#broccoli co

[eleiyaumei]

Otomate ripped off Broccoli Co. - in the worst way possible

Explanation below.

- they took Ōtori Eiichi’s character from Uta no Prince-sama, i.e. his hair, eyes, clothes plus his voice actor Midorikawa Hikaru

- they took Eiichi and Otoya’s ... ambiguous scene standing in a burning flower field and turned it into a tragically romantic scene

- they turned Eiichi’s younger brother Eiji into his (”adopted”) younger sister and made their relationship romantic (and added control and grooming into the mix)

WTH

If you want to know more about Midorikawa’s character in 7′Scarlet, look at this post.

#7'scarlet #7scarlet #7'scarlet spoilers #otome #otome game #utapri #utapri anime #uta no prince-sama #otori eiichi #ootori eiichi #otoya ittoki #otori eiji #ootori eiji #midorikawa hikaru #hikaru midorikawa #yatsukami hanate #otomate #toybox inc. #idea factory #broccoli co #parallels #rip-off #coincidence? i think not #eiichi and eiji were introduced before 7'Scarlet came out #but the Otoya/Otori scene came out shortly after 7'Scarlet was released #so that single parallel MIGHT be a coincidence

[the19thduckpotato]

Longer snippet of Toshinori recounting his younger training days.

.

.

Toshinori nodded in understanding at Izuku. "The world definitely isn't easy. But I know you're strong enough to meet the challenges out there, to grow stronger because of them. And at your strongest when you figure out the world isn't meant for solo play and you group up with friends for help."

Like I should have.

Like you did.

Eventually.

Still did.

Izuku wrinkled his nose. "Sometimes. Sometimes whatever I'm doing is so stupid friends DEFINITELY shouldn't be there."

And now Toshinori's brain flashed back to Kamino, Izuku n Co sailing right over All for One as they grabbed at young Bakugo.

Even these days, he still felt that burst of anger, that rush to protect them, the pride of a job that was done if not smartly then at least with a whole heap of luck.

His eyes crinkled shut as he laughed fondly. "Gran Torino would be more than willing to dredge up all my exploits, I'm sure. I'm no stranger to the dumb."

"I didn't say you didn't do crazy stuff!" The kid laughed. "But you lived, and that was enough... I'm pretty sure everybody's glad about that."

A soft grateful smile.

Then the blond held up one finger. "You say that but you haven't heard these stories yet!"

He started thinking back to Gran Torino's many reactions to said exploits:

"Boy, how'd you manage to do that?"

"Yagi, what the HELL??"

"Nana, I swear to the heavens, if you didn't need this kid--"

"...seriously?"

"--Seriously?!"

"SERIOUSLY??"

Toshi was suddenly lost to laughter.

Izu grinned. "I smell a story right now!"

"Just trying to pick which one!"

"The funniest one!!"

Toshi tapped his nose thoughtfully then gave a thumbs up. "All right, lemme tell you about the first time I learned to adjust my heroing to account for property damage.

"It was a routine call, incredibly simple, really. My master wanted to see how I would handle tackling a task not exactly suited to the Quirk I was training with. She had Float, as you may recall.

"Gran Torino wasn't impressed that we had been called out to rescue a cat stuck up a tree. But as Master had put it, every little bit helped. Being a hero wasn't a lucrative career option just yet. So she wanted to instill good will whenever she could.

"I remember it was the edge of town, by a road that led out to some lovely countryside. Master wasn't surprised that I started scaling the tree immediately, so eager was I to impress her. I may not have had Float or Jet, but I had the strength to climb and so I did. Problem was, I wasn't familiar to the cat I was saving. The higher I climbed, the higher it did as well."

His eyes shone with fond memory. "Beautiful tree. One of those tall firs. The view below was a painting worthy of a museum. Tilled fields to one side, the mountains rising on the horizon, and nearby, a flock of sheep clustering by their fence and watching me. I waved and kept going, either not registering or not caring that the branches were getting thinner, smaller, whippier. Master may have called up advice to me but Torino put a hand on her shoulder. I nodded in rare agreement with him, eager to prove myself.

"The cat arched its back as I reached for it. It growled and hissed and that was probably why I never heard the branches cracking until it was too late.

"Now, if you remember, All Might is a pretty hefty guy. And well, even young All Might was fairly thick. I forgot quite how much of the tree I pulled down with me but suffice to say, I left a mark." He grimaced. "And then it got worse."

"The sheep had a front row view and just managed to scatter as I smashed into their fence. I could only watch in dazed confusion as they investigated this new set of circumstances...then cheerfully began trotting out of their pasture. Master again looked like she wanted to do something and Torino again held her back.

"I finally snapped back to it when I heard a wail of despair. I jumped up and ran to the sound, finding a cart vendor by the side of the road. The sheep had found his produce, piles of cabbage, enthusiastically munching with no intent to pay. The poor man mumbled something about having 'left Ba Sing Se because of this nonsense' and only sobbed when I tried to offer to pay.

"Master and Torino chose to intervene at this point. While he rounded up the sheep, she soothed the cabbage vendor and retrieved what she could.

"And that's when the cat landed perfectly on my head, grooming sap and fir twigs from its paws."

"Master was laughing so hard at this point that she could barely say a word until Torino stormed up. With a bemused smile, she asked me how I could have done better. I admitted I wasn't sure, that I had tried my best since I didn't have Float or Jet.

"'Ah Sunburst,' she answered. 'So close and yet...'

"'You shoulda asked for our help,' Torino grumped.

"'But I thought the point was for me to do it,' I said.

"'I never said that,' Master said. 'Only that a cat needed rescue. Hey,' she added, tweaking one of my bangs (and at that, Toshi smiled softly) 'that was the point of the lesson. And you learned it.'

"One of the left over sheep ran past at this point, cabbage in its mouth.

"'And maybe a little less property damage next time?'"

Toshi laughed now, the memory good, the story better.

Izuku tried so hard not to laugh at the plight of the poor cabbage vendor, but gave up and CACKLED at the sheep "But-- but were you okay though??" He was beaming so wide, eyes sparkling.

"Iunno, kinda fell out of the heroing business after that," his dad deadpanned. "Took up insurance from that day forward."

"Fe-- fell out..." Izuku double facepalmed

His dad just replied with the hugest grin now.

#mha #bnha #toshinori #all might #dad might #sunflower dad #izuku #midoriya #deku #broccoli son #ducky co-writes

[dykeyaoi]

long weekend means I actually have time to draw stuff who knew

this is . pretty niche of a piece but I wanted a new icon

#'wow Char is that Trickster Mode Broccoli Ritsu' yes. yes it is #take my sick edibles Shige #signature is from old URL cos it identifies me better than Dykeyaoi does #ritsu kageyama #kageyama ritsu #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #what art tag #broccoli tag

[milfweirdal]

🥦🍻

^ me when i'm a weird al fan and it's my birthday

#i havent actually eaten any broccoli or drunk any beer but my birthday is technically not over til monday cos im not having cake until then #its not a real bday w/o cake #so theres time #asks

[lovefingers]

cooked zucchini and broccoli for dinner and mixed them with soy and teriyaki sauce 👍🏻

#didn’t make a lot of broccoli cos it was my first time cooking it but omfg it was so so good

[a-chaotically-small-lunta]

So I always leave little doodles at work. Here are the latest few

#my art #silly doodles #Among us #broccoli #My co-workers find them funny

[xenophondraike]

One of the things that irks me the most is when someone takes the time to try and pronounce a non-english word "correctly" be it for some sort of thing like "croissant” or otherwise to show off but everytime I tell someone how to pronounce the first part of my username (Xenophon) correctly they always default to the butchered "Zeen-o-faun" immediately afterwards when literally you can look the damn name up and see and listen that it is pronounced "Zen-uh-fin" jeez. It's greek! Not English. If you're gonna have a pride thing about pronouncing non-english words "correctly" as a predominantly English speaker do it for non-english names too. Either that or drop the pride, cause the pride makes you sound like an asshole when you mispronounce non-english names.

#it's been bothering me to no end because I mispronounced pollo blanco since I grew up hearing my family saying it wrong #and my friends found out just recently how I pronounced it and corrected me #and these are the same peeps that consistently mispronounce my user #and instead use my irl name because calling me “Zen-uh-fin” is too hard #I also scream inside when folks shorten it to “Xeno” online #I know how y'all are pronouncing it from that nickname #and I will correct you and say call me Xen (Zen) #yet I still get Xeno'd #gods I'm tired of this bs #btw now I know pollo blanco is pronounced poyo blan-co #been pronouncing it like polo beeanco lmaoo #the local pizza place has a broccoli chicken pizza I love called pollo blanco and I was talking about it hence the rant #rant post

[heyrobynmichelle]

aww look at howmuch they love their lil fruits :) this is like pokemon to them perhapys?

#(super fitguy voice) yeah i fucken uhhh.... LOVE my avocado dude #he's my best friend #we go on road trips sometimes with one of my co-workers #my co-worker brings his big broccoli along so they can play with my avocado dude it's great uhhh he's sunlight in my life yknow?

