#another person has told me they liked me romantically and sexually but has had One real convo with me in the past

[pierregazly]

in the mind of another ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!soulmate!reader

warnings: mentions of sexual themes (no smut), pining/yearning for another, tiny bit of angst but hea! [wc is 5.4k]

in which soulmates always have a way of building the connection with one another. for you and max, you've always been the voice instead the others head, the one thing that has always been a constant presence. but will that voice inside your head, ever be the voice you hear from in front of you?

By legal terms, a soulmate was defined as “person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity.  This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust.” In today’s day and age, more often than not, your soulmate was that of romantic origin, a person you yearned for on a regular basis. 

It was something instilled in you at an early age, that everyone had a soulmate, but not everyone met their soulmate. Everyone had a way of interacting with their soulmate before they met. You learned early on, very early on, that you could interact with your soulmate through your mind. Through words, pictures, even internal conversations. But sometimes those interactions would lead to nothing, and your parents tried to ensure you were aware of that in the fear that you would be heartbroken one day.  

One thing you could never do was tell them your name, who you were, or where you were until it was time. It was like your mind would go elsewhere when you tried to tell the male on the other end who you were. He told you the same thing happened to him every time he tried.  

The both of you spent a plentiful amount of time interacting in your shared youth. He would often ramble on about his day, about go-karting, and his dad who he kind of hated but obviously loved, about his mum who he missed, and his sister who he couldn’t wait to see when she came to visit him wherever he was in the world. 

You would do the same, you’d tell him about the things you did that specific day, explain little things about your family, the things you looked forward to for the remainder of the week. It was something you both just got used to. 

The both of you grew up together. Even if it wasn’t physical, you were an emotional tether for one another when either of you needed it. He was there for almost all of your firsts, your first graduation, your first familial heartbreak, your first crush, your first boyfriend (which he was eager to help you through when it ended).  

Ever embarrassing to admit, he was even the one in your mind, more times than you can count, when you felt the butterflies in your tummy growing as your fingers explored different parts of your body. He always pushed you to continue, telling you exactly what he would do with his own fingers, or his own tongue; when he finally got the chance to make you feel the way you were making yourself feel. 

It was something you didn’t speak about after it happened, but it didn’t change the fact he was usually the one your brain went to when you made yourself feel that way. He argued it was the soulmate connection, that your soul just simply wanted him to be the one to do it. 

As time went on, the conversations dwindled amongst the two of you, both of you growing up and growing out of the fantasy that you would meet your soulmate one day, meet each other. 

You still got glimpses into his brain occasionally, pictures of blue and red cars, racecars are what you presumed. His fingers on what looked like a controller, but turned out to be a steering wheel when you asked him what it was. 

“Seems like a bit of an extravagant steering wheel, no?” 

The silent laugh was loud in your mind, as if you could feel his body rumbling in its laughter at your words, “Pretty extravagant, yeah. Not everyone gets to use something like this, though.” 

“Explain the steering wheel to me, there’s too many buttons and toggles,” you prompted him, knowing full well it would dive him deep into an explanation about the object you so often saw inside his head. 

That was another thing you learned about him early on. He liked to explain everything. He used to spend hours describing the go-karts he drove every weeknight and weekend, putting as much detail and emphasis into his explanations so that you would better understand. As time went on, so did his explanations, explaining situations he’s found himself in around the world, explaining how his career was kicking his ass but how he loved it, occasionally getting drunk and explaining how soulmates worked and that it was inevitable you’d meet one day, even if it felt like that day was never coming.  

Not wanting to be the one to burst his fantasy and ruin whatever hope he had, you would usually just nod along and silently hum to him when the conversation of eventually meeting one day was brought up. 

You still shared nights together, even from thousands of miles apart, your brain yearning for him as his did the same. 

There were moments in time, where you were positive you had almost met him, or perhaps had made eye contact with him. It was a small feeling inside of you, like everything you were looking for was in the same building as you, or around the corner, or even in the same city. 

Usually just as fast as the feeling appeared, it was gone. It never lasted for long periods of time, it was like your soulmate bond was teasing you, pushing for you to reinstate your faith in the connection. He always argued that if you lost faith in the soulmate bond, it would lose faith in trying to push the two of you together. 

Yet another thing you learned early on, whoever he was, arguing was in his blood. If he disagreed with you, with something you said, or with an opinion you had, he would go off into a whole explanation and argument about why he knew you were wrong, and how he knew he was right. 

It was endearing, how passionate he was about everything in his life, and seeing how his passion for everything just continued to grow as he grew up.  

Over the last 8 years, you had learned not to even attempt to communicate with him on Saturday or Sundays. He had told you that it was the busiest time of the work week for him, and that he couldn’t handle internal distractions on those days. 

You would only speak to him when he spoke to you on those days. Usually it was a fleeting ‘have a nice rest of your weekend’ or ‘I can’t wait until you’re here with me, celebrating this with me’.  

He never elaborated on the last part, and you never went out of your way to ask. Whoever he was, he was usually celebrating something on Sundays, at least that’s what you assumed from the raw happiness and elation that usually went through your connection on those days. 

You hadn’t heard from him, from your soulmate, in weeks. Which wasn’t necessarily unusual, either of you could cut off the connection for weeks at a time if things were stressful in life, or if you just needed a break from the never-ending person that was inside your head at all times. 

It didn’t mean you didn’t miss his dry sense of humour, the bluntness with which he said things to you, the never-ending arguments about the stupidest things. You would never admit any of this to him, though.  

Ignoring the yearning-feeling from inside of you, you allowed yourself to think about how things would be if you ever met the person on the other end of the connection. Would it be instant happiness? Relief? Joy? 

People always explained their own experiences to you, saying it was like love at first sight, but amplified so significantly, because it felt like your soul was complete, like everything was finally where it needed to be in life. They described it as meeting the one thing that made you whole, the one thing that made you continuously push to be your best self, to continuously push to be better at everything you did in life.  

You truly couldn’t believe what they said, not that it sounded exaggerated or silly. It was just difficult to imagine anything causing a feeling so instantaneously and intense as what they described.  

Your friends had disappeared earlier in the day, eager to try and find themselves different drivers throughout the entrances to get photos or autographs with. You really had no interest in any of it. Your soulmate had eagerly admired, and shit talked almost every single person on the grid to you, at least once or twice, so it really wasn’t worth trying to interact with any of them after that. 

Your paddock pass sat heavily on your chest, the lanyard rubbing against your neck as the bright Sun shined down upon your skin. The cheering of the Tifosi could be heard throughout the entire fan sections. The Ferrari faithful were dedicated, especially at their own Grand Prix. 

He had told you that Monza was one of the ones not to miss. That it was electric, regardless of who you drove for, even if the fans were booing your favourite driver, or your favourite team, it was a delight to drive in Monza. 

You found yourself staring at the different drivers names that were wrapped around the seating section. Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell... Max Verstappen. 

He was handsome, that you could admit. With his pretty blue eyes, and his arrogant little smirk, and his annoying obsession with having to win.  

“Oh, you think Max Verstappen has pretty blue eyes, huh?”  

A small sound erupted from your chest as you listened to the words floating through your head from the man you hadn’t heard from in weeks. 

“Look who’s alive! Thought you got lost with your little controller steering wheel.” 

Laughing at your words, “You didn’t answer my question! You think Max Verstappen has pretty eyes?” 

“I think Max Verstappen himself is pretty. Other than when he’s being an arrogant prick.” 

That feeling had been eating at you all day, again. Like your soulmate bond was trying to force you to go in a direction you weren’t understanding. It was like it was trying to tell you that he was here, that he was so close you could almost smell him, almost touch him. You had been ignoring the little jabs inside of you all day, refusing to acknowledge the fact that maybe, just maybe, the person you were yearning for so heavily, was so close. 

“My soulmate just called me an arrogant prick, without realizing she was calling me an arrogant prick.”  

The Brit in front of him guffawed, his whole body moving as he gripped his side at Max’s words, “Mate, how did that even happen?” 

Shrugging his shoulders as he looked at Lando, “Not too sure. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks, figured she had shut the connection off for some time alone and all of a sudden, she’s thinking about how ‘Max Verstappen has such pretty blue eyes’ and then told me that I’d... or he’d be attractive all the time if he wasn’t such an arrogant prick.”  

Patting his shoulder gently, all Lando did was grin at him, “Just think, mate. At least whoever she is, she thinks you have pretty eyes and that you’re good looking when you’re not being an arrogant prick.” 

Max shoved him as he walked by, walking away in the direction of his driver's room. He had been having that feeling again, like his body was yearning for something that it couldn’t explain to him. He had tried to ask a few people about it, had asked Sebastian in the past if it was something he had experienced before meeting Hanna. Of course, Seb hadn’t been much help when one considered the fact that he and his soulmate had met in their shared childhood. 

It wasn’t something he could ask either of his parents, both admitting long ago that they weren’t destined for one another and that they had never had a connection with their true soulmates, which allowed them to willingly marry each other. Victoria had met her soulmate and now husband when they were young as well, so she would be of no help. 

He was almost embarrassed to ask Christian, or any other older person who had already met their soulmate. He was a grown man, he could literally just google it if he wanted to, but what exactly would he type in? 

What is that weird yearning feeling I get every now and then, out of the blue, in random buildings or random cities? 

Max was almost positive the answer would be ‘allergies’ or ‘hunger’. He figured that maybe it was soulmate related, it would make sense, but it wasn’t a feeling he had often. It wouldn’t make sense to only yearn so heavily for your soulmate in certain areas. 

It was always the strongest when he felt like he was truly connecting with you. He noticed it for the first time when both of you had touched yourselves to the sound of the other, egging one another on, saying exactly what the both of you know the other wanted to hear. Max couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed that time with you, how intimate it was, how much he craved to be the one making you moan and whimper. 

The feeling always grew after that, the yearning for the other person, the desire to have you there with him, the desire to have you underneath him after a night of celebration, the desire to have you wrapped in his arms, the desire to send you an unnecessary bouquet of flowers... if he could just figure out who you were, all of that would be possible.  

But the yearning today was different. It was like his body was trying to tell him he needed to go somewhere, trying to encourage him to walk down halls he didn’t usually walk down, or trying to push him in directions that made no sense.  

“You gonna tell me why you’re thinking of Max Verstappen so much today, and why you’re thinking so much about his pretty blue eyes?” 

He could feel the involuntary smile reach his lips when he heard your soft laugh. He really tried not to be someone who was smitten with a person he had never met, but he couldn’t deny that he was in love with you, likely had been since the both of you were young.  

You were the one constant in his life, the one person he could always turn to when he needed someone. You listened to all his ranting, dealt with hours upon hours of ‘Maxsplaining’, dealt with unnecessary outbursts and temper tantrums, but you never complained about it. You always eagerly pushed for him to continue, asking him more and more questions, prompting him out of his head and prompting him to get over whatever frustration had pushed him over the edge that day.  

“If you must know. I’m at the Monza Grand Prix, and I had to get away from all the Ferrari fans for a bit, pretty sure they were going to blow my ear drums. Max Verstappen’s name is everywhere, so I, of course, had to internally acknowledge his attractiveness while grimacing at his name in front of me.” 

Max felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. You were here? In Italy? At the Monza Grand Prix? The same place where he was, at this very moment, at this very second?  

He could tell you were waiting for a response from him to your words. It was like he could sense the raise of your eyebrows from the silence that emitted between your connection.  

“You’re in Monza?” He questioned eagerly, his hands sweating as he waited for a response 

“Yes sir, just about to try and force myself to go find my friends and head back to the paddock so I can avoid getting trampled by any other Ferrari fans.” 

Max knew almost instantly that, that had to be what the feeling was. The yearning. You were close by, and his side of the soulmate connection knew it.  

He had tried to tell you who he was before, had tried to explain it to you in words that the connection wouldn’t muffle or meddle with. It never worked. Any time he tried to explain to you who he was, or what he did for a living, it was like his brain malfunctioned and he had to hotwire it back on. 

