable amount Ava: I know Ava: It'd be interesting to see how long she could hold a conversation with me but yeah Ava: won't happen so Buster: Longer than she can with me or dad, probably slightly less time than she can with mum, depending what mood they are both in Buster: That'd be my bet Buster: Chin up, the good twin is finally on his fucking way Ava: Sounds about right Ava: Good time to tell you to call her yourself later or do you want a drink before you process that? Buster: Bad time to be forced to remember that I told Rio right at the start I wouldn't drink when she couldn't Ava: Honestly, I thought this kid was PLANNED Ava: She couldn't Christmas or New Year either Buster: She was planned, just not by me Ava: 'Course, you would've factored in drinking Ava: Must be their gay agenda Buster: There's loads of shit I'd have factored in Ava: That's your upbringing talking Buster: Shut up Ava: It is though Ava: Personally, I agree its better than the more the merrier approach too Buster: You'll personally be waiting a load more years before you make me play uncle then, yeah? Buster: Good Ava: Ugh Ava: Don't be making me 🤢 just because green is the colour today Buster: Gotta Buster: Who the fuck is there to be jealous of when we're us? Ava: You couldn't go the more traditional routes, no? 🍾🥂 Ava: Seeing as I'm NOT pregnant or being a very supportive partner to someone who is Buster: Come on, who am I? Buster: And you can leave me out of your rites of passage, I've cleaned up enough sick in the name of being a supportive partner Buster: Grace'll hold your hair back for you Ava: There's no need to be old AND boring 😏 Buster: Fuck off Buster: Counting down the days til I can drink you under the table Ava: Dad lets me Buster: There's nothing dad won't let you do Buster: Got him well wrapped around your finger, like Ava: It's not my fault I'm the most lovable Ava: Do better 😋 Buster: That's the one title you can keep Buster: Got all the love I need, cheers Ava: 🤢🥰 Ava: N'awh Buster: Lyla didn't wanna come and hang with the extended fam then? Ava: Wouldn't do that to someone I liked, would I? Buster: Depends how much you like her Ava: Nah Ava: That's all a bit heavy Buster: Well yeah Buster: It would be a trial by fire Ava: Then pissed on Ava: then set on fire again Ava: I like having time away when I come here, you know Ava: Not attached at the hip Buster: I know Ava: I'll send her a hilarious postcard or something Buster: You sounded like Nance there Buster: No need to miss her at all Ava: Fuck off Buster: You're right she'd never write it Buster: Half her holiday would be over before she got the words down Ava: 😂 Ava: Rude Buster: It's fuck all I wouldn't say to her face if she ever bothered to show it Ava: Can no one in this family be nice Ava: Honestly Buster: Come on Buster: I'm nice to you Buster: You ain't even bought me a present Ava: I know, I'm very lovable Ava: Have you got me one? Buster: Yeah but you ain't having it now Ava: Yeah right Ava: I know who gets last word in your house Ava: and Rio is nice to everyone Buster: She's nicest to me and she always does what I say Buster: So you might wanna think again Ava: That's entirely too much information, thank you Ava: you owe me double as compensation Buster: You ain't having two bottles Buster: Keep the first one down and then we'll talk Ava: Challenge accepted Buster: Good Buster: Don't really wanna have to disown you before the day's out Ava: Least there's enough of 'em to fall back on should you get the urge Ava: I'll survive Buster: Keep that quiet around mum, it's still them and us with her Ava: Sounds familiar 🙄 Buster: You're bound to hear it yet again by the time she's had a few Ava: Not if I have anything to do with it Buster: Sounds like you've got a plan Ava: As planned as a party should ever be Buster: Yeah Ava: 💃🎉 Ava: Hurry up Buster: Traffic's worse than London at its finest right now Buster: Everyone on the road's either already wasted or angry they ain't Ava: Stay safe Buster: 'Course Buster: Speaking of, where you staying tonight? Ava: Tipsy childcare is better than no childcare Ava: No need