[jolikmc]

Di Gi Charat / D.U.P. (Dejiko, Usada, Puchiko) "PARTY☆NIGHT" Welcome to X'Mas (2000) Broccoli Co, Ltd.

I'd like to mention that the characters singing this song are 10, 6, and 14 years old.

You're welcome.

#music #video #D.U.P. #Di Gi Charat #Dejiko #Rabi~En~Rose #Hikaru Usada #Petit Charat #Puchiko #PARTY☆NIGHT #Party Night #Welcome to X'Mas #2000 #Broccoli Co Ltd #pop music #pop idol #lolita fashion #lolita idol #Super Favorite

[ediblegardenspointloma]

Future Winter Garden Harvests

Peppers and strawberry guavas were the only garden harvests this past week but I’m anticipating a bounty this winter. It’s the time to transplant seedlings and direct sow other crops. Here’s a look at some of what’s ahead for the cool season garden.

Sweet peas appeared this week and are protected from the birds by pea brush and various screens. I’ve grown the bi-color sweet peas from my saved seed since 1993. I shared the seed with San Diego Seed Company and you can purchase it as Organic Point Loma Pops. (Currently out-of-stock).

Barely visible are the first flecks of green—the ‘Golden Sweet Edible Podded Snow Peas’ emerging. Small bamboo sticks make access by the birds more difficult and give the vines a way to climb toward the trellis. The seed was also picked up by San Diego Seed Company and is sold as ‘Organic Yellow Sugar Pod Peas’.

Romanesco ‘Veronica’ (Territorial Seed) should yield substantial heads grown on large, vigorous plants. I’m still enchanted by this fractal vegetable.

I planted seven ‘Jacaranda’ broccoli (Territorial Seeds) and six ‘Premium Crop’ broccoli.(Gurney’s). After watering in and mulching the plants I covered them with arched metal screens. Raccoons and opossums frequent the neighborhood and occasionally my garden. We’re expecting temperatures in the mid-70’s most of the week so the 40% shade cloth should help them settle in. Planting will continue this week with focus on beets, carrots, radishes and onions.

‘Ambridge Rose’—the fragrance matches it good looks; a consolation now that the broccoli has supplanted the ‘Queen Red Lime’ zinnias.

Check the What I’m Planting Now and Garden Tasks This Week pages. Then head over to see what other garden bloggers around the world harvested last week at Harvest Monday hosted by Dave at Happy Acres blog.

To leave a comment, click on “Leave a comment/Show comments,” enter the comment, then insert your name. Finally, click on “Comment as Guest” to post comment.

#sweet peas #Golden Sweet Edible Podded Snow Peas #Romanesco #Premium Crop broccoli #Jacaranda broccoli #San Diego Seed Company #Territorial Seed Co. #Ambridge rose

[luveline]

hey jade!! i love kisses before dinner and was wondering (if you like the idea) maybe you could write something about avery realising how scary giving birth can be and starts worry about it before the new baby arrives? <3<3<3

thank you for your request! kisses before dinner —mom!you and dad!steve comfort avery when she has concerns for your health. fem!reader, 3k

cw discussed maternal mortality and death

Steve Harrington looks out over the kitchen table that night with a great sense of success. You're sitting at the other end with Dove on your knee, feeding her bites of macaroni cheese between feigned spoonfuls given to her rainbow teddy bear. Bethie sits to his left eating without complaint (a victory considering her pickiness). Avery sits to his right, trying to pour her own glass from the juice jug. It's awesome. 

Steve quickly swallows the drink he'd been sipping on and offers to help her, hand extended, "Here. I got it."

"I can do it," Avery insists, her long arms shaking under the weight. 

He doesn't mind her being independent, nor her improving capabilities, but the last thing he wants to do tonight is clean up a huge juice spill. Steve takes the juice gently and refills her plastic cup. 

"Dad," she whines. 

"Avery," he whines back. 

She huffs and grabs her fork, ignoring her fresh cup of juice to shovel in bites of broccoli and macaroni instead. 

"I think I'm done," Bethie says. Steve must have jinxed it. 

He attempts to do the impossible —convince Bethie to finish dinner. He takes up station by the side of her chair, having tried everything now, and only this works. 

"Beth," he says, putting his hand behind her back, "Are you sure there's no room left? I don't want you to be hungry again before we go to bed 'cos you won't tell me, will you?" 

"I'm full," she insists, reaching for her drink bottle. 

"Is there something wrong with it?" he asks, rubbing up and down her back.

"No, daddy, it's nice," she says. She isn't quite convincing, but she tries. 

Steve looks at her. She looks like Steve sometimes, like neither of you other times, but mostly he looks at her and he sees you. Your smile, your frown, Bethie's tell is the same as yours when she lies. Steve can read you both like a book. 

"Is it cold?" he asks, sticking his pinky finger in the corner of her macaroni. "A little. If I heat it back up for you, would that make it better?" 

"No, please," she says. 

He sighs. "Make you something else? Sandwiches?" 

"I'm not hungry, daddy." 

Steve plasters a smile over his worries and kisses her cheek. "Okie smokie. Well done, honey, you ate lots and lots. Let's try even more for breakfast, yeah?" 

"Yes!" she agrees, sliding off of her chair.

"Where are you going?" he asks. 

"Need to pee!" she yells, running to the stairs. She opens the baby gate (which she’s known how to do for too many years, way before supposed to know how to —thanks so much, Avery) and Steve listens to her sprint up the stairs with a wince. 

"Call me if you need help!" he yells after her. 

"Okay!" 

"You think that's why she didn't want to eat?" you ask, wiping the corners of Dove's mouth with her bib. 

Steve stands up and stretches his arms behind his head. "I don't know," he says, rolling his neck around in a circle. 

"Is it gross if I eat her leftovers?" you ask. 

"I'll make you another pot, if you want it," Steve offers, arms dropping down to his side. He's been trying to get back into shape lately. It's not working out. "You having cravings?" 

"I'm just hungry all the time," you say, your voice melding into a sing song as you finish wiping Dove's face. "All done! Good girl, Dovey! You're my good girl." You plaster her forehead with a layer of kisses before putting her down on the floor. She wobbles, hands on your thighs. "Okay? You want another drink?"

"Dotty Dolly," she says, taking your hand. "Please. Please, Dolly."

"Yeah, my love. I'm coming." You groan as you stand up, not quite pregnant enough to worry about popping soon but more than enough to feel exhaustion to the marrow. 

"Just me and you then," Steve says to Avery, tucking in chairs and piling plates at the table. 

"Me and you, sir," she agrees in a funny voice. 

"Still mad at me?" 

She remembers to glare at him. "Yes!" She takes another bite of macaroni. "Okay, no." 

"If you're not gonna chew with your mouth closed, put your hand over your mouth. I don't wanna see your chewed up dinner." Avery pokes her tongue out, laughing when Steve says, "Ewww." 

He sets the leftovers aside for you rather than waste Bethie's largely untouched pasta in the trash, stacking the dishes in the sink and wetting a cloth to wipe down the table. He cleans around Avery, squeezing her neck, shoulders and arms to make her squirm as he goes.

"You want seconds?" he asks, returning to the sink. 

"I want dessert." 

"Good idea. You know Mom's so pregnant all she does lately is wake me up for ice cream."

"She wakes you up?" Avery asks. 

"By accident trying to put her socks on at the end of the bed. Baby's getting too big now, she can't see her toes." 

"It's a good thing she has you, dad."

"Yeah, but you'd help mommy, wouldn't you? Help her put her shoes on if she couldn't reach?" 

Avery hops off of her chair and passes him her plate, completely clean of food. She grows like a bamboo shoot and eats like a rabid dog. He loves it. She's evidence that he's a good cook. 

"Thank you. What did you want for dessert?" he asks. 

"I have something to ask you." 

"Oh." Steve hates the sound of that, theorising that she wants a new something or other he'll have to say no to. He grabs her by the waist, wet hands and all, hoisting her up onto the counter by the dish rack. He puts a rag in her hands. "You dry and I'll answer." 

"It's a weird question," Avery warns.   

"Avery, you wouldn't believe how weird some of the questions I've asked are. Don't worry about it." 

He scrunches dirty water out of the dish sponge and squirts soap onto a dirty plate. The hot water burns his fingertips. Avery dries a plastic plate diligently, her question coming out slow as running wax. 

"Mom's gonna be okay, right?" she asks quietly. 

Steve fights to keep his eyebrows down. They bob anyways. "Okay from what?" 

"When she has the baby. She's not going to get hurt?" 

"Well, having a baby really hurts. But there's medicine for her to take, and I'll be there to hold her hand." 

"No," Avery says, frowning, "that's not…" 

"Sorry, Ave. Ask me again, try a different word." 

She puts the dried plate down to her left and picks another to dry. "Will mom die?" 

"No," he says. Doesn't miss a beat, though his pulse capers. He knows that childbirth is hard, that lots of things can go wrong, but if he truly thought you might die he wouldn't have asked for another baby. And even if he did think it were going to happen, it's not a thought Avery needs to have. "She won't die, I promise you. Where'd you get that idea, honey?" 

