#weeknights ask

[frannyzooey]

Those arms 👀 Those palms rubbing his eyes 🥺 Definitely need a drabble 😌

Weeknights Frankie x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

"Oh my god, I didn't think he would ever go to sleep," Frankie groans, letting himself fall back onto the couch.

"Him, or her?" you ask, joining him. "I think I read her like, four books or something."

"These dang kids." The statement is said quietly, laced with affection with his arm still thrown over his eyes and you smile, scooting closer to him on the couch.

"Getting too old for it, baby?"

He moves his arm, looking over at you. "Yea, I am." He says it seriously, following it with a quick grin and you lean in for a kiss. It starts as a chaste one, one meant to convey a wordless thank you for putting the baby down tonight, but his lips linger on yours for a fraction longer.

You break the kiss, pulling back with raised eyebrows and his eyes are hooded - both with exhaustion and emerging interest. He reaches for you, cupping your cheek to pull you back towards him.

"Where you going, baby?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "I'm not done yet."

"I don't know," you reply softly, meeting his mouth again, again. "I thought maybe you might be too tired or something."

"I'm never too tired for you." His voice has a husky rasp to it, his body shifting to guide you back down against the cushions and he follows you, settling his weight between your thighs. His mouth immediately seeks yours out, his hand reaching down to curl around the bend of your knee, tugging it higher on his hip. It then shifts upwards, spanning the side of your torso, sliding up, up, up until he palms your breast, playing with the peak of it through your shirt and bra.

His thumb catches against the nub, and he circles it slowly over and over. Until it pebbles through the cotton, until you're aching into his touch.

"This okay?" he breathes, his mouth moving to the line of your neck as his hand still teases. He knows you're more sensitive after the baby, sometimes touched out but you nod quickly, covering his large hand with your smaller one.

"Yea, it feels good."

He leaves it, moving to slide his hand underneath the hem of your shirt and when the warm weight of it settles over your breast after he tugs the cup of your bra down, you moan softly, bringing his mouth back to yours.

You are tired and so is he, but you can't stop kissing each other. Your bodies move as one on the couch, low sounds of contentment, of savor to match your higher pitched sighs and soon the shirt and bra are off, and his mouth has replaced his hand. He teases your nipple with his tongue, a mirror of what he usually does between your legs.

"We should go into the bedroom," you sigh, your fingers threading through his soft, dark curls and he hums, his tongue laving a stripe over your sweet skin. He latches onto your nipple, and you hiss in pleasure, your thumb fitting into the hollow of his whiskered cheek.

He pulls back to answer you, his eyes staying on the glistening, wet flesh of your breast. "I want to, but I'm scared to walk past their bedroom doors....what if they wake up?"

You laugh and he remains serious, which makes you laugh even harder. He eventually smiles, his dimple deep in his cheek.

"I'm serious, baby," he grins. "It took me so long, I had to sit and rock him for ages and he kept fussing and --"

You press your hand over his mouth, stopping him and he kisses the pads of your fingers, giving the crease of them a little lick. You giggle under him, and you see the edges of his eyes crinkle with a smile.

"Come on," he coaxes, leaning his face away from your hand to bend his head back down. His lips press delicate against the plane of your chest, against the swell of your breast, brushing against your collarbone. He breathes his next words warm into your ear.

"Just lemme eat your pussy on the couch, okay? Then I'll take you to bed."

You close your eyes with a frown, taking in a shaky breath and he gives you another kiss on the edge of your jaw, another just below your ear. He looks down at you for consent, his dark brown eyes with their beautiful, long lashes waiting.

You nod, and he grins, shifting slowly down.

[optiwashere]

How do you feel about Shadowheart's romance in game/ I've seen some complaints about it being shallow and vapid. I blame this on Act2, the lack of a romance scene

In general?

I think it's a solid exploration of what it's like to try and be with someone that is struggling with their sense of self, navigating an abusive relationship, and who has what might seem like oxymoronically intense and lax boundaries over personal details and feelings, etc. Is it like, The Perfect Story of All Time? No. That doesn't exist.

Also, it's a video game and Larian has limited budget/time. Shadowheart has a ton of content dedicated to herself as it is. Part of enjoying these stories is accepting the constraints.