You had told him the same thing happened to you every time you tried to explain to him who you were, or the easiest ways to find you in the real world. Every time either of you tried, it was like the connection was shutting it down. 

Daniel had told him it was likely the bond, telling him it wasn’t the time yet, that the both of you had to wait until the bond was steady and ready for you to finally meet in person. Max had never believed it, until right now.  

You had never been able to tell him exactly where you were before, at least, not that he can ever remember. You had told him the things you were doing in the past, had told him the people you were spending time with, even that you were getting dinner in certain districts. Any time you had tried to tell him the restaurant, or the city even, the connection would malfunction. 

But you were just mentally able to tell him where you were, you were internally able to tell him where you were going in the place that you currently were. 

“I’m... I’m in Monza too. At the Grand Prix, I mean.” 

He could almost feel the instant shock and excitement at his words. Before he or you could get the chance to say anything else, he heard GP calling for him, the annoyed expression on his face an indication that he had been looking for Max for far longer than he actually wanted to be.  

“I have to get back to work. Please, don’t leave before you hear from me again. Maybe this is a sign.” 

You could practically feel the shock coursing through your body. Both of you were here. In Monza. At the Grand Prix. At the same time, together... but not together? You tried to contain the giddiness at his words, a silent hum in acknowledgement when he told you not to leave. How could you leave? Especially now that you knew he was here? And that he was working? 

It gave you some indication as to why he was always so busy on Saturdays and Sundays, if he worked for a Formula 1 team, or for Formula 1 in itself. Their biggest days of the week were the weekends, especially during race weeks. It made sense why he could never talk on those days of the week, or why he always seemed so happy or moody on Sundays. 

You couldn’t believe that both of you were able to tell each other where the other was, that the connection finally allowed you to give that little tidbit of important information to the other. Maybe it finally was time, maybe the connection was finally allowing you to meet the one person you had been yearning for, even if you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t.  

The text message to your friends asking where they were garnered a response, which prompted you out of your train of thought. Letting them know that you were on your way to their location, your brain moved back to the previous thought your mind was on. He was here, like truly here. Within the same 10 kilometers as you. Probably the closest either of you had ever been to each other before. 

Your friends greeted you eagerly when you finally found them, excitably telling you all about the drivers they had met, how Alex Albon even recognized two of them from previous Grand Prix and how they just knew Charles Leclerc was going to win today because the Tifosi were going crazy and how could you not win with all that support screaming for you? 

Nodding along with a smile on your face, you had an inkling they were wrong. Max Verstappen was likely going to get his tenth win in a row, but you weren’t going to say that to them.  

The drivers parade went by faster than you were expecting, before you knew it, the cars and their drivers were lining up in their respective places along the grid. Your friends eagerly itching for a better view of the upcoming race. You couldn’t even put the effort in to pay attention, wondering where he was right now.  

Was he working? Was he one of the mechanics? One of the pit crew, eagerly waiting for their driver to pull into their spot? One of the engineers, hoping their instructions and their drivers did as they were supposed to? You tried not to let your mind wander to the other possibility, but it was hard not to. 

What if he was one of the drivers? One of the 20 men now pushing themselves around the track at the fastest speed their car could take them? You tried not to stay on that thought too long, but your mind seemed to wander back to it.  

It would make sense, really. Whoever he is, he had been karting since he was a boy. His father had been unnecessarily forceful with him about it, always pushing him even when he was down, telling him that champions didn’t cry and that if he wanted to win everything one day, he had to act like he wanted to.  

He always made it seem like he was on top of the world on Sundays, like everything he ever wanted had happened that day. Would a mechanic, or an engineer, or someone from the pit crew consistently have that level of elation on Sundays?  

You knew it was possible, if they were working for a winning team, or a winning driver, and that driver was making their lives as easy as possible, then you knew it was definitely a possibility. You just couldn’t shake the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was one of the drivers. 

The crowd was cheering as eagerly as they possibly could, Verstappen had overtaken Sainz three laps prior after the Spainard had led for 15 laps straight. The Tifosi were relentless though, cheering as loud as they could for their two drivers. Your friends had resigned themselves to the fact that Verstappen was getting his tenth win in a row, which was slowly coming closer and closer as the time ticked down. 

It felt like time was zooming by; the minutes on the clock trickling down as the stadium waited for that last lap to start. Sainz was battling to keep Leclerc in fourth, doing everything in his power to keep the third podium spot he had rightfully earned. 

The checkered flag waved as the Red Bull car of Max Verstappen passed the finish line, a simultaneous cheer erupting within the crowd when the two red Ferrari’s passed the line with barely a second apart. 

That feeling inside of you, the yearning, it had been getting stronger and stronger throughout the race. Strong enough that you had to rub at your chest with a grimace more than once, ignoring the signs that obviously your soul connection was trying to give to you.  

The television in front of you showed Max Verstappen on the top of his car, both hands and 10 fingers up as he stared at the moving camera, an obvious celebration beginning as he ran towards his team. Verstappen jumped at them, right as you heard his voice in your head. 

“Where are you right now? I want to see you. I need to see you.” 

He sounded out of breath, but elated, as per usual on a Sunday. Must work for Red Bull then, you thought to yourself. 

“I don’t really know how to explain where I am, I’m in the Paddock Club with my friends.”  

Turning away from the screen, you tried to focus on the words coming through the connection. 

“Come to the area where you can go towards the garages, I’ll have someone tell security to let you in. What are you wearing? I don’t think you’ll be able to tell me your name yet, and I don’t want to risk fucking this up.” 

You had absolutely no clue how to find the area he was describing to you, explaining to him that you didn’t spend most of your time at Grand Prix’s unlike someone, apparently. All he did was laugh joyfully, explaining to you in simpler terms how to get to where he wanted you to go. 

“I have to go do a few more things, but just wait for me, okay? I’ll come to find you, the moment I’m done. I swear.” 

“I’ve waited for years; I think I can wait a few minutes more.” 

He didn’t verbally respond, but you could still feel the happiness, the sense of something you could only describe as adoration come through the connection before he shut it off again. It was obvious he had commitments, but it was disheartening knowing you still had to wait a few more minutes, that he wouldn’t be there waiting for you, behind whatever security guard you were going to have to verbally grapple with to be let behind the barricades. 

All you told your friends when you left was you had to go make a call, and that it may take a few minutes. They tried to argue with you, telling you the drivers were just about to do their post-race interviews and that it was always one of the best parts, but you simply brushed them off, eager to get to where you needed to be. 

It didn’t take you long to find where he had told you to go, his explanations as thorough and necessary as they usually were. Before you could even get a word out to the security guard, a tall brunette in a Red Bull shirt lightly tapped your shoulder and gestured for you to follow her, flashing her entry pass at the guard and pulling you along. 

“I’m Liv. I work in PR with Red Bull; I was told to wait for you. Sorry for just like... pulling you along. No one really gave me any explanation, just that I was told to look out for someone wearing the exact same outfit you are, and that it had something to do with a soulmate thing and I couldn’t get involved or ask questions.” 

“This pass will get you in and out of pretty much wherever you need to be in the Red Bull garage and areas nearby,” the brunette rambled on as the both of you walked, pulling a second entry pass from her back pocket to give to you. 

Both of you stopped in front of what only could be the hospitality lounge, if the plethora of food and drinks were any indication. You didn’t necessarily know where to go, or where to stand, so you looked back over at the brunette with confusion evident in your eyes. 

“Just wait here! He shouldn’t be long. Feel free to snack, or make yourself a tea, or you know... drink whatever really. I have to get back to work. Just like, don’t leave. I’ll probably get in trouble for that. Anyways, bye! Good luck!”  

Not giving you the chance to respond, Liv, as you learned previously, turned and basically ran out of the room. You were left alone in the hospitality area, everyone from Red Bull obviously still celebrating Max Verstappen’s tenth win in a row. 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, deciding to sit down on one of the couches being the only real option you could decipher. The television was on low, the interviewer speaking to Sainz, Perez, and Verstappen. 

“You look eager to get out of here, Max. Big celebration planned for your tenth straight win?” 

The Dutchman chuckled, a cocky grin prominent on his face, “I have something I have to do after this, of course, though, not the celebration right away. I’m sure the team has a celebration planned, but it’s a bit arrogant of me to be involved in my own celebration party planning, no?” 

The interviewer laughed in response; you simply cocked your head at his words. Ironic that Max Verstappen would call himself arrogant, just hours after you had told him how arrogant you found Verstappen.

A few more questions zoomed by; your own thoughts preoccupied by the idea that your soulmate could be coming towards the room at any minute. The feeling in your chest, in your body as a whole, had grown substantially again since you sat down. What you didn’t notice was him grabbing his chest at the same time you did, rubbing it with a grimace as the yearning grew and grew. 

It didn’t take long for the interview to end, the television going back to the reporters as the drivers evidently went to go do whatever it is they do after their post-race interviews. 

You could hear someone walking down the hallway, which was strange considering how busy the Red Bull garage had to be right now. The steps grew louder as they got closer and closer to the room you were in, the door slamming open being the only thing to pull you out of your thoughts as you spun around. 

Making direct eye contact with your soulmate for the first time was exactly how everyone described it. It was instant, the feeling that seated itself inside your heart, inside your mind. It felt like you were whole, like everything you had done in the past 24 hours, let alone the past 10 years, had led you to this exact moment. 

You subconsciously moved off the couch, stepping in the direction of the man that was now eyeing your every move. You couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, whether he was happy, disheartened, you didn’t know. 

He stepped in your direction, just as you put another foot towards him. You could see the corners of his lips turning up, a smile starting to edge itself onto his cheeks.  

“I can’t believe you’re really here. In front of me. Like, a real person.” 

It was the same voice that you’ve heard in your head for years, except the words were coming from the mouth of the man in front of you, coming from the mouth of the man with the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen. 

You barely had time to process anything before he had wrapped his arms around you, pulling you directly into his chest as you wrapped your own arms around his body.  

He was real. Everything you had yearned for, for years was real, and Max was right there, holding you in his arms as he pressed his lips against the crown of your head, not wanting to let you go. 

Max could barely contain his eagerness as he basically sprinted down the hall of the Red Bull garage after the end of the interview. Olivia had told him where she had brought you, telling you to wait in the hospitality lounge and that he’d be there to see you as quickly as he could get out. 

He couldn’t believe that you were really there. After spending years of talking to an invisible force inside his head, years of having a constant companion who he could turn to for internal comfort, you were barely seconds away from him. 

Max didn’t hesitate to throw the door of the lounge open, making eye contact with you just a second later. 

Everyone was right, the feeling you get when you finally meet your soulmate, the person that’s supposed to complete you in the best of ways. It was instant love, instant happiness, a feeling better than any win he had ever accomplished, a feeling that could barely be explained in one million words.  

He knew right then that he loved you, and when you smiled at him, he knew you knew it too.  

i am obsessed with the soulmate trope so this obviously got out of hand and way more descriptive than i intended. im hoping you all love it as much as i loved writing it!! let me know what you think

my requests are also open :)

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[diyahatnight]

Warnings : NSFW Oneshot of a head cannon I made. Smut with a dialogue.

Minor dni

Giyuu Tomioka x Hashira f!reader

Summary : The topic surfs up about your boyfriend Giyu being a virgin, even though the other hashira’s didn’t know his past. You began to have flashbacks about what it’s like to be in bed with him.

Notes : This was requested by someone but it won’t let me tag them. Sorry it took so long to write this, i was being lazy. I’m also really bad a writing smut so let me know if there are any problems. There was another person who also requested: @lakainamelolita

I don’t proofread fyi

You and Giyuu had a private relationship, it wasn’t because the both of you were scared of people finding out, but because it was better and easier that way.

The other hashira’s knew you two were close friends, but it never crossed their minds that you two were together romantically. Even though it was quite obvious the only person who thought you two were in a relationship was Sanemi. He shot his own thought down when he looked at Giyuu and then at you and said to himself “nah she’s not that stupid to date an idiot like that guy.”