"Jordan's mom died having a baby." 

Steve nods and tries to recalibrate the conversation. He knew of Jordan's mom passing away, he made a couple of trays of food for Jordan's dad and put money in the collection plate for her memorial, but he didn't know Avery knew precisely how it happened. 

"Right, she did," he says gently. "And that's scary, huh?" 

"Why can't it happen to mommy if it happened to her?" Avery asks. 

Steve shuts off the water. Hand still wet, he rubs his forehead roughly. "Can I have that?" he asks Avery, gesturing for the dish cloth. She gives it to him, putting down her last plate, and Steve wipes his fingers dry to pick her up without getting her wet a second time. 

"Let's have a talk," he says, tilting his head to the side. He sees his eyes looking back at him, smaller and softer, longer lashes but the same honeyed brown. "Me, you, and mommy. Okay?" 

"Dad," she says, startled. 

"It's okay, It'll be better if you talk to mom, too, because it's mom that's already had babies, not me. I think I know everything because my brain is so big and stuff, but I can't tell you what your mom is thinking." 

"I don't want mommy to get upset," she says. 

It's partially his fault for asking her to tell him if there's a problem rather than you a few weeks ago. He didn't want you walking up and down the stairs unnecessarily, and your blood pressure is something they've been keeping an eye on. He didn't mean for Avery to bottle things up. Every time Steve thinks he's doing something right it finds a way to bite him in the ass. 

"I meant if Bethie's turned the faucet on and flooded the bathroom, or if you want to change your bed or something, not that you can't ask her things that are worrying you," he says, readjusting her weight. Her knees dig into his sides as he carries her to the living room doorway from the kitchen. 

"Hey, mom?" he asks. 

Your head jumps up. You're sitting on the edge of the couch with Dove's face in your knee, a dribble patch dampening your pants. Bethie has her hand in yours sitting next to you. You're still in your work clothes, your bump straining against everything now, but yet to drop. He'll have to wash your pants tonight. 

"Hey?" you say, a guilty smile tugging up your pretty mouth. "I'm coming to do the dishes, I swear. My girls caught me in their net." 

"Can we talk to you? For a minute," Steve says. 

Your eyes widen. You stand up with a funny noise like someone's stepped on your toes, lifting Dove by the armpits to sit next to Bethie. You kiss the girls goodbye and they're too distracted by Dotty Dolly playing on the TV to mind. 

"What's wrong?" you ask, following Steve back into the kitchen. 

"Want me to explain?" Steve asks Avery. She nods. "Avery's a little worried about you." 

"About me?" You put your hands under your face and beam at her. "What's worrying you? I've never been better." 

"She's worried about when you have the baby." 

"'Cos of Jordan's mom," Avery whispers. 

You hear it despite her small voice, your smile sobering. "I see… I see. You know… you're a big girl, Avery. You're my big girl, and I wish I could keep you this young forever sometimes, but I know that you know that people don't get to stay with us forever, so I don't want to scare you, but I'll tell you what I think, yeah?" 

Avery swallows around nothing. 

Steve gives her back a sympathetic pat. "It's okay," he says to her, enthusing his voice with some pep to calm her down. 

"Jordan's mommy was sick when she passed away," you say, your hand resting on your bump now, inching closer to Steve and Avery where they've paused under the kitchen light. "She knew things were going to be hard. When you have a baby, you know things won't be easy, but it's not fair. It's very sad. She," —you look at Steve with a parent familiar fear that says, Am I saying the right things?— "said goodbye before anyone wanted her too, but Avery." Steve knows what you're going to say. It's a promise he made only minutes ago, one that you have no control over keeping, but a necessary one nonetheless to make. You could very well have complications down the line, things could spin out of control, but Avery doesn't need the stress of that hanging over her. "I promise you here and now that I'm not going anywhere. Daddy won't let me." 

He laughs a little breathlessly. "Damn straight." 

"But daddy isn't a doctor," Avery says, holding out her arm. 

You walk into Avery's reach, letting her climb from Steve's arms to yours without complaint. "He didn't have time to be a doctor, he was too busy being the best dad ever." 

"Are you flirting with me?" Steve asks. 

"Duh, Stevie." You turn your attention to Avery, struggling to hold her and stroke a hair from her face. "Don't worry about me. Promise me you won't, Ave." 

"I just don't want you to go away," Avery says with a frown. 

Steve feels an unexpected heat behind his eyes. You smile softly, your thumb on Avery's cheek. "Then I won't. I'll stay. I can't go anywhere without you, gorgeous." 

Steve strokes the back of Avery's head. "And I can't be without either of you, so mom doesn't have a choice." 

He wishes things were that simple. Steve has no idea what the future holds, but he chooses to believe it'll be a good one, where every one of his girls gets to grow old. But the future isn't something he can predict nor change by wishing alone. 

"Did that make much sense to you, sweetheart?" you ask Avery.

"It makes sense. Sorry." 

You and Steve make twin sounds of loving disbelief. 

"Sorry for what?" you ask, as Steve says, "No, God, don't be sorry!" 

"It's okay to ask me stuff," you say.

"That's what we're here for." 

Avery wraps her arms around your neck. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" she whispers, near imperceptibly, Steve's ears straining to hear her under the sounds of the water heater and the television. 

"I'm sure. I've done it three times already."

"Are you scared?" 

You shake your head resolutely. "No. You know why?" 

"Why?" 

"'Cos I know, at the end of it I might get another little girl who's just like you. Or like Beth, or Dove. Maybe I'll get one who's nothing like any of you, but I know with such a great big sister she's going to be amazing." 

Avery rests her cheek on your shoulder. "You think so?" 

"I know so." 

"Thank you," she says. 

You laugh again. "For what?" you ask, nails raking up and down the length of her back. "Only telling you what's true. Me and daddy think you're the bestest." 

Steve rubs his face with both hands rather than cry. Crying makes his eyes sore and he has to wake up at six AM tomorrow to take the girls to swimming lessons at seven thirty. (He also doesn't want Avery to see him crying and get the wrong idea, what with the previous conversation.) 

"Mom?" Bethie asks in the doorway. 

"Yes?" you murmur, resting your head atop Avery's gently. 

"Excuse me." 

You laugh a charmed laugh and scoot out of the way, resting your weight on the door jam. Bethie looks incredibly small idling at his feet, even though Dove is much smaller. She smiles nervously. 

"Daddy?" 

"Yes?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He pretends to be nonchalant, while inside he's thinking about lots of things. Avery's huge heart and all her worries. Bethie's emerging cheekiness after years of quiet. Dove's roaring giggle when you squeeze her just right. And you, your bump, your devotion to him and the girls, but more than that —your voice and how you talk with all the good you possess. How you're talking now to Avery in dulcet tones. 

Bethie takes his hand. "Can I have the rest of my mac and cheese, please?" 

"Yeah, babe. Unless you want dessert instead?" 

His hand sways in her grip. "I want mac and cheese if that's okay." 

Steve picks her up with a typical dad groan. He'll check on Dove first, but he has no qualms with warming her mac and cheese. He'd offer to make you another helping if you weren't distracted entirely, nose bridge nuzzling into Avery's neck. 

He doesn't know what the future holds, but he hopes for more of this. 

#kisses before dinner universe #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #afab!reader #mom!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff

[look-at-the-soul]

One and only

Dance request I’m so so thankful @notyour-valentine for sharing and tagging me in requests you get for Cillian, anons always share with you great ideas! I enjoyed this way too much! And decided to make it a bonus for my Adele challenge 🥰✨

Cillian x reader (one shot)

Summary: Meeting Cillian at the most unexpected place after a breakup was the last thing you thought could happen. As he asked you one question, you knew you’d dance with him through anything.

Word count: 3,449 (including the song)

Stretching in bed you tried to roll on your back, noticing the huge effort it meant now, a lot of things were different now.

Your hair was stubborn, most of your clothes wouldn’t fit anymore, you felt worn out all the time, nothing was the same as it used to be. But your brain corrected yourself as you dragged your feet across the floor to the kitchen and found your husband with his back at you. Wrapping an arm around him and leaning your head on his shoulder, you felt him press a kiss against your hair.

“Morning sleeping beauty.” He kept stirring the food and then turned to face you.

It was past seven o’clock, but Cillian allowed you to take a much needed nap.

“The smell is incredible, what’s this?”

Cillian smiled noticing her appetite. “Pasta, chicken and broccoli cos mamma needs her veggies.”

You were practically drooling over it so Cillian took a spoon to offer you some. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“You’re hot.” You retorted before closing your eyes at the flavors oblivious of the blush on his cheeks for your comment. “Hmm. It’s so good.”

“Yeah? Well it’s almost ready.”

“Oh! Baby likes it.” You took his hand to place it on your bump, so he could feel the baby wriggling and kicking. A soft smile spreading on your lips.

“Woah baby it’s so active tonight.” Cillian expressed with excitement.

At the beginning it started as a joke because that was the most frequent question you got, what will be the baby’s name? So you just started calling him or she baby, because you wanted to keep the gender a secret and surprise.