However, I think Act 2 works spectacularly for her romance BECAUSE it lacks a dedicated romantic scene until the end of the Gauntlet/Nightsong sequence. A lack of it says way more than having it would.

She's a zealot on the brink of realizing a goal in Act 2. She won't realize it, and it's an unrealistic goal, but she doesn't know that.

She's being presented with the opportunity to finally be accepted by her abuser as Good and Right and maybe that she can be Special — while also trying to hide herself from the PC that does care about her, someone who actually respects her boundaries, because that's new and unique and strange and not what she's been taught she deserves as a Sharran. Loss and emptiness cannot abide a full heart.

If she adheres to the conformity of her religion, she'll be accepted by a goddess that won't get out of her head or her body. (Extratextual interpretation, but) If she allows herself to accept love from an external source, that means she's capable of being loved and that's very difficult to accept for someone who is programmed to be a certain type of way. Go look up actual cult deprogramming practices and try to trace the lines between that and what Shadowheart experiences. This is an exercise left to the reader.

My take is the people that find the romance "vapid" have never been in a relationship with someone who has a harrowingly troubled past. Not that I expect them to, or that that's an aspiration anyone should have. But they've never tried to love someone who is VERY hesitant to even call it a relationship in the first place for X, Y, or Z reason. A genuine real world example is trying to maintain relationships with folks that have borderline personality disorder.

It's literally the meme of "you accept my neurodivergence until it looks like something that isn't out of a John Green novel."

[loptrcoptr]

If you're riding your horse really fast what song plays in your head?

I kept trying to take a video to post with this, but my horse was in Fire Breathing Dragon mode last week and could not be trusted to do anything but trot (while she attempted to figure out how to fly and to see how fast she could spin in a circle), and the week before my stupid faux pro wouldn’t work…

But the answer is: a lot of the stuff you would imagine haha. Usually it’s something like Battle of the Pelennor Fields- return of the king; homeland- spirit stallion of the cimarron; coming back around- how to train your dragon; we’ll be back- Silverado. These songs live rent free in my head at all times.

Lately though I’ve been experimenting with hype songs for her. Like, she sometimes enjoys listening to podcasts. She has certain music that she seems to hate for no apparent reason (she doesn’t like lord of the rings 😭). I thought it might be the strings being too high pitched for her, but I had the blue eye samurai soundtrack on a little while back and she was fine with it, really high pitched woodwinds and all. The last time we cantered (not even a deadass gallop) the album as on a shuffle and “for whom the bell tolls” came up and she was straight up vibing 😂 so I’ll have to see if maybe the key to happy speed for her is just… metal

[ghostpunkrock]

finally got a match on a dating app that immediately asked me about falloutboy 😎

[supercantaloupe]

aghh everybody keeps asking me to consider doing More Things on wednesdays and i don't know if i can do any of them 😥

[nyxronomicon]

Today's Toji thought is babysitting Megumi while he's out being a deadbeat and gambling and he gets back really late (long after you put Gumi to bed) and he's horny and he lost a little too much but he wants to give you a bonus for staying so late...

So he puts the moves on and hopes you'll stay a little later (or sleep over if luck is on his side)

[pedropascalsx]

I love this idea for a game! For the emoji, how about 🍦?

🍦 - @frannyzooey & Weeknights

Summary:  In search of a weekly babysitter for his daughter, Frankie Morales asks the daycare if they would recommend someone. Directing him to a college nanny website, he searches through the bios one night, coming across yours: the credentials and qualifications just what he is looking for, he decides to hire you. The photo on the website grainy and outdated, he isn’t quite prepared when you show up at his door the first night - beginning a professional relationship that slowly slides into a personal one.

Surprise surprise... I slid my favourite fic of all time in this ask game. First of all - all of Kelli's masterlist needs to be devoured. This is the ultimate Frankie fic; it's gorgeous, it's funny and sexy as hell. This fic is like a warm comforting hug, it's shelter on the rainiest of days and it's an escape to a tropical island when you need it the most.