How you guys started the relationship was weird, you two were strictly just friends with obvious feelings for eachother. Until one night out together you guys returned to your mansion drunk, and one thing lead to another and y’all had sex in one of the many rooms.

Both of you remember that night exactly from how it started to how it ended, that being your first time it was the best sex you’ve ever had. He was so gentle with you but yet still had you crying.

You assumed because you were close friends, it would be awkward so you started avoiding him. While you were working out one day he came to ask you why you were avoiding him and you being confused asked if he didn’t think it was awkward and he said no. So then boom friends again, then about 2 weeks after bloomed a relationship.

There was the annual Hashira gathering, this wasn’t a fancy event or anything it was just a usual thing you guys do just to keep up with eachother. You guys were just a big ol family that just stayed in eachothers lives.

While chatting, Tengen got the question about how sex works with his 3 wives. Does each girl get their own moment or is it just a foursome?

That question brought up a sex topic amongst the hashira’s just telling out their business because there isn’t a personal bubble around them. ( discluding Muichiro for obvious reasons.)

When Shinobu started talking she called out the fact that Giyuu has been quiet the entire time, then started saying “Are you quiet because you’re a virgin?” thus bringing about her calling him “Giyuu the virgin.”

Giyuu didn’t say anything, he just shook his head. As they were laughing about Giyuu being the only Virgin amongst them you started getting flashbacks.

When you and Giyuu were just friends, he told you about his back story. He was a quiet guy, but getting girls in bed was like a second nature to him. He told you about all his sexual experiences, the good ones and the bad ones. You were flabbergasted to find out this side to him. That proving the point “it’s always the quiet guys.”

He was such a slut and it wasn’t obvious until you were one of the girls to be in bed with him.

The day that you two made it official he swore on his life that no one will get in the middle of this relationship. You were the only girl he’s been interested in ever since he first met you. You were his dream girl and so very perfect for him. He even slit his wrist as his own way as a pinky promise. He didn’t know why he did it he just did for some reason.

That same night he wanted to prove to you that you had all of him. And he knew the best way to prove that. He initiated the first move, you knew what he wanted when he was kissing you and he started pushing you more into the bed than you already were.

Next thing you new he was taking off yours and his kimono. The first round he was simply making love to you, he was being gentle and he finger prepped to make sure you had no pain on your end. He slowly pushed himself in to make sure that you had time to adjust to his length and thickness.

His pace was slow but harsh, each thrust were hitting all the right spots so perfectly. The first round he was fucking you so lovingly. He had your fingers intertwined with his as he had your hands above your head. When you reached your orgasm he made sure to give you some time before he reached his own orgasm. Pulling out then cuming on your belly.

He caught you off guard when he used his fingers to scoop up his cum off your belly, then sticking it in your mouth. What caught you even more off guard is when he started pushing both of your legs to your chest hinting that there was going to be another round.

This time without warning he just penetrated you and you let out a little squeal at the sudden sensation. This time his thrusts weren’t slow, they were fast and rough. But because of the position you were in you couldn’t hear the sound of skin slapping, but there was definitely a sound.

His new pace had your head thrown all the way back and you gripping into the sheets. Your orgasm came faster than it did before, your eyes tearing up and sending you into a haze because you were already sensitive from your first orgasm.

when his came he once again came on your belly then scooped it up and stuck it in your mouth.

He randomly flipped you over on your hands and knees, arching your back and forcing your face into the pillow. He forcefully pushed himself into your hole this time and that got a loud moan from you. His pace was somehow faster than his pace from the second round.

This time you can hear the sound of skin slapping, he was so focused on making you feel good he didn’t even realize how much he was digging into the skin of your ass. Letting out small grunts as he watched you tear apart before him. It turned him on so much he started to pick up the pace.

You were like jelly in the palm of his hands, you were trying to tell him to slow down but you couldn’t make out full sentences. You started to cry at all the pleasure and then the pain when your orgasm started to arise. This was the third orgasm i’m the row and it was starting to hurt because you were so sensitive.

The sex was so good but it was the orgasm that had you crying beneath him. When you came you had blacked out for a second and then came back to reality when he asked for permission to cum inside of you.

This time you told him yes, and that he did. After both of you collapsed and you snuggled up next to him as he apologized and started kissing your forehead.

You said that the both of you should go and shower together and he agreed. The beginning of the shower was just a normal couples shower, until one thing happened and then another then a 4th round became in that shower.

You snapped out of your thoughts, clearing the flash back you just had when Giyuu touched your thigh. “You okay?” he was a tiny bit concerned on why you all of a sudden got so quiet.

You shook your head yes, but you had the reason for the quietness written all over your face. He couldn’t help but give you a small smirk.

He was happy to know that you knew who he really was and you being the only person in the room who’s got to experience it.

Now i have to write the next fanfic for the next person (i’m just doing fan service)

#demon slayer #kny headcanons #kny oneshots #demon slayer smut #kny smut #giyuu x reader #giyuu smut #giyuu oneshot #giyuu headcanons #giyuu tomioka #giyuu tomioka smut #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader smut #demon slayer smut head cannons #demon slayer giyuu tomioka #demon slayer giyuu #demon slayer x reader

[absolutebl]

Pit Babe - it's time for a Trash Watch!

I had to. Well, no I didn't, but COME ON. It's like Thailand is negging me. Let's burn rubber, shall we? Burn rubbers...?

The things I had been told going in about this show:

it's about car racing (this bores me)

it stars Pavel (my BL ult bias, he is my icon for a reason)

it started as an omegaverse y-novel but the A/B/O aspects would be stripped from the BL series

it's high heat

(There some chatter about whether point 3 was a mistranslation of something the author said, but don't bother me with trifles.)

Here's a definition of omegaverse:

Omegaverse, also known as A/B/O (alpha/beta/omega), is a subgenre of speculative erotic fiction, and originally a subgenre of erotic slash fan fiction. Its premise is that a dominance hierarchy exists in humans, which are divided into dominant "alphas", neutral "betas", and submissive "omegas".[1] This hierarchy determines how people interact with one another in romantic, erotic and sexual contexts.[2] (Wikipedia)

In my experience and opinion, omegaverse archetypes and tropes are often used to strip out female characters (and The Feminine) and as a tool to excuse extreme hyper-masculine behaviors without a critical feminist lens (leading to lazy characterization). Just as heat is an excuse to get nkd quickly, A/O/B is often an excuse for taboo and dubious consent actions and behaviors. Do I get why writers/readers enjoy it? Yes I do. Do I personally like it? Not particularly. (Although there are always exceptions.)

Putting all that aside, the above represents my foundational knowledge before Pit Babe started.

Oh and that the familiar BL faces appearing in this show were follows:

Pavel Naret (aka Pavel Phoom) from 2 Moons 2 & Coffee Melody - Pavel is a fluent English speaker, a bit of a drama monger, and a motorcycle rider/car-dude, this role suits him

Nut Supanut from Oxygen & Something in My Room - has an amazing voice, his somewhat wooden acting has improved steadily since Oxygen

Pon Thanapon - one of Star Hunter's stable first seen in the Gen Y series (where he stole the appeal of an intended pair), also v good in Make a Wish, I wish he'd get a lead role as he has a likable screen presence

Pop Pataraphol from La Cuisine - he's playing the Alpha rival and I'm not convinced he's suited to this role

Michael Kiettisak from Love Sick, Oxygen, Call it What You Want, Till the World Ends - playing the comic relief this time rather than his usual tortured stoic... huh

All the rest are either fresh faces or older experienced actors. Interesting mix. They must have some money behind this.

And now, get out your marshmallows! The dumpster is on fire! Let's start the roast.

Episode 1 - Platypus, Pickles, Pavel, & other Smoking Hot Problems

This first segment told with a 4 day retrospect, because I decided to do a trash watch only after @aliceisathome said I should.

My initial reaction:

the sheer audacity of Thailand being like "PitBabe is not omegaverse" and then serving "Alpha" to us on a platter in the first sex scene is

how dare

but also

what the actual fuck is going on? what world are we living in where a/b/o is LIVE ACTION ON OUR SCREENS?

we getting heat, knotting & mpreg next?

apparently this is my reality now

I'm not sure what weird quantum time stream I've jumped into but someone was all,

yes the whole world is hella screwed, but also...

Thailand has decided live action mm fanfic is gonna win it the culture wars

and I'm beginning to think they may be right

BL is now the platypus of the film industry

4 days later:

Considering how much chatter this caused there's a part of me that wondered if it was all intentional and a marketing ploy (to say it wasn't omegaverse when obviously it is). In which case... brilliant Machiavellian tactics, production.

But Thai studios are rarely this calculated in their promo. So I think it's all accidental. But it certainly caused a raucous few days on Tumblr.

On a completely different note, Babe's house looks like it started life as a particularly inventive Olive Garden. Or is that just me?

More random thoughts:

Pavel has had work done, why honey? You were the definition of perfect.

The smell thing is great, I love stuff to do with scent and necks. If omegaverse brings this to the table, fine. But...

Being all Alpha perfect butch manly man = I do not like Babe at all, I kinda want him to be brought down a peg. (Woo... pegging!) I never like narratives that glorify the captain of the football team (side eyes Cdrama CEO romances and Love O2O), Babe better have depth and damage (forget the pegging) of some kind or his behavior will get old FAST, faster than he drives (also, forget the pegging idea)

Nut is ideal in the Beta role. I mean, that's Way's character right? We all can see that. If it's not intentional, it's a miscast. I love how soft he is as as screen presence. He's great in this part.

None of the other characters are sticking out to me yet, but I'm prepared to love the side dishes in this, please make them swoon worthy!

I'm glad they didn't hold the Charlie = trickster reveal off, I like knowing he is a double agent up front.

Finally, with respect to an adequate trash watch, I'm in a pickle.

How am I going to drink for this show when there is so much else airing on Frigay? I can't keep track, if I'm drunk.

I need a strategy for this trash fire if the puns and snark are to spout forth! (HA Fourth!)

Controlled burn?

Anygay, see you all next week.

Episode 2 - Side Dish Addiction + Second Lead Syndrome are both infecting me at once

[FYI I gotta have my backup computer to watch this so that's why Imma sometimes be delayed getting the trash out to the curb.]

3 minutes! 3 minutes in and I needed to pause and wax snarkful. (Ouch, bet that hurts. Is waxing snark similar to a Brazilian but for BL? Is that why they all so hairless in The Sign?... I digress, where was I?)

Okay so the subber said Daddy but I don't think that word means what they think it means. Because Way said simply nong paa.

Usually they'll use the English word Daddy (pronounced Dah-deee) for, ya know, Actual Daddies (tm).

Wait wait:

Calling Daddy Actual

(My dumb sci-fi loving arse will see myself out the back before I start drawing Battlestar Galactica = Pit Babe connections. TOO FAR ABL. Too far.)

Look, I like the tension in this show. It's good to set up an unlikeable Alpha dog and then immediately turn him into an underdog, makes him a bit more likable. I still don't like Babe, but now at least I'm on his side.

Charlie = cute but v sus. Fortunately for him, Babe = cute but v thick.

Everyone calls Charlie Babe's dek. Yes sounds a bit like what you think but also means kid/child and SHOULD be translated as boy in this show. Why doesn't the subber get that? They a sub...ber after all. (I'll see myself out.)

Honestly, the script writers might know what they are doing with abo but our eng sub translator sadly does NOT. I'm so glad this is coming now in my BL watching life. When my ear and knowledge of Thai is so much better than it once was. Others much be SO CONFUSED.

Snicker. They just fucking with us, but it's fun to watch the mpeg speculation abound.

File this one under: Thailand's trouble with ESL plurals and also "you should have Pavel helping with these subs" sweethearts.

Production knows entirely what it's doing with this show and its omegaverse shizz (even if the subber doesn't) and I am very much enjoying the online carnage that results.

This dumpster fire continues off screen into the blogosphere and I continue to roast things over it.

Meanwhile, hi Pon! You so adorable! When you gonna lead out a BL for us?

