#He likes naps and carousels

[starrspice]

I usually draw Y/N's to avoid making self ship art cuz i always feel like im doing something scandalous

Like I'll be teased and mocked for it

But damn is Help Wanted 2 making it really hard

#They're theater kids #IM a theater kid #he likes arts and crafts #I'm an art student #He likes naps and carousels #I LIKE NAPS AND CAROUSELS #They're Sun and Moon Im literally Starr #its meant to be #and i just need to much art of me kissing their flat fucking face #help wanted 2 #dca fandom #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #IM SO NORMAL FOR THEM I SWEAR #except im lying #im not normal at all #and im about to endure a 10 day work grind excluding christmas day and i just wanna explode #starr stuff #rant #nonsense #ignore me #im just being a silly simp again #whose as tired as a retired old detective #tldr I'm in love with these silly jesters and i need to draw me kissing them so bad

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x Fem! Reader

master list

tw: no minors gtfo i stg, kissing, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex piv. Etc

summary: it’s happening

a/n: we made it b holes and babes, special s/o to my beta readers @agentmarvel @blueywrites @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean — this chapter is short and sweet. Hope you enjoy

His lips.

Your lips.

Firm.

Soft.

Cracked.

Smooth.

It feels like your souls are levitating off the ground. Hovering over your lip locked bodies and soaring higher to nap in the clouds.

He’s careful but sure, not pressuring you to open your mouth further but following your lead. His lips taste like bitter whiskey and Marlboro Red, a burnt sensation that has you coming back for more with each gentle brush of his lips against yours. The act is stoic. And coming from a very well experienced lover in the sex department, you didn’t see it coming. Prudent hands caress the warming apples of your cheeks, thumbs gliding over your soft skin every so often.

Having Eddie’s lips on yours could be compared to giving in while dieting, an addict trying to stay sober. You held off for as long as you could, telling yourself this shouldn’t happen. It would be wrong. But how could something so wrong, taste and feel so right?

Drunk— no dizzy. Head spinning like a carousel your mind is leading you now. Your hands find purchase against his neck, warm and sweaty from his hair. The other is snaked around him, bringing him impossibly closer, your bodies forming around each other like playdoh in a child’s tight grip.

You’ve never been kissed like this in your life. Every cell in your body is on fire. Simmering low and bubbling hot for him. Robbed of never having experienced something as sweet and tender as this in twenty-one years, you are overwhelmed with emotions at how right, how good, and how fucking fantastic Eddie was making you feel.

Opening your mouth slightly welcoming his tongue, you lick the underside of his top lip, the molten muscle sending chills down Eddie’s spine as you lightly massaged his lip. A moan shakes beautifully from his throat and he follows your lead. Coaxing his tongue gently against yours, a twirling tango of wet heat and fervor have you clutching his neck tighter. He licks into your mouth and you gasp, aware that although you’ve been kissed before it was never like this, lacking the passion that you are feeling while being kissed by Eddie.

No words are spoken and they don’t need to be. The high you’re on is pure euphoria, purple clouds and shimmery stars guide you as you pour your lust into Eddie’s hands and kiss him sugary sweet, your tongues interwoven like threads of yarn in a homemade set of mittens.

Hungry and trembling to feel more of him, your hands move leisurely to the front of his chest. His heart is pounding at your touch, his lips never leave yours. Completely occupied by your slicked lips cushioned between his. Your palms pressed flat against the cotton of his shirt as they navigate to his shoulders. The muscles in his shoulders and arms are well-defined, taut against your hands. Strength uncomparable from years of manual labor. Sculpted perfectly against your hands, arms capable of fighting two men at once, but tender enough to hold you tightly to comfort you. The same arms that wiggled around your thighs and your waist, never letting you go as you comforted him. They were powerful, majestic in a multitude of ways, but pliable and baby soft under his creamy, sweat slicked skin. Fingers moving gingerly downward, inching his jacket slowly off his shoulders, this was the moment, the one that would set off alerts to your brain and to Eddie’s on what you were needing from him. No longer hiding how you felt, no longer unsure or scared of the unknown, you shuck his jacket further down his arms. The creak of the leather squeaking a gentle song in your ears— beautiful harmonious notes of relief as it hits the ground and puddles at Eddie’s feet.

Goosebumps crawl against his flesh, and he works his magnetic lips from yours. Concern paints his face hiding a small trickle of want. Your face still in his hands, he pours his heart out into your eyes, but it’s not enough. If he was going to do this he needed to be sure you were on the same page.

His lips were wet and colored somewhere between the shade just before red but after pink, hungry and not quite full. Pupils blown wide, he tries to convey his thoughts in an unspoken way, but he needs to be sure this is what you want. Placing his hands in yours, fingers locked together in a softened callous grip of joined flesh, he looks from your lips to your eyes and back again.

His voice is husky and dipped low, dripping with sweet honey chords of desire when he speaks to you serenely, “tell me what you want Tooty.”

He’s leaving it up to you, never known as a gentleman before he would be just that for you, in any situation. But especially in this one. Out of respect for you and keeping your demons at bay, if you only wanted this— he’d die tomorrow with a smile imprinted on his face— never ask you to cross your lines of comfortability. Dice in your hands, he waits patiently, thumbs circling the top knuckles of your fingers.

Sure and ready you drop his hands to wrap your fingers along the safety pinned hem of your homemade gift from Eddie, threading the cotton fabric over your head you unthread your arms quickly, not wanting to waste a single second of seeing him. Coy in your delivery, you try your best to calm the wave of nervousness as it crashes around you, warm water soaking your skin as you stand in your bra before Eddie. But his eyes never leave yours, a soldier to his own word, guarding your dignity with everything he had— the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he wasn’t taking this seriously and only wanted to fuck you.

Fingers skirting under his own shirt you pry it off his body gently. Staring into his eyes you finally speak, “I want you, Eddie. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He hums low with satisfaction, the fine lines of his brow flatten and smooth against his forehead, eyebrows receding from his bangs back into place. His calloused hands find your cheeks again, rubbing the pads of his thumbs against your cheeks in a windshield wiper motion, sliding against the smooth expanse of your cheeks, with no tears to dry.

The depth of his eyes are miles deep of rich chocolatey swirls, a fountain of yearning and longing as he whispers gently, “I'm gonna take care of you.”

Nodding along in a silent agreement, Eddie brings his lips to yours. Fruition and passion burst behind your eyelids, his lips are warm and cozy silk as he kisses his way down your neck. The sensation brings warmth to your core and goose bumps along your skin, heightened by the feel of his wet tongue on you. Angling your neck to the side for better access, his tender kisses deepen, whiskey colored curls tickle your shoulder blades and the top of your breasts as his descend down your neck capsizes. Large hands grip the back of your thighs and he pulls you up, hoisting you in his arms. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. His bare skin simmers hot against yours, burning with longing zeal. Electricity surges through you when Eddie moves towards his bedroom. Kicking open the door with his boot and back closed the same way, his mouth never leaving your body, tongue painting you with his slicked spit and wine colored bruising.

He bends down to his bed, carefully adjusting you down your back tickled by the comforter. Laying you down as delicate as a flower atop a loved ones coffin, he pulls back, eyes drunk on you and full of blissful lust, his dark curls hanging from him like a curtain, strong Oxford colored arms on either side of you, his chain necklace swaying in front of you, a taunting pendulum from his bare chest to the tip of your nose.

You timidly reach up to stroke his face, stubborn stubble that he keeps shaved is making a late night debut against your palm, he leans into your touch turning his cheek until it’s flush against your hand. His warm skin singing in your hands. He’s everything you’ve wanted and more. Kicking yourself silently for denying yourself the way he’s looking at you right now, you whisper to him, “you’re so handsome, Eddie.”

He pinks under your palm, he’d been called the name before, but under the weight of your sweet voice, your eyes shining under him, he melts like forgotten chocolate in a denim pocket in the summer. His heart shatters through the atmosphere and skids along the stars, only coming back down to beat wildly in his chest.