to beg Buster: Shut up, I'll drive you is all I'm saying Ava: Cheers 💙 Buster: I'll cash the IOU when you're sober, like Ava: Better cash it before I cash my 2nd present then Buster: Forget it for now, it's a holiday Ava: That's what I've been saying Buster: You ain't gotta tell me, even if today I can't play as hard as I work Buster: Still not a fucking amateur Ava: Still a McKenna Buster: First and best Ava: Hardly Buster: If we're going by mum's them and us viewpoint, there's hardly any competition Buster: Just you and me, kid Ava: Well I'm just saying, Granddad is gonna be fuming Buster: Everything you learned about wrapping dad round your little finger you got from watching me with him Buster: I ain't worried Ava: Pfft Ava: My baby blues are bluer and my pout is poutier Ava: I'm the new model, boy Buster: 'Cause you need 'em to fall back on Buster: I'm just that good Buster: you're the youngest model that's all Buster: Due a spectacular fuck up about now Ava: You wish Ava: On all counts Buster: Nah, I'm rooting for you Buster: 'Course I am Ava: Mhmm Ava: Dead convincing 😏 Buster: I always am Buster: Wig or no wig Ava: So soppy, you Ava: Have title of my best big brother Buster: That's a copout but whatever Ava: And fussy Ava: Alright best sibling but that isn't much more of an achievement really Buster: Don't worry about it Buster: I know how great I am Ava: Yeah yeah, blah blah Buster: Get me the least shit sounding soft drink and I'll believe you Ava: If there's anything being tragically underage has taught me Ava: 👍 Buster: Cheers Buster: See you in 5 Ava: Bring your cute kid Buster: I taught him how to say “Sláinte” earlier so you'll be able to rate my achievements for yourself Buster: He ain't just a pretty face Ava: 🥺🥰 Ava: What a face though Buster: I can't take all the credit Buster: He takes after his mother Buster: Tell her how good she looks when we get in, yeah? I'm living a nightmare Ava: 'Course Ava: I've got a girlfriend, remember Ava: I know the drill, just amp up period level love 1000% for a pregnant bitch Buster: My wife ain't a insecure teenager Buster: But I appreciate the sentiment Buster: Just don't call her a bitch ever again Ava: I say it with love Ava: from one to another Ava: but got it, I'll remind her she's old Buster: Don't Buster: It'll be your funeral Ava: 😂 I only like winding you u Ava: p Ava: Don't need anyone crying on me Buster: Good Buster: I don't need to be breaking up any girl fights Buster: Especially when I've taught you both everything I know Ava: Even if me hitting a girl is more acceptable than you, I think everyone draws the line at a pregnant one Buster: Fine, I don't wanna pick you up off the floor once she's knocked you out and do a concussion test after someone pours a pint over you to bring you round Buster: I was trying to soften the blow of how it'll play out since I'd be powerless to stop the actual Ava: And I thought you were in the festive spirit Ava: 🙄 Ava: I'll take back this virgin cocktail, like 😏 Buster: Not without any spirits in me Buster: You'll have to take what you can get Ava: Few folk songs and you'll be well into it Buster: Voice of an angel, obviously Buster: Could've been a choir boy if not for everything else Ava: You took living vicariously a wee bit hard with the name already Buster: You'd have preferred me to name him after a silent film star, yeah? Ava: That was pure wishful thinking 🙊🤐🤫 Buster: Fucked over as my boy's been by not being named Rudolph Valentino or Roscoe Arbuckle, I reckon he'll be alright Buster: Cheers though Ava: I think Fatty murdered someone Ava: so as far as aspirations go, you're in the right direction Buster: I always am Buster: Never a misstep made, no matter what mum and dad say Ava: Alright 👼 its St Paddy's not confessional Ava: and the priest would be rare pissed off if you waltzed in and said you'd never done anything wrong 😂 Buster: He'd be a fine one to talk Ava: The drama of it all Buster: Again, I don't need to be told Buster: There's a kid here asking for you, except shouting's more the word Ava: He gets it 👏 Ava: 💃 Buster: Come out before he legs it in