Is Idol Factory stealing all of Star Hunter's talent? Are they the Red Racers of the BL world? These are the questions I ask myself as I watch this.

Is that AGE GAP I smell before me?

Is the 20 yr old college kid meant for the pit boss? Cause you all know I am a slut for age gaps.

Moment of a/b/o: Jeff's fear of touch/heightened personal space would be a plot marker for "baby doesn't want Alphas close cause he smells like an omega" but of course this show it not omegaverse. Not omegaverse at all.

nuh-uh

Linguistic corner!

Lung (sounds a bit like loo) is uncle(ish) it means basically a male relation older than phi. So Alan is the oldest in the crew.

Alan calls Jeff nu (which the subber translated as boy I would have gone with cutie or little one). Nu is a diminutive affectionate term that's technically gender neutral but is most often used by/on cute girls/women. Jeff did NOT like it. Then Alan sort of dodges through pronouns/particles settling on phi for I, ger for you, and ja for a particle. This is interesting because ger & ja kinda lower his age and status into a casual sphere. Not more intimate more equal to jeff... fascinating.

I love the new "Korean" red racer, he drinks my brand of soy milk. He is now my baby snake in the grass.

Get it? Snake.

He and Babe should end up together.

The fight wasn't bad, do both actors have kickbox training in their backgrounds?

Who am I kidding, I care only about Uncle Alan and Nu Jeff now. All others are irrelevant to me.

Also...

WHERE IS A BOY FOR WAY?!!! Or a Daddy. I do not care. (Methinks nether does he.)

I am now captain of the Way Appreciation Society. Let's all find a way... to get him some dick.

Also the BTS stingers are tons of fun. Looks like the set was a blast.

Finally, and I mean this kindly. Why isn't Noh Phouluang in this? He should have been cast as Winner. Bah. I'm biased.

But one should be with Noh.

Episode 3 - Side Dishes Delux

Gayest bridge n Thailand has made its obligatory appearance.

How much do I love uncle & nu? They are SO damn cute. Also nu flustered is the best kind of nu.

I could not care less about Babe and Charlie. Except I do love the smell thing.

Way will break my heart by getting his broken. He is right tho.

Tra la la. I feel like this is a bit like KP 2.0.

Charlie is a such a princess (and ace manipulator). Good thing Babe clearly likes being buttered up.

Babe's backstory was more interesting than I expected, I didn't think we would go so far into the paranormal side of a/b/o. I like it and I hope they lean into it quite a bit more. Make it part of the plot.

Unlike the kissing thing which seems to have been gotten over rather quickly.

I gotta say I'm enjoying the corporate sponsorship jockeying and tension more than I thought I would. I'm curious as to who Jef and Charlie are working for and what their motivation is. The plot itself is keeping me intrigued and that is rare for me with BL.

So no trash talk this ep, I was largely absorbed and entertained. I didn't event need booze. Shocking behavior on my part.

#giveWayaboy2023

Episode 4 - I (who never ship) am shipping the impossible

Here’s the thing. I just want this to be a better story than it is. Right now it’s kind of like a soap opera. I don’t hate lakorn, I really don't. To Sir With Love is a glorious chewing of the diamanté scenery (completed with death glitter). But...

If this is gonna be a soap opera it needs to lean into the messy side more than the tailored high concept side. Support characters and evil needs more screen time.

Instead, right now, I don’t know where I am with this show because it doesn't know where it wants to be. I’m kind of dangling in the middle of a dirty situation. It’s uncomfortable for me, and the show feels uncomfortable for the performers. 

Also... I have questions.

Yes, of course I want to know what Charlie & Jeff are up to. Why can Jeff see the future?

But more importantly I NEED to know why Babe has a flying saucer bed?

That kind of lighting makes nobody look good, especially not at that angle. It’s very traumatic and I’m not wild about the shag rug either. I have concerns about Babe's taste. I guess is what I am saying. 

On a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT note:

There’s absolutely no chemistry to justify this, but I have decided that I am going to personally advocate for, and ship, Way and the interloping not-really-Korean. They are both sort of own-moral-code types. I have tiny crush on Kim, and Nut is the prettiest, and Way is Best Boy so there it is, I would like them to hook up, please & thank you.

#giveWay2Kim2023

Arrow guy is cute, too. Will we get to see him bone?

Is he going to be another one of the adopted alpha super-kid pets?

What the hell, throw Arrow Boy a bone! All hot boys in BLs deserve bones.

Plot thickens.

Hah.

Thickens.

(I am an immature idiot.)

Episode 5 - wait wait way-t, can arrow boy have Way?

Look, BLabies, I didn’t get any screen caps this episode because frankly there wasn’t anything worth capturing.

I guess Charlie really does love Babe? Very dramatic if idiotic saving from the burning car. But Babe has gone to the broken Alpha place of extremely unlikeablability (frankly he was almost there at the start). If I were Charles B Spectacled I would be OUT by now. 

Is that?

NO.

Don't get the plastic bowl.

No white towel sponge bath. Please kill this trope.  

I mean, it's not as bad as singing, but that's because NOTHING is as bad as singing in a Thai BL.

AND the main boys are back together.

I don’t find their relationship or Babe’s lack of senses a particularly interesting aspect of the plot.

Unless, of course, Babe is pregnant and that's why he lost his Alpha sniffer.

BUT I do love the sides.

Jeff = the introvert precog who can’t/wont do people and Alan = the extrovert people person who WANTS but doesn’t understand him. 

Were Jeff and Charlie ALSO raised by Evil Daddy MacEvilPants? 

I liked the way Arrow CEO & Way looked at each other. Way, hon, give up on Babe (he sucks) and get thyself a billionaire bf with great aim and BDE.

On a completely different note, the best thing about this show is the blooper reel. That thing with the green smoothie going down his pants was hilarious!

In conclusion, this was a green smoothie down the pants episode. I was entertained, and it’s probably gonna be good for the plot in retrospect, but it was kind of squishy and unpleasant at the time.

Episode 6 - Are they actually listening to us now? Is Tumblr bugged?

This was a fun ep full of like actual racing and shizz.

Whatever.

Charlie is on the team now. All the teams, apparently.

Can we talk about Jeff and Alan?

The apology scene! Did you hear that Alan dropped to chan/ger? Eeeee!!! So cute. (He equalized their relationship in a soft way.)

Get it with that language play hottie. Next up: lengua play.

Please & thank you. 

Meanwhile, as all of the Internet knows, they went fully in for omegaverse - no bars.

I have to say, one of the greatest typos (or whatever) in existence is enigma instead of omega.

That's where I personally would rank in the omegaverse.

Hello, my gender is... enigma.

 Apparently it's a/b/o and sometimes e!  Also sometimes switch-ee 

Oh I'm very proud of myself with that one.

Funfunfun

Charlie. Babes. When a man asks to be thrown up against the wall. You throw him against that wall.

OMG is that arrow boy looking at Way in the bar?

3 seconds later.

Noooo.

Wait come back.

Noooooo.

That’s what I actually want to watch! 

OMG. Who said nu was the first step to teelak?

I flipping love Alan. 

Ah the boyfriend ep. Thank you, but I still don't trust Charlie.

Poor Way.

But nice crying jag, and I don’t say that often in Thai BL.

Now let him go, Way.

A boy with his arrows is waiting. 

(source)

Note for the future: tumblr has a bug that stops allowing edits after a certain time/number, thus my full trash often occur in 2 segments as a result. Click on the "abl trash watches bl" tag for the full thing if you're reading this and later episodes are missing.

#pit babe the series #pit babe #thai bl #abl trash watches bl #Pavel Naret Promphaopun #pavel phoom #trash watch #2023 bl #currently airing bl #watch along #Nut Supanut #Pon Thanapon #พิษเบ๊บ

[saturnsbabyboii]

🦩Astro Observations for When the Bare minimum is Your Best🦩

🦩The Neptune Sextile Pluto to me is such an interesting aspect. For one, it is an anomaly for it being cross generational yet only occur during less than 25% of a generational birth timeline. The second being that it occurs during significant periods of history (i.e. The escalation of WWII in 1942). People that have had an influence on many generations are born with this aspect.

🦩The Polarity between Fire/Air dom Scorpio vs Earth/Water dom Scorpio is unbelievable.

🦩Pluto entering Aquarius (plus being in retrograde) and Uranus in Taurus has been proving to be karmic and transformative for the Pluto Scorpio generation. Many celebrities are continued to be exposed for bad behavior (sometimes it could be down right criminal). This isn't anything new, but it has been happening to people that no one suspected or the affected have kept quiet about it or were unheard until now.

🦩 Sun Inconjunct Saturn people almost always have painful stories yet they're never told. The restrictions that Saturn brings on the Sun can suggest everything from a controlling family, chronic loneliness, expected to follow a pathology, or being forced into a life that can only be referred to as inauthentic at the least. Unlike most, these people need to learn to unbecome everything that have been placed on them by others. As a result, they usually posses the biggest sense of perseverance and persistence. With time and as they accept that they have the right to hold court and presence in life, they will start to shine. Saturn is a late boomer, so they usually reap it's fruits later in life. Love that old age radiance.

🦩The asteroid Pallas Athena (2) gives an insight to the wisdom and knowledge we carried from our past lives. It recognizes patterns, habits, cycles and thoughts. It's our trigger and reason for when we experience "Deja Vu". The sign it's in, the house it resides in, the aspects it makes tell us how and through what that wisdom and knowledge is channeled and received.

🦩People with Neptune in Mutable houses (3rd, 6th, 9th, 12th) are more susceptible to indoctrination. They're usually a part of a new age cult.

🦩When the Moon is in a positive aspect to one of either Venus or Mars but a harsh aspect to the other (For example, Moon Trine Venus but Moon Opposing Mars), the person emotional needs, romantic attraction and sexual attraction would always be at odds with one another. With a highly developed person, this is usually resolved by communicating your needs and desires (possibly being part of the BDSM or kink community). In underdeveloped individuals, this would create an unsatisfied person that is hard to please or get to know, fear of intimacy, and (my fav) being an all around incel.

🦩Scorpio in the 10th/Pluto in the 10th natives might develop a reputation as the "other woman/man/one" or could be entangled in a messy relationship publicly.

🦩Although both the Square and Opposition aspects are considered "harsh" or challenging, they represent a different kind respectively. The Square aspect is generally external in its characteristics. When it's present, the native usually deals with adversarial circumstances in relation to the placements/houses. In contrast, the Opposition aspect is internal and entail a difficulty understanding, reflecting or aligning that conflict within. For example, a square aspect between Mercury and Uranus suggests a more restrictive environment where one could be punished for speaking the truth and expressing their mind. Meanwhile, an opposition aspect between Mercury and Uranus suggest difficulty connecting and communicating with the world around.

🦩Beware of people you meet during the period between your Jupiter return and Saturn return. It's very likely they would prove to be a testament to your growth and attunement. In some cases, you may find yourself on the receiving end of a situation where you have been the other person in the past. (i.e. Getting ghosted more often if you ghosted many before)

🦩I found that in one sided relationships, in synastry one person planets are usually more aspected than the other one.

🦩Signs from each element complete each other, for when they stand alone you'll find that they desire what the others posses. For example, with Earth signs you'll find that both Virgo and Capricorn desire the stability that Taurus posses. Although they both find it through work, Virgo gets it from the stability of routine, while Capricorn get it from the financial security. The same can be said for Virgo's vigor and Capricorn's efficiency.

🦩A person with an unaspected mean Lilith (h12) tend be the least petty and vengeful person. If their other placements prove otherwise, then their pettiness would be circumstantial rather than passive and constant in nature. This is because Lilith is only activated when aspected.

Byeeeee 💕

#astrology #astro observations #astrology notes #astro notes #astrology observations

[brooooswriting]

Connected

Carol Danvers x reader (romantic), Monica Rambeau x reader (platonic), Kamala Khan x reader (platonic)

Kamala was secretly snooping through Carol's ship while the rest were downstairs when suddenly somebody appeared in front of her. She couldn't stop the squeak that left her as she nearly crashed into you. “Wh-Who the hell are you?” she asked once she stepped back.