“Baby wants more?” You asked placing your hand on top of his, with adoration in you eyes.

Laughing, Cillian gave you some more, taking in the moment.

“What’s that?” You pointed at the notebook on the kitchen island.

“I’m trying to make the list of songs I’ll be playing on the radio show, still can’t decide though.”

You new it was a long process, and he was always playing his music whenever he was home, but when it came to his radio show? He was extra jealous about the list.

“Will you let me see this time?”

“No.” He answered bluntly followed by a deep laugh. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes.”

“A little hint?” You batted your eyelashes at him then.

Throwing a quick glance at the notes he made, he suddenly had an idea. “Wait here.”

Cillian started walking out of the kitchen but he went back immediately to take the notebook with him and giving you a side eye look.

“I wasn’t going to look.” You laughed.

“Yeah sure.” He knew you would’ve.

A moment later, he appeared back with the headphones he bought to play music for the baby, it had a special connection to make it possible to plug yours as well.

Your husband gave you the bigger ones to you, to place on your bump while he placed the others in his ears.

“And what about me?” You asked with a pout.

“This is going to be a secret between baby and daddy until the radio show comes out.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Just need to wait for a little bit.” He gave you a small peck on the lips.

“But I want to hear it too.” You tried again, Cillian had been spoiling you all along the pregnancy with the weirdest cravings, giving a massage to your swollen feet. “Pleas-” He placed his forefinger on your lips to interrupt your words.

“Mrs. Murphy would you and baby like to dance with me?” Cillian gave you the most beautiful smile you had ever seen.

Happiness started to burst from your heart, your belly and every corner of your body. It was an indescribable feeling.

As he extended his hand to you, you took it. His free hand came to rest on your lower back and he started to sway from side to side in a slow rhythm and you wondered what was the song that he chose to play because you felt your child moving.

Cillian twirled you into his arms gently, making sure it was a slow movement so you wouldn’t get dizzy.

You let the unknown rhythm set the pace by only following Cillian’s steps. You felt his fingers rubbing softly on your back and you tried to lean on his shoulders but a huge bump was in the middle of the two of you.

Looking up you found his eyes shining as a smile spread on his lips, he was trying really hard to not lip sing it.

Walking around you, Cillian placed himself behind you in complete silence, offering you to lean your head back against his chest while his both hands came to rest around your baby, then he continued with the slow sway, just the two of you dancing in the kitchen, well three more likely if he included the baby.

The song he chose was definitely extra special for both of you. Kissing your temple his mind went back in time to the day he met you.

(Flashback)

“Hi, I’m sorry, I think this is my seat.” A woman approached him.

He arrived early to the venue thinking there’d be a lot of traffic. But he knew this was his seat. “I checked my ticket this is it.”

“Look, I don’t want to be annoying just would you mind making sure?” She asked again.

Cillian was hoping to have a quiet night at the concert, it looks like this wasn’t his lucky night. After his break up he was trying to go back and do the things he enjoyed the most. This Radiohead concert had been on his mind since the pre sale tickets. Of course back then he swore he would be attending with his former fiancée and not by himself, that’s why a friend helped him sell the ticket online so at least he could get back his money.

“My seat is number 5.” She insisted while he took out his ticket.

“I’m pretty sure that’s mine but here, look it’s…” Cillian kept quiet as he read the correct number.

“6?” She added trying to hide a smirk and the I-told-you comment. “Just in case you’re waiting for someone and the seat would be taken.” She added.

“Oh, don’t even worry about that… I’m by myself.” Cillian explained but switched his seat with hers in case she was expecting someone else.

“I’m sorry then! Please stay there.”

“But-”

She shuddered. “I’m alone too, I was lucky to find this ticket last minute, my ex bought the tickets using my credit card but used his account and we broke up and of course he kept them,” then she laughed, “sorry for all the babbling.”

Cillian was relieved to see he wasn’t the only one on his own that night.

“Sorry about that… I sold it for the same reason.” He added with a shy chuckle.

“Oh, well I hope we both have a great time then!”

Cillian chuckled feeling something strange towards this woman, she had such a light energy and this calming presence.

“I’m Cillian.” He offered his hand out.

“Y/N, nice to meet you.”

Cillian nodded. “Are you a big fan?”

“I’ve followed their career since the beginning. Sneaked out of my house to see their first concert and got grounded for three months.”

That made him laugh, a real laugh from the deepest part of his soul.

“I saw them playing in a bar long time ago before they went big, you know?”

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “That was their best era in my humble opinion.”

“It was on the early days of On a Friday… I didn’t know it was them tho, until years later.” Cillian explained of the former name the band had at the beginning.

Their surroundings blurrier as they shared their opinions back and forth. Conversation was flowing freely between them without knowing each other, it was so easy to compare opinions about an album or a very specific song, Cillian particularly loved her enthusiasm over the band.

And he had to admit that she was beautiful.

She explained him that little by little she was enjoying being on her own, to the cinema, the theater, for a café, and even dinner, now it was the turn to a concert of her favorite band. Healing wasn’t easy and learning to love herself and actually enjoy things by herself had been so helpful.

As the lights went down the crowd exploded shouting, the stage lights turned on and the music filled the arena, making both of them enjoy the magic of the moment. He was in awe by her enthusiasm towards each song, singing at the top of her lungs, he was constantly giving her quick side eye glances. For good two hours, they sang all the Radiohead songs. Cillian cocked his eyebrow when she sang a part of one verse wrong but immediately smiled towards her, earning a blush and a smile back from her.

He drummed his fingers against his jeans while Y/N raised her arms to clap. And too soon, the show came to an imminent end, by the end of the night he could feel his heart drumming against his chest and his ears ringing from the loud music.

“This was a great show! Thank you for selling me that ticket.”

“Well thank you for buying it.” Cillian added while they waited in the queue to get out of the venue.

Was this it? Meeting someone by chance at an event of something they both enjoy and then they go in different directions?

Something he wasn’t familiar with made him ask her his next question.

“Traffic is going to be packed now… do you wanna go somewhere and have a drink?” He rubbed the nape of his neck, unsure if it was a bold move.

But when a smiled spread on her lips, his nerves disappeared.

“Yeah!”

Cillian chuckled. “Come on, I know a place.”

Ever since that concert and subsequently drink, they became inseparable.

(End of flashback)

“It looks like you’re rocking this baby to sleep.” You hummed making Cillian snap back out of his day dream.

Chuckling, Cillian squeezed her bump. “When I saw you napping, I wanted to sneak under the covers with you so bad.”

The continued swaying from side to side slowly.

“You should’ve joined us.”

“But I wanted to prepare dinner.” His lips connected with your neck, sending a warmth sensation over your entire body. “Get your lemonade and I’ll bring food over in a minute.”

In silence, you felt thankful he could read you like an open book, because standing up for so long now was the hardest thing to do, even harder than picking up something from the ground.

“I just have to stop by for a wee real quick.” You laughed. “No, Scout thanks I don’t need company.”

Cillian whistled the black lab, he insisted on being your guardian dog, watching every step you took.

Taking a sip of your drink, you closed your eyes at the sensation of the cold drink, your glass half filled with ice, Cillian stared at your bare arms, you insisted on wearing a thin t-shirt, actually one of his undershirts while he was already wearing a comfy jumper over the chilly and rainy October that started a few days ago.

“Are you sure you’re not cold?”

You shook your head profusely, suddenly feeling like throwing your wavy hair in a messy bun because it made your neck feel hot.

“As we were dancing, I was transported back in time to that time when we started going out.” You remembered before taking a bite of your dinner. A moan escaped from your lips at how good it was.

(Flashback)

Arriving at the bar, your eyes scanned the room, trying to find Cillian, you had been going out with him after the Radiohead concert several times, both of you made it perfectly clear it was as friends with similar stories, sharing similar interests. But lately you started to develop a deeper bond with him, a conection you didn’t experienced before, you could talk to him for hours of everything and for some reason, he ended up searching for your company as well.

You realized once more Cillian was a gentleman, he helped you get on the high barstool, offering his jacket as soon as you pointed out it was freezing. The smell of his cologne was imprinted on it and it was intoxicating you, but in a good way, it was so masculine.

You've been on my mind

I grow fonder every day

Lose myself in time

Just thinking of your face

“What can I get you guys?” Asked the bartender interrupting the initial conversation.

Cillian gave you a deep look “May I have a guess?” He asked with an inviting smile, you raised your eyebrows, waiting for his answer. “A glass of Chardonnay?”

You had never tried it but you liked Cillian instantly so you gave the bartender a nod, then your eyes moved back to him. “And a pint for me, please.”

“A friend asked me why did I cancel the plans with her so I told her I was meeting you and said it was okay if it was the Radiohead-guy.” You chuckled. “I loved that show, it would’ve been a mistake to miss it.” You admitted. “Thank you again.”

Today you were so thankful it happened the way it did. Because thanks to that ticket, you got the chance to meet Cillian, he was completely different to your ex-boyfriend in every possible way, you had different dreams, goals and interests. How come you didn’t realize sooner?

