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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

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Designated Person | Chapter 2

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 2: Shopping List

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, alcoholism / alcohol dependence, parole/pre-trial release, infant / toddler, past romantic & sexual relationship implied, smut, AA meeting, flashbacks, our boy is a liar liar pants on fire, awkward conversations

Notes: So, about how long this is... WOOFTA. I couldn't cut anything, though, so whatever. Let me know what ya think! Thank you for reading!!

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It was an unseasonably hot and miserable day. The morning air was already acting like adhesive on Frankie’s legs, sticking them to the varnished dining room chair. He raised a spoon to his mouth, admiring the perfect ratio of sugar-sweetened milk and Froot Loops he was able to collect. When he engulfed the spoon and squee-geed its contents into his mouth, he swung his short, skinny legs back and forth with glee. The menagerie of artificial fruit-like flavors melded with the creamy whole milk in a softened crunch.

It was his favorite breakfast.

His dad sat at the dining room table next to him, trying to lift the spoon to his lips. The utensil vibrated in his grip. Each time he tried to raise a bite out of the white ceramic bowl, the spoon started vibrating and thwarted his efforts. Frankie watched his father with curiosity.

“What’s wrong with your spoon?” Frankie asked through a mouthful of cereal.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” was the response that came. His dad then dropped the spoon onto the tabletop with a clatter, splashing droplets of red-tinted milk. He pushed his chair out hard and stood up. The loud scratching noise it made on their tiled kitchen floor buzzed inside Frankie’s head and made him wince.

He watched his dad’s broad shoulders as he loafed over to the refrigerator and retrieved a silver can from the door. It hissed and opened with a metallic crack.

Frankie returned his gaze to the offending spoon, squinting to see if there was some kind of kryptonian green glow to the object. There wasn’t. Like he often did, Frankie mentally reviewed the evidence he collected that supported his working theory.

The dark, loosely curled hair. Squared jaw. Broad shoulders atop his tall, muscular frame. Disappearing for hours at a time, only to return either jubilant or so exhausted he stumbled around the house until he fell asleep. Frankie always secretly knew it was because he was out trying to save the world.

Sure, his dad wasn’t white, or a journalist, but certainly the people at DC Comics had to conceal some parts of his father’s identity. They couldn’t name him Jose Rolando Morales outright. That would be dangerous.

The spoon had to be contaminated by kryptonite. And those shiny silver cans held the antidote. Frankie noted that his dad brought at least one anywhere he went. Between them in their beat-up car’s cup holder armrest, lining the refrigerator door like an aluminum forcefield, in a cooler by his feet at Frankie’s softball games.

Frankie determined that the world was lousy with kryptonite radiation, so his dad had to be vigilant.

Now, as Frankie swings his legs out of the queen-sized bed that’s temporarily his, he stares down at his own shaking hands. A burning in his chest urges him to take the antidote. To return the equilibrium within his body, consequences be damned.

The digital clock on the desk by the foot of his bed reads 6:30 AM. The house is completely silent, just like it was when he finally fell asleep only 3 hours ago. He balls his hands into tight fists and squeezes. The tremors ripple through the clenched muscles of his forearms.

Frustration twists through his veins as he stares down at them. He gets to his feet and takes two strides across the cramped room to the dresser, where he fishes out a clean pair of boxers. The floor tracks his footsteps with groans and squeaks as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He flips the shower on HOT and steps into the water. The pin-sized streams pelt him and roll down his body in sheets. His palms press against the wall and he leans over into the scalding onslaught. He savors the way it stings his skin, leaving him red and buzzing.

The water swirling down the drain entrances him. Drowns out the roar of his mind and body begging him for a drink. Temporarily stuns the overwhelming need that burns through him hotter than the steaming water.

A knock at the door snaps him out of the hypnosis. He shakes his head and picks up the bar of soap, “One sec.”

When he emerges, wearing only the clean pair of boxers he brought with him, a cloud of heat and condensation follows him into the hallway. You’re leaning against the wall, crossing your legs, wiggling in place to keep from pissing your pants.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, glancing up at your face just in time to catch your eyes wandering down the length of his body. Your cheeks start to flush when your gaze catches his. You push past him and slam the door behind you.

It reminds him of the way you looked at him when you met. Then, too, your gaze lingered long enough for him to catch you. You introduced yourself, all tongue-tied and flustered, desire written across your face in bold type.

He had to remind himself to behave. To ignore the tingle of temptation settling at the base of his spine. That’s never really changed when it comes to you, though, has it?

A smirk tips up the corner of his mouth as he pads through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into his bedroom. He gets dressed and returns to the kitchen, where he finds you pouring coffee into two ceramic mugs. You take one and breeze past him into the living room. The one you leave behind is obviously for him. It’s black and you leave ample space for his jittery hands to slosh coffee around without spilling over the sides.

Although, he can’t prove that this is why you started leaving a large gap of space when you pour his coffee. You’ve never talked to each other about the shakes, you’ve never asked if it’s easier for him that way, or anything. One day he was struggling to perform this usually mindless task without spilling hot coffee all over himself, and the next you started leaving space in his mug.

It could just be a coincidence. But he doubts it.

Like you do every morning, you set the steaming mug down on your cheap, black coffee table and sink into your hand-me-down couch, all scrunched up in a ball with your ankles crossed and thighs close to your chest. You pull out a notebook and pen and start making lists. Your plans for the day. He settles at the opposite end of the couch and scrolls through the news on his phone.

Neither of you say anything until you finish your second cup of coffee. This is usually when it’s safe to start speaking.

“What’s in the books for today?” he asks.

“Well,” you start, tapping your pen against the notebook, “It’s the, um, family dinner tonight. So I was thinking of getting stuff to make lasagna.”

A smile stretches across his face. He raises his eyebrows, “Lasagna? You know it’s just the two of us, right?”

You tilt your head and glare at him, “So?”

“That’s an insane thing to make for two people,” Frankie snorts.

“Ok, well,” you roll your eyes, but he sees the beginnings of a grin on your lips, “I happen to know that you love lasagna,” your eyes flick to his for an electric jolt of a moment, and your face deepens a shade. You drop your gaze to the notebook with a shrug, “And we’ll have hella leftovers.”

A warmth radiates across his chest. It spreads to his face in a smile as he nods, “Need help with anything?”

“No, that’s ok,” you assure him, shaking your head.

“You sure? I have nothing else to do today,” he offers.

Your eyebrow quirks and you tilt your head to the side, “No other options, might as well hang out with me?”

Frankie frowns, “Whadda you mean?”

You just chuckle and shake your head, glancing away, “Nothing, it was a joke.”

His eyes follow you as you stand up and tiptoe through the kitchen to refill your coffee mug. When you return, you fold your legs up in front of your chest and balance your steaming coffee cup on your knee. Something about your “joke” feels like a rock in his shoe.

“Is that a yes or a no?” he asks directly, tapping his fingers to the tops of his thighs.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he states. This leaves no room for speculation or insinuations on your part.

“Alright,” you shrug. A satisfied smirk plays on your lips, “Lemme finish this cup of coffee then we can go to the store.”

Frankie trails behind you, leaning onto the shiny plastic handles of the shopping cart in aisle 5. Its wheels squeak across the low rise carpet defiantly. Holding your grocery list scrawled on a frayed notebook paper in one hand, studying a can of tomatoes in the other, you don’t notice his eyes drifting up and down your body with admiration.

It’s been difficult to resist this temptation. Old habits die hard and all that. He finds his gaze lingering on you frequently, unable to stop his mind from getting swept up in a tidal wave of memories. It doesn’t help that the two of you have walked these same grocery store aisles dozens of times.

The first time feels like a lifetime ago. You were poking around the kitchen, going from the fridge to the cupboards, then from the cupboards to the fridge, sighing quietly to yourself. He watched you out of the corner of his eye as he fed Sarah a bottle, amused at how you hovered around the doorway between your respective rooms, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to approach him.

When Sarah slurped down the last of her formula, he stood up to burp her over his shoulder, giving her soft, encouraging pats on the back. You were still standing in the middle of the kitchen, scrunching your face up at the recipe on your phone like it was a puzzle.

“Need help finding anything?” Frankie stepped onto the fake oak wood linoleum of the kitchen.

Your eyes flicked to his, face flushed hot like he pantsed you instead of asked you a question. He couldn’t help but notice the way your gaze dropped to his mouth, or how your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you responded, “Um, yeah, sorry. The recipe calls for milk, I used the last of it earlier today. I was looking for a substitute, but, um, I don’t think there’s anything else I can use.”

“Ok,” he nodded, “Did you want to make something else?”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip and worried away at it. You pressed your eyebrows together, inquiring, “Would Mrs. Morales be upset if I made something different?”

Frankie frowned as he thought about this, considering how fickle his wife can be. Case in point, she insisted that you stay and make dinner while Frankie watched Sarah instead of delegating both tasks to him. This resulted in them paying you to be there for two hours longer than he thought was necessary every day.

“Or we could go to the store? ” he proposed.

“Oh, you don’t have to pack Sarah up, I can just go-”

“Let’s all go,” he suggested, switching Sarah to his other shoulder, “I have to get some formula and a few other things anyway.”

“I could, um, stay here with her, too,” you covered your mouth as a nervous chuckle escaped it, “You don’t have to-”

Sarah released a loud belch and spit up onto Frankie’s shoulder. He groaned, then grimaced at the sour scent that wafted into his nose.

You burst out laughing. The sound was melodic and bright, and he’s pretty sure you snorted a little. A genuine smile broke out on his face as he handed his daughter off to you and went to change his shirt.

By the time he returned, you were crouched in front of the car seat, buckling the five-point harness over Sarah’s small body, cooing and babbling back and forth with her. From his vantage point, he could see the white lace of your underwear peeking out over the top of your jeans.

He let his eyes linger on them, imagining how you would look wearing that pair of panties alone. He wondered what they smelled like. What they tasted like.

All the blood in his body rushed to his dick. You leaned over further to tighten the straps, exposing more of the white lace. His tongue ran along the seam of his lips.

How damp could he make them before peeling them off your body? Judging by how starry-eyed you got around him, it wouldn’t take much for you to saturate the delicate fabric.

“Ready?” you stood up and swung Sarah’s diaper bag over your shoulder.

He shook the filthy thoughts from his head and rubbed his hands together, “Rock ‘n’ roll.”

You picked at your fingernail polish the entire drive. Avoided looking anywhere but out the passenger’s side window. He snuck glances at you, despite the sirens going off in his head, warning him to keep his distance.

When he parked the car and went to get Sarah’s car seat out of its base, you came around to the door and pulled a tangle of thick navy blue fabric out of the diaper bag.

“I can wear her so we don’t have to lug around her car seat,” you mumbled.

He furrowed his brow, “Wear her…? What is that?”

“It’s a babybjörn! You haven’t used this yet?”

“I have no idea what that means,” he chuckled, shaking his head from side to side.

“It’s, um… it’s like a kangaroo pouch,” you held the strappy contraption up for him to see, “You wear it and then put her in it and you can carry her around hands free. She loves it.”

He nodded, “Oh. That’s pretty neat.”

“Do you wanna try?”

You held it out to him, and he accepted it, only to inspect it at arm’s length like the foreign object it was.

“Here,” you laughed and took it back, rearranging it until there were two definable holes to slide his arms through, which he did.

“Um, ok, turn around.”

He spun and faced the opposite direction, letting you fasten the device from behind.

“How the fuck do you do this alone?” Frankie muttered, holding his arms out to the side as he turned around and inspected the completed product.

You didn’t answer him, just retrieved Sarah from her car seat and helped get her situated in the baby carrier. Once she was nestled into it, and he was tummy-to-tummy with her, she looked up at Frankie with her big, dark eyes and smiled wide, showing off a single pearly white tooth.