“Who the hell are you?” you asked back, questioning the audacity of the girl in your girlfriend's ship. You hadn't heard from her in days, which scared you, so you decided to come back and check if she was alright.

“I-I am Ms. Marvel,” she stuttered out, her answer confusing you significantly, but before you could say anything, Carol and a woman came running up.

“Kamala, are you alright?” the captain called out, her first already glowing as she shoved the younger girl behind herself. “Omg, y/n,” she swooned as soon as she saw you. “What are you doing here?” she added as she let go of Kamala, signaling to them that you weren't a threat.

“What I am doing here?” you asked sarcastically, picking up a dishcloth on the table beside you. “You haven't reached out in days, not answering my calls, not texting back. Nothing. Jeez. I thought you died,” you growled at her, hitting her with the cloth you picked up before.

“Alright, alright, can you calm for a second? I want you to meet somebody. This is Kamala Khan, and this is Monica Rambeau, also known as Luitenant Trouble.” She pointed to each of them so you could reach out and shake their hands. You couldn't help but smile when she said Luitenant trouble; she had always told you about the girl and how much she missed her. “And now, how about we go down? So we have a bit of privacy.” Without saying anything, you started to walk toward the stairs. Carol following you like a lost puppy.

You crossed your arms once you stood across from the blonde, an annoyed look on your face. She stood still for a moment, contemplating what to do next. “Don't ever. And I mean ever. Ghost me like that again, or I am going to kick your ass into the next universe,” you threatened, your tone serious.

“I'm sorry, it's just… a lot has happened, and I was so stressed that I didn't even have time to check my phone, love.” She took a step closer to you before continuing. “Now come here; I missed you.” Carol quickly grabbed your waist and pulled you into a kiss. Without a second thought, your body reacted and kissed her back, your arms wrapping around her neck. You didn't even notice that tears started to stream down your face, the fear of something happening to her finally disappearing.

Once your girlfriend noticed your tears, she pulled away one of her hands, finding your face to wipe away your tears. “It's okay, I'm alright. I'm sorry, baby. I didn't wanna scare you like that. I promise I'll never do it again.” Her muscular arms wrapped around your waist again, her skin touching yours as she scooted them under your hoodie. Her hands rested on your back as you buried your face in her neck, your sobs slowly dying down as she used her powers to heat up her hands. Something she knew calmed you down and helped with your constant back pains. You finally felt content until suddenly the body pressed against your felt… well… different.

Before you could pull back, the other person pulled away. “Iuh, please tell me you didn't do anything sexual,” you recognized Monica's voice and couldn't hide your small smile when you saw that she had her eyes closed.

“You can open your eyes; we were just hugging”

Before anyone could say something else, you heard the captain scream out of annoyance. “Monica, powers. Now,” and a second later, Carol stood in front of you again.

“I-what?” your head tilted to the side, and your brows were furrowed as you tried to piece together what just happened.

“I'll explain in a moment. It's a long story. But first, I want another hug and kiss, this time without switching. I promise.” You fell into her arms again, pressing several small kisses against her lips.

After that, you went back upstairs and joined the other two. Each of them sat on a beanbag while you and Carol sat next to each other on the bed, the blonde's arm wrapped around you while her hand rested on your waist. They, mainly Monica, actually explained what the deal was, and you were more than confused.

Turns out, Carol was not the only one who played with her powers when she was nervous or bored. One moment, you stood in the bathroom with your girlfriend behind you, a hand on your waist as both of you brushed your teeth. And the next a confused teenager had her hand on your waist and stood behind you. You, as well as the teenager, let out a yelp and jumped away from each other before groaning. Kamala immediately started to apologize as she avoided your eyes.

You quickly spit out the toothpaste so you could calm down the girl. “Kamala, Kam- it's alright. It's not your fault, hon. We all have to get used to it.” Your hands landed on her shoulders to stop her pacing. “Now, come on, let's go to the others.” You walked out with the girl behind you. Carol was sitting on the bed with an annoyed look. The moment you stepped out, hell broke loose, the three girls arguing and discussing without listening to each other. You rolled your eyes before whistling loudly, making them stop.

“OK, we will need some rules. While I find all of you lovely, I’d appreciate it if you all weren't constantly in my girlfriend's place. So, first rule: no playing around with your powers out of boredom, Carol, no heating up your hands while hugging or anything.” You threw the blonde a glance before continuing. “Second, if you use your powers, just call out quickly so nobody gets hurt, alright? Last rule, before you guys fight any fight, you'll train how to deal with this.” You saw in their eyes that they wanted to start again, so you spoke up again. “Now, go brush your teeth, and then go to bed. Everybody.” All three of them nodded, Monica and Kamala, making their way to brush their teeth.

“She’d be a great mum,” Kamala whispered to Monica, making you laugh.

While the rest got ready for bed, you and Carol got into bed. Your head rested on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you, kissing your head softly. “Tomorrow, you have to tell me how your see-again with Monica was.”

This would be a wild week in which Kamala couldn't keep eye contact with you for even a second.

#reader insert #brooooswriting #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x y/n #carol danvers x you #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers #monica rambeau x reader #kamala khan x reader

[transrightsyamaguchi]

blue lock fic rec list #1 (?)

i always liked when people made long masterlists of fic recs but i haven't seen anyone do it for blue lock yet. at least not recently. so in the spirit of Be The Change You Want To See In The World here's my list.

not in any particular order just going through my bookmarks lol.

sound of breaking down. chigiri-centric, 4k words, rated T.

“Is he dead?” “No, of course not.” A pause. “I hope not.” “Yo, Princess, are you alive in there?” The door rattles. OR Determined to prove himself, Chigiri disregards his health and deals with consequences. None of it is pretty. Set during the neo-Egoist league arc. it's a sickfic. it's a really good sickfic. it hits all the beats i like my sickfics to hit and then some. it's a genfic which is a major bonus. no romantic subplot just chigiri being vulnerable and getting taken care of. there's some sweet moments between him and chris prince that made me melt inside.

2. the rituals are intricate, bro. karasu/otoya, 2k words, rated E.

Otoya offers to groom the homie's wings. Things escalate in ways he did not expect. this is by one of my beloved mutuals but i'd still be recommending it even if it wasn't. great title. there's an "it's not gay with socks on" joke in there. there's the ever-present Otoya Eita Sexuality Crisis. the porn is less sexy and more funny (as tabieita deserves).

3. six facts about lobsters. bachira/isagi, 4k words, rated T.

What it says on the tin. (In fine print: six facts about you.) can't remember if ghost is on tumblr or not but this is another mutual fic. it's a take on the 5+1 format, tracking the bachisagi relationship through lobster facts. isagi's autism radiates through the text. it's so cute and so sweet and so very bachisagi essence. as expected of ao3 user smallghosts (<- the bachisagi essence writer)

4. counting crows on the windowsill. kaiser/ness, 18k words, rated M.

“How much,” you ask, “would you let me do to you?” The feeling of vibration on your fingers comes again, and he is thinking, or perhaps toying with you even more. Your grip tightens on his skin, and Alexis twitches slightly in the grasp. More than once have people told you to learn some patience. “You already know my answer.” “Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it in your own words.” Inhale, exhale, and they all fall onto your skin. There is a chill in the room—it is rising up your arms, your neck—but the whole of you is hot. “If it’s you, I’d let you do anything.” Seven snapshots of life through the eyes of Michael Kaiser. this is a longer one but if you have time and you want to feel some Emotions read this one. nskins contain such multitudes and this author understands them so well.

5. shidou-ctionary. shidou/sae, 4k words, rated T.

Contemporary linguists agree that achieving proficiency in a new language requires between six months and four years of study. Itoshi Sae knows better. He has anecdotal evidence to suggest that a person can become fluent in a new language in as little as one week. A week of Shidou Ryuusei's attempts to ask Itoshi Sae on a date: a story in emojis. yet another mutual fic. i can't help it that my mutuals are all extremely talented and correct about everything. it's got some experimental formatting going on and (in my opinion) it looks best on desktop. ft. shidou being shidou and sae being smitten (in the emotionally constipated way that sae is smitten with shidou)

6. puppy love. kurona/kiyora, 9k words, rated G.

Jin doesn’t fight the small smile forming on his face. It’s been a long time since he meshed well with anyone. People tend to avoid him; he avoids them in turn. He stopped caring (or so he had told himself), but he doesn’t hate the weight around his shoulders—doesn’t mind it at all, really. He wraps his hand around Ranze’s wrist, and he laughs along with him. Kiyora Jin has a number of problems. A growing crush on Kurona Ranze is not supposed to be one of them. this was the inaugural fic in the ranjin tag and. not to pat myself on the back or anything. but i beta-read it hehe. another mutual fic. kiyora jin character study before kiyora jin was even a character, with an adorable little romantic subplot. somewhat negated by the Recent Developments in canon but it's still good!!

7. pink light. shidou/sae, 19k words, rated E.

Fifteen years ago, Shidou took a pass from Sae that shattered his knee and ended his career, and Sae hasn't been able to speak to him since - and Sae wants it to stay that way. Deserves for it to stay that way. Unfortunately, the world has other plans for him, courtesy of a little art studio a five minute walk from his new post-retirement apartment. this is not a mutual fic but i'm trying to change that. it's post-canon ryusae ft. cane user shidou (!!) and emotionally constipated sae learning how to live without soccer. not quite old man yaoi but it has the spirit of it.

8. year one. snuffy & lorenzo centric, 3k words, rated T.

"When's your birthday?" Snuffy asks him carefully, moving on to the next field. "Today," Don answers immediately. "Really?" Snuffy looks at him suspiciously. "No," Don replies without hesitation, turning back to a poster describing professional tooth brushing. Snuffy tries not to look at the tense faces of the receptionist and the surgeon peering out of the room. Snuffy's first year of parenthood. what is it about snuffy & lorenzo fics that just hit so different. i swear everyone who writes for them is a genius. this fic is short snapshots of snuffy and lorenzo navigating their newly-formed parent-child relationship and it's heartwrenching and heartwarming and poignant. this writer has a few snuffy & lorenzo fics and they're all wonderful. (she's also on tumblr and writes in-depth lorenzo meta so you Know she understands him)

9. pov: you just want the world to be quiet. itoshi brothers, 4k words, rated T.

his big brother and football have become the only hope to which rin can cling to dream of better days. without them, he only and just remains that little six-year-old boy destroyed by the senseless atrocities of evil hands. hesitated to include this one because the tags are scary but fuck it we ball i do what i want. it's a rewrite of rin's backstory with a darker spin on it and it follows rin and sae's relationship through that lens. as par for the course with pre-canon itoshi studies, it does not end happily. it's incredibly well-done and it will give you Feelings. (this is one of those cases where the author drops a life-changing bombshell of a fic on you and then you go to their profile and there's no bio. there's no public bookmarks. this is their only blue lock fic. they haven't posted anything in a year. who are they)

10. peak male living space. kunigami/chigiri, 3k words, rated E.

Raichi and Kunigami had met at university; playing on the football team, sharing many lectures, and living through the shitshow that was university halls together. It seemed only natural that they’d move in together, and it had been great for the past few of years… Until Kunigami’s new boyfriend asked why he never invited him over to his place, and he was forced to deal with the realisation that he and Raichi have the most boyish disaster of a flat. part of a series but it can stand alone. t4t kunigiri smut. kunigami and raichi are disaster roommates and bachisagi play wingmen. lionel messi makes a cameo in the form of a cardboard cutout. all the kunigiri fics in this series are good but this fic in particular is just so funny.

if you notice any ships or characters Conspicuously Absent it's because they were positively dominating this list at first so i'm planning to make a separate list for only them hehe

there are many more fics that made my soul ascend from my body so i might make another of these

#blue lock #he speaks #fic recs #tabieita #kunigiri #bachisagi #kainess #nesskai #ryusae #chigiri hyouma #karasu tabito #otoya eita #kunigami rensuke #itoshi rin #shidou ryusei #itoshi sae #don lorenzo #michael kaiser #alexis ness #marc snuffy #kurona ranze #kiyora jin #isagi yoichi #bachira meguru #is it bad form to tag all these characters #i mean. they appear in the post

[ctitan98official]

@wife-of-gwendolinechristie : Could I have a jealous Alcina Dimitrescu? I thirst for this woman

Hell yeah! I love Alcina too (Obviously, she’s who I post about almost every day lol)!