“Baby,” Eddie coos, holding your gaze, “do you know how hard it is to breathe when you’re around me?” you’re silent as a tear falls on your cheek, Eddie wipes it away with his finger curled inward, “you’re so beautiful it’s suffocating.”

Pendulum like necklace still swinging, you grab it in a fist and pull him into you, kissing him so abruptly a noise splutters from his lips as yours collide with his, tongues sliding sweetly in a waltz. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Your body is tingling all over for him. An itch only he can scratch, hungry for him, a desire that you haven’t felt for anyone swells in your chest.

Your legs are spread wide to feel the full weight of his body mass on yours, an odd but satisfying comfort all the same. His scent surrounds you. Hints of Marlboros reds and tangy weed mixed with the burnt notes of cedar and amber. He’s consuming all of your five senses, and you’re broken with his touch, swayed by his tongue in your mouth and his fingers holding the back of your neck, swirling in the hair at the base of your head.

His fingers fall from your hair, tracing lines across your shoulder blades as delicate as snowflakes falling on your eyelashes, strumming lightly across the strap of your bra. Humming against his lips you whisper a whimpered plea to him. Deft fingers coax the straps out of the way, and his lips leave yours kissing your cheeks and making a path of wet lips and sloppy sweet kisses to your shoulder, spending lazy minutes soaking up every inch of your exposed skin. Letting you know with each pucker of his lips how important you are to him. Repeating the same slow motion on the other side, you are heated up. Tingling with butterflies drugged with cocaine in your core, throbbing for more of his touch. You are an addict for him. Eddie— your drug of choice.

Arching your back as he inches his way down your body, his large hands wrap around you, unclasping the bra from itself in expert speed, the relief around your rib cage is audible as you let out a small sigh, Eddie’s curls tickle your bare stomach as he sits up. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath as he’s on his knees between your legs, his hands on his thighs, lips kissed red and pretty, dark eyes searching yours, your bra laying on top of you barely covering your boobs, nipples peaked and ready for their debut under the black silk fabric, your arms still jailed by the straps.

He cocks a smile as you wiggle your arms out of the straps, keeping eye contact with him during the entire performance, thanking a higher power your arms didn’t get stuck in your pursuit of nudity. The bra drops from your pointed fingers like a used tissue on Eddie’s blanket, your lips twist upward with a grin when his eyes go wide at the sight of your tits on display. A bountiful feast of perky nipples and soft skin, still sporting last summer's fading tan lines.

Eddie’s adam apple bobs in his throat like a gear shift slammed into third, eyes wide as he mutters, “Jesus Christ,” to himself. Taking in your doughy tits, heaving like soft cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven. Eddie is practically drooling at the sight of you beneath him.

Dragging his fingers up your curved sides, sending goose bumps in his wake, he cups the tender skin on either side of your boobs, squeezing the pudding-esque cups softly, bringing his face downward towards your chest. One fleeting look from his chocolate eyes to yours and you’re a puddle of melted ice cream. His touch is burrowed into your skin like radiation, his rough calloused hands feel like a cheese grater against your buttery skin. A sensation that has you moaning out loud once his tongue kitten licks one of your nipples and his hot breath blows gently against it, a warm breeze before a thunderstorm on wet sidewalk, flooding your panties at his touch.

He whimpers at your lacy moans, his mouth humming against you, face flush with your nipples as he rubs his tongue back and forth. Giving fair attention to your other nipple he repeats the process, his large hands engulfing your jelloy tits as his expert tongue teases you again and again. The sudden nip of his pearl teeth on your perked mound sends vibrations of electricity to your core.

He’s grinding down into you, and you gasp at his girthy length driving into your body.

Nimble fingers work his belt through the buckle between your two bodies, your appetite only increasing with each sucking bruise into your skin. Eddie follows suit and works fast against your zipper, breaking contact to pull your jeans off by the legs. A wet spot in your panties has him licking his lips, stroking himself beneath denim and cotton.

Eddie wastes no time when he grabs the delicate, silky black fabric on your hips and pulls them downward.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, when your pussy lips cling to the wet fabric, his dick kicks up in his boxer briefs, an impressive show of its own. He slides them down your legs and tosses them onto his dresser.

Lowering himself to your sex his hot breath lingers like smoke on water as he speaks, “if you don’t like something I’m doing— tell me.”

He waits for your nod of approval, which you give innocently. And when he lowers his mouth down to your heated center, fireworks explode behind your eyes.

His name falls from your lips at the first touch of his tongue. It plunges into your velvet drenched folds, and a symphony of whispered breaths and moans shuffle around the room colliding and mixing with the flick of Eddie’s tongue and the curve of his lips suckling on your clit.

Your hands fly to his hair, holding him tight like reins while riding a horse, you pull when it feels good, rubbing softly to dull the pain, and his eliciting moans send currants down to the tips of your toes. It’s shockingly arousing when you take a peak at Eddie between your legs, Dr. Pepper eyes carbonated with lust and desire. Trained on your face as it twists with pleasure and smooths into a smile when his devilish tongue strokes you in the right way, fast then slow, eager but coy, taking his time, expertly bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Just having his mouth on you, feeling him vibrate as the muscle of his long tongue wiggles its way into your center, has your hands frenzied in his curls, nerve endings exploding with each flick of his tongue.

You’ve seen it in movies, heard about it from friends, Robin even being so kind as to go into explicit detail on how it’s done. But much like the kiss, you’ve never encountered the sensation of a lover’s tongue between your legs.

It’s mind altering, blissfully creeping closer to the edge of an orgasm as Eddie laps at your weeping folds. You’re whimpering at his touch, one hot hand holding your hip in place as your back arches from the mattress, the other replacing his tongue in your center, the stretch of his one finger makes him groan, whispered breaths against your core. It’s a pleasurable pain, welcomed by his wet tongue. It could be mistaken as an exorcism the way you're frantically canting your hips as his tongue rolls against your clit again and again. The deep moans choking out from your throat, tornadoing with his pleasantries and whispered praises, and that's when you break.

Every color, every shade, every hue unfolds in your vision against the black of your eyelids. Writhing beneath Eddie you ride out your high against his face, he dips impossibly deeper, connecting your souls with each slow drip of your arousal onto his tongue.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, his hands still gripping your hips loosening them to rub your soft thighs down to the bend in your knee. He sits up, kissing your thigh he murmurs, “so sweet, so beautiful baby.”

Your cheeks heat with his words, blooming across your face and spreading warmly in your chest. Opening your eyes for the first time since your orgasm, you peek at Eddie. His hair is a mess from your hands yanking on it. A pretty sheen of your slick is painted on his lips. His hooded eyes dip to yours as he plants wet kisses to your soft thigh.

Wiggling from his grasp, you sit up, pressing your lips to the column of his throat, your fingers working to push down his jeans and the waistband of his underwear. “Eddie,” you plead against his sweaty skin, “I need you,”

Arms tangled around your bodies, his lips lock with yours and a moan escapes his throat, the salty tang of your arousal mixes on your tongues. Shoving his pants down his legs and kicking his feet from them in a fevered effort, Eddie lays you down against the soft mattress, his face hesitant, concern lacing his prominent features. Eyes almost watery with turmoil.

Holding a warm delicate hand up to his cheek you coax him to look at you, your voice wavering between frantic and needy, “Eddie, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, the thick of his cock is heavy against your thigh, and by the sheer weight of it, you knew he wasn’t lying about the length.

“Tooty— I, I don’t want to hurt you.” You know by the look in his eye he isn’t talking mentally, “you’re…and I’m—”

“Please,” you beg, “I want you,” slinking your fingers between your two bodies, you reach for his cock and gasp at the girthy length of soft skin as you rub it back and forth with the palm of your hand, the tips of your fingers sliding against the bulging mushroom head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip, his eyes open and turn hungry, all color flushing from them but revealing the deepest onyx hue outside of the Milky Way. Adjusting your legs around him, opening wide, he lowers his head and dribbles a stringy line of spit to his dick, smearing it slightly with his thumb, easing it towards your entrance.

The smallest push of his hips has your breath suffocating in your lungs. His lips capture yours in a sweet kiss as he whimpers at your noises and the way your heated center pulls him in deeper. Clenching around him, he’s stretching your walls to full capacity with every inching of his hips.