“See? Look at how happy this sweet lil baby is,” you cooed, booping Sarah’s nose with your index finger. Inadvertently, you laid your head against his arm when you did this. Frankie felt his lungs expand and his skin tingle. Those sirens started going off again.

Sarah blew a raspberry in response and squealed in delight.

He pushed around a shopping cart behind you, tossing things in as he went along. Sarah cooed happily and watched the world around her with amazement.

Every once and a while, his eyes caught yours and held your gaze just long enough to make his heart skip a beat. Each time, you got flustered and looked away. He always thought you were attractive and found it cute how obvious your crush on him was. It was flattering.

But that trip to the store was the first time he knew he fucking wanted you.

Is that why you insisted on coming to this store today? Going out of your way just to plague him with the reminders of how things were? To show him how your relationship has weaved into so many fucked up directions, neither of you know where you are on the map?

“Daddy!”

The sound of Sarah’s voice yanks him from his thoughts. His gaze flicks to you just in time to see your eyes widen in panic at what’s behind him. You step towards the cart and toss in the can of tomatoes.

Frankie turns around and sees Angelica, shoulders squared and expression steel as she approaches. His face breaks out into a wide smile as his eyes land on Sarah, who has no idea what “dynamics” or “tension” mean or how they could possibly make a difference between her and her daddy. Her dimpled smile when he makes eye contact with her is quite possibly the only thing that has given him hope in the past week.

“Mi princesa!” he exclaims, abandoning the shopping cart, gravitating towards his family. Sarah claps her hands together and extends her arms to Frankie. He plucks her from the cart and holds her on his hip.

“What’re you doing here?” Angie spits. His eyes flick to hers and he shivers at how cold the glare is. It always amazes him how she can make her golden brown eyes somehow seem icy.

“Just getting some groceries,” he shrugs, then looks at Sarah, “How are you, sweetheart? I miss you.”

“Frankie, put her back,” Angie demands.

Her voice is low and serious, but when he meets his daughter’s ecstatic gaze, he shakes his head. He tears his eyes away to level them at his wife, “I’ve been trying to set something up so I can see you two. Have you seen my texts?”

“Yep,” Angie responds.

Frankie stares at her expectantly.

She stares back, unflinching as she states, “I don’t want Sarah to be around her .”

“She doesn’t-“ he takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes, “I can go wherever you want. She doesn’t have to go there.”

Angie purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything.

Frankie clenches his jaw, then sighs, “We’re not seeing each other, Ang. I swear. She’s my roommate. That’s all. Things have been over with us for a year. I’m still in this with you.”

She scoffs and folds her arms across her chest, “Who says that I’m in this with you? ”

“N-nobody,” he stammers, “I just- I don’t know, is that what you really want? To just throw this all away?”

She’s silent as she contemplates this. Her stance and features soften.

“I love you, Ang. I love our life together. And,” he presses his eyebrows together and takes a step towards her, “Listen, I- I know I fucked up. But this living situation is a means to an end. Honest. I still wanna be with you.”

She studies her husband and their child, then sighs, arms going slack at her sides, “Are you doing anything tonight?”

He turns this question over in his mind a few times. Yes, he does. The first of Ralph’s prescribed “family dinner” with you. The phrase feels like a betrayal to his wife and daughter. Isn’t it just as important, if not more important, that he try to put his life back together with his family?

“I have a Sunday night meeting,” is what he tells her, glancing behind his shoulder instinctively to see if you’re within earshot. The aisle is vacant, so he turns back to Angie and shrugs, “But I can see if I’m able to skip it.”

“Ok,” Angie allows one corner of her lips to flick up into a smile, “Come over for dinner.”

“Yeah?” he grins, looking over to Sarah, “Want me to come and have dinner with you, Princess?”

She just giggles in response, her deep brown eyes meeting his with glee.

“What time?” he asks Angie.

“5:00,” she smirks, “Does that work?”

“It’s a date,” Frankie beams in response.

“So, just to be clear,” you itch your eyebrow and sigh, “You’re blatantly disobeying Ralph’s request for us to have family dinner-“

“But for dinner with my actual family,” Frankie interrupts as he leans the passenger’s seat back a bit, crossing his ankle over his knee. He presses his fingers to his lips and looks out the window.

“So I just got all this shit for nothing?”

“I don’t want to fuck this up with her,” he tells you, casting a hopeful glance your way.

It meets your eyes, but you look back to the road and shake your head slightly.

“What?” he asks defensively.

You scoff and shake your head harder now, then roll your eyes, “I just…”

He waits for you to continue, but your teeth catch your bottom lip and your face softens into a sadness that feels like a punch in his gut.

“Nevermind,” you mumble under your breath.

The rest of the drive home is quiet and awkward. After you pull into the garage, you kill the engine and practically sprint into the house. He grabs all the flimsy plastic bags from the trunk of your car and brings them inside the house, dropping them in front of the fridge before knocking on your closed bedroom door.

“What?”

Your voice wavers, regardless of how abrasive you try to make it sound.

“Can I come in?” he requests. His hand rests on the doorknob, waiting for your permission.

From behind the door, he hears you sniffling, but you don’t answer him. Stomach acid starts to bubble up inside his throat. When he knocks on the door again, and you spit, “Oh my god, what? ”

“Do you want me to see if Ang will do dinner a different day?”

“I don’t give a shit what you do, Francisco.”

His eyebrows raise and he blinks at the door, knowing damn well that phrase means exactly the opposite of what you’re asserting. With a small sigh, he pulls out his phone and sends a text to Angie, explaining that his PSO told him the meeting was mandatory, then asks to reschedule.

“Ok, well,” he hollers towards your door from the kitchen, as he unpacks the groceries you just bought, “I’m gonna start making this, then.”

You don’t respond, so he eggs you on further, “Do I defrost some hamburger for the sauce?”

Silence. He grabs a 1-pound chub of ground beef from the freezer and sets it down on the stovetop with a clunk .

“Oh, and for the sauce, do I just add Italian seasoning to the tomatoes and cook it?”

He casts a glance to your closed door. Nothing.

“You put the noodles in uncooked, right? I don’t need to boil them?”

A moment later, the door swings open and you come into the kitchen shaking your head, “I swear to god, Frankie-“

His face breaks out into a satisfied grin and you meet his eyes. Yours are swollen and wet. You fold your arms across your chest.

“I rescheduled with Ang,” he explains, “We’re gonna get together on a different day.”

You nod solemnly, then avert your gaze to the stove and sigh, “You can’t just set frozen meat on there to defrost, it’s gonna bleed all over the place.”

He frowns and shrugs.

“And I got Italian sausage, it’s way better than hamburger in lasagna,” you smirk and raise an eyebrow at him, unfolding your arms to put the frozen chunk of meat back inside the freezer, “Get the saucepan, I’ll show you how to make it.”

“Saucepan?” his forehead wrinkles in confusion.

You snort and shake your head, “Absolutely hopeless.”

“Holy shit,” Frankie groans. The dining room chair squeaks as he stretches out, “That was so good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you flash him a close-lipped smile and push the remaining lasagna around your plate.

Both of you have avoided the open and honest communication Ralph had assigned for as long as possible. Now it’s the only thing left on the agenda. Frankie’s chest tightens as he tries to think of what to say to you. The scrape of your fork against the dinner plate is sandpaper on his spine. It makes his ears itch.

You clear your throat and set your fork down, then turn to him. Your eyes are dull and overcast, lips all puffy and full of color as a result of your anxious biting. He resists the urge to brush his thumb against your cheek and feel your warmth.

A deep breath expands your lungs, then you croak, “I hate that I’m always your backup plan.”

The words hang in the air as they seep into the folds of his brain.

Frankie shifts in his chair. Its squeak breaks the uncomfortable silence in a way that somehow only makes it more unbearable. He was expecting your anger. Bracing for it, really. But this? This vulnerability you volleyed into his court?

It makes his heart pound heavy in his chest. Wriggles between every vertebrae down his spine. Settles in his stomach like lead.

He shakes his head in protest, unable to stop the lie from crossing his lips, “You are not always my backup plan.”

The statement coats his mouth with a slimy residue.

Your shoulders slump as you deflate, eyes glazing over with disappointment. You drop your gaze to study the plate in front of you, chewing on your bottom lip. Then you take another deep breath and push your chair out behind you. You stomp off to your bedroom and slam the door.

He sits for a while in silence, waiting for you to return. When it’s obvious you’re committing to your bedroom isolation, he clears the table and washes the dishes.

While drying his hands on the dish rag over his shoulder, he walks back to your bedroom and holds his ear to the closed door. Sniffling and sobbing cuts through the quiet periodically. His jaw gnashes back and forth as he stands with one knuckle cocked against the door, contemplating whether or not to knock on the door and apologize.

“My name is Frankie and I’m an alcoholic,” Frankie drones. The metal folding chair squeaks as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

The chant echos around the church basement from the circle of his fellow miserable fucks: Hi, Frankie.

“I’m, uh, I’m not sure what to-” he presses his mouth into a flat line and looks to the ringleader, David, for assistance.

Frankie surmises that David could be a middle school principal if he isn’t already. He looks like he once had a full head of short brown hair, but his hairline is now receding and peppered with grays. He’s clean shaven, wearing a white long-sleeved dress shirt, yellow tie, and khaki slacks. His cadence is diplomatic and metered with a southern coastal drawl.

David frowns and crosses his long legs while responding, “You can talk about how long it’s been since you drank, what brings you today, where you’re at in recovery. Whatever you want to get off your chest.”

Frankie raises an eyebrow and rubs a hand over his face, then brings his palms to his thighs where his fingertips thrum nervously, “Ok. Um, well, I haven’t drank in a week and a half. But I want to. It’s all I wanna do, if I’m being honest. Everything is such a shit show right now. I don’t even know where to start. My wife threw me out last week after I was arrested,” he pauses and thinks about that assessment, then tilts his head to the side, “Well, I guess, it’s not really the arrest. The person that I’m staying with, we have a history, and, my wife-” he clamps his mouth shut in frustration. Why can’t he explain this?

“It’s… complicated. Anyway, Two weeks ago, everything was fine, now it’s like my whole world is flipped upside down. I’m out on bail, can’t drink, facing a felony, living with my ex, and my wife is probably filing for divorce. I fucking-” he stops and looks at David, “Sorry, can- can I swear?”

David shrugs, “Go ahead, bud.”

“I fucking hate it. And I have to go to these meetings three times a week, call my PSO every day, always talking about what’s going on in my life and what I’m feeling. Everyone always asking what I’m fucking feeling . And I have no goddamn idea how to answer. I’ve never had to fucking do this before. I fucking hate it, it’s bullshit,” he finishes, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his mouth before one more, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Thank you for sharing,” David nods with a calming smile that surprises Frankie, then looks around the circle, “Who else would like to share?”

While waiting at a bus stop, Frankie stares at the bar across the street. He tries to calculate the odds of him getting drug tested within the next few days.Fuck, it would be good to get lost in a whiskey haze. A small vacation from his mind.

Maybe just one.

The bus roars down the street, right on time, pulling him from the temptation of those neon lights. He stands up off the bench to meet it.

After scanning his bus pass, he searches for a place to plant his ass, settling on a window seat he doesn’t have to share with another person. A lanky, pale twenty-something man sitting in front of him starts digging through a crinkly McDonald’s bag. The deep fat fried scent of french fries wafts back into his face and his stomach growls in protest.

While the city of Kissimmee passes by his window, Frankie wonders what you made for dinner. Whatever it is is probably better than McDonald’s french fries. Even if it’s just leftovers from last night. The past week has reminded him of what a good cook you are.

And, god, he misses his daughter. His house. His truck. His bed. His wife. But to be spending time with you again, shooting the shit while you occupied your hands preparing dinner… It was good. Reminded him of those first few months, after you came out of your shell around him, before he kissed you for the first time.