It should come as no surprise that Alcina is very possessive over things she deems as “hers”… Y/N is no exception.

Alcina is definitely one for dramatic flare. If she catches even a hint that a maiden or woman from the village looked at Y/N for too long… Let’s just say these women don’t tend to stick around. She takes pride in making these women’s last moments on earth tortuous. (Yikes).

Alcina has made entire tournaments for her daughters where the first to bring her a woman who has been flirting with Y/N wins. Y/N is simply too oblivious to suspect this is what’s going on.

The Lady of the castle is very big on public displays of affection with Y/N (Nothing graphic, just holding Y/N’s hand or giving them a peck on the cheek).

However, if Alcina feels that boundaries need to be established, she will not hesitate to damn near suck Y/N’s face off in a searing kiss.

Alcina pouts. 100% and you can’t convince me otherwise. (Hell, we saw her do it when she was talking to Mother Miranda in the game).

Y/N is usually too innocent to think that them simply talking to another woman could be the cause for Alcina’s sudden bad attitude. They just chalk it up to her being moody. She is a busy woman after all.

Sometimes, Alcina is like a cat that demands attention. She’ll sit in front of Y/N wearing her nicest perfume and pearls… More often than not, that’s all she’s wearing when she’s like this…

Y/N may be oblivious, but they’re not completely stupid. They see Alcina pining for some loving? They give it to her.

Very rarely will Alcina display any insecurities, but there have been times, usually in the throes of passion and love-making, where she asks Y/N if they truly love her or if someone else has caught their eye.

Y/N not only reassures the vampiress that they love her, but emphatically proves just how devoted they are to Alcina whenever she asks *Wink wonk*

Alcina’s primary love language is words of affirmation in my opinion. Come on, she loves being told how pretty and smart she is, okay? Just because it’s obvious, doesn’t mean she doesn’t love compliments.

I feel like Alcina loves to be worshipped (She deserves it). It’s not only a sexual release for her, but an emotional one. She wants to feel like she is the queen and the only one for Y/N.

Some people are just prone to jealousy. It doesn’t necessarily have to come from bad past experiences. In Alcina’s case, it’s already a bit of a sore subject because she has felt jealous towards her adoptive siblings for a while. She has always yearned to be Miranda’s favorite creation, and she also demands to be Y/N’s greatest love. It’s just how her brain works.

Alcina’s peak in her human life was during the late forties and early fifties. She was constantly bombarded with notions of grand romantic gestures either in film or music. She can’t help but be a bit of a romantic.

She expects Y/N to show their love for her in big ways. A serenade, an art piece, a hot strip tease. You get the picture.

One of Y/N’s biggest romantic acts was getting a tattoo of Alcina’s name on their bicep. The Lady was entirely satisfied because now she literally had her name permanently etched into Y/N. She’s just sorry Y/N didn’t get “Property of” before her name.

Long story short, Alcina is a jealous person, but its part of her nature and Y/N wouldn’t change a thing.

Note: These are just my personal headcanons, but I definitely see Alcina as someone who gets jealous very easily.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #y/n is stupid #re8 shitpost #re8 incorrect quotes #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #alcina dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #sorta angsty

[sailorblossoms]

yet another "Baz-sexual" post

I have shared many long posts to point out "Simon never thinks he's straight, when he says 'I never thought I was straight' that's true" and "when Simon struggles around the word 'gay' he never says 'I can't be gay because I like girls,' that's something the reader (mistakenly) assumes, likely contributing to that reader's confusion/bad reaction to Simon sharing things that contradict what was always an assumption in the first place" but I want to add something else...

When we meet Simon, we see how roles and expectations shape every single part of his life. He's always doing what he's told or what's expected of him. He's always expecting instructions. This includes dating, which he does not because he's feeling what he's supposed to feel (romantic love and attraction – he never experienced those feelings before Baz) but because that's just what he's supposed to do. Practically everything that defines Simon comes from the outside. Someone else decided he was going to be the hero. "The chosen one" – he was molded into this role by someone else. He doesn't become a boyfriend because he actually wants to be one – he's neglected, an orphan who doesn't understand his feelings, craving security and stability and a home, and the idea that he needs to date heterosexually comes from the outside (and straight is assumed as the default, to the point you don't even expect a straight person to say or think they are, but to simply be straight). In that sense, Simon has never made a decision involving roles by himself. His relationship with Penny is arguably the first Simon has in his life in which he experiences love and connection, and it exists because Penny decided they're going to be friends.

So when Simon says things like "am I gay? no, I can't be... but maybe I am, a little?" "I'm not even remotely ready for this," "surely the part of me that wants to jump Baz can only be described as gay" this is likely the first time Simon is considering a label to associate with himself in his entire life. It's the first time he's trying to define himself with no guidance. It contributes to why it's so hard for him – he has never had to make decisions for himself regarding many things, including what he identifies with (in any area of his life). "I'm gay, for all intents and purposes" shows an entire journey around this specific word, (including that it's okay not to identify with anything, which is a strong thing to convey to someone who has always felt pressured to be defined by one label or another in some way) (with this line Simon goes back to this word by himself free of pressure) but more notably: Simon using "Baz-sexual" is likely the first time Simon chooses something to identify himself with. All the labels that once identified him are gone, he's feeling lost and directionless, and that label is the first thing he goes to. The first that feels right. While "hero" is a label he liked, it was given to him. "Baz-sexual" is the first thing he chooses 100% by himself, to express something he's just beginning to understand with the vocabulary he knows and has available, something that aligns with what he does think and express (“he’s the only person I have ever loved, like this [romantic love] the only one I have ever wanted [attraction]”)

#simon snow #snowbaz #baz x simon #baz grimm pitch #simon snow trilogy #baz pitch #carry on #awtwb #wayward son

[theclayr07]

Common negative perceptions of Azriel need to be addressed, specifically that he is some incel fuckboi that feels entitled to Elain who he only wants to sleep with anyway. I will address each of these points and demonstrate that nothing could be further from the truth.

1) He's not an incel. AZ has never behaved in a way that is inappropriate or showed disrespect for another woman's boundaries. Being in love with someone who doesn't feel the same for you is not a crime. You can't help who you have feelings for. What is wrong is to actively try to impose those feelings on a woman when she has made it clear she is not interested. First off Mor, herself, has said she could strip naked in front of Azriel and he would do nothing about it. Furthermore, she and Azriel have never had the conversation where she makes it clear that she is not interested in him. Azriel made a move on Elain after she gave her clear consent to him. There was nothing creepy about acting on clear consent.

2) Then there is the claim that he is a fuckboi. He has been interested in the same female for 500 years. He obviously doesn't fall for every woman that comes along, because he is desperate to be with someone. Elain is the first time he has been interested in someone else which in itself should be significant. There is no evidence in canon that Azriel changes his mind and then is suddenly interested in Gwyn because he flits from female to female.

3) Az does not feel entitled to Elain. Those are Rhys' words. They are obviously not true because earlier in the bonus chapter, Az's inner dialogue talks about how Az is unworthy of Elain and that his feelings should be wrong. AZ is conflicted. According to the rules of Fae society, he should not pursue someone who has a mate, but he feels such a strong connection with her he is willing to question everything he has ever believed in, which brings me to the next point.

4) Az's feelings definitely go beyond a sexual interest. If Az wants sex, he will have no problem getting it. He does not need to jump through an obscene amount of hoops for two years to get it. He definitely would not risk his life for a lay or stare longingly into gardens, talk for hours about things he's not the least bit interested in, or start to avoid the person when his feelings get overwhelming. AZ has never believed he had a future with anyone. When Cassian asks Az if he wants children, he says it doesn't matter what he wants. He believes he will never have the opportunity to have them so why bother thinking about it. When Az encounters Elain at solstice, he does not believe he will get to do anything more than kiss her in that moment so he never let himself dare think of a future with her before that. That is why he told Rhys he never planned anything more.

Az is by no means a saint. He does bottle up his emotions until he can't control them anymore. He does not like being told what to do. (Which makes me think he is not going to give up on Elain.) He does have major self-esteem issues which causes him to be self-destructive, but he is not toxic towards women. Why would SJM make one of the bat boys like that in the first place. It makes no sense especially if he was going to be a romantic interest in future books.

#acotar #azriel #elain archeron #elriel #elain x azriel #pro azriel

[augustinewrites]

the arrangement that you and rin have has always been easy. it’s uncomplicated, simple, with clear boundaries that even someone like him can understand. it’s simply an exchange.

it’s just a mutually beneficial, no-strings attached agreement between two very good friends who have the benefit of seeing each other naked sometimes.

indecent? yes. scandalous? possibly.

worth it? absolutely.

and yeah, he has a drawer of clothes at your place and you have one at his, but that’s just for efficiency’s sake. unlike what sae keeps trying to tell him, it does not mean commitment. and, no, despite what sae says when he tells him this, he’s not in denial because he’s scared of commitment either.

and the first time he told you what sae had said, you’d laughed. maybe a little too hard for his liking, but in the moment he’d shared the sentiment. if what the two of you have is easy, why complicate it?

you’re just friends.

so when you call, he always answers. none of his other friends can say that (he still has sae’s number and social media’s blocked due to the earlier comments). rin didn’t consider himself socially awkward or inept— his social battery tended to run out faster than others and often took longer to recharge.

but that’s never the case with you. you’re easy to be around. maybe it’s because you’ve seen him naked that he doesn’t feel the need to filter his thoughts around you. you’d go back and forth talking about real shit— shit that mattered. none of that boring, surface level small talk that made his brain numb. and then you’d go to his place - warm and drunk and giggly - and have sex.

so yeah, you’re friends who have sex. that’s all

sometimes you even stayed overnight. he wakes up to you still curled up in his sheets, and sometimes even cuddled into his side, wearing his shirt. but it’s no matter, rin tells himself. it’s not like he enjoys waking up next to your or anything. he just lets you because you always make him breakfast in the morning.

it all just worked for him, and it used to work for you too.

but tonight is different. you’re different, and even though rin’s mind is hazy with alcohol, he can tell.

kisses with you are usually sloppy and rushed, your noses knocking together in greeting. it was hardly romantic or sensual, just something to do with your mouths while hastily undressing. just your lips meeting his before they’re nipping at his jaw, at his neck.

tonight, you’re sitting in his lap kissing him slowly, deeply. your hands aren’t grabbing for the hem of his pants or undoing the buttons of your shirt. they’re cupping his face softly, keeping him close. you’re kissing him as if you’re savouring it, as if it isn’t just some sexual preamble.

(and for a few brief, dizzying seconds, he isn’t thinking about the sex you’re supposed to be having)

he gazes up at you when you finally part, eyes questioning as he brushes some hair back from your face.

“is everything okay?”

you stare at him strangely for a moment before dipping down to press a firm kiss to the corner of his mouth, mumbling, “i want you.”

“think it’s fair to say that you have me,” he grins, slowly skimming his hands up and down your sides.

“no…” you start, drawing a deep breath before trying again, gesturing vaguely between you. “i want— want us— to be more.”

oh. oh no. this was very complicated. the strings that weren’t supposed to be attached were starting to tangle. this was not part of the arrangement. you’re drunk, you don’t mean it—

“i love you, rin.”

although the words are simple, they cut through his chest like a knife, and he says, dumbly,

“we’re friends.”

he sees the exact moment your heart shatters, eyes misty as you slide out of his lap.

you leave without another word, and he doesn’t stop you.