Lips breathe air into one another as Eddie hovers over you, two faces twisted in egregious pleasure, moans coating the walls and so sugary sweet they could peel wallpaper.

Each thickened inch pressing inside of you brings endorphins to your brain, swelling your body full of Eddie. His arms quiver and his lip is almost bit in half when he finally bottoms out. A final guttural groan releases from him and you pull him down to you, sealing the triumph with a kiss and speaking against his lips letting him know he could move.

The first drag out has you suddenly feeling empty and lonely, almost pouting at the gone fullness, Eddie hisses when he pushes back in, muttering explicits into your ear as you fill his with sappy whines and whimpers.

“Doing so good for me sweetheart, sh— oh fuck,” sucking him deeper inside your gummy walls Eddie bucks his hips to a steady rhythm, covering your cheeks in kisses as you tangle your fingers in his curls, heavenly moans surround him like a halo— held up by fire colored horns dipped in black as he licks his lips and picks up the pace.

His heavy sack slaps against you almost clapping along with his thrusts as you yell his name. Tits bouncing circularly with each punch of his cock into you. He groans when your nails dig into his shoulders, eight pinked lines marking where wings would be as you fly higher and higher together.

“I’m not— Christ— I’m not gonna last here much longer baby, where do y—” he groans when you swirl your tongue around his thumb, “fuck!” He pumps harder into you and before you can say anything you’re both coming undone. Screams and moans surround the four walls as Eddie paints your insides with his cum, your pussy clenching and sucking him in, a harmonious symphony of deep abated emotions shatter down walls and engulf you both as Eddie collapses on top of you. His sweaty hair tenting round both of your faces as you both pant into eachother. Love circulating the air with tiny hearts and fluttering wings.

You’re exhausted, mentally and physically. A feeling you could certainly get used to. Eddie was so caring, so sweet. The high of your second ever orgasm still throbbing in your core and leaking down onto Eddie as you shut your eyes.

Sleep envelops you both as Eddie rolls you on top of him, kissing your nose and rubbing your naked back with the tips of his fingers, he’s still inside you, his softened length growing tired and motionless as the delicate cotton of a cool sheet hits your shoulders and your skin.

His chest is warm and slicked with sweat against your cheek, a softened lullaby of his heart beating puts you to sleep in no time.

Eddie’s a mess. Wondering if he just messed everything up. Were you comfortable? Did you enjoy yourself? Judging by the noises you were making and screaming his name he would normally think yes, indeed you had. But this was new to him. Being so deeply in love with someone and sharing the most intimate sex he had ever had. Light snores assure him that you’re okay, in a peaceful sleep, your inner demons tucked away for the night.

On the cusp of dreaming you hear it.

It’s whispered. Barely audible. But it’s there. Butterflies kiss the crown of your head and rub your back with soft petal-like wings.

“I love you, angel girl, always have— always will.”

readmore line haaaay

see you in the prequel: 1985

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #fic recs #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie fan fiction

[acrux-jr]

Meeting Abby -

(Extension of Carousel - prequel)

Summary: What Mike didn't know was the two of you had already met, and Abby wholeheartedly approved.

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: pre-established relationship, fluff, dates

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This was your 3rd date since the carousel meeting. Mike was still well Mike, the more quiet, nonchalant, and tired type.

Mike really was interested in you but his mannerisms did leave you questioning if he did or of he was trying to get a quick fuck.

The two of you sat at the diner, it was 1 in the morning. It was an odd ass hour to have a date but Mike said it was because of his work hours. Though there was a tinge of fear that maybe you were a side chick or he was trying to land some action.

You were wide awake, you had a nap after class so the sleep wasn't creeping on you but it was slowly on Mike.

Every so often he would nod off and blink himself awake, hoping you wouldn't know; you did.

"Do you want to schedule this for another time?"

He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head 'no.'

"You look tired Mike."

He liked it when you said his name, and showed concern.

"S fine. I have a semi-normal shift tomorrow."

"Then you should be sleeping then. I don't mind waiting. "

Mike didn't want to say so he shrugged instead. "S fine," he repeated.

You gave a sigh but nodded. You noticed the book by. "What's the title?" You asked, cutting the country fried steak to eat.

"Oh um it's called dream theory. It's … hmm.. it's about how every single thing we see is stored in our brain in like this deep vault and dreaming subconsciously unlock those tiny details."

"Hmm. I think I've something similar to the whole we remember everything subconsciously but I never really looked into it. Though I guess it could explain my art."

"Your art?"

"Yeah about half my paintings are landscapes, but I don't really remember any of those places when I was too small. Like um when we went to see snow the 3rd time around when I was a little older and able to grasp some things, I remember I dreamt this oasis of cold in the redwood forest, a tree had fallen down and was mostly covered but some red was showing. Anyway, I dreamt it but don't remember the actual day, just that one scene and when I painted it my mom was shocked I even remembered that specific place. I was still small, she even showed me pictures."

"What made it stick out that you mom knew it was the place you guys went too?"

"Oh um hehe yeah, there was this small grave with flowers on it. It was in the painting as well."

"How old were you?"

"Maybe anywhere from 3 to 5."

"And you remember that detail."

"I'm assuming so, the picture my mom showed was when I was like 1 but we revisited again about that age range. There were no pictures at that spot again because of the grave. We recently started going again and I leave flowers."

"That's nice, I mean to leave flowers for someone you don't really know."

"Yeah, I guess. It was such a lonely place for a grave though so I guess maybe that's why I leave flowers, so they're spirits can know someone else enjoys that spot too. They must have really loved it to be buried there."

"You believe in spirits and the afterlife and all that?"

You hesitated, "I don't know. Do you?"

"Maybe," was his short reply. The conversation came to a stop as the two of you ate quietly.

Glancing at the time, you say it was 1:30 a.m. now.

You quickly finish as Mike finishes his. "Come on l, get up." You leave $25 on the table for the food and tip. Mike protests but still allows himself to get dragged away.

The moon is full, and the asphalt is wet from the earlier rain. You jump on the bed of the small beat pick up truck, patting the seat next to you. Mike took the offer and sat next to you.

With the dead of night and few lights, the two of you stargaze. Mike listens as you ramble on and on about the constellations, giving a nodded and humm of acknowledgment to show he's following along.

He looked at you. As you talked and talked, he loved how your hair frames your face, or how he noticed you fret about your mascara even now and then especially if you laughed a little too hard you'd cry a bit, he liked how passionate you got, and he really liked how kind you were.

While he would get praised for taking care of his sister from strangers, for being kind and self-less. He still felt selfish in a way.

He looked at your headband, shiny black and small. Abby popped into his mind. He knew that after texting for a day he was already too deep to let this be a fling.

It became silent after you were done listing the constellations, now just appreciating the night.

Mike cleared his throat to talk, and you turned your attention to him.

"Would…," he breathed out, "would you want to meet my little sister Abby?"

Your eyes widened in shock. While Mike didn't say much, he said even less about his sister. Another reason why you thought this was maybe just a fling, or trial run before he really got out there.

You opened your mom to speak but nothing came out.

Mike sighed and got up. "It's fine. I gotta go-," "Wait!"

Mike stared as you went up, "I wanna meet her! I do, really. It's just I was shocked since you've never like well talk about her."

Mike stared at you still not really knowing what to say. "Look Mike. What do you want out of this? Before asking if I wanted to meet your sister I was kind of getting the impression this was like a fling. And I'm not really interested in a fling right now."

"Oh."

"Oh?" You questioned.

"Well what made you think this was a fling?"

Mike looked down, not really wanting to look you in the eyes. "I don't know, I just got the feeling you weren't too interested. Mike, well we've only been together for about 3 dat3s. I genuinely can't recall anything you like or dislike or memories you've shared. Even when I text you it feels a bit one-sided."

"Oh."

You hummed as you continued to look at the stars, giving Mike some time to collect his thoughts.

"I'm not really a big talker if you haven't noticed. To be honest, I like to listen to you talk. You have a nice voice."