God only knows why it's taken me

So long to let my doubts go

You're the only one that I want

“Glad it was you the one who bought the ticket to be honest.”

As the bartender placed your drinks in front of the two of you, you proposed a toast.

“To music, that brought us together.” He raised his pint and you mirrored him with your glass.

“To finding good concert neighbors.” You smiled before taking a sip, surprised by the exquisite taste.

“Did you get your money back? For your original tickets I mean.” He leaned closer.

“I did! A few days ago, how have you been?”

“Grand! Mhmm I actually got a phone call, there’s a producer who’s a friend of a friend, you know… they offered me a deal to do a radio show.”

Resting your head on the palm of your hand, you gave him a shocked look. “That’s incredible! What’s the show about? You actually have radio voice by the way.”

The sound of his laugh made something inside you jump. “Music as a matter of fact… it’s like to propose something different, unique.”

“Cill this is great, when are you starting?”

You saw him rubbing his hands in a nervous tic. “I haven’t signed yet, needed to talk to someone about it first.”

“I feel special now! I’m the first to hear about it?” Your cheeks were burning as he nodded. “Congratulations!” You touched his arm as he thanked you.

But suddenly, something changed as the two of you paid attention to the singer on the small stage.

“Would you like to dance, Y/N?” His eyes sparkled with something new. And you found yourself trying to normalize your heartbeat through your breathing.

As his hand touched yours, you felt electricity shoot through your body and as your hand came to rest on his shoulder your brain shut down completely.

Feeling his ocean eyes staring into every layer of your body and soul, you dared to look up.

“Y/N…” He suddenly got closer, the rest of the place disappeared in the background.

I don't know why I'm scared

I've been here before

“Yes?” You blinked trying to disguise the sudden nerves.

Bodies swaying slowly, giving into the soft music from the piano and that angelic voice.

Every feeling, every word

I've imagined it all

“There’s something I need to tell you.” He stammered nervously.

You'll never know if you never try

To forget your past and simply be mine

“I know we both started this with the limits very clear, after coming from broken relationships for different reasons, but I’ve realized how amazing you’re and if you feel like this is so soon I’ll respect that.” He gave you a long look, trying to find a sign in your expression. “And this song describes perfectly how I feel about you, I’m going crazy with the lyrics thinking the person who wrote it, got inside my head and created this.”

You gave him a clumsy nod, the words were tattooed now in your mind, in your heart.

“Cill… I know.” You felt his thumb caressing the skin of the back of your hand. “I feel the same way. Despite everything I don’t regret a thing, because it led me to meet you.”

I dare you to let me be your, your one and only

I promise I'm worthy

To hold in your arms

“So, I need to know, if you’d let me be your one and only?”

So come on and give me the chance

To prove I am the one who can walk that mile

Until the end starts

“Only on one condition… that you let me be yours as well.”

Tilting his head, he leaned forwards to capture your lips for the first time.

(End of flashback)

Pulling him from the neck of his green jumper for a quick peck on the lips, Cillian felt you moving back with a strange expression on your face.

“What’s the matter?” He asked, noticing the floor was wet.

“My water broke.” You announced, trying to take it calmly.

“Are you having any contractions?” Cillian took a look at his watch to register the time.

“No.”

Cillian stopped to look at you, really looking into your eyes. “Perfect timing, baby wanted to join us for that dance.”

Standing up carefully, you tried to smile through the first contraction. Holding onto his forearm, you leaned your head against his chest.

As the wave started to come down, you blew the air out of your cheeks. “What was the song?”

Cillian looked from side to side, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The bloody song you hid from me, for your radio show, I need to know.”

A nervous laugh escaped his lips as he looked down at you.

“Sorry, Mrs. Murphy you can either wait three years to ask the baby or you can listen to the show once it comes out.” He rushed to kiss the top of your head before you could rip the skin of his arm as another contraction started. “The midwife texted, she’s on her way.”

Using the chair for support you could barely register his words.

***

(Months later)

“So, if you made it this far to the show, I want to thank you for staying with me. This last song is totally different from the rest you’ve been listening every week, to me it’s like an anthem. Really really special from a magnificent artist, her vocal ability it’s remarkable and impressive. And it’s the song that my wife and I danced the night my daughter, Elle was born. Folks, this is One and only by Adele. Until next time, that’s all from the basement.”

Pressing the mute button, Cillian took off the headphones and turned around with a huge grin to look at you, his eyes moved down to the baby sleeping peacefully against your chest.

“How could it be that I missed that song?”

Cillian laughed. “You said every possible song, but that one.”

“Elle blurred my brain.” You stuck out your tongue for him.

“Would you ladies like to dance with me?” He offered you his hand, and you took it, just like the first time.

You'll never know if you never try

To forget your past and simply be mine

I dare you to let me be your, your one and only

I promise I'm worthy, mm

To hold in your arms

And the three of you started to sway away to the beat of the soft tune, your free hand sneaked around to the back of Cillian’s neck holding your daughter between your bodies, just like you did the night she was born, just like you would continue to dance through whatever life had prepared around the corner.

Sometimes it would be him leading the way, sometimes it’d be your turn.

***

Master list

Anon, I hope you see this! If you do, I’d love to hear your thoughts… 💕

A/N: Now Im heading to read Val’s Dance versions! I didn’t want to have any background before writing this. Remember if you enjoyed this story, I’d love to hear your thoughts about it!!!✨

Fun fact: Here I was reading about Radiohead bio! ☺️

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @cillmequick @datewithgianni @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @elk96 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @winchestergirl22 @heidimoreton @allie131313 @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @already-broken144 @moral-terpitude @rangerelik @imichelle-l-rigby @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @kmc1989

#that’s what Cill said #cillian murphy fic #cillian one shot #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fiction #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x fem reader #cillian murphy x you

[whenweallvote]

One thing to know about us? From day ONE, we’ve been on a mission to change the culture around voting. That’s why we’ve brought conversations about voting to:

📺 TV screens, with the casts of black-ish and The West Wing 🎶 Music festivals like Roots Picnic, One Music Fest, Broccoli City 🎟️ Cultural conventions like CultureCon, Afro Tech, Complex Con 📱 Social media feeds, with messages from our talented Co-Chairs and Ambassadors 🎉 Parties at the Polls, in communities across the country

Help us continue our work to bring voting into the culture, and prove that voting can actually be FUN. Make your #GivingTuesday donation at weall.vote/givingtuesday today!

#Giving Tuesday #GivingTuesday #culture #pop culture #popculture #blackish #the west wing #roots picnic #one music fest #onemusicfest #broccoli fest #complexcon #culturecon #afrotech #parties at the polls

[incorrectlco]

It’s your boy back at you with more L&co headcanons!

Lockwood loves Star Wars

George loves Star Trek

Lucy thinks those are the same thing, to their great annoyance (she actually does know the difference she’s just a little shit)

Lucy loves trashy TV. I’m talking whatever the CW is putting out during the Problem, which is like Riverdale but the teens are ghost hunters.

She watches late at night when the boys are asleep so she can avoid the snide comments about scientific inaccuracies from George, or Lockwoods complaints about their rapier work.

Lucy is ticklish

Lockwood is not

They haven’t been able to get close enough to George to find out

Lucy doesn’t like coffee

Lockwood doesn’t like broccoli

George doesn’t like strawberries

I saw a headcanon/fic where Lockwood is a huge football fan, and I love that, but it’s infinitely funnier to me if Lucy is the huge fan of football while the boys that she lives with know next to nothing.

Like, foaming at the mouth feral fan. I know nothing about English football, so I have no idea what team she would support. Newcastle? Is that a thing?

George loves cricket.

Lockwood likes watching tennis. They tease him for that. Even his sports are posh.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #incorrectlco #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #head canon

[alwaysbethewest]

Triple Frontier fic: A Pilot for Christmas

It's @pedrostories Secret Santa day!! My assignment was for @frannyzooey, who requested domesticity, roommates-to-lovers, and fluff or smut 🥰 I had some of the most fun EVER writing this fic, so I hope it will make you smile, too, Kelli. Merry Christmas!! 🎄 Thank you to @mourningbirds1 and @fleetwoodmactshirt, both of whom I—not to be dramatic but—basically can't live without at this point, and at the very least couldn't have written this fic. And she's not a Pedro fan so I can't imagine she wants to be tagged in this, but thank you to my friend Alyssa for kindly helping me with one of the very few pieces of actual research I did for it.

Title: A Pilot for Christmas Pairing: Frankie Morales/f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.8k Content/warnings: roommates to lovers, hot single dad Frankie, pining, yearning, lusting, questionable romance novel smut, compromising positions, sexual content, fade to black, food, domesticity. Unbetaed, so please let me know if you spot any typos/errors!

There’s a note for you on the kitchen table, written in Frankie’s even, boxy print: Mac + cheese + trees in fridge if you want some.