You hadn’t yet found out that he’s a fuckup. He would talk you into having a beer with him while you cooked. The timid exterior would melt away into the smartass he came to know and love.

Maybe he should have just left you alone. Let you do your job. You would’ve never set up a prepaid calling account so you could accept collect calls from county. He would have never broken your heart.

His stop comes up, so Frankie pulls the cord and gets to his feet. Before he hops off and starts towards your place, he thanks the bus driver. The evening air is soupy hot and he regrets not asking you to just pick him up from the meeting. Although, he never gathered the courage to console you last night, so you probably don’t want to do him any favors.

He walks a few blocks, until the little tangerine orange house comes into view. The weight in his chest settles down further with each step. He wants a drink. He wants to go home. Not this one, though, the real one.

This is fucking bullshit.

Frankie opens the front door to find you curled against the couch, swiping through tinder on your phone as Friends plays idly on the TV. A nonsensical pang of jealousy stabs through his guts when you swipe right on Rory, 32, who’s posing shirtless next to a surfboard. What the fuck kind of a name is Rory, anyway?

“Hey,” he calls to you as he kicks his heavy work boots off onto the shoe tray.

“Hey,” you glance at him through your tortoiseshell glasses, then up at the TV, clicking the phone screen off as you tuck it away under your leg. You’re wearing a pair of floral cotton pajama shorts that have to have just a 1-inch inseam. The swell of your ass peaks out the bottom. Your hard nipples are outlined against your tight gray tank top.

He remembers how soft and warm your skin was against his. The quiet little moans you made when he kissed your neck. The things you would whimper against his mouth you were alone behind locked doors.

“I heated up some lasagna for dinner,” you inform him without looking up.

Frankie glances from the kitchen, to you. He thinks about the way the two of you left off last night, then plops down on the couch, “Listen, um, I wanted to tell you...”

You slide your eyes from the TV to his face, then tilt your head in question.

“I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” he looks down at his hands as they wring together, “And everything that you’ve done for me in the past. You’ve always been just… fuck, so great,” he taps his fingers to his lips and shrugs, “I don’t deserve you.”

The corners of your mouth upturn into a peace treaty, “I appreciate you pulling glass out of my foot.”

“Anytime,” he thrums his fingers against the top of his legs, then turns to you, “I’m getting you LED bulbs, though. Can’t believe you’re still using incandescent. That was your first mistake.”

“Wow, that is the most dad thing you could possibly bitch at me about,” you deadpan, then snort as you turn your attention back to the TV.

“How is it healing up?” he asks, ignoring your comment as he tilts his head at your feet.

“Fine,” you assure him, lifting your foot to show proof.

“Let me see” he hums, wrapping his hand around your foot and pulling it closer for inspection. The gasp of air you intake when he touches you is almost undetectable, but he notes it. Arousal pricks his skin when he realizes he should stop. Those old, familiar sirens start going off in his head again, warning him to proceed with caution.

But you’re sitting there looking absolutely fucking irresistible. It’s killing him. The subtle rumblings of lust in his belly, and in your quiet little gasp, stick to his insides and prod him on further.

“Oh yeah,” he mumbles, running his thumb over the elevated patch of skin that’s now sealed, “Looks way better.”

You start to giggle and pull your foot back. His eyebrows raise and he seizes it, a wide smile transforming his eyes to crescents, “Oh, are you ticklish?”

The pads of his fingers trail up the sole of your foot and you start laughing this fucking champagne laugh, all sparkling and effervescent. You writhe and scoot closer. Your hands fly to his wrist as you whine through your rosy-cheeked laughter, “You know that I am, Frankie!”

And your body is wiggling closer still, and you’re smiling and laughing, squealing breathlessly, “Stop- please stop-”

It’s almost the same cadence as the breathy moans you’ve huffed against his lips countless times, “don’t- don’t stop- ”

You go on the offensive, releasing his wrist so your fingertips can graze against his rib cage. God damn you, the tickle creeps across his ribcage, making him giggle, quickly escalating to a howling laughter when you continue. He lets go of your foot and grabs your hands, pulling them away from his sides, but the onslaught continues when you swing your leg over his lap. Your knees settle on either side of his hips when you wriggle one hand away and go back for more.

Fingertips in his armpit, sending shockwaves of laughter through his body until he throws his head back and his hat falls off. He opens his eyes and you’re straddling him and smiling and laughing, and your gaze catches on his.

Chests heaving, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks, hips pressed together so close that there’s no way you don’t feel how fucking hard he is right now. The urge lingers for just one second before he acts, pressing his lips to yours.

Your sweet, soft lips respond, kissing back with urgency. He abandons his attempts to pull your hands away from his body. Instead, his grasp drops to your waist, pulling you closer. You bring your fingertips to his scalp and rake them through his hair. A shudder rolls down his spine. His hips jerk against yours.

His lips part and your tongue rolls against his, hands cradling his head, pulling his hair into your fists. The power in your kiss tugs at the edges of him. He bites back a moan and tightens his grip on your waist. His hands slide up the shirt clinging to your chest, cupping your breasts, thumbs rolling soft across the hard buds. You gasp in response, but don’t stop kissing him, even when your breath becomes labored and sweet little whimpers bubble from your lips onto his.

You start to grind against him, a sliding scale of pressure along the length of his cock, sending his heart racing and body tingling. You part the kiss to throw your head back and face the ceiling, panting and whining as you rub yourself against the zipper of his jeans. The loss of your lips sends him reeling. He wants to taste you, and brings his mouth to your nipple to fulfill the need.

You moan when his tongue draws wet circles on the hardened bud, and look down to meet his eyes with a smoldering gaze, lips puckered, dragging your fingernails through his hair, nodding down at him enthusiastically, never ceasing the steady rhythm of dry humping. He switches sides to tease the neglected breast, and he can feel your body shudder at the stimulation. Your hand tugs on his, guiding it to your mouth. Soft, humming lips wrap around two thick digits. You rut them in and out of your mouth, dragging moisture out with each thrust, soaking his fingers with your saliva.

He throws his head back against the couch, groaning through gritted teeth as the desire stoked in his abdomen becomes unbearably tedious, “I wanna fuck you, baby, please.”

You take fingers from your mouth, then bring those puffy, swollen lips to his ear and purr, “Then fuck me, Francisco.”

His breath hitches as the command slithers around inside him, sticking to the most primal of instincts and dragging them out to play. He buries his hand in your hair and grabs a fistful, pulling your head back to expose the column of your neck. He drags his tongue up your neck, relishing the salty bite of your sweat, then husks, “Take off your clothes, sweetheart.”

You stand on shaky legs. Both of you pull your clothes off, piling them on the living room floor. Then you climb back onto his lap, knees settling on either side of his hips.

He drinks in your form, eyes drifting up your skin until he meets your gaze. Your lips press against his for a languid kiss as you lower yourself down, tip of his cock dipping into your hot, tight cunt. His head rolls back against the couch, sensitive nerve endings along his length firing on all cylinders you work yourself open, engulfing him inch by inch, breathy moans falling from your lips.

His hands find the soft skin of your hips and he spurs you on, guiding you to roll your hips on his, setting a steady, luscious pace, filling his center with ecstasy with each gentle thrust. He groans, “You’re so fucking tight , holy fuck- Look so fucking good riding me, baby.”

Your eyebrows draw together and you moan at the praise, bpm of your hips increasing just enough to stoke the fire inside and break him out in a sweat. You lean forward to take his lips in a kiss, running your tongue against his, passing whimpers back and forth between your mouths, reveling in the blissful ache of your bodies sliding together.

He runs a hand down between your pumping thighs and starts drawing easy, slick circles around your swollen clit. You respond with a guttural moan, arching your back towards him, hands pressing against his thighs for support as you rut up and down his slippery cock.

“That’s right, sweetheart- Jesus Christ - you feel so fucking good,” Frankie babbles.

Your eyebrows crease together and you look down at him, nodding with your lips pouting into an O as you whimper breathlessly, “So fucking big, you stretch me- can’t take it all- ”

He nods with a moan and undulates his fingers faster now, “You can take it baby, I know you can. You can do it.”

You bite your lip and bury him to the hilt, pulling a choked sob from both of your throats. Ecstasy fills his vision with stars as you find a rhythm sliding your cunt down his shaft until he disappears inside you. He grits his teeth, “Fuck yes- take that cock, baby, just like that-“

Your body starts to quiver and your moans grow more frantic. You fold over and press your lips to his, sloppy and dazed, whimpering, “Fuck me, Frankie, please- give it to me-“

“You want me to give it to you, hmm?” he pants and brings his hands to your hips, digging into the soft skin so hard his knuckles tinge white.

You nod, grabbing onto his shoulders with the same ferocity, then growl, “Fucking give it to me.”

Holding your hips down, thrusting into you deep and hungry, ripping a moan from the back of your throat, he grunts, “Is that what you need, baby?”

An airy whine escapes you and your face contorts with pleasure, “Yes- yes, fuck yes-”

“Sweet girl wants to get fucked hard, is that what you need?” His words surface from the most depraved part of his brain as he sets a brutal pace.

Your beautiful face gets hot and flushed, breath coming in frantic gasps against his mouth, “Fuck yes- fucked hard- you fuck me so good-”

“Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Hmm?” he pants, then groans into a kiss on your lips, wet and heavy, vibrating against him as your body bounces in time with his thrusts.

You nod frantically and your fingers dig into his shoulders deeper. His muscles start to tense as your sounds and movements seem to disappear, just a shattered inhale with your face all twisted up with pleasure. Then your body seizes, quivering and shaking as you release a strangled moan, convulsing around him.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me,” he rasps, not letting up in his tempo as he works you through the orgasm. The tingling spreads at his core, overtaking his body, pushing him over the edge. His hips snap up into you, painting your walls with his cum.

You climb off of him and lay back on the couch, ragged breath and limp noodle body. His head rolls back and his body sinks into the couch as the feel-good chemicals make their way through his system. His heaving chest settles, madness draining from his psyche, replaced by a calmness. When he looks over at you, you meet his dazed smile with pained eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his smile falling into a frown.

You sit up and grab your shorts, shoving your trembling legs in, one after the other, muttering to yourself, “Exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t fucking do.”

“Hey- it’s ok-” he sits up and places a hand on your forearm, which you rip away immediately.

“Don’t- ok? It’s not ok,” you snap, pulling your shirt on. You sniffle and hide your face behind your hair as you frantically search for your phone.

“I won’t tell Ralph-”

“It’s not about that and you fucking know it,” you grind out, then growl, “Where is my fucking phone?!”

He shakes his head as he slides his boxers back on, standing to pull them over his hips, “It’s really not a big deal, sweetheart.”

You throw your hands up in frustration, then stand on your toes, pointing an accusing finger at his face as you yell, “It’s not a big deal to you! That’s exactly what the fucking problem is! You-” your face crumbles and tears well in your eyes. Your shoulders slump and your bottom lip quivers, but you meet his eyes and sob, “You know how I fucking feel, Frankie. And you’ve made it clear that you don’t feel the same way. And I just keep- fuck ,” you lower your face to your hands, drawing shattered breathes.

His chest aches like it’s raw. When he swallows, the muscles in his throat feel swollen and thick. He wants to wrap his arms around you and kiss your tears away. He wants to take back all the times he told you no.

No, I can’t be with you. Not like that. No, I won’t leave her. No, I don’t love you. Not like that.

But he’s not going to do that. It wouldn’t be fair. What he told you was the truth. He can’t do anything about that now.

“Just, forget it. It won’t happen again,” you exhale a shaky sigh and run your hands through your hair, then finally spot your phone under his pants crumpled on the floor.

He says nothing as you snatch it up and walk back to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

“How did your first meeting go?” Ralph asks.