"Okay."

He gave you a look, "Okay?"

"Okay I can work with that. I just needed to know if it was disinterest or if that's just how you are."

"So it's fine? If I don't speak a lot most of the time."

"I guess we'll find out together, but between you and me I like that whole stoic, "bad boy" look / attitude you have."

Mike laughed and smirked. "Bad boy?"

"Mike every now and then you look like a genuine degenerate."

Mike raised his eyebrow. He closed the distance between the two of you. "Yeah? Isn't that what you like though." He whispered before he gave you a chaste kiss.

You blushed and gave a small laugh. "Yes, yes I do."

You brought out your phone and the time read 2:30 a.m.

"What time do you have work?"

"11 a.m. to 5 p.m."

"Mike!"

He had an amused look on his face, "What?"

"Oh my god! Go home already you have work in less than 12 hours ! You still have to sleep!"

"Don't sleep much to be honest." You huffed air out of your nose.

"Well you should."

Mike grinned, and he put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "I like the color green."

You smiled back. "Green? Hmm…"

"Hmmm… what?"

"It fits you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah of course, green is a very strong but soothing color."

"It is."

The two of you sat in silence before Mike's phone rang. He looked at it and rolled his eyes.

"Hello. Yeah. Yeah, got it. Okay I'm on my way."

He gave a sigh, "Sorry that was my aunt. I asked her to babysit but I guess something came up at her place."

"Oh okay that's fine. Text me when you get home so I know you made home safe."

He gave a tired smile, "Isn't that my line to you?"

"It would be if you weren't running on minimal sleep."

"Fair enough. But text me too okay, in case I forgot while talking to my aunt or you get home first."

You gave a nod and he gave you another chaste kiss. You blushed again, and smiled. He hopped off the truck and waved bye. You waved as he left the parking lot in his beat up car.

You rushed inside your car and towards home, excited to tell your friends everything.

With texts of 'I'm home,' and 'goodnight' s, the two of you feel asleep dreaming of each other.

A week had passed before Mike brought up meeting Abby again. This date was way earlier and on his day off.

"Do you think she'll like me?"

Mike paused. "I'm not sure to be honest. Not ! Not that you're unlikable or anything like that! She's just a timid kid, hell she barely likes me."

"I'm sure she likes you Mike."

"Yeah well you haven't met her," he grumbled.

You gave an amused look but relented. "So she gets out in an hour right?"

Mike nodded.

"Okay and you said she likes art right? To draw and such?"

Mike nodded again. "Okay, perfect. I'll be back here at 3!"

As you started to slide out the booth, Mike stared at you confused. "Wait where are you going?"

"Don't worry I'll be back." You practically dash out the door to your car.

Mike gave a frustrated sigh and got up after paying the bill. 'I guess I'll just have to wait until 3 too then.' He ran a hand through his curly hair and hopped in his car.

Mike parked at the diner, looking back at Abby. "Okay we're gonna meet a friend of mine okay Abs?"

Abby furrowed her brows, "Your girlfriend?"

Mike nodded. Abby stayed silent. He got out of the car as did she. He held her hand as they entered, he spotted you immediately.

You h/c shining from the sun, you were drinking water while reading a book. Lost in your own world Mike cleared his throat. You looked up at him and then down at the little girl.

Abby recognized you as you recognized her. "Hi!”

Before you could get another word in, Abby motioned you forward. You raised an eyebrow towards who gave a shrug reply but you went with her request.

“Don't tell Mike about Mr. Bunny.” She said in a hushed whisper.

You stared at her then at Mike and then at her again. “Okay. Got it. But why?”

Abby looked at Mike, shoved him slightly to get away from their secrets. She cupped her hand, “Because I want to have a secret between us. I like you, you gave my Mr. Bunny when you didn't have to.”

You gave a warm smile, “ Okay deal. Pinky promise, and seal the deal.”

As you pinky crossed and thumbs stamped together, Mike gave you an expectant look.

Abby slid in across from you and Mike sat next to her.

“What?” He rolled his eyes.

“What were you two whispering about?”

“It's a secret!” Shouted Abby.

Mike looked at you again. “Sorry can't see, those are the secret rules and it's backed by a stamped pink promise. You'll never know.” You have a sad look and shrugg. Abby laughed at your expression and Mike shook his head.

“Well I guess it can't be helped.” You and Abby nodded.

You remembered a thought, “Oh yeah!” You rummaged through your bag and got the present for Abby you bought.

“Here you go Abby. It's a sketchbook for your private drawings.”

“Private drawings?” She turned her head to the side.

You smiled at her, “Yeah, drawings for yourself. I have a lot of them that I don't wanna share because they're private and for me.”

“You draw!”

You nodded and hummed. “Can you draw me something?”

“Uh sure. Is it fine if it's in your book?”

She nodded vigorously. “Okay what do you want me to draw?”

She pondered the question. “Oh! A bunny!”

“A bunny? Hmm okay like a realistic bunny or a cartoon?”

“Cartoon.”

“Yeah sure.”

Mike smiled. “Yeah she's been obsessed with bunny's after some girl won one and gave it to her instead.”

You fought off the smile as you drew, and Abby giggled. Mike gave her a questioning look but all Abby did was stick out her tongue, which Mike did back, only for a split second though.

Mike and Abby watched as you sketched out the cartoon bunny, erasing and redoing the line a couple of times. You finished the outline as food came, Mike ate and watched as you stuck your tongue out slightly finishing up the little details. It had a top hat and a bow.

“Alright Abby, here you go!”

Abby squealed in delight. “Thank you!” She stared are your drawing as she ate, it did resemble Mr. Bunny. Mike noticed that too but thought it was a mere coincidence.

The meal went smoothly, with Abby begging for a shake and Mike giving in. Sitting here, you thought it was nice, maybe something to get accustomed to. In fact, you hoped it was.

♧♤♧♡♧♡♧♤♧♤♧♤♡♧♤♧♡♧♤♧♤♧♡

Y'all I can't stop writing im procrastinating 😩 anyway enjoy!!

Taglist: @stinkii-boii @hellothisisprincesskitty

#fnaf movie #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x fem!reader #mike schmidt x reader #x reader #josh hutcherson #abby schmidt #mike fnaf #fluff

[kazzykatt]

kinda following this (spoilers)

In the Ruin version of Arts n Crafts Sun is distant, kinda scared, saying that we shouldn't be there, is not safe.

But still, he shreds the art, says "Bad! Bad! Bad!" when we mess up. He's been alone and hurting for who knows how long and still, he wants us to leave.

"You can make crafts, but then you need to go." He repeats over and over with the same tone.

Its a big contrast with the normal game. "gOod FrieeeENd, you're back..." "Whyyyy are you taking so looooonnnng?!" "Areyoudoneyet?" "UUh googly eyes *giggles*" his voice has feelings! He gets happy and impatient and sassy! In some lines you can feel how he talks with a forced smile (bless u Kellen Goff) (this is my favorite line its great)

But then he loses all life. He's scared and sad and still wants us to leave!

And in all this, Moon's just laughing. Hiding here and there, going up and down giggling and clicking around the room.

Look at him. Hands on the desk and spinning his head. He doesn't kill us immediately like Sun does when the time runs out or like how Moon does in Ruin. Look at him. He's just... Does he wants to make Arts n Crafts too?

How long has it been since the ending of Security Breach? Sun is not begging for help, Moon is not instakilling...

But now that I think about it, there's no more "its past your bed time" or "Naughty naughty", just laughs and agony screams. On the other hand, Sun still, still, has the guts to call you out if you do the art wrong.

This is fascinating to analyze. Theres so many new behaviors, so much new knowledge about them. Sun is sassy af and is not afraid to turn the lights off if the situation calls for it ("I should turn off the lights myself"). And Moon! Moon goes places! He's in the carousel and in Bonnie Bowl and Foxy's water ride. They get so much life and it gets taken away it in the same game I'm gonna scream!

This is not Ruin. Sun still has a defiant tone in his voice. Moon is laughing and curious and not attacking as his first move.

In Ruin they fight. In Ruin both are more desperate for light/no light.