Your schedules never align on Wednesdays; your boss’s mandatory mid-week team meetings inevitably keep you late and Frankie is always on his way to Laura’s place by the time you get home. You haven’t met his ex-wife, but you think she must be nice enough since he’s usually in a good mood when he gets home from their weekly family dinners. They’re co-parenting, as he’d explained when you first moved in, and along with providing dinner on Wednesdays he does his part by taking their daughter on the weekends. He’s given you a break in the rent to make up for sharing your apartment with a three-year-old two days a week.

This is technically a sublet, and it’s technically temporary, but you get along well enough with Frankie that sometimes it feels a little like kismet. His old roommate had landed a contract overseas for a year just as you were moving to town, and a mutual friend had connected you. There are four months left on the contract, but you’d heard from the roommate recently that he was expecting the position to be renewed, so most likely you’ll get to stay longer if you want to. Nothing is official yet either way, and you’ve decided to give yourself another month before you start to worry about it.

Having the apartment to yourself once a week is the perfect opportunity to watch your favorite guilty pleasure TV shows without fear of male judgment—not that Frankie gets really rude about it but his silent raised eyebrow speaks volumes—and you happily warm up a bowl of macaroni and cheese and “trees” (broccoli; it turns out toddlers lose interest when you use the B-word) and settle in on the couch.

Living with Frankie has gone better than you’d feared it might. Knowing he was the friend of a friend of a friend had alleviated some of your anxiety about moving in with a stranger, and he’s turned out to be a mostly quiet, respectful roommate. After maintaining clear-cut boundaries for the first couple of weeks, you had both relaxed a little bit and settled into something of a shared routine. He likes to cook but doesn’t enjoy grocery shopping, so you often take his list along with your own to the store—and reap the rewards on nights like this when he keeps you well-fed. You both like to keep a tidy home, and neither of you minds the other person throwing in a few items when you’re doing a load of laundry. You’ve even mostly gotten over the embarrassment of the time Frankie had delicately handed you a pair of thong underwear he’d found trapped in the sleeve of one of his clean shirts. The barely-contained amusement on his face had haunted you for a full week.

When you’ve finished your dinner you pause the TV to go wash your bowl, and while you’re in the kitchen you take a few minutes to put away the dishes Frankie had left drying in the dish rack. It’s an easy symbiosis, you muse, a give-and-take that seems to suit you both. Underneath his note, you write back: Delicious!! Thank you, and sign it with a heart.

Most of the time your editing job allows you to maintain a reasonable work-life balance, but this month you’ve found yourself scrambling to get everything done before the upcoming holiday break. Your co-worker Deandra is off on an unexpected leave, and after taking on a share of her work on top of your own, the projects have started to form an intimidating pile. One Monday, two weeks before Christmas, you compromise your typical boundaries by logging back onto your laptop after dinner to work on a manuscript. Frankie is watching a game with the volume on low and it makes for comfortable background noise while you work from the opposite end of the couch.

Deandra’s specialty is romance, and while you’ve had to get used to covering a new genre, having some variety has been interesting. But a detail in this book is bothering you. You glance at Frankie, whose expression is quietly focused. His team is leading the scoreboard by a healthy margin. You don’t think he’ll mind a brief distraction.

“Hey. I could use your piloting expertise. Can I ask you a weird question?”

Frankie raises an eyebrow and shrugs his assent. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, so—is it logistically possible to have sex in a cockpit?”

You have his attention. He slowly turns his head to give you a long, wide-eyed look. After a moment of silence, he narrows his eyes, contemplating. “What kind of aircraft are we talking?”

“Like a regular… A commercial passenger plane?”

He nods, pursing his mouth and tilting his head up so he can gaze off into space, like he’s visualizing it. He glances at you again.

“Two people?” he checks.

“Two—yes, it’s—” he’s surprised you a little, and you fumble for words. “It’s not a cockpit orgy,” you tell him.

He laughs. “Pilots like to party,” he says opaquely, and now you’re the one narrowing your eyes at him, but he’s ignoring your questioning look. “Okay, is it possible? Theoretically, sure. Especially if the other person is short. Is it comfortable, though?” He pulls a face. “It wouldn’t be my choice. It’s a cramped space. Someone’s gonna end up hitting their head, or accidentally kicking the instrument panel, or…” he trails off, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s… inadvisable.”

“Got it. Thank you.” You make some notes in the Word document on your screen, still internally recovering from his follow-up question, and Frankie turns his attention back to the TV, where the opposing team is starting to close the lead.

You’re no prude, but the genre you usually work in fades to black more often than not, and this author’s penchant for smutty detail has you feeling slightly in over your head. You’ve made it past the cockpit quickie but four chapters later Frankie’s team is on the cusp of winning their game and your protagonist is finally about to have her tall, dark, and handsome pilot love interest in a real bed.

“This love scene is… really something,” you comment. Frankie looks over in interest.

“Read it to me.”

“It’s dirty,” you warn him.

Frankie smirks. “I think I can handle it.”

You take a breath and start to read aloud from the page: “Isabella’s heart raced in excitement. Roderick was standing so close she felt as though his breath was entering her lungs with every inhalation. He took her hand and pressed her palm to himself, making her feel his turgid cock stirring in his pants—Obviously that needs to go—”

“Which part, the turgid cock?” Frankie asks. “I like it.”

“You like it?” you ask, incredulous.

“What?” he says. “A guy can’t enjoy a turgid cock now?”

“Jesus,” you laugh. Your face is starting to feel warm. “Isabella’s petite hand could barely fit around Roderick’s girthy length and it made her whimper with arousal. Roderick smirked down at her. ‘I can’t wait to be inside you,’ he rasped hungrily. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against his body. ‘Tell me you want it,’ he growled.” You glance at Frankie and see he’s got one arm slung across his chest and the other hand resting at his mouth, thumbnail running distractedly over his lips. He’s staring at the TV without really watching it, and after a moment of silence he finally blinks and meets your eyes again.

“It’s weird you get to read porn for work,” he says dryly, and you bury your face in your hands and laugh.

When the game ends, Frankie switches on an episode of Star Trek that he seems to be half watching while he does something on his phone. On your laptop screen, Roderick has you stymied.

Roderick’s muscular arms tossed Isabella onto the bed like she weighed nothing. “Ohhh,” she moaned. “Give it to me.”

“Give you what, baby?” he rasped. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Give me—” Her pale cheeks blushed prettily. How could she say it out loud? But he was looking at her with such lust in his eyes that she knew he only wanted to make sure she was ready to turn herself over to him, to let him use her any way he liked. The thought of it made her shiver with anticipation. “Give me your cock, Roderick. Make me yours.”

With a growl from deep in his chest, Roderick dragged her hips down the bed so that she was balancing on the edge, where his body loomed over hers. Turning her onto her side, he leaned down to nose under her ear, nipping at the delicate skin of her neck and making her moan. His broad hand clutched her thigh, maneuvering her leg to tuck her knee around his hips, and his other hand he ran tantalizingly down her back until he reached her other thigh. He opened her legs, like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking, and he straightened up, lifting her ankle to rest against his shoulder, and grinding his hard member against her core.

You go over the last few lines again, whispering the words under your breath to yourself as you try to picture the position. You feel like you need a diagram.

“I’m lost,” you declare.

Frankie glances up from his phone. “Hm?”

“I don’t understand where these limbs are going,” you tell him. “I don’t know if my brain just isn’t working because it’s 9 PM or if this passage needs rewriting. Or if this sex is too advanced for me.”

He laughs and makes a grabbing motion at your laptop. “Lemme see.”

You hand it over, standing up to stretch while he reads it to himself.

“‘He opened her legs like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking,’” Frankie reads out dramatically. “Really?”

“Don’t get caught up in the simile,” you say. “Focus on the legs. Is that position even feasible? For someone who isn’t a contortionist?”

“Maybe in the next chapter they reveal she was raised in the circus,” he suggests, but he squints at the screen again, reading through the text. “I think I get it. It’s like—” He gestures with his arms, posing them to mimic Isabella’s legs. It’s borderline incomprehensible.

Later, you’ll blame the late hour and your overworked brain for what happens next. If you’d been running on all cylinders, you would have thought through the boundary-crossing implications of this and stopped yourself, but as it is you frown down at him and say, “Show me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” you urge him, already heading down the hallway to your bedroom. He hesitates, but then follows a few paces behind, and it’s then—the moment he crosses the threshold behind you—that your brain finally catches up to your actions and you begin to realize this was a terrible, terrible idea.

But somehow, coming up with an excuse to turn back feels more mortifying than plowing forward. You sit on the edge of the bed, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Frankie is hanging back, but you give him an expectant look and he takes a step towards you. He clears his throat softly.

“On your side,” he says. It shouldn’t sound like a command—he offers it gently, a reminder of the scene you’re playing out—but something inside you can’t tell the difference and you feel a spot deep in your core go hollow and needy. You turn, obediently, and lay on your right side. He touches the knee of your right leg, urging you to pull it forward.

“This leg around me.”

He steps into the crook of your knee, between your thigh and your calf, and looks down at your other leg, tucked awkwardly between your bodies.