Also the ice cream emoji was perfect for me to use on this recommendation because I have a silly headcanon for the Wednesday chapter! It involves Lucia begging Frankie for ice-cream at the beach and insisting on the sickliest looking flavour ever invented. Something along the lines of 'unicorn cotton candy sprinkle surprise' and her taking one lick - hating it - and insisting that he swaps his plain chocolate with her... Which he of course does! And him sitting between them both eating the disgusting ice cream with a grumpy look on his face, whilst they both giggle uncontrollably at him.

[balievoheme]

the curative properties of kewpie mayo can NOT be overstated

[ourple-octoling]

“You must be really bored if this is how you chose to spend your night.” from Cerrin!

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

"Listen, I had work and none of the good clubs are open on a Tuesday night. Can't A guy sit around watch his favourite dramatic soap operas in peace?"

On the weeknights, when he had work or missions...Vio would wind down with a nice cup of tea with milk and honey while watching the news or soap operas he was currently into. It was a guilty pleasure! Yeah, they were pretty cliche but c'mon....!! Who doesn't love a good plot of a husband cheating on his wife with the maid-- or the rich guy falling for the relatively 'normal' middle-class worker who works for his dad's company? Vio certainly does!

"Besides, you wouldn't even come with me to a club even if it was on a slow night...! So, I'm sitting here catching up on my soaps."

[what-even-is-thiss]

As an omnivore who likes vegan and vegetarian cooking I think the mistake a lot of people make when trying to convince meat eaters to go plant based is trying to convince them that something you’ve got will replace meat for them.

I like vegan nuggets and real chicken nuggets for different reasons. They taste different. They only taste identical to you because you haven’t eaten meat for five years.

When cooking for myself I only eat meat maybe like three times a week because vegetarian cooking is often cheaper and it tastes good.

Like just give people the actual recipes you use that aren’t pasta. Every time you ask what to eat on a meatless day people are like. Pasta. I don’t want pasta every day.

Point out the foods people already eat that are vegetarian. Like sweet potato fries, veggie chow mein, grilled mushrooms, mashed potatoes, black bean enchiladas, peanut butter sandwiches. Tell people what you microwave when you’re drunk at 3am. Show people that vegetables are so good they’ll want them in their diet.

Also some people are just never gonna go vegan. They’re just not. I’m certainly not, and I love vegan food. But since I’ve fallen in love with vegetarian cooking I eat meat much less and I’m much more careful about picking the meat I do eat. Doesn’t that align with a lot of your goals?

Impossible burger doesn’t taste like meat. But you know what tastes really good? A mushroom fajita taco. Falafel. Potato pancakes with applesauce. Smoky vegan collared greens. Hot potato salad with herbs. Palak paneer with rice. Tofu Pad Thai with extra peanuts. Some of my favorite foods of all time, and I’m a dirty rotten meat eater. Use THAT to get your foot in the door. And be more accepting of some half-assed victories. I’m on your side for the most part, believe it or not. But stop trying to claim certain things are just like meat. You and I both know you don’t plan most of your weeknight dinners around meat substitutes.

[frannyzooey]

sorry but I’m kind of obsessed with what you could come up with for “something that belongs to a friend” lool my thoughts for that one are filthy ☠️

Frankie Morales x f!reader, Weeknights Universe

Rating: Explicit

--

"You knew what you were doing when you sent me that picture, didn't you baby. Didn't you?"

His words are stuttered with effort, the slap of skin sounding over the grunt he makes with every rough push forward and you raise your hands to push back against the headboard, so he doesn't fuck you up the mattress.

"Yea, I did," you whine, your knees pushing into your chest and he growls, shifting to kneel on the bed, tugging your ass up into his lap.

"Fuck," you cry out, the angle of his thick cock punishing and devastating and his hands wrap around the back of your thighs, shoving them down so he can fuck you harder. Faster. Deeper.

You had worn his high school sweatshirt to bed, choosing a night that he was out with his friends and when you started sending him pictures, he didn't even realize the significance of it until you took a shot of your bare, perfect breasts - the sweatshirt shoved up, the name "Morales" stitched neatly right above.