What changed between this and Ruin? What happened between them? How much time did it pass?? For Sun to lose the confidence, for Moon to become so agressive and defensive of its time out.

I had a little headcanon back then about how FazCo sold the animatronics the idea of reopening. Is this around that time? before losing all hope? Why keep the Arts n Craft station? With all the materials and in their room no less. To pass time? To keep the Daycare clean? Why are they acting like this? What do they know? What do they don't know? Why are they so broken? Have they been like this this whole time? If so, and with Sun's "I can do it myself" attitude, why hasn't he done something? He's there, there's light! He's out!

He's out...

Out and switching with Moon. Letting it play and be spooky while he judges the art. There's no fear between them, there's no hate, no keeping one in an eternal nap. Changing and playing with the little light they have in their little fort in their room...

They have gone through so much. Its painful now that we know more of them. From going to a sassy "I'm gonna put you in a nap!" to a terrified "I'm trapped in a nap!". From laughing and having fun around the place to being in so much pain he slashes a kid's face off.

And the worse part? They have no control over it. "If I was programmed to I would" but he's not. They're not. They can't be more than they are, they can't learn to be more. Not programmed to. Just do with what we allow you to. Can't can't can't and its so, so unfair

#help wanted 2 #help wanted 2 spoilers #hw 2 spoilers #spoilers #kazzy escribe #i kinda loat my train of thougt so this may not make sense

[segredosjogados]

From time

Story: You (y/n) and Richarlison are starting a thing but a message may tear this beginning down. // I didn’t intend to make a part 2 but it got too long. // it involves Drake and Pierre Gasly because 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

+16 / cursing

Ps: I wrote this directly on the Tumblr app!! Not revised at all. English is not my first language. Feedback is appreciated.

🫶🏾✨🫀 welcome to my wicked mind ✳️✏️📯

You were taking a nap with Richarlison when his phone beeped a message. Then two messages. You’re a light sleeper so it bothered you. You reached out to the phone and saw two messages by someone named Juliana. You smoothly placed the phone in front of his face to get his ID and the phone unlocked.

You opened the messages and there she was: a semi nude picture and the “what time you’re arriving tonight?” text. You gulped and felt tears dwell on your eyes but took a deep breath. Richarlison was sleeping heavily because it was a quick nap time after he came back from training.

You got up from the sofa and made your way to the bedroom on the first floor. The tears involuntary started streaming down your face. “I can’t believe he’s still talking to that bitch” you mouthed to yourself while packing your things the way you could and as quick as possible. By the time Richarlison woke up, you were gone.

You managed to book a hotel room for the night before taking the train from London to Paris. It’d be impossible to book a flight and everything was just wrong: you managed to find two days off from work to go to London to spend some quality time with your boyfriend. Ok, you weren’t official, like real official. But everyone knew about you, you had met his friends and even was known by other Tottenham WAGs*.

The thing was you worked with Formula 1 and tried to find peace spaces within the hectic schedule to be with Richarlison, but clearly he didn’t think of you dearly because that message? The semi nude from another chick? All the time he reassured that he was only with you. Come on.

You tried to rationalize the feelings but listening to the saddest love songs back to Paris wasn’t helping. You messaged your friend Pierre Gasly asking if he were in Paris and he said yes immediately. You explained that your “thing” broke your heart, which made Pierre very mad because he knew how hard you fell for Richarlison.

When you arrived at the hotel in Paris, all you could do was crying your heart out while hugging a pillow, letting out all your insecurities on those tears, letting your mind wonder what was wrong.

“I hate my body, I hate my hair, why I’m not perfect like them?” You whined while sobbing. This moment, a message beeped on your phone. It was Pierre.

- Vamo pra revoada* (Let’s party hard) - he wrote. You laughed. Pierre’s journey with learning Portuguese started exactly with carioca funk and it was a funny one to watch. He called you.

“Ay, you good? So, there’s this party tonight and I’m taking you with me. Go beautiful like always” he said. He didn’t even notice your crying voice. But you managed to confirm that you were going.

Time to recover.

You stood up and opened your suitcase. The music on your airpods was cut again by a call. It was Richarlison. You didn’t answer. Only hours later he realized you were gone? Come the fuck on.

Phone on airplane mode and Drake on the speakers now, you started to get ready. You put on a beautiful brown constructed corset that hugged your boobs tightly with your favorite low rise Levi’s jeans and heels with straps around the jeans. You nailed the make up, with a clean girl aesthetics face but with a lot of bronzer, ombré lips and Dior lipgloss. Everything was on point. You looked at yourself in the mirror realizing that it was difficult to hide de eye bags of crying and tiredness. You decided to snap a lot of selfies and a video lip syncing to Jimmy Cooks by Drake. It was a full photoshoot by yourself. The you posted the video of you lip syncing on Tiktok and a carousel of pictures + the video on Instagram with the caption “Honestly, nevermind”.

A few minutes later, Pierre arrived at the hotel. You didn’t realize the many messages Richarlison had sent you. They were spamming your messages app. A lot of missed Whatsapp calls.

“I couldn’t give a shit” you told yourself knowing very well you cared so much about him that it’d take 5 seconds of his voice to go back to him, no matter the excuse he gave you. But you weren’t just ready to be replaced by the woman he swore he was not talking to anymore. The message she had sent came to your mind and then you remembered you were better than this.

You left your room and met Pierre on the hall. He said nothing when he saw you, stunned by your beauty. You two left for the party.

——-

Back in London, when Richarlison woke up, he thought you were in the kitchen preparing some food, like you always did when you were there.

You weren’t in the kitchen. Nor in the bedroom. You were nowhere to be found and your suitcase and all your things weren’t there either.

He ran downstairs to grab his phone and call you. When he unlocked it, the screen was opened exactly on the message he received from Juliana. The semi nude, the text. He gulped. “Y/N saw it for fucking sure”. He didn’t know whether to ask Juliana what the fuck was going on or to call you and know where you were. He did neither. He called his cousin.

“Bro I’m so sure she saw it, like what the fuck” he said on the phone, rubbing his hand back and forth on his scalp.

“Are you sure she saw it? Like, Y/N was supposed to travel back to Paris today cause she’s gotta go back to…” his cousin answered.

“Nah she saw it. The screen was on the message. How did she unlock my phone? She doesn’t have the code tho” Richarlison started to think properly.

“I don’t know, but bro let it go. You weren’t official anyways” his cousin stated. Richarlison scoffed, pretending to not care.

“Yeah, I’ll call you later” then hung up. He laid on his back on the sofa and messaged Juliana. “We need to talk”.

In a matter of minutes, she was in his house. He was wearing his Nike set of sweatpants and hoodie, hands on his pockets and walking around nervously.

“I knew you were longing for me” she said, approaching him and putting her hands on the back of his neck.

“You cannot text me things like that” he coldly stated. She took a step back, confused. “I’ve…” he paused, going around the kitchen counter to be as far from her as possible. “It’s not right, ok? Not for you, not for me. Just let’s move on separately, ok?”

“Why’s that all of sudden? Cause last week you were on my DMs asking if I were in London…” she told with her finger pointed to his face.

“I’ve met someone. I met her two months ago and we’re getting serious. Look, I know it’s my-“ he was saying but was interrupted.

“You texted me last week” she scoffed.

“I’m sorry, Juliana but-“

“Fuck you, for real” she said and left.

Richarlison took a deep breath and opened a bottle of wine. Who cared if the season was about to start and he had to be in great shape? He wanted to forget everything. Then it was time to call you.

He sent a message first. “Where are you? I’m worried.” You didn’t answer. Phone out of reach. He tried whatsapp calls. Nothing came from you. He knew you saw the picture and the message and as far as he knew you, it would be a big deal.

You weren’t like the other girls that came around. They were about sex, instagram stories, shallow dialogues, controlling him to dismiss the others. You came around and showed him places in London he didn’t know. The Italian restaurant of your first date was one of those. You cooked for him too, played FIFA with him even though you were terrible at it, sang pagode, taught him English through pop music, never made him do things “because you’re rich now”, had the same sense of humor, let him be him, cuddled him, listened to him, understood him… all of that in such a short time.