_____

you haven’t called him for two weeks. it’s hard to sort his feelings out when you’re the only person he would go to in order to do this. his world has shifted on its axis, with you at the crux.

rin knows the ideal thing to do would be to just forget about you, but his brain just won’t cooperate. he thinks about you all the time and he hates himself for it. hates that whatever this is going unresolved. hates that he made you cry.

this was just an arrangement, for fucks sake. you’re just a friend, and friends are replaceable. he shouldn’t care this much.

“you really are stupid,” sae laughs when he tells him this. rin is about to block him again, but then his brother follows up with, “c’mon you’ve never been this invested in a ‘fling’ before.”

sure, he’d hooked up with a few other people before you and enjoyed it, but this was different.

he likes it because it’s you.

“we’re not friends,” he blurts out when you open your door.

you shift uncomfortable in the doorway, not meeting his gaze. you look hurt. “rin…”

he reaches up to drag his hands through his hair, tugging softly on the ends. he’s never been so eloquent with using words to express his feelings, but for you, he’ll try. “being your friend…it’s not enough.”

friends were something that you were before you’d started sleeping in his bed, wearing his shirt. before he realized that he saw you all the time and still wanted to see you more.

“i love you too.”

#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x you #bllk x reader

[cherrryxx]

I think your writing style si wonderful! If you're willing, I'd like yo request somethingfirm Smoker from One Piece, anything would be nice! Even if You don't write about it, I appreciate You reading My request. And keep writing, You do it amazing!

I'm writing this with Google Translate, so please excuse any translation errors.

Thank you so much! I personally love smoker so this request is something I’d love to write 🩷

How it Begins

SMOKER X M!READER HCS

Warnings: marine reader, m!reader, Smoker is in de nile, reader is a little dumb but cocky at the same time, relationship headcannons, sexuality headcannons

- Definitely took this man forever to even admit his feelings

- Before you officially got together, it was obvious to almost everyone (except himself) that he had feelings for you

- if you pointed out his soft spot for you it was rewarded with an extra week of chores and a “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about kid.”

- Which has landed you with a total of two months of excess chores at some point, mostly because you kept being insistent on it:

“Admit it, you like me captain!” You jeer, leaning back in your chair across from Smoker.

“F’ ya don’t shut up I’m giving you a month of extra work.” He growled, gripping his drink. But you got a little cocky, grinning when you noticed how his face was slightly tinted pink.

“Sureee,” you cackle, “That’s why you freaked out last week when I had to go to the infirmary for a *broken leg*.” You raise an eyebrow, “Which wasn’t even broken, just hurt like hell. Wasn’t even bleeding and you acted all like I was dyin’”

Smoker slammed his drink down on the table, earning a surprised look from nearby marines. “That was only because you act all dramatic, ya idiot. How was I supposed to know you weren’t dyin when you howled like you’ve been stabbed!” He retorted, but when he saw your unconvinced face he huffed.

“Get out of my face. You have an extra month of mopping the deck for being a nuisance.”

When you argued he added another week, which turned into another whole month as you continued to protest.

- Smoker did actually admit his feelings once he thought it was his last chance

- AKA you were both on the battlefield and he thought you were going to die. But once you recovered in the hospital and reminded him of his confession, he told you (unseriously) that he wished you stayed in the coma

- needless to say after a lonnnnggggg discussion about feelings, and a minor talk about the fact that Smoker hasn’t had romantic feelings for a man before:

- After you and Smoker grew closer he was comfortable enough to reveal that he felt that he was simply unlabeled or demiromantic.

“I guess, I don’t know. I just like someone, not in specific ways, I feel like it’s just a click.” He said, sitting on the edge of his bed as he spoke to you.

You sigh and sit next to him, “I don’t know why you’re all worked up about this. You don’t owe me an answer, or anything about that.” You assure him.

- After some time the two of you became more physically affectionate, to the notice of other marines

- But, if any of them were to even attempt say anything he’d give them a glare sharp enough to cut up any words they might have to say

- He was more loving with you behind closed doors, once work was done for the day and he could have you to himself in your (now shared) bunk.

- Smoker loved when he could wrap his arms around you with no one else to see

#fanfiction #lgbtqia+ #mlm thoughts #one piece fandom #fanfic #one piece fluff #fanfiction writer #one piece #one piece fanfiction #writing #smoker x male reader #male reader #op x male reader #op smoker #smoker one piece #one piece x male reader #one piece fanfic #mlm fanfic #op fanfic #op menn #op fandom #fandom writing #m!reader #smoker #smoker x reader #smoker x you #smoker x m!reader #fluff writing #domestic fluff #flufftober

[comicaurora]

(this ask is based on the, I'm not sure if unfounded, assumption that at least 1/6(?) main crew members has some sort of non-ace/aro attraction): How do you write allo characters as an aro person? I'm one of those annoying allos who's *hyper-romantic* and working on hypersexuality for my own health, so I color most of my writing with that and struggle to write ace people. I know a lot of writers can distance themselves more. I guess I'm just curious how you inspire your characters to act socially outside of the way that you interact, specifically in terms of romanti/sexual relationships. I'm pretty good at getting my characters to engage with the world outside of my way of doing it until it comes to romance.

It's… tough, and I'm working on it. I still need to remind myself that a lot of people legitimately do experience sexual attraction and thus find certain other people in certain situations extremely physically appealing, in contrast to my own platonic attraction (the people I like, I typically like the same amount no matter what they're doing or how they look) or aesthetic attraction (when I like how someone looks in a specific situation, it is still in an extremely hands-off "I'd like to draw that" way).

I can work my way through the logic of romance, I think. I've been told that it doesn't feel the same as friendship, and that it places another person in a somewhat uniquely structural role for one's life. I've heard it described as being someone's "everything-team" - the person they want by their side at any endeavor - which is the only thing I've ever heard about romance that I don't think applies to a good percentage of my IRL friendships.

Romantic attraction is definitely the more confusing one, because everyone I know in a romantic relationship insists it's different than their platonic ones, but can't really explain why or how, only that it is. The thing is, this makes me believe them more. I know how hard it is to explain a unique inner experience to someone who has a completely different one. Their partner is their best friend, or at least top three (understandable) and also in a unique position in their life (confusion??) I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything, and I think I love my friends as much as I'm capable of, and there are people I'm friends with who I could see as a theoretical partner - except that it would change absolutely nothing about our current relationship. This is why I don't identify with the label of "aromantic" where I definitely do with "asexual", because I think I experience what people are talking about, I just feel it kinda everywhere instead of nowhere.

So the hack I think I can make work to do this in my writing is:

Sexual attraction is like aesthetic attraction, but with a hands-on component. Replace "I want to draw that" with "I want to get my hands on that" and go from there.

Romantic attraction is evidently its own beast, but it contains concepts like "I trust this person implicitly," "I care about them and want them to be happy," "I would be happy coming home to this person," "I want to protect them," "I like that they care about me," and "this person helps me see the world in a different way" which are all individual sentiments I understand, even if I personally feel them about a large number of people rather than a single Special Someone. Point them at a single Someone and have the two characters involved act accordingly, and I can probably pull a romance out of it.

Like all writing-an-alien-situation stuff, it mostly pays to identify the specific details that correlate to things you DO understand and then extrapolate from there. Or you can fake it and black-box their motivations and be like "here's where I'd put their sexual attraction to each other if I had one"

#asks #writing stuff

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

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?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

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Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel. 

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames. 

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach. 

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill. 

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell. 

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!” 

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool. 

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone. 

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts. 

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.” 

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer. 

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind. 

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though? 

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement. 

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone. 

It wasn’t always that way. 

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank. 

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America. 

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose. 

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him. 

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked. 

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018. 

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface. 

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves. 

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away. 

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.” 

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?” 

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled. 

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table. 

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?” 

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face. 

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.” 

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?” 

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching. 

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door. 

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. 

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown. 

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering. 

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.” 

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony. 

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot. 

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed. 

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex. 

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight. 

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him. 

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility. 

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late. 

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants. 

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling. 

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.” 

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?” 

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers. 

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal. 

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him. 

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin. 

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.” 

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it. 

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle. 

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”  

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.” 

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?” 

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject. 

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had. 

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group. 

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him. 

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly. 

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk. 

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes. 

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.” 

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?” 

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.” 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.” 

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room. 

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet. 

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form. 

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.” 

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.” 

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up. 

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room. 

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today. 

My place. 

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place. 

Not permanently, anyway. 

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit. 

It can’t become a habit. 

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear. 

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him. 

This weekend he felt powerless. 

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery. 

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side. 

The answer to his prayers. 

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself. 

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined. 

But mostly, it was a relief. 

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears. 

Even if he can probably never tell you again. 

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up. 

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear. 

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV. 

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?” 

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.” 

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?” 

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, “She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she’ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.” 

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease. 

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?” 

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV. 

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots. 

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break. 

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.” 

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.” 

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.” 

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?” 

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.” 

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip. 

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace. 

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies. 

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat. 

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock. 

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse. 

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet. 

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips. 

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you. 

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod. 

This is stupid. 

You both know it. 

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him. 

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side. 

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much. 

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver. 

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself. 

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak. 

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice. 

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy. 

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze. 

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper. 

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself. 

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge. 

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips. 

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking. 

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed. 

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs. 

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest. 

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.” 

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs. 

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him. 

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?” 

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation. 

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?” 

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison. 

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.” 

That makes up his mind. 

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.” 

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.” 

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp. 

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion. 

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them. 

He grins at the present, because that��s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer. 

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin. 

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement. 

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?” 

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud. 

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child. 

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements. 

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?” 

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.” 

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation. 

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place. 

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it. 

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest. 

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around. 

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask. 

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone. 

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free. 

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses. 

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him. 

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying. 

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing? 

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face. 

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks. 

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be. 

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.” 

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?” 

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him. 

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate. 

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud. 

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace. 

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable. 

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.” 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms. 

Then it’s quiet. 

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really. 

“This is good,” you say eventually. 

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.” 

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside. 

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges. 

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue. 

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past. 

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face. 

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his. 

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?” 

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?” 

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?” 

“I can’t think of anything.” 

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

#designated person #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for faking orgasms?

This might come as a shock given the title but I'm a man, and so is my boyfriend. However I'm much more sexually experienced than him, as in I'm his first sexual/romantic partner meanwhile I've had sex with at least 30 different guys before. I also generally have a more consistent libido, and I'm desensitized down there to a degree, AND I also often get stuck in my own head due to certain neuroses and ocd and whatnot -- all this to say, it's REALLY hard for me to reach a real climax with another person.

And my bf is aware of this. I've told him many times. I've also reassured him (truthfully!) that partially due to this, an orgasm is not the end-all-be-all of sex for me, and that I can absolutely enjoy myself without "finishing." And if he still feels bad, I will not only take a backrub or something essentially as a replacement for him making me finish, but I in fact often prefer it. I promise I've tried everything; this is not a communication issue.

But. Basically no matter what I say or do, he just doesn't believe me. Or he isn't capable of accepting it, idk. He's insistent that it makes him bad at sex and it means he couldn't please me if I don't come... all the while that he almost never actually takes initiative to do any dominant role? So tbqh he's not totally wrong about that self-assessment but it's still ridiculous bc he doesn't even know WHY? Anyway.

Telling him things that he could do to ever make it better doesn't really work either, because the moment I "criticize" him during sex, even if it's just telling him to move his legs into a different position, he often takes it incredibly personally and just stops wanting to have sex altogether bc he's suddenly not in the mood. And if it's after he's finished, he's basically conked out. He never has any energy by that point except to more or less demand that I come, as nowadays he counts my capacity to jerk off afterwards as something evident of his "ability to please me," I guess. By that point, I'm still just jerking off by myself while he plays on his phone or falls asleep next to me, which I hate and find a huge turn-off and have expressed multiple times that it's at least "weird" and "funny" to do so. But he keeps doing it.