Through the phone line, Frankie can hear him clicking his black pen, and imagines he’s sitting in his tiny white-washed office within the Osceola County Corrections Department, hovering over a notebook with the corded phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.

“I don’t know,” Frankie answers truthfully, “I don’t think I’m like those guys. I really don’t think I have a problem.”

Ralph’s sigh crackles in his ear. The pen clicks again. Frankie thinks then that it’s not a notebook that Ralph is hovering over. It’s a worksheet. A pre-printed worksheet he keeps for every call with his parolees, with little blank spaces typed at the top for Ralph to fill in the name and date. He’ll file this one away in the folder titled Francisco Morales, saving it as proof for how much progress he has or has not made when his court date comes.

“Mr. Morales, do you know what I’m looking at right now?”

Frankie leans back in his office chair and crosses his ankle over his knee, then thrums his fingers against the armrest, “A worksheet?”

Ralph laughs heartily at this, “I do have a worksheet. What else?”

Oh, for fucks sake, what is this?

Frankie’s turn to sigh now, “I don’t know, what?”

“Let me give you a hint: 2015, public intoxication. 2018, felony drug possession and trafficking. 2019, DUI. 2020, public intoxication and assault. 2021, public intoxication and assault-”

Frankie gnashes his jaws together and sits up, then cuts Ralph off, “My record, I get it.”

“How many times a week would you say you use alcohol to alleviate your PTSD symptoms?”

“None, now,” Frank grumbles, tapping his index finger on the desktop.

“Before your arrest, smartass,” Ralph retorts.

“I don’t know, I had a few beers when I got home from work-“

The pen clicks.

“How many beers? Be honest with me.”

“Six or seven, maybe more.”

“And on the weekend?”

“I’d go to the bar and have a few drinks.”

“How-“

“I don’t know, Ralph, enough to have a good time. Eight, maybe? It depends.”

“Would you drive home?”

“Not every time. A friend or my wife would bring me home sometimes. Sometimes I’d walk.”

“Uh huh. And your friend, would that happen to be the woman you’re currently living with?”

“Not… always,” Frankie lied. He remembers all the times he texted you when Angie wouldn’t pick up, when he knew the streets were ripe with police and he couldn’t risk driving home.

“How are things going with her? Did you talk to her about how things left off on Sunday?”

Frankie is silent as he tries to compile the right answer to this question.

“Honestly,” Ralph tacks on to his question.

“I think if I’m honest with you, you’re going to put a stop to all this and send me back to jail,” Frankie admits.

“Are you drinking or using drugs?”

“No.”

“Any other crimes?”

“No.”

“Then try me.”

Frankie gulps and stands up, moving to the corner of the small, empty office he shares with two other aircraft maintenance technicians. He speaks in a hushed tone, “We had sex last night. She said it was… a mistake. And it won't happen again.”

“Uh huh,” Ralph clicks his pen, “And what do you think about it?”

Frankie exhales all the air from his lungs, deflating his shoulders as he shrugs weakly, “I think it was impulsive. I had such a fucking bad day. I wanted to feel good.”

“And did you achieve that by having sex with her?”

“No,” Frankie chuckles to himself, “No, I feel much worse now. I’m a piece of shit.”

“Do you wanna know what I think?”

Click.

Frankie groans, “I don’t know, do I?”

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway,” Ralph declares, clears this throat, then continues, “I think you’re in a hole. But you don’t wanna do anything about it. You don’t acknowledge it, try to get out, or nothing. You want everything to fix itself. Well, guess what, buckeroo? You gotta get out of the damn hole somehow!”

Frankie closes his eyes and his head falls back in exhaustion, “It’s such a fucking mess, though, Ralph.”

“You’re goddamn right it is. But, the good news is, you have help. You have the AA meetings three times a week. And I know you don’t think you have a problem, but just humor me and go along with it. Do the steps. Participate,” his pen clicks once, twice, “You have a friend that has been willing to post bail for you, house you, quit drinking with you, and support you in this journey-”

“And I fucked it up-”

“And you need to start treating her like a person , not a doormat you can stick your dick into. Make it right. You hear me?” Ralph orders.

“Yes, sir.”

Click.

“And, then of course, you get to talk to me every day. And we love our talks, don’t we, Mr. Morales?” Ralph laughs. Frankie grins, but doesn’t respond. Ralph continues, “Next item on the agenda: Wife and daughter- any luck with them?”

“Angie said I could come visit them on Saturday,” Frankie says with a tone of optimism.

“That’s good news! When you see her, see if you can work out a consistent schedule.”

He sighs in response, “I’ll try.”

“Hang in there, kid. It’ll get better. Trust the process.”

When Frankie gets home from work, you’re in the small galley kitchen, hovering above a scratched-up white plastic cutting board as you dice an onion. You hum along to the music playing over your headphones, bobbing your head from side-to-side in time with the rhythm. Blue flames lick the bottom of a stainless steel pan on the gas stovetop.

Swallowing hard, he approaches you and shoves his hands into his front pockets. You don’t see him. His teeth catch the smooth inside of his cheek and bite down. He casts a contemplative glance to the front door, then back to you, before his shoulders slump and he sighs.

Frankie clears his throat as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, “Hey.”

“Jesus Christ -” your body jolts upright, hand darting from the onion to clutch at your heart. You pull the headphones down around your neck and gasp, “You scared the shit out of me!”

Your eyes only meet his for a moment before you blink and drop your gaze to the onion.

“Sorry,” he mutters, then straightens his spine. His eyes wander to the front door again, Adam’s apple bobbing thick in his throat.

You say nothing, just cut the white bulb down the middle, then start to dice the two halves. The sharp chopping sound pulls his attention back to you.

“What’re you making?” he asks, peering down at the saucepan that’s heating a shiny, slick pool of greenish-yellow olive oil.

“Spaghetti.”

He nods in acknowledgement and scratches the stubble on his neck. His mouth flattens into a straight line and he looks down to his feet, “Do… you need help?”

“Is there something you want from me, Frankie?” you snip, shooting a glare at him before you turn your attention back to the onion.

The words he wants to say sit at the end of his tongue but they won’t leave his mouth. His jaw clenches, as if he’s subconsciously holding them prisoner.

You lift the cutting board and hold it above the shiny hollow of the pan. The paring knife scrapes against the rough plastic and pushes the diced onion into the oil. Steam hisses from the pan up into your face. You turn around, take two steps towards the kitchen sink, then toss the cutting board and knife into the basin.

Its clatter ricochets off the walls and makes him wince.

You spin around to face him with your arms crossed, eyebrows arched in annoyance, “Fine. Get the hamburger out of the fridge.”

The onions sizzle and pop from inside the pan. Without hesitation, he nods and pushes himself off the counter, then retrieves the meat from the refrigerator, unrolling it from the butcher’s paper. He plops it in the middle of the saucepan, earning a loud hiss from the oil.

You return with a pot of salted water and start the burner beneath it. Your arm brushes up against his and you both recoil at the contact like as if touched by a livewire. You take a sideways step, increasing the proximity between your bodies.

Tension hangs in the air like a noxious gas. Frankie’s skin feels exposed and raw in its presence. He peaks over at you and mutters, “I’m sorry for last night.”

You don't respond. You don't move. For a brief moment, he thinks maybe you’re not even breathing.

Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the ground beef around the pan, then clears his throat and sighs, “We shouldn’t have, um… I mean, I shouldn’t have, y’know…”

You blink and cross your arms in front of your chest, “Are you done?”

A red, hot wave of frustration creeps up his spine and starts to boil in his chest. His jaw cocks to one side and his eyes flick to yours, “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Like you don’t care.”

“Maybe I don’t,” you shrug and avert your gaze to the linoleum tile.

“Yeah, ok,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

You huff and throw your hands in the air, “So I’m supposed to have feelings but you don’t have to?”

“I don’t not have feelings for you,” he states. His stomach flips as the admission comes out in the open.

Your brow furrows and you tilt your head, then look up at him, searching his face.

“But… I don’t know, I don’t think we can be… more than this. Roommates. At least not right now,” he admits. Your gaze drops to the floor again.

You’re silent for a moment, then nod, “I think you’re right.”

Bubbles start to rise to the surface of the salted water. Frankie stirs the ground beef around the pan, flipping it to reveal gray-brown crumbles.

The two of you sit there for a beat, both contemplating whether or not to explain your reasoning. Both of you wonder the reasoning behind the other’s conclusion.

“You want me to season this?” Frankie asks eventually.

You nod, “Yes, please.”

[ Next Chapter ]

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effervescent-fool · 2 years

Text

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

thanks @cricketfucker for tagging me!

Three ships: midam, dirtlive, and im starting to get into byler

First ever ship: fuck if i can remember. the earliest one that comes to mind is merthur (merlin/arthur) but im sure there were earlier ones

Last song: Fallling Up (Live) - Will Wood

Last movie: dude fuck if i know. i dont really watch movies but i did do a lotr rewatch recently. i have the extended editions too so they were each like 4 hours lmfao

Currently reading: rereading the wheel of time. trying to finish it before the new season comes out (so i have plenty of time)

Currently watching: stranger things! started watching two days ago and am already half way through s3.

Currently consuming: froot loops jumbo snax + sprite because :( tummy hurt

Currently craving: KFC chicken

tagging @bethiewhimsy @mychemicalnations @lee-the-fool @hawaiipart-ii @portalford-hasadeathray @tornadodyke and anyone else who'd like to join. sorry i cant remember peoples urls like ever </3

149 notes · View notes

katestrophes · 7 months

Text

birthday blues

sfw mista x fem reader

description: your birthday comes and goes every year, but mista is determined to show you that you deserve to be celebrated.

wc: 3.4k

ao3

tags: fem reader, fluff, birthday blues, teeniest tiniest allusions to depression, mista being a sweetie

a/n: i wrote this on ao3 forever ago and i wanted to get back into fanfic writing, so i decided to post this here!! overall it’s a bit cheesy but i thought it was cute lol enjoy!

A familiar feeling crept over you when you woke up this morning. Dread, anxiety, and overall lousiness clouded your mind. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, taking some of the anxiety along with it. While you wiped the sleep away from your eyes, the dark emotions in your chest indicated that it’s just one of those days where you knew it wasn’t going to be a good day.

It was your birthday.

You scrolled through TikTok for about twenty minutes to procrastinate getting out of bed. Although the entertainment certainly distracted you, it wasn’t enough to remedy your ailing heart, and you decided it was time to face the music and actually get on with your day sooner rather than later. You had no plans for today. You never did. You don’t know if you preferred it that way, or if that’s just how your more recent birthdays came to be, but that’s just how it goes.

After a quick shower, you ate a hearty and nutritious breakfast of Lucky Charms on the couch. Today called for a good lounging around. The rest of the morning was spent sitting on the couch, switching back and forth between whatever was on TV and whatever game you had on your phone until around eleven thirty, when you heard a familiar knock on your door.

“Come oooon!” The voice outside the door yelled out. “Let me in!”

You emitted a soft groan before dragging your feet across the floor to your front door, and despite your foul mood, you couldn’t help but feel giddy and warm as the sight before you when you opened it. At the door was Mista, dressed casually in a graphic t-shirt with shorts and flip flops. It was much more appropriate for the hot weather compared to his normal tiger print jeans and sweater and beanie. His signature dopey grin was even wider than usual when his eyes landed on you and immediately pulled you into a hug.

“Happy birthday!” He said so loud it could almost pass as a scream. His arms enveloped you and practically squeezed you before he plants a giant kiss on your temple. He let you go and continued to smile wildly as you properly returned the hug.

“Thank you.” You replied softly, relishing in Mista’s embrace. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here? It’s your birthday!” He said with that same grin on his face. “I’m not letting you spend today moping on the couch eating Froot Loops.”