Where were you?

Hours later, his cousin sent him a message.

“Ay that ain’t your lil girl?” And he sent an instagram link of your post.

He saw the pictures one by one then the video. You were sexy, confident, beautiful. The lips of yours he missed on his. Your curvy body and juicy boobs under those clothes. The sassy attitude he loved on the low. One thing he noticed was the unusual amount of likes. Almost 300,000. And a comment by Drake himself.

———

“Drake commented on my fucking post!” You screamed to Pierre. You sent a screenshot to your friend Hannah, who was in Amsterdam, and she video called you right away.

“GIRL!” She screamed on the other side. You were trembling and giggling, your hands sweating and a face in disbelief

Comment: @/champagnepapi: major 🔥👨🏽‍🦯

You couldn’t believe it. Drake noticed you. Suddenly your heartbreak seemed so insignificant. You were that bitch.

Lies.

When you got back to the hotel, you took it all off and started crying again. On your phone, multiple calls from Richarlison laid on your screen. Rubbing your eyes, you felt your phone buzzing again. It was him. You answered it.

“What do you want?” You said, with a raspy voice.

All you heard was Richarlison’s breath on the other side of the phone. And you heard a knock on your hotel door.

To be continued.

#richarlison #pierre gasly #richarlison x reader #richarlison imagines #richarlison smut #richarlison blurb

[noxturnalpascal]

Happy Ending [I]

Masterlist (with all warnings)

A/N: tía - aunt, tío - uncle, primo - cousin, dios mío - my god, chulo - pimp, bonito - pretty (masculine), mala - bad, cariño - darling, guapo - handsome, mi amor - my love

🩷 🌅 🌴

Friday nights at the boardwalk with you. He buys all the tickets and you buy all the snacks. A corn dog you alternate bites of. A funnel cake he knows is getting powdered sugar all over his poor excuse of a mustache. Stale popcorn you pop in his mouth in-between throws of his darts. He watches you lick your fingers clean before he hands you the stuffed toy he won you. Your prize.

He makes you ride the ferris wheel even though he knows you’re terrified of heights and pretends to tease you when you sidle your body alongside his, grabbing at him to hold you because you’re scared. You retaliate by making him ride the carousel with you, a ride he hasn’t been on since he was a child, but when he looks into your eyes, how can he say no? He can’t.

You ditch your friends in the middle of a skeeball game and drag him towards the beach. Pulling his hoodie down until your head pops out of the neck hole, your hair mussed around your face but your smile peeking through. You always get cold when the sun goes down but you never bring your own hoodie, opting to steal his instead. Every time. 

The sound of your voice coming from his right is almost drowned out by the roar of the ocean coming from his left. Cold sand kicks up on the back of his calves with every step and he fights the urge to grab your hand, so close to his that your pinkies keep brushing each other as your arms swing back and forth. Just Friends.

A thump to the back of his seat interrupts his dream, waking Frankie from the nap he didn’t mean to take. He hears a whispered apology coming from the parent of the offending kicker. He turns to look at them through the crack in the seat cushions and tells them not to worry, that he has a kid himself and understands how it goes. And just those words kick him in the gut, since he hasn’t seen his kid in almost a year.

He pulls the shade up halfway on his window seat and admires the fluffy white clouds floating below him, casting shadows on the sparkling blue water further down. If they’re over water like this it’ll be the gulf, and that means they’ll be landing on the island shortly. Maybe this weekend will be good for him, give him a chance to catch up with family and get his priorities straight.

It’s been almost a year since his old friend Pope showed up with an idea in one hand and a stack of money in the other, asking for favors. Almost a year since he went against every voice screaming NO in his head, and agreed to follow a promise of riches beyond his wildest dreams. Almost a year since they came out of that jungle laden with the weight of their friend’s body and the guilt of a monumental fuckup. 

As a recovering addict, Frankie thought he’d already hit his rock bottom but it turns out he could go so much lower. He subjected his girlfriend, Stephanie, to further heartbreak and himself to further humiliation, coping with the consequences of his time in South America by shoving more white powder up his nose. His job wasted no time in firing him and Stephanie just as quickly took their infant son and moved back to Arizona to live with her mother.

The plane begins to shake with turbulence, causing the can of coke zero on the tray table of the person next to him to undulate towards the edge. Reaching out to grab it before it falls off, Frankie notices they have their eyes clenched shut.

“This is perfectly normal,” Frankie soothes.

The young man’s eyes fly open and meet his, relaxing slightly at his words.

“It is?”

“Yeah, it’s just like hitting some potholes while driving.” He sets the soda can back in the center of their tray table. “Perfectly normal.”

“You fly a lot?”

“I’m- I used to be a pilot.”

He remembers telling you the same thing about turbulence the first time he flew with you. You were such a nervous flier. He’s able to grasp onto the last remaining tendrils of his dream before they slip out of his hands. He remembers that he was just dreaming of you. That’s been happening a lot lately, waking up with the ghost of you on his mind, hazy dream-thoughts swirling like fog around his brain, impossible to hold and harder to focus on the more he tries to. He’s not sure why you’ve been on his mind so much lately. Probably because he’s lonely and pathetic.

He’s got at least 45 more minutes until the plane lands in paradise, his home for the long weekend. He wonders if maybe he can get another quick nap in, pick up where he left off in his dreams of you. He thinks you were mid-laugh; your head thrown back and the shine of the moonlight reflecting off the water, highlighting your pinched eyes and wide smile. He just has to think of you hard enough and maybe he can make it happen.

---

He was just starting his junior year at the technical college on the other side of the state from where he’d spent his whole life. It was far enough away that he could revel in the freedom of getting to be an unsupervised adult but close enough that his mother didn’t cry (too much) when he told her he was going.

He was 20, wouldn’t turn 21 until mid-December, but he and his friends had been drinking at this bar for well over a year. His fake ID was pathetically bad but he’s pretty sure at least half the people in this place were underage. This bar was known to let anyone in, and that’s why they all came here. The bathrooms were filthy, the bartenders were rude, the floors were sticky, and the whole place seemed to reek of Axe body spray. There was a small dance floor in the back illuminated only by black lights, playing thumping music and giving a place for people to grind on each other once they’d plied themselves with enough cheap alcohol. 

He was sitting at the bar with two of his roommates, drinking their quarter drafts and talking about the syllabus for their Vibrations and Controls course, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He will never forget the moment he turned and locked eyes with you. He knows that time didn’t slow down, the bar didn’t get fuzzy and quiet, slowly spinning like it was only you and him in the world. But that’s how he remembers it. You adjusted the glasses on your face and opened your mouth to speak, a giggle spilling out. Your laugh was adorable. You were really pretty. And you looked way too young to be in a bar. 

“Hi,” you manage to get out before another giggle spills from your lips.

“Hi,” he answers back. 

He knows he should be playing it cool but your laugh is infectious and has him smiling, awaiting your next words. He really can’t believe how pretty you are. This is a technical college and most girls who go here aren’t focused on their looks. Not that Frankie thinks he’s hot shit or anything, but the small amount of girls on campus definitely don’t look like you do. And you don’t look like you’re even trying. 

Unlike the majority of girls in his high school you haven’t flat-ironed your hair, you aren’t wearing makeup, and you aren’t dressed in tight, revealing clothes. You have natural beauty. Your hair is shoulder-length and has a slight wave to it, your skin is smooth and supple and there’s a sparkle in your eyes, peeking out from under long lashes behind your wire-rimmed glasses.

“My friend over there wants to know if you wanna dance?” you finally manage to say.

“Oh yeah? Your friend?” Frankie pulls confidence out of his ass, hoping that you’re actually the ‘friend’ who is interested in him.

“Yeah, her,” you point your thumb behind you to a table of two girls who look even younger than you do. “The one in the pink shirt.”

Frankie’s eyes land on the girl in the pink shirt. She has almond-shaped eyes, long dark hair, and she covers her mouth, erupting in laughter with her friend beside her when he makes eye contact. That’s more like what most of the girls on campus look like, he thinks. Not ugly but not cute. Boring. Plain. Blah.