Inb4 the most likely majority response to a lot of this: I'm aware that we're clearly not that sexually compatible. But leaving the relationship is not an option even if I wanted to. The routine of us having sex is, regardless of exactly how satisfying it is, essentially necessary to our mutual happiness.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the real meat: I've decided relatively recently to just... pretend to come. I can often get to a sort of mini-orgasm long before a real one is on the horizon and I just kind of exaggerate that. It really turns him on, and it gets rid of any of the tension that would otherwise be there once we're both done, and I'm able to either fall asleep or otherwise move on in peace.

Now obviously, this is lying, and I don't like having to lie, and also if he ever realizes that I fake them then he's gonna feel even worse than when I outright say I didn't come. But clearly it's also causing strife to be truthful, and it's also not that hard to fake it. Whatever I communicate to him is at best forgotten - and it most likely *is* genuine, innocent forgetfulness bc he has severe ADHD. I'd likely never know if it happened that he is straight up ignoring what I say. In any case it's to a level that it just seems like my only solution is to fake it.

Does he have a right to know if I haven't actually come? AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[steviesbicrisis]

A lot of things start to make sense since Eddie Munson enters his life.

It goes from the simple things: Eddie patiently explaining the mechanics of D&D so that Dustin would stop using the references against him; Eddie teaching him a few music facts and history, “did you know that Tony Iommi once blew up Richard Branson’s prize carp? Fucking Metal if you ask me”; Eddie helping him fix the drain in his new apartment “with all of your hair you never had to unclog it? You’re such a princess”.

But it’s more than that. Eddie also helps him figure out things about himself.

Like, he can be friends with someone without having that much in common, he’s that type of person who would drop everything he’s doing if someone he cared about would ask it, and also that, apparently, he has a type.

«You clearly have a thing for nerds,» Eddie tells him one day, teasingly.

«What? I definitely don’t!» Steve is outraged that he would even suggest that «I tolerate nerds because for some reason I’m surrounded by them.»

«Oh please! You just told me about your embarrassing crush on Robin, a huge nerd, smart, was in band, and knows like- ten languages. Then there’s Wheeler, also smart, also one of the biggest nerds that Hawkins has ever seen. Don’t let me even touch on the fact that you’re surrounded by baby nerds all the time» Eddie blinds him with a victorious grin «this is why all your other dates go to shit, Harrington. Trust me, date a nerd for a change.»

Steve wants to bite back and prove him wrong but, after Eddie says it, he can’t help think back to his dating history and everything makes sense.

Once again, Eddie helps him figure things out about himself.

But the biggest revelation Eddie helps him out with, comes only after.

Steve finds himself thinking more about this “nerd thing”, and his mind can’t help but go to Eddie himself. He’s a huge nerd, and he has become a big part of his life.

He finds himself noticing small things about him, like what rings he wears on which finger, how he styles his hair depending on his mood, how he smiles when the kids are close to figuring out the plot twists of his campaign, and especially how he always manages to have some sort of physical contact with him, whether by putting an arm on his shoulder, leaning closer to listen to what he’s talking about or grabbing his wrist to get his attention.

He has never been more aware of Eddie’s presence than now, it makes him jumpy but also, he notices, he waits for it, he wants any type of physical contact with him, and even a quick brush on his arm is enough to make his stomach flutter.

And Steve is not stupid. He might be a little oblivious, he might’ve been taught the wrong things -how queer people are the menace of society and how there’s nothing worse than being called “fag” for a man- but he’s been Robin’s best friend for so long that he knows better now.

And he also knows how he feels when he has a crush on someone.

The only option for him is to talk to Robin about it, both of them are surprised at how well Steve is taking it.

Well, he does cry a little bit, he tells Robin that he’s scared, he even tells her that he doesn’t want it, this new part of him that people would not accept him for. She understands, and she’s there every step of Steve’s sexual crisis until he just accepts it.

As if going through a bisexual crisis wasn’t enough, Steve finds himself going through another rite of passage for queer people: falling for a straight person.

Steve and Robin are working their shift at Family Video when a very excited Eddie Munson comes in «Harrington, give me your best romantic crap movie!»

«Eddie Munson, renting a romantic movie? Did aliens abduct you and brainwash you this morning?»

«Ah-ha, very funny! But I can’t do Star Wars on a first date, doesn’t set the right mood. You should know that better than me, lover boy.»

Steve wishes he had prepared himself more for the time Eddie would’ve talked about dating, but he didn’t and now he’s standing there at the counter, completely frozen, doing his best to not let his face fall right in front of his first boy crush. At least, the first one he’s aware of.

«Woah, really? I’m sorry for whoever the unlucky date is» Robin intercepts, and Steve could really kiss her for always knowing how to help him.

Steve can only estrange himself from the conversation, as Eddie is describing this “super hot girl” who is “way out of my league”. Robin ends up being the one helping him with the movie and Steve pretends to be busy with inventory in the back.

Robin comes to find him once Eddie is gone «I gave him the worst romantic movie I could think of.»

Steve chuckles and hugs her tight «thank you.»

Out of all the things Eddie has helped him out with, Steve wishes he would also teach him how to fall out of love with him.

[TBD: I'm fixing it I promise!! Sorry for the straight Eddie content guys lmao]

Part 2 | Part 3

#steddie #steve harrington #bi steve harrington #gay eddie munson #steve and eddie #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie headcanon #steve x eddie #platonic stobin #Steve falls first #Eddie will fall harder #sbc writes #ficlets

[shibaraki]

OUR NORMAL ┊ BAKUGO KATSUKI

tags: GN reader, older pro hero bakugo, reader and bakugo are in their late thirties, bestfriends to life partners, no sexualities stated, queerplatonic relationships, discussions of the future, fluff and casual affection

wc: 1.2k

Everything is warm. The early morning breeze as it skims your cheek, lighter than the heavy blanket strewn across your lap, cooler than the thumb tracing over the back of your hand.

Bakugo Katsuki felt like an extension of yourself. You loved him intensely. Not familial, not romantic. A little out of the norm, his father would say. This thing between you had never been clarified; it never needed to be. More than a best friend and not quite lovers. Your relationship wasn’t a case of one or the other, there was no part of a map that your finger could fall and detail the journey.

It just was.

Only an hour ago you had crawled out of bed and padded into the kitchen with the pillow case still impressed on your face, rubbing at the swell of affection ballooning behind your fourth rib. Side stepping toward the coffee maker, he’d met your eyes with the beginnings of a tired smile in the short moment your bodies mirrored one another.

Plates in hand, without words he would ask, Balcony?

Decaf with sweetener, light on the milk. You, holding a pair of matching mugs, will nod. Yes.

Breakfast eaten in quiet contentment, you sink back into the cushioned porch swing and enjoy the gentle swaying motion. Now an integral part of your daily routine, it is big and gaudy and not at all suitable for the space. Even still, he had let you buy it.

Hands entwined in your lap, your head lolls onto his shoulder. Katsuki’s breathing doesn’t change, nor do his sights flicker to the movement. Peering up at him from his angle provides you with the generous opportunity of drinking in his aging features.

There’s light stubble shading his jawline, which has softened over the years. Cutting through his right eyebrow to his temple is a jagged line of scar tissue, and another, fainter, diagonally over the bridge of his nose. The crows feet by his eyes deepen when he smiles, when he bares his teeth, when he laughs; as do the lines by his mouth.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you murmur. A grin tugs at your lips. “The big three nine. I can’t believe you’ll be forty next year”.

He snorts, jostling you slightly. “Speak for yourself. Hell, I can’t believe you’ve been bothering me for nearly two decades”.

“Like a rash,” you exhale an airy, pleased sigh as you solemnly nod. “You like it”.

A younger Katsuki would have forcefully pushed the swing chair back and sent your body reeling with a loud cackle to distract from the answer written so plainly on his face. Now he simply turns his lips to your temple and says, “Debatable”.

You hum contentedly, a deep sense of belonging settling in your bones. It would strike any other person watching as unusual — for years now your relationship with Katsuki had been built up by small intimacies and intense commitment that most only ever attributed to romance, yet still the two of you insisted it was nothing of the sort.

And it wasn’t. There had been plenty others; some of which you still talk to from time to time; those who parted ways with you amicably wearing a sad, knowing smile; others that pointed an accusatory finger and fled. You cared for Katsuki in such a way that it intimidated the people around you, and drove them off.

They all told you the same thing verbatim: Friends don’t act like that.

Your nails strum nervously against the ceramic mug as you watch the young family in the complex across from you gather on their own balcony to eat breakfast. The interlocked hands in your lap feel that much heavier.

“So. What’re we gonna tell your parents this year?” you cautiously prod, knowing he had never been a fan of these conversations. “Your mother still thinks you’re lying to her about us out of spite”.

“There’s nothing to tell them. S’not like we’re a proper couple,” he replies with a shrug, cadence smooth and low, as if it were just an inoffensive truth. As if he had never thought anything more of it.

Usually you’d laugh it off and agree. Because Katsuki was right in a sense — you were not a couple. Yet you ask, “Aren’t we?”

The sunlight pools in his iris and it glows when he glances at you from the corner of his eye. Izuku once admitted that he thinks you make Kacchan softer but you’re more inclined to believe the reverse. A simmering, constant source of warmth. Katsuki has always been synonymous with comfort.

“That isn’t a discussion I recall having,” he rasps, still a little sleep worn.

You huff a laugh, knocking your head against his shoulder, “I know. I just… we are. A pair, I mean”.

A small sound of contemplation rumbles in his throat as his gaze returns to the bruised horizon. A crease forms across the bridge of his nose and you quell the urge to touch it. One, two, three, your attention is drawn to the rhythmic tap of his finger against his empty mug. “A pair?”

“Yeah. We go together,” you feel a smile curling at the corner of your lips. “You’re important to me, and you’re my partner. We practically spent our lives together. What else would you call it?”

You watch the emotions pass over his face as he processes your answer. “Dunno,” he eventually breathes. “There was never a label to stick on it. We were always just us”.

You feel yourself simper, ducking to tuck your cheek closer to his shoulder, nuzzling into him. The gentle scent of body wash and fabric softener clouds your senses. “Just us,” you repeat quietly. “…Do you ever see that changing?”

His jaw clicks shut and he shakes his head in disagreement. The stubble on his chin rubs against your skin. Emboldened, you continue, “So why not just spend what’s left of our lives together, like this?”

His thumb slides over your third knuckle and idly skims the empty space on your ring finger. Even the media had been bugging him about 'proposing' to you, despite never confirming a relationship in the first place. At some point he had simply given up on correcting them.

“We can’t. It’s not…”

“Normal?”

Katsuki grunts. The wrinkle between his brow deepens with his frown, and there are faint dimples in his chin that are only ever visible when he pouts. “It’d be our normal,” you offer lightly. “We already share an apartment. A life. Nothing would need to be different”.

“I really don’t see myself caring about someone romantically as much as I care about you, Katsuki”.

When Katsuki feels embarrassed his entire body announces it. He scoffs harshly, shifting in his seat as he turns his head away from you to hide the pale flush of pink staining his cheeks. You fall into a comfortable, albeit pensive silence. Now was the time to back away and allow him time to file through his thoughts. Despite having mellowed out in his later years, he still struggled with finding the right words from time to time.

Clink. He sets the empty mug down on the small glass table, free hand returning to pick at the seam of his sweatpants. The porch swing begins to move again. Pushing the heel of his foot to the ground, Katsuki languidly rocks your bodies back and forth.

“The old hag wouldn’t get it,” he murmurs.

The knots of anticipation slowly untangle from your ribs and breathing comes a little easier. “She doesn’t have to,” you reply. “But I think she’ll be happy to know we have each other. Your dad, too”.

Those sharp, carmine eyes meet yours once more. “Yeah?” he asks.

You nod, “Yeah”.

#bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #just something about myself that I wanted to express in fic #bkg so happened to be perfect 👍🏻 #again this is my own experience with QPR #if u come in my inbox saying some BS I will block u