“Actually it was Lucky Charms.” You mumbled to yourself.

Mista chuckled good naturedly. “My point exactly. Now go get dressed, I’m taking you out. And don’t argue with me!”

“Fine, fine!” You didn’t have it in you to protest or argue. “What’s the dress code?”

“Cute and sexy!”

“Mista…”

He laughed at himself before he replied with a serious answer. “Casual, don’t worry. I know you don’t like going out out.”

With a proper answer, you wandered into your bedroom and went through your clothes, deciding what to wear. Though you weren’t too fond of celebrating your birthday, you were still looking forward to a nice day out with Mista. You dug through your closet before deciding to wear a linen sundress with comfy sandals.

Mista was sitting on your living room couch when you walked out of your bedroom, scrolling through social media on his phone. The second he heard your bedroom door open, he turned around to get a glimpse of you and let out an adorably obnoxious wolf whistle.

“Look at you! ” He said boisterously. He rose from the couch and wandered towards you and grabbed your hand, holding it high in the air. “Do a spin for me!” You chuckled as you timidly spun in a circle while holding Mista’s hand, giving him a shy smile when you finished. In return, he grabbed onto his heart with his free hand and tossed his head back, looking positively smitten with you.

“Are you sure it isn’t my birthday?” He asked with a familiar flirty goofy cadence in his voice.

“Oh, shush,” You rolled your eyes and smiled up at him. “You’ve seen me wear this like, a hundred times.”

“Okay, and you look good in it every single time, your point?” Mista chided. He was too flirtatious for his own good, and he knew how you reacted to his remarks. The heat on your cheeks became unbearable, and of course there was no use hiding it from your boyfriend. He smiled and bent down to kiss either of your blushing cheeks before grabbing your hand and heading toward the door.

Your day out was actually pretty laid back. The opposite of what you were expecting, considering how extroverted and adventurous Mista is. It started with a small lunch at your favorite hole in the wall not too far from the center of town. The day continued as any other quiet date with Mista normally would, except with the extra emphasis that he would not let you forget that today is about you, and that you could do whatever you wanted to do, his treat.

You were never privy to nightlife or any type of atmosphere like a bar or club. They always overwhelmed you, and Mista knew that. He does enjoy a good nightclub or night out at the bar from time to time, but he never subjected you to it. Instead, all of your outings were usually more laid back and quiet. Once upon a time, Mista would’ve said that that was boring, lame even. But eventually, he grew to like spending quiet nights with you. He started to find them intimate and special, a ritual that only the two of you had, which was meaningful to him. He came to the conclusion that it wasn’t the quietness he started to grow on him, but the look on your face during these sweet moments.

After lunch, Mista took you to the center of town to a local flea market/street fair by the boardwalk. He knew you had been eyeing to go for a while. With the end of summer drawing nearer, he figured now would be a perfect opportunity to take you. The flea market was adorable, and you wanted to take the chance to get a good look at every stall available. You were in your own little world, oohing and ahhing at everything the market had to offer. Despite your protests, Mista bought you everything you glanced at for even more than a second. He even snuck in a bouquet of your favorite flowers while you weren’t looking.

The flea market started to close up shop for the night, which coincidentally happened to be around the same time the street fair came to life. Of course, Mista just had to win you one of those gigantic stuffed animals. With a cocky grin and snicker, he managed to shoot every toy duck in the row, surprising even the game attendant. He happily held onto all of his winnings while you meandered onto the ferris wheel. The ride was about as clichè as you could expect, but charming and adorable nonetheless as Mista pulled you in for a soft kiss, whispering another happy birthday as you reached the top.

Moonlight soon shrouded the earth around you, and you realized you really had quite spent all day out with Mista. You were famished from an exciting day out, and your boyfriend was too. Deciding to stay in the street fair spirit, dinner consisted of food stand hot dogs and french fries with a large soda. The perfect meal to top off an incredible day.

At last, the day ended with a night stroll along the beach, hand in hand with your lover. After a long while, you stopped to soak in the sound of the waves crashing and the smell of the sea salt air. You really, truly did have a perfect day and you didn’t want it to end. Deciding to soak in the last few hours of your birthday, you sat down on the warm sand beneath you, leaning back and overlooking the ocean. Mista followed your cue and sat right alongside you.

“Isn’t it so beautiful?” You softly spoke aloud, gazing out towards the sea.

“Hm. Gorgeous.” Mista grumbled back, looking at you. You turned to face him and didn’t have it in you to make a quippy comeback. Instead you just breathed a light chuckle and leaned your head onto his shoulder as your hand wandered over to his, linking fingers.

“Thank you.” You mutter out. “For today. It was sweet.” You smile bashfully before sighing. “I…you didn’t have to do all that for me. But I appreciate you, nonetheless.”

Mista spoke your name before lifting his head off of yours and turning to face you. “I wanted to treat you and make you feel special for your birthday. You deserve all of that and more.” He unlinked his hand from yours only to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. “Hell, I’d give you the world if you so asked for it. Anything.” He turned his head slightly to kiss the crown of your head. You only hummed in response and continued to sit in peaceful silence, overlooking the moon on the horizon for a few moments before Mista finally spoke his mind.

“You don’t have to answer this,” he spoke softly while rubbing his hand in smooth circles along your side. “But…your birthday. How come you don’t like celebrating?”

You’ve been in an amorous relationship with Mista for the better part of a year, as well as being friends for even longer before that. Throughout the years, you just never liked to make a big deal about your birthday. In the past, Mista would have just shrugged it off and wouldn’t think twice about it. But now that you were in a relationship, it was different.

You breathed a heavy sigh, in through your nose and out through your mouth before responding. “Just…birthday blues I guess. It’s no big deal.”

“Okay,” Mista replied, continuing to gently caress your side. “Do you wanna talk about it?” I mean, I know I’m the chatterbox in the relationship but, I’ll always listen to whatever you have to say. You know that right?”

“I know.” You spoke softly with a gentle smile on your face. You reached over to grab Mista’s free hand and kissed the back of it before continuing to speak.

“It’s hard to explain,” you started. “But I guess it all boils down to my own self-esteem. You know?” You paused for a moment before finding the correct words. “Like, the idea of celebrating a birthday, a whole day for celebrating a person …” You blinked rapidly as you felt moisture build up in your eyes. “I just don’t feel like I’m worth celebrating. Like, all the pomp and circumstance for what? For me? ” A weak chuckle escaped your lips while you used your free hand to wipe away stray tears near your eyes. “Nah, I’m not special enough for that.”

You sniffled quietly but made no attempt to quiet yourself. Mista only continued to hold you, now cushioning you against his chest as he stroked your hair while you weakly sniffled into his shirt. He pressed his face into your head, kissing you there and rocking you back and forth while you continued to speak and let all of your emotions out.

Mista waited until your tears calmed down enough before he spoke your name. “Baby…” He sighed before he continued. You weakly mumbled, indicating that you were listening.

“God,” Mista chuckled before sighing again. “If only you could see yourself the way I do.” The hand that was stroking your hair made its way back to your side, caressing you. “Listen, I…I’m not a ‘words guy,’ but let me try.” You heard an audible gulp reverberate throughout his body while he took the time to collect his thoughts.

“You are the sweetest, most thoughtful, kind-hearted person I know. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so adamant and enthusiastic about putting the shopping cart back in the corral, helping old people cross the street, recycling your bottles and cans instead of just throwing them away, all that good stuff.” He laughed a bit while you smiled, still burying your face in his shirt.

“Everything you do and say just…has so much thought and kindness behind it. You inspire me to be a better person for you, because you deserve the absolute best.” He paused to stroke your hair. “The world is full of awful people. Absolute assholes. Trust me, I deal with them on a daily basis. Those people? They don’t deserve birthdays. They don’t deserve to be celebrated. But you? You’re special. Even more special than the average person. Not only would you not hurt a fly, but you’d probably like, take it to a doctor if you accidentally injured one or something.” He laughed at the thought, knowing it’s not something completely out of character for you. “You’re good. You’re too good. Too precious. For me, for the world, for anyone. Baby, you’re worth your weight in gold and then some.” He kissed your temple several times while his words simmered into your brain for a moment.

“You probably don’t realize this, but every time I’m out with my friends and you meet up with us later, everyone is just…happier. Your presence alone it’s just so calming and inviting, even Fugo calms down about twenty notches when you walk into the room. You literally light up the room.” Mista smiled to himself and brought your curled up figure a bit closer to him, squeezing you in a tight hug. “When I first told them we were a thing, all the guys thought I was kidding. When they finally realized that I wasn’t, they all basically asked me the same thing. ‘How did you get with her? You’re so you, and she’s so pretty, and nice, and sweet,’ blah blah blah. They still think that sometimes, I’m pretty sure.”

In between pauses, you finally spoke up. “The first time you brought me around, Abbacchio asked me if I was there against my will and to blink twice if I needed help.”

Mista threw his head back and let out a good, belly rumbling laugh, loud enough to make even you chuckle. “Oh, that asshole. That’s funny, though.”

“They all tell me to let them know if they need to keep you in check.” You chuckled again, imagining Mista at the mercy of his friends.

“Heh. Yeah, sounds about right.” Mista hummed as he kissed the crown of your head. “Because baby, it’s so plain to see, you’re such a special person. Even my dumbass friends can see that.” With careful hands, he peels you off of his chest and tilts your chin to face him. Your face was red and your nose was stuffy, evidence you were just crying. His thumbs delicately wiped away any stray tears lingering on your cheeks and looked you in the eyes. His gaze was so strong, it was overwhelming. He looked like he was about to burst, overtaken with his adoration for you.

“Oh, sweet girl.” Mista mused, getting a bit emotional himself. “If only you could see you we all see you. How I see you. Then you’d know how special you are. How absolutely lovable you are.” His own eyes became a bit misty, but he made no effort to deter the small tear falling down his face. “You deserve to be celebrated every single day. Even more so today.” He smiled brightly as he leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead, your nose, either of your cheeks, and then onto your lips. “As long as I’m alive, I’ll always always tell you how special you are. To me and everyone else with the privilege of knowing you.” A second tear fell from his eye, yet his hands remained on your face, holding you like you’re his entire world. “I love you. So much.”

Your heart felt like it was exploding as you became overwhelmed with emotions. Immediately, you started to cry again, but with happy tears. “I love you too.” You muttered back quietly. You leaned in and caressed Mista’s face back as you two exchanged a long, meaningful kiss.

Mista was the first to break the kiss as he took his arms and embraced you again, kissing the crown of your head before pulling you into a warm hug. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He wiped his face to get rid of his tears and reached into one of the bags from the flea market. He pulled out a small pastry box and opened it for you. “Ta-da!” He said, making you both laugh. In the box was a small cupcake, your favorite flavor with your favorite icing on top with some cutesy decorations.

“When did you get this?” You chuckled and met Mista’s eyes.

He shrugged yet continued to smile like the lovable dope he is. “Nowhere special. Just from the flea market earlier today.” As you held the cupcake, Mista returned to dig through the bag looking for something else. While he wasn’t looking, you took a peak at the logo on the box the pastry came in. Your favorite bakery. “Nowhere special” your ass.

Mista’s search through the bag proved to be triumphant as he pulled out a singular birthday candle, which you noted also happened to be your favorite color. He placed the candle in the middle of the cupcake and you stared at him in awe. “You really are adorable, you know that?” You gleamed.

“Nah, I’m a big tough guy, you got that?” Mista smiled as he kissed your forehead. “A big tough guy who just happens to love to do anything to see his girl smile. Now come on, birthday girl. I got a song to sing.” You smiled brightly as he pulled out a lighter and lit the singular candle. He sang happy birthday with a smile on his face and cheered when you blew out the candle.

“What did you wish for?” He inquired with those annoyingly cute puppy dog eyes.