“Uhhhh,” he starts, wondering what he can say to keep you standing here talking to him. Should he ask more about your friend? No, he doesn’t give a shit. He runs his hand nervously through his hair. Should he ask if he can dance with you instead? No, that would probably earn him a slap. ‘I can’t dance,” he blurts out. Way to go Frankie, smooth move. That’s gonna spark a romance to last the ages.

“Oh,” you say, looking taken aback. You recover quickly. “Well maybe you and your friends could just buy us some drinks?

You point to the bar, covered in five dollars worth of quarter drafts and he feels his friends poking him in the ribs from behind him, urging him to say yes and give them all a chance to talk with a girl tonight. All he has to do is nod his head, and he gets to keep talking to you. There’s no way he’s gonna give up this opportunity.

---

The shuttle van from the airport was mostly empty, just one other couple from his flight joining him on the short ride to the dock. Once at the marina they board a boat even smaller than the van, a speedboat that just barely fits him, the couple, their luggage, and the guy standing behind the wheel. The captain’s name tag says Charles and he wears a pair of blue linen shorts with a white button-up shirt; long-sleeved but rolled up to his elbows. The resort’s logo is stitched in blue script over the pocket. Paradise Cay. 

Charles tells them to hold on to their hats once they’re out of the marina, and Frankie takes his off, holding it tightly in his lap. Charles revs the motor on the sleek little boat and cuts through the water, the wind whipping through Frankie’s uncovered hair. When the boat docks thirty minutes later at a tiny barrier island, they’re greeted by several smiling resort staff. Frankie shakes Charles’ hand, thanking him for the ride, and attempts to smooth his wind-blown hair before plopping his Standard Oil cap back on his head.

Two men dressed like the boat captain pass by him to grab luggage out of the back of the boat. Two women stand in front of him wearing similar outfits; instead of shorts they wear skirts that hit mid-calf, and their shirts are short-sleeved. One of the women steps forward - her name tag says Kiki - and she welcomes him to Paradise Cay, greeting him with a tropical flower that she tucks behind his ear and a brown-husked coconut that she places in his hands. He looks down at the pink straw and tiny yellow polka-dotted umbrella sticking out of the coconut.

“Ohh I- I don’t drink-,” he starts.

“It’s coconut water, Mr. Morales,” she says.

Well shit, he didn’t realize Kiki knew who he was. He looks over at the couple who exited the boat after him and sees they are sipping out of pineapples, slurping down a white frozen slush that he can only assume is a piña colada. His family must have told the resort already that he’s maintaining his sobriety. Don’t give Frankie any temptations. He’s just over four months sober now and he’s doing really well. He takes a sip out of the coconut.

“Follow me, please,” Kiki says, and he trails behind her retreating figure, hearing the footfalls of the employee carrying his bag behind him. 

He wishes he could take his dirty, stained army duffel out of this poor man’s hands and carry it himself. This resort is super fancy. He’s probably used to pushing expensive roller luggage, the kind with hard metal sides and combination locks. Or hand-stitched leather bags, the kind with the letters L and V patterned across them. He probably gets crisp twenties pressed into his hand when they arrive at the room and Frankie’s not even sure he has a five dollar bill in his wallet.

Through the trees he saw a large building, stretching along the beachfront, but they turned on a trail that took them away from that building. He watches as they pass several smaller buildings, each one surrounded by dense palms and looking identical to the one before it. After passing nearly a dozen, they go down a short path leading to a side door on the left of one of the smaller buildings. Kiki opens the large wooden door and directs him inside. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright sun outside to the relative dim inside.

There is a king-sized bed against a wall of dark, rich wood while the foot of the bed faces four large sliding glass doors that open up to a small patio and private plunge pool, and look out onto the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean, seemingly just steps away. There is no ceiling, instead exposing the beams of the high roof, making the room feel even bigger. The side walls are a light-colored stucco and the room is dotted with plants, both large and small, that seamlessly blend the outside with the inside.

A plush sofa sits on the near side of the room while a small table and chairs sit in the middle past the foot of the bed. Kiki is walking around the room, motioning to the near wall, where there are bookshelves filled with some reading material, hand-crafted decorations, and some sleek electronic devices glowing with blue lights. She walks to the far wall where there’s a countertop with a small sink and a coffee bar. She opens an empty minifridge and then a double-drawer beverage refrigerator packed full - complimentary and non-alcoholic - she informs him.

Frankie is still taking in the sight of the incredible - and definitely expensive - suite before him when Kiki explains that there is a walk-in closet and a large bathroom at the back of the villa. She points to a door on the far side of the room. 

“....and the outdoor shower is right through-”

“I’m really sorry but there’s been a mistake,” he interrupts

“A mistake? I don’t think so.”

“No, there's definitely been a mistake. This can’t be my room.”

“You are,” she pulls a small device out of her skirt pocket, flipping it open to double its size, “Mr. Francisco Morales, yes?”

“I- I mean, yeah, that’s my name,” he shakes his head. “But this is definitely not the room I booked. I just booked a regular room. Like one with a view of the parking lot.”

“No, we don’t have a parking lot,” she quickly corrects.

“Right, no… Sorry. I just meant whatever room was cheapest is the room I booked. And that’s…” he looks around, “definitely not this room.”

She presses several things on her tablet now, seeming to go back and forth on several different screens, scrolling and reading and trying to get to the bottom of this obvious mix-up. He most definitely did not book an oceanfront villa for his stay here. The rest of his family has been here all week, turning this destination-wedding into a vacation. He can’t afford that luxury. He can barely afford to be here at all.

Today is Friday. The wedding is tomorrow and his flight out would have been the next day if it hadn’t been two hundred dollars cheaper to fly out on Monday instead. With the wedding group-rate, the room cost him $180 a night, so even having to shell out one more night’s worth on the resort he still saved twenty bucks by staying the extra night.

“No, this is your room, Mr. Morales,” she finally says.

“But-”

“The outdoor shower is through that door,” she points again to the door and the sweeps her arm over to the bookshelves. “Please message me on your dedicated device if you need anything at all, Mr. Morales,” she finishes.

She passes him walking towards the door, causing Frankie to turn around and face the man who stands there, having been holding his stinking old duffel bag the entire time. Sorry, Frankie mutters as he juggles the coconut in his hands to pull his wallet out of his pocket, attempting to fish out as many crumpled ones as he can find.

“All gratuities have already been paid, Mr. Morales,” Kiki says as she slips out of the room. 

The man gingerly sets down the duffel bag by the front door and follows Kiki out, seemingly not wanting to tarnish the spotless perfection of the room with Frankie’s filthy, well-traveled bag.

“Thanks?” Frankie manages to call out just before the heavy door closes, the sound echoing around him in the air-conditioned air of this gorgeous resort room.

--- 

Three hours later Frankie is walking through the double doors of the hotel’s main lobby bar. There’s a sign just outside the door set up for the private event that says: Thank you for attending the wedding of Rogelio Garcia & Liliana Schneider. Enjoy some drinks on us! 

Rogelio - Elio - is Frankie’s cousin, his mother’s sister’s son, and someone he grew up living just two blocks away from, spending every holiday and most weekends playing with him and his brothers. Frankie knows Elio has been dating his fiance Liliana for many years, he’s heard her name out of his mother’s mouth countless times, but he’s never met her. Frankie’s been kind of a shitty family member for longer than he can blame his addiction for and he was honestly surprised to be included on the invite list of this destination wedding.

The decor inside the bar is bright and tropical, maintaining the island-vibe with steel-drum music playing over the speakers. Not putting enough foresight into his method of packing and the formal nature of the weekend’s events, Frankie is forced to wear an embarrassingly wrinkled outfit. He aimed a hair dryer at the khaki pants for a half hour and it didn’t make much of a difference. Luckily the busy pattern on his tropical shirt is forgiving enough to hide any imperfections there. He weighed wearing his emotional support hat versus having hat hair and left the hat in the room when he thought how his mamá would give him that look if he showed up with a ballcap on. 