He waits until you come around him once and then twice, waits until he pulls out and straddles your chest, waits until you're gagging around him with a strong suck over a whine and with his hand twisted into the worn, gray fabric, his other hand tugs himself out to slickly pump his cock right above your sternum, coming on your skin with thick ropes that splash over your skin.

They slip and slide down, the milky liquid catching on the bottom of the sweater and his eyes hood in his lean over you when you start to smear it like a balm into your soft skin. He joins you, still breathing heavily as his hand comes down to splay over your chest and he can't stop smearing it - the sensation addicting, soothing, slippery and silky. He squeezes the plump of your breast in his hand, and you sigh underneath him, arching into his touch.

"Again?" you ask sweetly, with a bite of your lip and not meeting your eyes because he's still too focused on the sheen of your bare skin under his spend, he nods.

"Again."

[apocalypticdemon]

every day I think about how the admissions office fucked around with the money I was told I was going to get and every day I get so mad about it

[potatoesandsunshine]

8 and 59!

8: Vampire Weeknight - Jenny Owen Youngs

Pacing like a bobcat in the kitchen Or up the stairs just solitaire-ing in my room Preacher's on the late-night television Saying "… soon"

59: Seven Nation Army - Unwoman

And I'm talking to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette

[tojipie]

BABES i love ur writing sm ugh can i request a how prisoner toji met the love of his life? mwah thank you

prison bf series linked here !

content: (p in v smut, car sex, fluff, angst, fem!reader)

you met toji on a weeknight during the short time you worked as a waiter in the city.

the restaurant was empty, save for him at a table in the corner. it was 30 mins before closing time, and the older man showed no signs of leaving. whether that was to your chagrin or your delight was still unclear.

“so that’s the foie gras and the bottle of La Grande Dame?” you ask sleepily, setting the meal down with a shaky hand.

“that’s right.” the raven haired man tells you, pouring himself a glass of the ridiculously pricey wine. “thanks kid.”

to say that you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified. the man in front of you was gorgeous, broad with raven hair and a deep scar running the height of his lips. you’d be blushing if it weren’t for the fatigue that’d settled throughout the length of your body. 9 hour shifts were no joke.

toji glances over at you, taking in the tremble of your hands. you’re a sweet little thing, probably new to the college you attend, working past midnight to pay off whatever you still owe from last semester.

“hey.” he whispers, motioning to the table, “sit down for a little.”

you glance around the restaurant in horror, he’s not talking to you right? he can’t be. you slowly let him lead you into the chair that lies opposite to his, sighing at the relief you feel in your thighs and shoulders.

“thank you.” you mumble, laying your head down on the cool wood of table. he chuckles at that, watching you rub the aches from your neck and shoulders. you don’t care who sees, much less if this interaction costs you your job.

“tired?” he teases, pushing his plate towards you.

“have some, pretty girls need to eat.”

“mm no thank you. i don’t like duck.” you mumble, letting the deep bass of his laughter lull you right to sleep.

you were fired within minutes, that much is obvious. doomed to hand in your little name tag and apron while the raven haired man bickers with your manager at the door.

“you call yourself a businessman? you work her like a fucking dog and you think that makes you a pimp or something? i told her to nap. she fucking needed the sleep!”

you tug on the sleeve of his suit jacket, urging him to follow you out the door. toji sighs, running hand through his hair.

“it’s ok.” you tell him, “i was gonna quit before spring break came anyways.”

sleeping on the job at a Michelin star restaurant probably wasn’t the best course of action. though it wasn’t all bad, you did end up receiving the best fuck of your life that same night.

“oh my god—fuck! oh my god.” you pant, digging your fingernails into the driver’s seat headrest. the raven haired man ruts into you from below, wrapping both hands around your waist to use as leverage.

“shit, you’re a nice piece of ass kid.” he mutters, reaching down to rub your little button with the pad of his thumb. you feel your stomach erupt in flames at the crude compliment. why hadn’t you tried fucking customers before?

you hang onto the back of the seat for dear life, wailing as you drip all over his thighs.

“look, that’s all for me?” he asks, pulling your cheeks apart to see where the two of you connect. the older man leans forward to suck on your neck, voice shaky with the force of his impending climax.