“I knew you would ask that! It’s bad luck to tell.” You laughed as you took a small bite from your cupcake.

“Fine,” Mista rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue without any malice. “You’re no fun.” He watched you dig into a bit of your cupcake before you offered him a bit, and he took it after you finally persuaded him to take a bite.

“You.” You said, shyly.

Mista’s eyebrows raised and he replied with his mouth full. “What about me?”

“That’s what I wished for.” You bashfully replied, struggling to meet his gaze. “Just…I wished to be with you. For a long time.”

His eyes went as wide as dinner plates. His smile was as bright as the sun. He gently placed the rest of the cupcake in the rest of the box and grabbed your cheeks and kissed you literally all over your face before pecking your lips.

“Babe!” Mista laughed. “What a stupid wish. I’m not going anywhere! Never, ever.”

“You really mean it?” You giggled while Mista was still peppering your face with kisses that tasted extra sweet thanks to the frosting.

“Absolutely.” He smiled, pulling you into a hug.

Before long, you two were in your original position, with your back leaning against Mista’s chest. Except this time, instead of him holding you while you two looked out to the sea, he played with the ends of your hair.

“So…” Mista started as he attempted to braid a strand of hair. “I was thinking…for your birthday next year…”

“Oh my god, don’t .” You laughed. “That’s a whole year away. Let’s enjoy the present.” You turned your head to kiss Mista’s cheek.

“Okay.” Mista replied as he continued playing with your hair. After about another minute, he gave up and pulled you against him. “Happy birthday, baby. I’m so glad you were born, and I’m so lucky I get to be yours. I love you so much.”

You pulled away from him only to turn around so you could face him. “Thank you, baby. Thank you for making this birthday so special. I love you so much.”

Over the next hour, you and Mista overlooked the ocean making idle chat. Once the sun finally came down, Mista walked you back to your place hand in hand. Although you preferred your space, you invited him to spend the night with you. The remaining hours of your birthday were spent in bed cuddling with your lover with a good movie, falling asleep in his arms.

#jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #guido mista #jjba mista #mista #mista x reader #jjba x reader

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lannisterdaddyissues · 1 year

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tag game

thanks for the tag @saengak!! these are some good questions!!

name: mar

pronouns: she/her

where do you call home? a little place i like to call "east california"

favorite animal: CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS CAAAAAAAATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

cereal of choice: peobably a toss-up between life and froot loops tbh

are you a visual, auditory, or kinesthetic learner? i am one of those infuriating-to-work-with people because i am physically incapable of doing something unless i am instructed visually, aurally, and THEN kinesthetically in that order. twice

first pet: cat, naturally <3

favorite scent: i never look at the labels on candles when i sample them, but i think i like lavender?

do you believe in astrology: that stuff makes no sense to me whatsoever, congratulations or sorry that happened

how many playlists do you have on spotify/apple music? several of them are just my family members' playlists but i regularly use 3 playlists and then i have about 3 more that i play every once in a while when i get bored of the same songs

sharpies or highlighters? highlighter supremacy!! neon color supremacy!!

song that makes you cry? old soul by saint motel :,)

song that makes you happy? the riddle by gigi d'agostino!

and finally, do you write/draw/create? i haven't written anything in a while but i guess i do! i don't draw though

tagging @deanwinchestersfloralwallpaper @blueisglueredisdead @awkwxrdapple @nicejobkid @doodledraw @ladywaffles @ilsastrenchcoat @airlocksandaviaries @redbelles @starryinspace @taeminsairpods @faeratil @browneyeslouis @waterandsilver @wasp-coffee @brendaonao3 and anyone else who wants to!

#tag game #saengak #mutual

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artknifeandglue · 1 year

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WIP Whatever-day!

Because this piece has taken so much work today that I now have a headache, and sharing (the suffering) is caring. Have an excerpt from the first draft, y'all.

Tagging @lovingherwasgay because we are both suffering with exams in various ways lol

---

Over eggs and bacon one morning, Harry lowers the newspaper in front of him and looks at the chipped mug of coffee by Eggsy’s plate, horribly out of place with the words HANDS OFF MY MUG, YOU CUNT plastered across the side in stark contrast to the bone china of Harry’s teacup. Plodding footsteps echo from the staircase and down the hallway into the dining room as he takes stock of the things that don’t belong to him but have surfaced in his home anyway: a coat in the wrong size on the hook by the doorway; the pair of oxfords not in his size sitting by the shoe cabinet where their owner leaves them every single time despite Harry’s near-daily reminders to put them away; the box of absurdly sweet breakfast cereal with no nutritional value whatsoever, perched proudly next to the coffee machine as though that space was never empty; the second toothbrush by the bathroom sink where there was only one before; the sleepy brunette currently padding into the dining room, rubbing his eyes and colliding with the doorframe on his way in, still in his pyjamas with his hair sticking up at odd angles. Instead of all of this making his head spin, the realisation settles into a quiet sort of clarity, as though this is how it ought to be.

Still, Harry waits until the end of breakfast, when Eggsy’s coffee has disappeared from the mug, his plate is empty, and all that is left of his cereal is a lonely blue Froot Loop sitting at the bottom of the bowl, surrounded by a few spoonfuls of milk tinted an unappealing colour by copious amounts of food colouring. As Eggsy scoops it up with his spoon, Harry bites the bullet and asks, “How do you feel about moving in?”

The spoon pauses on its way to Eggsy's mouth, a drop of milk dangling dangerously and threatening to fall onto the placemat. Harry drops his gaze to his own nearly-empty plate, cutting the last mushroom into half and spearing it on his fork just to give him something to do in the unbearable silence. A second passes, and then he ends up being the one to break it anyway. “Of course, you don’t have to if you would like to remain-”

“Yes,” Eggsy cuts in, and Harry looks up in time to see his shocked expression give way to a delighted grin. “Obviously yes, Harry, I want to.”

Relief and joy swell in Harry’s chest, too much and just perfect and crowding out almost all speech except the words I love you. “Excellent,” he manages to say when his throat finally unsticks. “Will you need help with your things?”

“Nah. Haven’t got that much to pack, and I can get Rox to help. She’s been offering for ages.” Eggsy tips the last bit of cereal and milk directly into his mouth and swallows. “Can I bring my stuff over tomorrow?”

“You can do as you like,” Harry points out, “since it’s now also your house. You live here.” With me, he wants to add, horribly sentimental as it is. You live here with me.

“Sweet. Thank you, Harry.” Eggsy is smiling again, this one beatific and soft and gentle, the way he smiles only when they are alone. What Harry wouldn’t give to keep that smile, to keep Eggsy like that forever, bright and brilliant and happy.

He shelves the thought, because now isn’t the time for impassioned declarations of love. “I’m glad you’re open to it,” he answers instead.

“Open to waking up next to you every morning for the rest of my life? Fuck yeah.” Eggsy’s chair scrapes against the floor as he gets up, now-empty bowl stacked neatly atop his plate as he carries his dishes to the kitchen sink. As he passes Harry’s chair, he leans down for a quick kiss, leaving on Harry’s lips the faint taste of sugar and artificial fruit and in Harry’s chest the fierce warmth of love.

Every morning for the rest of their lives. What a prospect.

#kingsman #harry hart #eggsy unwin #hartwin #fic #how to word

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driftershunt · 1 year

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tag game

tagged by @transrjmacready , thanks buddy!! name: ethan pronouns: he/him where do you call home?: not totally comfortable answering this so i'll skip LOL favourite animal: KIND OF BASIC but cheetahs!! they're awesome, i adore all the little cat noises they make cereal of choice: FROOT LOOPS visual, auditory, or kinesthetic learner: visual! first pet: my first pets were a group of goldfish! favorite scent: mint or vanilla! do you believe in astrology: nope! the astrology bots on twitter are funny though, i like reading about my zodiac sign how many playlists do you have on your music service of choice: probably like . 5 but the only one i use regularly is a playlist of all of tswift's songs, totally very normal about her sharpies or highlighters: highlighters !!

song that makes you cry: i don't really cry at songs but 'Soon You'll Get Better' by Taylor Swift breaks my heart, 'Safe and Sound' (also tswift) almost made me cry once song that makes you happy: 'Speak Now' by tswift !! and finally, do you write/draw/create: i draw a lot and i write occasionally <3

tagging: @twelverriver @avianii @lilworker @oneiricgarden @timtamtomcruise @tvheit @lycaeons @k9effect @blueisglueredisdead @sillyism + anyone who wants to!

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ladytauria · 1 year

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tagged by @almostbutnotdeadenough. thank you~

Name

I use Tauria in fandom spaces mostly! But I also go by Livvy, which is the penname I plan to publish under~

Pronouns

she/her!

Where do you call home?

My grandparents’ house, where I live lol

Favorite Animal

Dragons. I don’t really have a fave IRL animal, tho—but when ppl ask I usually default to cats and/or whales.

Cereal of Choice

I go back & forth depending on cravings. Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Froot Loops, Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa Pebbles, Raisin Bran, Strawberry Awake, & Honey Bunches of Oats are my main rotations~ (Though, I usually buy the off-brand versions.)

Visual, Auditory, or Kinesthetic learner -

Visual & Kinesthetic. I’m terrible with auditory instructions, but show me some clear examples & then let me try/fail through them myself & I’m good.

First Pet

A calico cat named Cali, or a black lab named Honey. I don’t remember which came first, lol.

Favorite Scent

🤔 Hmm… It depends on what it’s for! I like candles with spicier scents, like cinnamon. For lotions I’m partial to vanilla or coconut. Cleaners… citrusy scents tend not to bother me too much? I also like the smell of mint, in general.

The one thing I DO know is I don’t like the smell of lavender xD Tastes okay, though.

Do you believe in astrology?

No. I think it’s fun, though, & I like using it for character building.

How many playlists on Spotify/Apple music?

My main music app has 169 playlists. Some have been ported to my Spotify, which has 68 playlists, several of which need to be culled because I only made them for the “suggested songs” pages. & now I know of a website that does it better, lol.

Sharpies or highlighters?

Sharpies.

Song that makes you cry:

Hold On - Chord Overstreet.

Song that makes you happy:

Many xD But atm: She’s Pretty - Beth McCarthy

Do you write/draw/create?

Yes. I write~ And I draw a little, sometimes. Usually just maps, tho. I also like to play around with typography, moodboards, etc. But mostly I just write xD

No pressure tag… @hardlycats ; @bi-bats ; @candra-hearts ; & @the-alice-of-hearts.

#tag game #tauriatalks

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mangotarot · 1 year

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Community-building Tag Game

Tagged by: @teaboot (thanks so much!)

Name: Call me Mango!

Pronouns: he/him

Where do you call home?

Pacific Northwest Baybeeeeee

Favorite animal: I'm gonna do this one by category

- Bugs: Moths, Atlas Moth most favorite

- Rodents: rats!! Cute fur beans

- Dogs: I love Pitties

- Cats: Orange tabby, and tortoise shells

- large mammal: Bear

- birds: hummingbirds (roufus specific, love em all tho)

- pet fish: goldfish

- not pet fish: coelacanth

- amphibians: axolotl!! Love the banana boys and wild type best, so cute and fun

Cereal of choice:

I like like cinnamon life, Lucky charms, and froot loops most.

Are you a visual, auditory, or kinesthetic learner?

Bit of it all, actually. I usually follow these steps:

- watch it done

- guided steps

- try on my own

- repeat as necessary

First pet:

My dad's black lab/chow mix! He helped me learn to walk haha.

Favorite scent:

This is incredibly specific but the smell of my dog's forehead. You know that thing about parents loving the smell of their baby's head, a sense of calm and dopamine releases, and everything is right with the world because of that one scent? I get that when I set my head against my dog's and I smell her head.

Do you believe in astrology?