“This is where it gets weird,” he says, and you laugh out loud. The sound dies out when you feel his fingers firmly wrap around your ankle and slowly maneuver your left leg, straight in front of you and then pivoting towards the ceiling. You feel the stretch in your hips, your body turning to follow so you’re halfway between your back and your side. It’s awkward, and he must see your face twist in discomfort, because he stops midway through the movement and rests your foot on his left shoulder. His body is solid and warm against the back of your leg.

“I think in the book it was over here,” he says, tapping his right shoulder. “So maybe she is a contortionist.”

“Or I need to do more Pilates,” you lament. He looks amused.

“Does this position even make sense? Would this work for you?” you ask him, regretting the question as soon as it’s left your mouth. He blinks down at you and his eyes rake down the length of your body to where you’re tangled around him. His hand is still resting over your ankle.

“Your bed is too low,” he says.

It’s—You’d meant the question in a more hypothetical sense. With some other partner, in some other scenario, would this position work? The knowledge that he has taken in the question and assessed the situation—looked at your two bodies in relation to each other, here, in your room, and thought about whether he could fuck you like this—makes you lose your breath.

“Plus—” he continues. He nudges at you to roll you onto your back, carefully lowering your foot from his shoulder so he’s standing between your open legs, nothing between you but empty space and a secret, aching want. He leans in, bracing his hands flat on either side of your body, not touching you but close enough he would only have to lean in. “I like to be able to kiss someone when I make love to them,” he says softly.

He shoots you a smile that could almost be a smirk as he stands up and heads out of the room, leaving you clutching the duvet cover as the world around you tilts on its axis.

It’s not like you’ve never noticed Frankie is attractive. Anybody could see that he is. He’s boyishly cute when he’s playing around with his daughter, their matching, dimpled smiles on display; smoldering when he gets cleaned up to go out on the town with the guys, if a little less runway-ready the morning after; and confusingly, unrecognizably handsome on the occasions he goes clean-shaven. But he’s been so firmly relegated to “platonic male roommate” status since you moved in that you’ve never, even for a second, thought about pursuing anything more. Lusting after your roommate can only end in awkwardness and moving boxes.

So discovering that the man you live with isn’t just good-looking, but has the ability to leave you wet and aching with desire, without even trying, has you looking at everything through a new lens.

On Tuesday, mid-morning, your phone lights up with a text from him. It’s a picture of a small plane cockpit interior, just two seats and a display of navigational instruments.

See how tight she is? he’s written.

You blink at your phone. SHE??

…

She = the plane. Sorry, pilot speak.

Mortifying. You nearly pull up the local apartment rentals page on Craigslist right then and there. You dive into your work instead—not Deandra’s romance, but the grisly thriller in your regular docket. Roderick and Isabella need to give you some space this week. It’s not them, it’s you—and the images of Frankie and you in compromising positions that had popped into your mind when you attempted to pick back up the draft.

He’s like a specter, haunting you.

Wednesday evening is your night with the apartment to yourself, and you’ve never been happier to be alone. He’s left you dinner, again, and you almost don’t eat it on principle—you’ll have to get used to feeding yourself, after all, once he kicks you out for making it too blatantly obvious you want to jump him.

But it would be an actual crime to pass up his enchiladas. You savor the plate. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe as a parting gift, if you ask nicely.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and catch up on one of your shows, and some of the tension you’ve been holding starts to drain from your body. But underneath is a familiar, restless energy buzzing through you, desperate for a different outlet, that you can’t ignore.

You go to bed early. What you need is just a little quality time with yourself, to reconnect and remind your body that you’re perfectly capable of satisfying it on your own—or with the no-strings-attached assistance of a vibrator.

It’s a valiant, miserable attempt. Every tried and true fantasy keeps rerouting back to Frankie. You turn your toy to its highest setting and the sensation still pales in comparison to the thrill of his fingers wrapped securely around your ankle, the line of his body pressed against your legs, and his low, deadly voice telling you how to move.

You go to sleep more frustrated than when you started, only to dream of him. He’s hovering over you, pressing you into the bed, his hot mouth on your neck and sucking on your tits and working his way down to eat you out and bring an orgasm crashing through you—and you wake up at 3 AM with your cunt throbbing between your legs.

One of the things you’ll miss most about this place when you inevitably have to move out due to your incurable roommate attraction is the in-unit washer and dryer. Perhaps in solidarity with your own resolve and self-control, the dryer abruptly breaks in the middle of the week.

“Do you want me to call the landlord, or will you?” you ask Frankie, but he immediately shakes his head.

“Let me take a look at it,” he says.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Two hours and one trip to a hardware store later, he’s on his knees in front of the machine, working quietly save for an occasional soft grunt of exertion when he has to fit something into place.

There’s a bare strip of skin on display where his shirt has ridden up, and a black waistband peeking out from under his jeans. Your mind drifts, imagining away the denim and picturing how the tight boxer briefs would cup his ass and grip his muscular thighs, until your own thighs are clenching and you force yourself to go clean the kitchen instead.

“I’m moving out,” you call over your shoulder as you go.

“I promise I can fix it,” he says, like he thinks you’re just fed up with one broken appliance, not your own internal breakdown.

If only.

It’s 7 AM Friday and you’re fixing your coffee when Frankie ambles into the kitchen, bare-chested and barefoot and wearing nothing more than a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms. If you allowed yourself to look, you would see the soft curve of his modest belly and the sparse line of hair trailing down to disappear enticingly under his waistband. His voice is early morning-deep when he mumbles a good morning. His hand steadies casually on your wrist when he stands next to you to grab a mug from the cupboard just to your left, and you hope he can’t feel your pulse quicken under his touch. When his coffee is ready and he takes his first sip, he lets out a satisfied groan. You want to die.

“You must be doing this on purpose,” you say, dismayed.

He blinks at you over the rim of his coffee cup. “Doing what?”

You gesture helplessly, at his naked chest and effortlessly rumpled bedhead. “Just—being all—”

He glances down at himself, then back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being all…?”

“Just—sexy, I guess,” you finally admit.

For a moment, he looks surprised. Then an amused smile spreads slowly over his face and he takes a step towards you, clever eyes taking in how your body straightens and your breath picks up.

“I didn’t realize it bothered you,” he says. “Didn’t you say you were going to move out, anyway?”

“I am,” you say. “I can’t stand you anymore.”

He takes another step closer.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I could give you a reason to stay.”

You slump against the counter at your back, helplessly wanting him.

“Please,” you tell him.

He touches you carefully, one hand skimming your hip and the other on your arm. He cocks his head, looking skeptical.

“You really think I’m sexy?” he asks.

You nod miserably. “It’s torture.”

He laughs and you are desperately endeared by the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, and the hint of a dimple peeking out under his beard.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and he leans in, and the touch of his lips to yours makes you feel like you’re floating, like your body might drift up to the sky if not for his sturdy frame anchoring you in place. Like your legs might give out, sending you sliding to the floor, except that he’s pressing close enough now that his body is touching yours, bending you back just enough to easily reach, and his hand has crept up from your arm to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you securely even as he finally pulls his mouth away, leaving you breathless and dazed.

You think you understand the overwrought prose of Deandra’s romances now.

“I can’t stand you either,” he says quietly. “You were torturing me the other night, with all the dirty talk from that book and then making me go to your room. Christ.”

“Sorry,” you say, not really meaning it. You’ve never felt this intoxicated this early in the morning. You’ve never looked into his eyes this close up. They’re a rich, deep brown that you feel halfway hypnotized by.

He glances away and must spot the microwave clock, because he pulls away with a look of regret. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Take a sick day,” you suggest.

He smiles ruefully and shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “But what would you do if I did?

You take a deep breath. Your eyes drop to his waist, and you touch your fingertips gingerly to the soft skin on display there. You lift your gaze to meet his own.

“I’d ask you to take me to bed,” you tell him.

He forces himself to leave. You watch his fingers clenching as he turns away, closing around the empty air as though he wishes it was you.

You go to your own room on unsteady legs and finish getting ready for work, thinking of Frankie’s mouth for your entire commute and almost missing your exit as a result. This time, opening Roderick and Isabella’s romance is a whole new kind of torture, and you end up claiming a headache by 3 o’clock to go home early, not caring if your boss can see through the lie.

Getting home early means you have plenty of time to shower and shave and moisturize with intent this time instead of your regular lazy girl morning routine. You’re soft and smooth and clean, in the kitchen making a snack of crackers and cheese to distract your anticipatory nerves, when Frankie comes home.

He gives you a small, familiar smile and sets a grocery bag on the counter between the two of you.

“You pick which comes first,” he says, nodding to the bag. He steals a cracker off your plate while you peer inside.

He’s brought you two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and one box of condoms.

“All the essentials,” you observe, and he grins. You pluck the condoms out of the bag and hand them to him meaningfully. His smile turns a little sly and he leans in and kisses you, too briefly for your liking, before pulling away again.

“I have to take a quick shower,” he says. “Wait for me?”

You let out a sigh, turning to put away the ice cream. “Don’t take too long,” you joke, gesturing to the pints. “I’ve got two other men waiting for me.”