“you’re gonna make me fucking cum, you know that? fuck.” the way he holds you so sweetly deeply contrasts the filth he spews right into your skin. you’ve never been this cock-drunk in your life, babbling nonsense in the back of a horrifyingly spacious bmw while a man you met an hour ago pummels your cunt open.

it’s quiet as the two of you drive back to your place. toji’s suit jacket is draped around your shoulders, shielding you from the frigid night air. the windows are cracked to let the cold in, no doubt to try and get all the glass in the car to unfog.

jesus. you just want to go to bed.

“this is me.” you tell him, gathering your bag from the floor to enter your apartment. the raven haired stranger slips you a card with a number on it. you pocket it and thank him, giddy at his implication of seeing you again.

“i had fun tonight.” you tell him shyly, leaning over to peck the scar on his mouth. he groans, pulling you towards him to kiss your forehead.

“you take care of yourself ok? no more dead end jobs.” you nod, kissing him again.

“here.” he says sternly, slipping a rubber-banded roll of cash through the opening in your purse.

you pause, stomach turning sour at the gesture.

“i’m not a hooker, you don’t need to pay me just because we had sex.” you mutter, digging in your bag to give the money back.

“you know that’s not why i gave it to you.” he tells you plainly. tucking a loose strand of your behind your ear.

“do what you need to do, pay off what you need to pay, and then call me so i can take you out on a real date.”

you pause, looking at the ground shyly.

“ok?” he asks.

you nod, reaching to intertwine your fingers.

“ok.”

tag list ! <3 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies

[betterhomesandhozie]

stressed bc I might have to ub*r alone tonight and I’ve never done that before

[harmonictechnicality]

Robin drags Steve to a local art exhibit on a goddamn weeknight. This is not his scene at all.

Pretentious douchebags in scarves discussing if that splatter of paint represents socioeconomic downfall? Nah, this shit is not for him.

Robin ditches him halfway through the exhibit to talk to some sculptor that she’s got a thing for. Honestly, Steve would’ve done the same thing if it were him. But still, Steve is five minutes away from leaving her ass and taking a cab home.

He’s sitting on metal bench, centered a few feet away from the oversized canvas of scattered colors.

It looks like such a mess. Scribbled strokes of paint and lines that bump into curves. Everything intersecting. Someone would probably try to convince him that it represents the artist’s troubled past or fucked up childhood.

To Steve, it’s just a mess.

“What do you think?” A voice asks, joining Steve on the bench.

He looks to be about Steve’s age. Bold features, bolder hairstyle. All black clothes with chunky red combat boots. Elaborate tattoos creeping over the collar of his shirt.

Steve shrugs. “Truthfully? I don’t get it.”

“It’s art. What don’t you get about it?” The guy looks stunned.

Is Steve really about to argue with a complete stranger over lines and colors?

“There’s nothing but lost movements.”

Guess he is.

Steve observes the nameplate next to the canvas and goes off.

“Like this Eddie Munson guy held up a paintbrush and went, ‘fuck it, they’ll never know this is bullshit.’ Honestly, this whole place is a facade for people to masquerade around, pretending to be in tune to artistic expression, but they’re not.”

“They’re not?”

“No.” Steve answers immediately, a little defensive. “Nobody here gives a shit about what the artist is trying to convey, and this artist…”

Steve points at the artwork.

“This Munson guy knew that. Knew he could fool every rich asshole in this place.”

The guy looks at the painting and laughs. He’s got a nice smile, Steve thinks. Wide and genuine. Not too perfect. Not overly rehearsed. Like he doesn’t give out smiles to just anyone.

“Eddie Munson couldn’t fool you though, could he?” He finally says, looking directly at Steve.

The intense eye contact makes Steve a bit fidgety. Nervous. “I guess not, no.”

“I like that.”

“Like what?”

“That you refuse to see what everyone else sees.” The guy turns away, releasing Steve from the gaze. “Even if that would be easier.”

It almost sounded like he was trying to say he likes Steve. Not that Steve would complain if that were true. This guy is not his type, but that doesn’t mean he’s unwilling to expand his definition of type for someone that’s interested in him.

“What do you think about it?” Steve tilts his head towards the canvas.