Yes and no. Do I think there's some cool coincidences about it? Hell yeah. Do I believe that this kind of magic can be powerful? Absolutely. Will I base my beliefs about relationships, compatibility with other humans, be it romantic or platonic, on what arbitrary star they were born under? Fuck no.

How many playlists do you have on Spotify/Apple Music?

None I hate Spotify and Apple products. Got a boatload on YouTube tho.

Sharpies or highlighters?

Sharpies, all the way. I don't care for highlighters, they hurt my eyes and I spend more time thinking "God this sucks to read" than actually reading it.

A song that makes you cry:

I don't cry at songs. The last song that made me cry tho was Clare De Lune, back in 2009. I heard it playing somewhere in the woods, while it was raining, and I don't know who or what was playing it because I only heard it echoing through the trees. I was going through some shit, and it was so beautiful, it gave me peace for a second and it felt like I'd been seen for the first time in years.

A song that makes you happy:

- Our Love by Curtis Harding

- I Think I Like When It Rains by WILLIS

- Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier

- Boys by Lizzo

- I Am Steve by Hey Steve

And finally, do you write/draw/create? if so, use this as an opportunity to shamelessly (😉) promote yourself!

I do it all! My degree is in art, actually. Lately I've done most of my work when I can't sleep, but I try to do something creative every single day.

Nominations (sorry I'm anxious to tag non-mutuals so its all mutuals, you super dont have to if you dont want to btw): @kiibsterarts @peaceful-roadkill @edubenart @ anyone who'd like to!! Tag me if you see mine and do this, I'd love to see it!

#tag meme #tag game #mango says stuff

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daredvssy · 1 year

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Get to Know Me Tag

Thank you for tagging me @blueghoul <3

Share your wallpaper:

The last song you listened to: Tentative- System of a Down

Currently reading: I've actually be re-reading The Hunger Games during my commute lately! Really enjoying it.

Last movie: uhhhh I rewatched Scream 4 recently?

Craving: nothing specific but i AM really stoned and I have taco bell on the way

What are you wearing right now: pajama pants and a sweater from my college

How tall are you: 5’8"

Piercings: my earlobes + my septum :)

Tattoos: I have tattoos on both forearms- one is of a silent princess from breath of the wild, the other is of the jedi order symbol

Glasses? Contacts?: I have glasses that I do not wear and I really dont need them tbh

Last drink: water

Last show: The Rehearsal

Last thing you ate: froot loops at breakfast time lol

Favorite color: blue! and maybe purple

Current obsession: Ghost.

Unrelated obsession: I have been obsessed with star wars since I was 8 years old

Any pets: 3 dogs, but last month one of my dogs and my rabbit passed away so it used to be more

Do you have a crush on anyone: nah thank god fr

Favorite fictional character: Matt Murdock

The last place you traveled to: haven't been anywhere cool since I went to Cuba in 2020

no pressure tags: @stressghoul @morikotto @chapel-of-rizztual @arobedo @adoraa-ble @sound-overlord

#tag game #for fun :)

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zackcollins · 2 years

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Hi Robbie! You are currently in danger of spreading positivity✨ before you is your answering asks option! If you answer this ask with 5 things that make you happy, and then send this challenge to the last 10 people who reblogged from you, you will spread positivity!

Okay, so. I saw this in my desktop notifications and all it showed was “Hi Robbie! You are currently in danger of...” And when I tell you I panicked a little before clicking to see what it actually was. So, yeah. Fuck Tumblr for giving me unneeded anxiety.

Anyways.

1. Zack Collins

2. My dogs

3. Sports (it really depends on the day though lmfao)

4. Video games

5. My friends

Thank you for this but good lord did I hate that notification LOL

#this ask is from donttelltheelff at tumblr productions and directed at robin #mutuals #thank you taylor!!#i appreciate this #even if tumblr scared the crap outta me for no reason #froot loop friends tag #r.t. interacts with friends #not sports #not mash #about r.t.

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yeah-all-of-it · 3 years

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Thanks so much for the tag, @arrowflier! I actually don’t think I’ve been tagged in anything before so, woohoo!

1. Why did you choose your url?

It’s multi-faceted. The fruit rounds part is for the consistent existence of generic Froot Loops in the Gallagher kitchen over the years, and Ian’s love of them. The freedom part is partially from Outlander (“Freedom and Whiskey gang thegither.”) and partially because of the freedom Mickey found being with Ian (“Ian, what you and I have makes me free.”)

2. Any side blogs?

Nope

3. How long have you been on tumblr?

I lurked for a long time under some generic url before deciding to start actually creating and writing and interacting. But only a few months altogether.

4. Do you have a queue tag?

I... don’t know what that is.🥴

5. Why did you start your blog?

After binging Shameless for the first time in late 2020, I was searching online for Shameless and Ian/Mickey content and discussion and came across some beautiful gifs that got me hooked. No one I know in real life watches this show so I was basically looking for people who shared this common interest with me to create, dissect, and discuss the show. I enjoy connecting with people who have similar interests and this seemed like a great place to do that.

6. Why did you choose your pfp?

The border scene is such a beautiful moment (especially since we know it’s not really the end). It’s beautiful both in its content and it’s just so aesthetically pleasing. I added a Sheila quote which has nothing to do with Gallavich in canon but I feel like it so perfectly fits Ian and Mickey’s relationship.

7. Why did you choose your header?

Fruit rounds, obviously.🥣

8. What’s your post with the most notes?

Definitely this one. It’s one of my favorite gif sets I’ve made because I live for Cam and Noel goofing around and making each other laugh. (ETA: I feel the need to clarify that I don’t “stan” them. I know they are heterosexual irl, I just love their friendship. I’ve seen some creepy stuff out there from people wanting them to be a couple and I just want to state I am not one of those people, lol. Over-explaining and rambling is also a toxic trait of mine, I’m sorry.😬)

9. How many mutuals do you have?

I don’t know how to find this out?

10. How many followers do you have?

I’m going to go along with everyone else and not share but it’s a number that I’m pleased with given my mediocre content😂

11. How many people do you follow?

41, I think? I’ve been trying to follow a few new blogs each week because there is so much great content out there but I get overwhelmed easily, lol

12. Have you ever made a shitpost?

I don’t think so? I’ve ranted a time or two and I don’t know if that counts or not. So maybe?

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

Probably too much considering I have kids, but they’re in that angsty pre-teen “we spend all of our time in our rooms and don’t want to hang out with Mom” phase so I have some time.🤷🏻‍♀️

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

No. I am extremely non-confrontational, even online and would probably break out into hives if someone tried to engage in an argument or was hateful with me. I try really hard to keep things nice and kind so hopefully that’ll never be a problem.

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, but it’s not likely something I would do.

16. do you like tag games?

Yes!

17. do you like ask games?

Also yes!

18. which of your mutuals do you think are tumblr famous?

Not sure what constitutes Tumblr famous? But I do know I see a lot of @mickeygifs stuff outside of Tumblr; does that count? Don’t think they are a mutual, which is totally cool but I stand by this statement, lol

I’m going to tag a few that have probably been tagged already but here goes: @gardenerian, @gallavictorious, @wildandwired, @matteoamiras, @gingit-cake, @ianandmickeygallavich. And anyone else who wants to answer, consider this your tag!💜

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kn1feinthec0ffee · 4 years

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quarantine with the ferns!! - hc

warnings: none

notes: i really miss these boys 🥺😔

i just wanna preface this with: please please stay in quarantine! there’s people in my state that are protesting in large crowds, without wearing masks and gloves and definitely aren’t social distancing, and stuff like that doesn’t help to flatten the curve. just please stay inside, and if you have to go out, please wear the proper protection and stay at a safe distance from anyone else, okay? by doing that, you’re helping more people than you know.

stay safe you guys, i love you. ♥️

*******

jim mason

sweetie baby oh my goodness

poor jimmy’s just like a lil puppy

he jus wants to go outside and go surfing

you don’t even underSTAND

this boy loooooooooonnnnngggssss to go down to the beach

but the beach is...😔😪🥺 closed.

but that doesn’t stop him from dragging you down there with him even just to hang out for a lil bit

you bring a floaty raft thing and just go down in shorts and a tank top, since you don’t even anticipate getting wet

but jimmy treks down there in some trunks ready to go for a lil swim

and while you’re minding your own business, sunning on the raft, he swims underneath you and FLIPS YOU OVER

you def come up spitting out salt water and trying to clear your nose and ears so you can CHASE HIS ASS BACK UP THE HILL.

this is the inciting incident for one of the most dangerous things that could possibly happen during quarantine,, a prank war.

he goes back down to the shore while you’re asleep and fills up a whole BUCKET. with sand and water and ever so carefully positions it on top of your bedroom door

of course he’s mindful not to get you after you’ve just showered because that would be mean, and jim is a lot of things, but he’s not a MEANIE.

“you’re cleaning this up, mason.”

“already on it, l/n.”

so to get him back for that, you pour the milk and orange juice out of their respective containers and switch them on him

so he ends up taking a big bite of froot loops with orange juice, and washing that grossness down with a big gulp of milk

which you got on video of course

“come on, y/n, you can go deeper than that.”

spoiler: you can’t.

you can’t find it in yourself to do anything that might possibly hurt your baby or make him upset with you

except when you suddenly find enough courage to switch his shampoo for hair dye

which ends up working in his favor bc he totally LOVES IT.

“come on, i can work green. don’t you think?”

this ends up starting an impromptu fashion show

but who’s complaining? 🥰🥰

michael langdon

let’s be honest here: this boy?

he was PREPARED.

but not as much as he thought he was

like spending weeks trapped indoors with his baby? what could go wrong?

a LOT OF THINGS

he underestimated how quickly he would get bored

he is literally willing to do ANYTHING as long as it’s a modicum of entertainment.

he sees you playing minecraft one time and he is so instantly invested

“hey y/n, what’s that?”

“it’s minecraft, you have to build a house to survive and you can play all kinds of games with other people.”

“can... can i try? 🥺”

in literal,,,, seconds he’s built a massive mansion

of course he cheats to get so much wood, but he doesn’t use commands or codes or anything

he just stares at the screen and then SUDDENLY his inventory is full of wood

✨💕antichrist tingz💕✨

but he gets bored of that pretty quickly

bc lets be real,, he has the attention span of a 5 YEAR OLD.

so he turns to the next best thing

which, logically, is of course:

sex. literally marathon sex on every surface imaginable.

he even does this thing where he takes you on the coffee table in front of the other outpost residents, but he makes it so they can’t see either of you

also the breeding link jumps OUT ON THIS ONE, but we’re not gonna talk about that.

basically, you have to come up with manymanymanymany activities so this man baby doesn’t get bored

duncan shepherd

oh boy

quarantine with mr shepherd doesn’t start off so well

he’s SO absorbed in his work, he doesn’t spend a lot of time with you.

but that changes quickly once he sees the toll this is taking on you

you try and pretend he isn’t instantly forgiven because his puppy dog eyes are just soooooo cute 🥺🥺

hear me out: this man goes on a whole shopping spree for you, without your knowledge

literally everything: makeup, lingerie, new clothes

and he has you model them for him, hooting and clapping like an audience member and making you blush every time you struck a pose

mr shepherd turns into the perfect housewife™️ and is always cooking huge, delicious meals and keeping the house clean for you

he’s a little ashamed to admit he took advantage of you always doing these tasks when he didn’t know how long it took to do them all the time

he’s come to appreciate you even more than he used to

he may be into more proper, sit down meals, but i’m not saying he wouldn’t be down to snack a lot too

there are definitely lazy days in bed where you two just loaf about, leaving the bed as little as possible

there are also entire days where you do something else in bed if you know what i mean

i’ll see myself out

xavier plympton

uh oh

this boy is NOT accustomed to staying in one place for long periods of time

so he doesn’t!

you guys end up taking the vanta-c out for long drives

usually parking somewhere near a pier or something for a nice view

yes, i did get a little cheesy there, thanks for noticing

like i said, he’s not really used to being stuck inside for so long, so you have to come up with inventive things to pass the time

he definitely has a bunch of aerobics lesson tapes sitting around

he begs you to do it with him, and who could say no to that face?

you do it for a while but it gets exhausting pretty quickly since you don’t do it as often as he does

oh, your muscles are sore?

xavier gives AMAZING massages, change my mind.

like absolutely magical.

he loved to take your shirt off, sit on the back of your legs, and rub your back while slowly letting his hands float to your front 👀

and did i mention his sex drive?

this man is literally insatiable!

this idiot will go out for groceries and probably come back with like,, a copy of kama sutra or something

he wants to try every! position! in the book!

even the really awkward ones that you can’t quite figure out

“xav, it says i have to put my leg over here.”