“Ha, ha,” he says, already halfway down the hall.

Out of the shower, he comes to you with damp hair curling softly around his head, dressed simply in a navy t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants, and looking so good you think you might combust. After a moment of flirtation—your room or mine?—you finally find yourself in his bedroom. He leans in to kiss you and he takes his time this time, cupping your face in his large hand, teasing gently at your mouth, sliding his tongue along yours to deepen the kiss. When he pulls away to trace his lips down your jawline, you take a breath to steady yourself—and then squint in confusion. There’s a familiar scent in his hair.

“Is that—did you use my shampoo?”

He goes still for a moment, caught, and then laughs.

“Mine ran out,” he admits, a little sheepishly. He pulls in closer, nosing at your neck. “Yours is nicer, anyway. I always like how it smells on you.”

“We can share,” you say generously. “I’ve never been one of those roommates who labels all their shit.”

“Good,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your collarbone. “‘Cause I also ate your leftovers.”

You make a sound of exasperation and he tackles you to the bed, promising apologetically that he’ll make it up to you. And then proceeds to do so.

Very thoroughly.

You awaken to find a note on the pillow next to you, in Frankie’s familiar printed handwriting: Going to pick up Baby M. See you soon.

You give yourself a minute to luxuriate in his bed, enjoying the calm, satiated feeling in your body, and the warm scent of him in the sheets, and then you straighten up his bedding and scurry back to your own room to get dressed before he arrives home with his daughter. You’re just pulling your shirt over your head when you hear their voices in the living room, and you go out to greet them. He’s juggling a Starbucks tray in one hand along with his keys and her travel bag. She’s munching contentedly on a snack and doing her part by carrying her favorite stuffed seal plushie.

Over her head, he shoots you a warm, intimate smile. You feel a giddy thrill bubble up in your chest and you grin back at him.

“We made a coffee run,” he says, nodding to the drinks. “Someone wanted a cake pop.” The toddler tips her face up to offer a beatific, icing-smudged smile. Frankie sets her bag on the couch and leads the three of you into the kitchen.

“That one is yours,” he tells you, pointing to one of the cups. Then, to her, “You want some real breakfast, mija?”

You look at the label on the drink and your jaw drops in surprise. “How did you know London Fogs are my favorite?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but you catch a self-satisfied smile on his face as he turns away. “I notice things.”

He keeps a platonic distance while his daughter is in the kitchen but when she leaves to go put her stuffed animal away in her room, he pulls closer, nudging your hand with his. “You alright?” he murmurs.

You rub your thumb across his knuckles. “I’m really, really good.”

“I convince you not to move out?” he asks. You pretend to think about it.

“Almost. I think you could tip the balance if you make me some eggs.”

He clicks his tongue in affirmation. “Got it.”

Later, when the three of you have settled at the breakfast table with piles of fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast, his face changes like he’s just remembered something.

“Hey, how did that book end up, with Roderick and what’s-her-name?” he asks you, taking a sip of his coffee. “You never mentioned it after Monday night.”

You haven’t actually made it to the end yet, but you already know the answer.

“They lived happily ever after,” you tell him. “It’s a staple of the genre. The couple always has a happy ending.”

“Huh,” he says. He gives you a small, private smile, and taps his foot against yours, out of sight under the table. “That’s good to hear.”

#pedrostoriesgift22 #pedrostories #my fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal #triple frontier #francisco morales

[mosylufanfic]

A Mere Trifle

My first contribution to Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary! The prompt I went with was "dessert."

A Mere Trifle

Bodhi opened the fridge. "Oooooh," he said in delight. His roommate made sweets and desserts to relax, and Bodhi was usually the beneficiary.

"Don't you fucking touch the fucking trifle!" Jyn yelled from another room.

"Why not?" he yelled back, but set the bowl of trifle back where he'd found it.

"Because I'm saving it for poker night, you glutton."

Bodhi raised his brows at nothing. Poker night was at theirs tomorrow night, and while most everyone brought food, it was more along the lines of grocery-store chips and dip. Not a dessert of multiple layers and steps and approximately thirty thousand calories. 

He grabbed the leftover Chinese instead, gave it a sniff, and concluded it probably wasn't going to kill him. Eating beef and broccoli out of the container, he went to the other room where Jyn scowled at the computer screen full of her photos that she was working on. "Not even a nibble?" he asked pitifully.

"Nope."

He licked sauce off his thumb. "It's got all berries and whipped cream and custard. You seriously expect me to resist?"

"Yes, I do, or I'll shave your head in your sleep."

Bodhi put a protective hand over his ponytail. "You're a cruel woman, Jyn Erso."

She bit her thumbnail, narrowing her eyes at two virtually identical images of an empty lot. She twiddled a setting and suddenly the tiny yellow flowers blooming amongst the lanky dried grass burst into focus. "You've known that for years," she said. 

-

Poker night started around seven, or whenever enough people straggled in to get a decent game going. Bodhi expected the trifle to come out as they set up the table and pulled mismatched chairs in from all over the house. But only the two party subs that Jyn had picked up on her way home from work made an appearance. 

"It's got to stay chilled," Jyn claimed when he asked about it. 

"Uh . . . huh," he said, but had to go answer the door before he could needle the truth out of her.

It was Melshi, who came armed with various chips. "You ready to lose?" he crowed, setting a bag of tortilla chips next to the subs.

"No, but you'd better be," Bodhi told him. 

"Big talk. Beers in the fridge?" Melshi asked.

"Yup."

He opened the door, grabbed a beer off the door, and paused. "Holy shit, Jyn, did you make that?"

Jyn was across the room in a split second, smacking his hand. "Don't touch!"

"Why not?" he whined, cradling his hand.

"Cos I said so." She slapped the door closed. "Go stuff your face with a sandwich. Veggie's on the left side."

Melshi sighed heavily and went to pile his slice of veggie sub high with peppers and mayo.

Leia and her brother came in next, then Kay, then Luke's truck-driver friend, Han, and his large, hairy roommate, Chewie, and then Shara and Kes from down the hall. About half of them mentioned the trifle, and every time, Jyn refused to let them get it out.

It didn't escape Bodhi's notice that Jyn's head snapped around every time the door opened. It also didn't escape his notice that Cassian Andor, who worked at the paper where Jyn sometimes picked up photo gigs, wasn't there yet.

People skipped poker night for work, holidays, hot dates, classes, and exhaustion. Usually they put it in the group text. Bodhi checked his phone. 

"Nobody's canceled," Jyn said without looking at her own.

"Right," Bodhi said, grinning to himself, and arranged his bingo chips. "Okay, who won the last game at Han and Chewie's?" 

"Me," Kes said, raising his hand, and taking the deck to deal. 

Two rounds in, Jyn was looking very downcast, but she still snarled like a Doberman whenever anybody went near the fridge. 

"We ever gonna get some of that dessert?" Han whispered to Bodhi.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Bodhi whispered back.

The doorknob rattled, and Jyn got half out of her chair before the door opened. She sat back down as Cassian came in. "Hey," he said, brushing snow out of his hair. 

"Hey," Jyn said casually. "Thought you weren't going to make it."

"Sorry," he said, shrugging out of his coat. "I kept thinking I was almost done with the article and then I wasn't. How much has Melshi lost?"

Melshi flipped him off. 

"Not enough yet," Jyn said, and got Melshi's finger next. "Did you get anything to eat?"

"No, and I'm dying. Tell me there's something left."

She waved a hand at the subs, mostly decimated on the counter. He put one of each kind on his plate and added mustard, then piled the rest of his plate high with potato chips and the baby carrots that Luke had brought. 

"Should be beers in the fridge," she added. "Oh, and I forgot about a dessert I left in there, can you get it out?"

"Ohhh!"

"So he gets some of that first?"

"I see how it is, Erso!" 

"That's who it was for?"

"Well well well!"

Jyn scowled. "Okay, the lot of you can go fuck yourselves."

"What?" Cassian asked, popping his head up over the fridge door and looking at all of them quizzically. 

"Nothing," Jyn said. "Everybody here is a fucking moron, that's all. You find it?"

"With all the whipped cream? Wow," he said, pulling it out. "This looks amazing, Jyn. Is this the thing you were telling me about last week? Whatsits. Trifle?"

"Oh, yeah, it is," Jyn said as if it was a massive coincidence.

He looked at her for a moment, a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "I can't believe it survived this long with these animals."

Melshi opened his mouth, then yelped as if a Doc Marten had met his shin with force. 

"Well, like I said, I forgot about it," Jyn said. 

Bodhi looked across the table at her and mouthed, You're so full of shit. She ignored him, a blush spreading up her face. 

Cassian sat down next to her, juggling his plate of sandwiches and a serving of trifle in a bowl. "This is really good," he said with his mouth full. "I mean, really. Wow." He nudged Luke. "Get some of this, it's incredible."

"Thanks," Jyn said, shrugging, dealing the next hand. "It was nothing."

FINIS

#Jyn Erso #Cassian Andor #rebelcaptain #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #Modern AU #fluffbruary #star wars