The guy twists the ring on his thumb, processing an answer. He crosses his legs, then un-crosses them. Twists the ring counterclockwise now.

“I think the painter abandoned their originality to meet their growing audience’s expectations of them as an artist.” He finally says.

Steve scoffs. “How did you draw up a conclusion like that?”

The guy hums and abruptly changes the topic. “What did you say your name was?”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Right.” He gets up and gestures toward a ‘staff only’ door. “Up for a little field trip, Steve Harrington?”

This is dumb. Breaking laws is something Steve left behind in his angst-filled teen years.

But this guy is bad-boy hot and Steve is painfully bored, so he follows the stranger despite his better judgement.

They enter the door and are instantly greeted by a trail of empty paint buckets. There’s dirty tarps covering the floors and countless canvases laid out across the wide room.

Right away, Steve can tell this is what art is all about. The chaos. The urgency to create as soon inspiration strikes.

And these paintings look nothing like the one hanging in the gallery. These paintings are full narratives told through shapes and pigments.

These paintings could be an autobiography on the topic of someone who experiences life deeply. Passionately.

These are the untold masterpieces.

“Wow.” Is all Steve finally comes up with.

“To answer your question,” the stranger gestures grandly to the entirety of the room. “This is how I drew up that conclusion.”

“This was the originality. It’s stuck behind these four walls, but it’s where everything started. It’s where everything should have stayed.”

Steve carefully watches the man explore all the different works of art. Bending down to touch some. Smiling playfully at others. Steve is stupidly captivated by his ability to shine amongst literal art.

“What did you say your name was?”

The guy chuckles and walks back over to Steve. “I didn’t.”

“Right. Are you gonna tell me?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on if you’ll still kiss me after I tell you.”

They’re standing close, Steve hadn’t realized it until now. Maybe it was him closing the distance. Maybe it was the stranger. Maybe it was gravity growing tired of their mediocre foreplay.

But they’re close now. So close that Steve can see the lightening bolt tattoo below the stranger’s left ear. A thought runs rampant in Steve’s slutty mind that he could see every single neck tattoo if he were to start unbuttoning this guy’s shirt.

He’s close enough to do it.

“I’ll still kiss you afterwards,” Steve agrees dreamily. Getting high off of paint fumes and close proximity.

The stranger lets his hand wander up the back of Steve’s neck, breaths getting caught in Steve’s throat at the contact.

“I’m that Eddie Munson guy.” He says in a low whisper. “The same one who held up a paintbrush and went, ‘fuck it, they’ll never know this is bullshit.’”

Every word he utters is cautious now. Like Steve might change his mind about kissing him.

Steve doesn’t change his mind.

He pulls hard at Eddie’s collar, lets their lips collide dizzily fast. Eddie’s mouth pushes against his to lead the kiss, Steve is more than happy to let him do so.

It’s a noisy kiss. Sounds escaping out of the corners of their mouths. Airy gasps and rustling clothes filling the open space.

Steve breaks the kiss to speak, inhaling as much oxygen as he can get. “I’m guessing you bring lots of guys back here and woo them with your secretly amazing art.”

Eddie had transitioned to kissing Steve’s neck while he was talking, but stops as soon as Steve says that.

“You’ve got it all wrong, sweetheart.” Eddie cradles Steve’s flushed cheeks with both hands. “I only bring pretty boys who refuse to see what everyone else sees back here.”

Steve moves Eddie’s hands and wraps them around his own neck. “Even if that would be easier.”

Eddie smiles. “Exactly.”

He goes back to sucking on Steve’s neck, like he was rudely interrupted before, and Steve starts to feel as chaotic as the art surrounding them. Eddie marks him with a fresh bruise, just below his right ear. Mirroring the exact spot where Eddie’s lightening tattoo is located.

Eddie licks over it. Swirling his tongue in sweltering circles, making Steve pant wow as he finishes the creation he was designing solely with his mouth.

He exhales a single laugh into their kiss.

“Why are you laughing?” Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head.

“I really like doing things that make you say wow like that, Steve Harrington.”

Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “I really like that too.”

Eddie kisses him thoroughly slow once more, then nibbles over Steve’s ear as he whispers:

“Kinda curious to find out what else I can make you say.”