“and what?”

“i don’t bend that way, that’s what!”

sometimes he just gives up and you ride him or something lol

but overall, he’s very fun to be quarantined with, even though he complains a lot about having nothing to do

*****************

tags: @emmyrosee @babyboy-cody @moonanonwriting @sojournmichael @leatherduncan @langdondelrey @mxnstersarehuman

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aforrestofstuff · 4 years

Note

What's the heroes' morning routine to start their day before going to work? Or their night routine before they're going to sleep? (And here is sprinkle of positivity vibes for you today: 😊😉👌💕💞💗💓💝💝💖💖🌟✨🍀🍀🍀🍀💐💐 Have a nice day! ❤)

Thanks for the request, anon! ❤️❤️ sorry this took me so long to get to, hope you’re still around!

Tornado of Terror: I’ve said in a previous hc that she sleep-levitates and wakes up in the weirdest places. So, she’d probably spend 10 straight minutes prying herself out of her bathtub or some shit with hella cramps. After that, she’d spam Fubuki over text message, asking her how to make a cup of coffee for the 57th time, then manage to burn it anyway, and finally go to work salty as fuck.

Silverfang: Wakes up at the crack of dawn, mediates next to a waterfall or some shit, broods over Garou, and makes himself a nice breakfast with a cup of tea. After that, he drags Charanko’s ass up the mountain to do some training, meditate some more, drink more tea, and around then it’s gonna be like 9 AM, so he’d probably just go the fuck back to sleep for a quick nap before actually going to work. Look, he’s old. Let him vibe.

Atomic Samurai: Also wakes the fuck up at the crack of dawn and proceeds to freeload a breakfast off of Iaian, wash it down with some alcohol at 6 in the AM, and complain about the weather. Then, he’d probably run over some sorta training routine with his disciples before doing group meditation and finally, finish it off with another drink. His tolerance is so damn high at this point. He shows up to work while pretending he wasn’t ten seconds away from getting wasted that morning.

Child Emperor: Wakes up rather early (if he even slept at all), runs diagnostics on all of his machinery, does tests on his latest weapons, takes 7 decontamination showers, and then makes himself a hearty breakfast consisting of Froot Loops and choccy milk. He shows up to work early and energized, running solely on his 87th lollipop and the single shot of espresso he had that morning. If it’s a weekday, he’d wait off on going to Association headquarters and teach a few classes at the local university instead. He’d then go to work in the middle of the day, grading papers and dying internally at the dumb shit his students say. He keeps a mental tally of how many people forget to write their names on their assignments. He’s suffering.

Metal Knight: Upon slapping the shit out of his alarm clock, he rolls out of bed and commands one of his bitchbots to make a Michelin-Star quality breakfast for him, then proceeds to stalk to the bathroom. He doesn’t shave or shower. He just takes a 45-minute shit because he’s forced himself to go to the bathroom once a day to “save time” when it, in fact, does not save time. After that, he takes a decontamination shower before entering his lab (also another 45 minutes because he’d spend the whole time je— nevermind) and doesn’t show up to work at all because he’s a little bitchboy hellbent on building Skynet in his mom’s basement.

King: Wakes up, cries, plays video games, cries some more, eats some cereal, takes a shower, cries, calls Saitama over, plays video games, Saitama leaves, cries. Then, he’ll show up to work for a single meeting at 4 PM just so everyone knows he isn’t dead, have an anxiety attack, go home, and then cry (while having another anxiety attack). After that, he’ll play video games until 3 AM. Rinse and repeat.

Zombieman: He’ll wake up at 3 AM and then sarcastically open his blinds like “oh wow, what a beautiful morning”. He’ll make himself a hearty breakfast consisting of leftovers, some protein pills, and half a pack of cigarettes. Next, he’ll shower, shave, and do some routine vigilante detective work out in the town before coming back home just as the sun is beginning to rise. After that, he’ll take a thirty second nap and walk his ass to work (because his car has been in the shop for like, seven years) so he can vibe for 3 hours before throwing in the towel and isolating himself for the remainder 18 hours of the day because depression.

Drive Knight: he sleeps plugged into the wall like a Samsung. Either that, or he’s solar-powered.... or maybe he runs on AAAs. I don’t know, but his ass ain’t waking up like everyone else. He’d power on, do some routine checkups on his laboratory or whatever the fuck he’s got going on, and then show up to work for 3 seconds only to dip the fuck back out and go poach some endangered monster species for his collection or some shit. Look, he’s a robot.

Pig God: wakes up at 10 AM like a king and eats a small breakfast consisting of three rotisserie chickens, a whole pot of rice, 57 eggs, and a cool glass of milk (because calcium is important, kids). He’d spend 4 hours on the internet before he gets hungry and decides to go outside, stopping to casually devour an entire species of demon-threat monsters in the middle of the street while simultaneously traumatizing every single child living in a 3-mile radius in the process of doing so. After that, he’d do some hero work for like 30 minutes (and somehow eat like, 200 living things in that timeframe), go back home, and then indulge himself in a 17-hour food coma. He’s earned it.

Superalloy Darkshine: Homie wakes up at 5 AM, works out for two hours, takes a shower, and eats a breakfast big enough to feed a small family of 19. After terrorizing every health expert in the country with his buckwild diet (ironic considering Pig God exists), he hits up his bro Tanktop Master for another 2-hour workout. He then proceeds to take 3 seconds getting dressed in his hero uniform because it’s literally just a thong, and goes to work for a full 8 hours because he’s a good boi who takes his job seriously and genuinely wants to make the world a better place. :)

Watchdog Man: wakes up, pisses on a fire hydrant, eats dog kibble, sits on his pedestal in city Q, and then gets dressed.

Flashy Flash: wakes up in a forest somewhere because he’s probably homeless. The local birds flock around him and sing a morning song. He feeds a baby deer like a Disney princess. Then, he bathes in a waterfall and spends two hours doing his hair. After that, he buys himself a fucking bagel and takes his ass to work smelling like the inside of a Cabella’s. He vibes at HQ for like, 30 minutes, before traveling 500 miles away on his 57th quest for revenge and ends up breaking a record for “most homicides committed by a hero” on the way there.

Genos: wakes up, makes breakfast for Saitama, takes a shower, and spends half an hour doing chores while Saitama bums around with a yolk stain on his pajamas. Then, he’d hit up the professor for any news about upgrades, and go on about his day handing out justice as he sees fit until Saitama suddenly gets the urge to go buy some cabbage. It’ll be another 2 hours of walking around the inside of a grocery store while holding 2 grams of food (because it’s all Saitama could afford, broke ass) before he actually goes to hero HQ for a single meeting (while Saitama tags along), and then slaughter 87 monsters on his way home.

Metal Bat: wakes up at 6 AM because it takes him 8 years to do his hair. He’d wake up Zenko about an hour later and tell her to get ready for school while he hauls ass downstairs to make breakfast (burnt toast and 8 Flinstone vitamins). They walk to Zenko’s school together. He takes ten minutes to shower her with love, and then he turns back around to walk to his own school only to show up like, 45-minutes late to his first class. He only attends hero meetings on weekends because A. Homework and B. He doesn’t give enough of a shit to juggle official hero business and school in the same day (unless it consists of a monster/criminal [or 12] in need of a beating).

Tanktop Master: same as Superalloy. He wakes up at dawn, works out, eats enough to feed a small army, and then calls his actual army over for a meeting. He and the gang discuss ways to better represent the Tanktop ideology over tea, while also sharing workout tips and just having a good time together in general. Around then it’ll probably be 8 or 9 AM, so he’d join Superalloy at Hero HQ and do hero work for the rest of the day alongside his homies. He’s living the life, honestly.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: he’s in prison so he’d wake up at 8 AM on the clock every day, eat his nasty-ass breakfast (although, I’ve said in a previous headcanon that he gets special meals prepared for him on account of being a literal superhero, but I digress), and then he works out in the courtyard for a good hour before going to work in the cafeteria for 3 bucks a day (or the yen equivalent). During visiting hours, he and his boyfriend are inseparable. They’d make some crafts together, gossip, and just hang out. If there’s a threat in the area, Puri will waste no time busting himself out and hugging that shit to death. A true icon.

Amai Mask: he either wakes up at 10 AM or 2 PM every day, there’s no in-between. He’d spend his morning doing every self-care routine under the sun: taking a warm bath, doing a face mask, eating a good breakfast (prepared by his own personal chef, of course), listening to an audio book, you name it. If he has a concert that night, he’d spend the entire day surrounded by people as he gets ready/rehearses/prepares. If not, he’ll just patrol the streets, handing out autographs and some slices of justice. He wouldn’t really show up to any meetings or do official hero business at HQ unless he’s in the mood to cuss out Sekingar and Sitch over some stupid shit or insert himself in S-Class business.

Iaian: wakes up earlier than any of the other disciples and Atomic Samurai because he’s like, responsible or whatever. He meditates, showers, does his own personal routine, and then kicks everyone out of bed for breakfast like an angry suburban mom. After that, he’d participate in everyone’s routine training, and then take his ass to work while showing up to every meeting at HQ (sometimes tagging along with Kami) because he’s a good boi and he has no problem engaging in business. :)

Okamaitachi: She sometimes wakes up with Iaian, but sleeps in most of the time because she needs her beauty rest, obviously. After breakfast and participating in everyone’s training routine, she’d do her hair/makeup and go do her own hero work the majority of the time. She’d sometimes tag along with Iaian, but she prefers to go on her own every so often. If she has some extra time before breakfast, she’ll also do a face mask or catch up on her favorite soap operas.

Bushidrill: this motherfucker sleeps like a log and Iaian wants to kill him for it. He wakes up like, 2 seconds before breakfast and hasn’t shaven in a month. Still, somehow, he manages to get ready in time for training without Kami trying to assault him for being a doofus.

Fubuki: She wakes up hella early and texts her herd of hooligans the daily plan before dealing with Tatsumaki’s shit over the phone. Then, she showers, does her hair, and takes fifteen minutes to get her makeup done right. It doesn’t take her long to plan out her outfit because she has like, 87 black dresses. After an actual hearty breakfast (unlike the rest of these clowns) that she makes herself, she meets up with the blizzard group to discuss business and engage in hero work together as a ✨team✨. She never gets asked to participate in official business by HQ because Tatsumaki strictly forbids it.

Saitama: he brushes his hair and sits on his ass all day.

Mumen Rider: wakes up at dawn, feeds the cats outside, eats a good-ass breakfast (despite being poor, because he’s actually really good at budgeting), and goes out for a nice, morning patrol. He’ll also call his mom and make sure she’s having a good time because that’s important. If it’s not a busy day, he’ll go to the gym and treat himself to some time at the park afterwards. If there’s monsters all about, he’ll spend the rest of the day in the hospital after getting his shit rocked for the 300th time that week. They’ve basically got a bed reserved for him at this point. He’s so pure but so, so selfless. And a little dumb. But mostly selfless.

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