Frankie is sipping cranberry juice and talking to his mamá and some of his tías, waiting for the rehearsal dinner to be over and the wedding party to spill out of the private room at the side of the bar. Despite his mother’s dirty looks and attempts to change the subject, his one aunt keeps asking him questions he’s not even remotely interested in answering.

Do you miss your old army days? Are you ever gonna be a pilot again? Where are you living these days? Have you spoken to Steph recently? Do you know if baby Leo is walking yet?

The questions are grating on his nerves and he’s trying to remain polite but the clinking of ice in everyone’s glasses sound like cymbals in his ears. The too-loud laughter from his tíos, who are already over-served, is grating at the frayed edges of his composure and each question feels like a hundred pound weight being piled onto his shoulders. He keeps raking his hand through his hair, self-conscious without his hat on, missing the ability to lower the brim and hide his face away.

The side door opens and the wedding party spills out, a distraction of bodies and murmured conversation. He looks around for an exit, then back to the group, then back towards a door looking out over the beach. Wait a minute - for a split second he thought he saw you, coming out of the side room among a large group of other women. You’re decades older, sure, but it looked just like you. No, it can’t be. Jesus, his dreams have got him fucked up. He drags his eyes across the faces of the crowd spreading across the room again. He doesn’t see you. Of course he doesn’t, cuz you were never there.

Elio, the groom, bounces up to Frankie, pulling him away from the old hens he’s been surrounded by and introduces him to his bride-to-be, Lili.

“Lili-baby, this is my favorite cousin, Francisco.” Frankie takes her smaller hand into his massive one and they share a smile.

“Woah now Elio, we have a lot of cousins, that can’t be true.”

“Oh no primo, it’s definitely true, you’ve always been my favorite.”

“I’m so surprised I haven’t met your favorite cousin before, babe,” Lili teases him slightly.

Frankie winces, here comes the part where he has to explain why he’s been so absent all these years. The army. An addiction. His life falling apart. And then all the follow-up questions that come afterwards. He drags a hand through his hair before he responds, but before he can even open his mouth Elio is answering for Frankie, explaining how Frankie was in the service traveling the world and now he goes around to military bases helping to repair and maintain the same helicopters he used to fly. 

At first Frankie isn’t sure if Elio was told this flowery-version of events by his own mamá or by Frankie’s, but when Elio winks at him over his fiance’s head, Frankie knows that he’s giving her the G-rated version to keep Frankie from having to get stuck in that inevitable uncomfortable situation he always finds himself in. Frankie smiles and nods slightly. He thinks Elio might be his favorite cousin too.

The happy couple break away for more introductions and shortly after the women all file out of the bar, heading to the spa for their evening of bachelorette activities. Once they’re gone the men gather around the bar, his uncles ordering shots of tequila, forcing them down all his cousin’s throats, and shouting loudly in Spanish. If Elio is too drunk to get married tomorrow, at least Frankie can say it’s not his fault.

Eventually he slips away from the raucous crowd and heads to the outside porch of the bar, which sits just above a large expanse of beach. He sits on the short staircase leading down to the sand and sips his third cranberry juice of the evening, watching the waves reflect colors from the setting sun. He can’t help but think about you again.

---

He’d spent that whole first school-year getting to know you, growing closer. Wednesday quarter-draft nights became a regular thing. Then you added Thursday study hall, Friday movie nights, Saturday evenings at the boardwalk, and Sundays at the laundromat. Pretty soon you were spending more days of the week together than apart, and on the days you didn’t see each other he was calling your dorm phone to talk to you for hours or chatting with you on AOL instant messenger into the wee hours of the night.

And yet you were nothing more than friends. The whole semester went by, and then phone calls and AIM chats all summer, but you never indicated you were interested in more and he didn’t dare make a move. You were just going to be friends, and that was okay. He wasn’t upset about it. He figured that you probably knew what he’d known since the moment he laid eyes on you - that you’re too pretty for him. The more he got to know you the more he learned that you were also probably too smart for him, too funny for him, and too outgoing for him. Too good for him.

He’d see the way people’s faces lit up when they met you and you smiled for them, made them laugh, made them feel like a friend, made them feel special. That’s exactly how you made him feel. You made him want to be the best version of himself. He felt lucky to be your friend and if that’s all you ever were, it was more than enough. His senior year was about to begin and after graduation he’d be getting his posting assignment and shipping out for training as a Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. He knew he had to soak up every minute with you these final two semesters.

He remembers move-in day his senior year, the Saturday before classes began…

You resumed your previous year’s tradition of going to the boardwalk with a combination of some of your friends, some of his. When you get there the sun is still setting and you grab his hand and drag him into the still-warm sand, saying that you have something important to talk to him about. Standing in front of him, wearing his sweatshirt, the pinks and oranges from the sky cast your face in a beautiful glow and you look like you’re illuminated from the inside out. Did you get even more beautiful over the summer?

Your hands feel cold even before the chill of the night air settles in, and he envelops them, trying to warm them as you begin telling him in a shaky voice the thing you’ve kept from him for months. Your mom caught your dad cheating and it blew up into a huge fight that ended with her kicking him out. He stopped paying the mortgage on the house and your mom had to sell it at a loss and find you all a new place to live. Their divorce still wasn’t settled and was already very contentious, your dad leaving your mom to pay for your school without his help.

Knowing how badly you wanted to go to this school, she took out some loans to cover the tuition for both semesters this year but the room & board bill as well as your bookstore account was on a payment plan that she needed help paying for. You’re trying not to cry as you tell him this story of how your life has been turned upside down over the last three months and he wants to ask why you hadn’t told him any of this sooner, but he can see how you are bearing the shame of your dad’s infidelity and your mom’s newfound poverty. This is a lot for you and you’re clearly still processing it.

“How can I help?” he asks.

You tell him that you need to get a job for the semester and he immediately takes over the conversation, offering to get you a job at one of the labs his professors maintain. They’re always looking for lab assistants, he assures you. You tell him that you already looked into that option and they only pay $6 an hour, you can only work 12 hours around classes during the week, and it would take almost two week’s worth of work to pay for just your $114 Statistics book.

He exhales in defeat, but you quickly tell him that you’ve already found a job. He wonders what you need from him if you’ve already found a job but then you tell him what it is. You’d be working downtown in a call center as a phone sex operator. He balks at this. You’d be working 3 nights a week, late at night, and you’d make $50 each shift, paid in cash. He’s not sure what to say until you laugh at his shocked expression, squeezing his hands.

“You okay, Pancho?”

Your pet name for him. On a late night phone call at the beginning of the summer he’d accidentally let slip that his whole family used to call him Pancho - a nickname for Francisco - before he turned eleven. The day of his eleventh birthday he got embarrassed about being called it in front of all his school friends, who knew him as Frankie, and insisted everyone switch to the more anglicized stylization of his name. Hearing that old nickname used to make him cringe, but now it felt like something just between the two of you. It was easier to hide his blushing when you were on the other end of the phone, but now that you’re face-to-face, he has to fight a bashful smile from settling on his face.

“Yeah I’m just…. are you sure about this?”

“Not really, but it’s good money and it’s not real sex, just talk.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“I need your help,” you squeeze his hands again. 

He can feel the flush creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks. How could you possibly need his help for phone sex? He gulps loudly and manages to grunt out a noise that sounds like, “Hm?”

“I need a ride into the city to work my shifts, I’m too scared to ride the bus that late.”

He exhales a breath he was holding. “Ohhh,” he says. You just need a ride. He’s the only person you know with a car, having been given his pop’s old Ford Ranger to drive last year when he and his roommates got a place off-campus. “No problem.”

“Really?” you squeal.

“Of course, anything you need.”

You usually worked three or four nights a week, earning more money than you would have working any on-campus job. Frankie would drive you twenty minutes into the city every shift you worked, helping you to avoid the hour-long late-night bus ride you’d have to take otherwise. Then at the end of your shift, sometimes three or four in the morning, he’d drive back and pick you up, making sure you were safely returned to your dorm. 

You constantly offered to pay him for gas but he always refused. His tuition, room, and board was completely paid for by the ROTC program he was enrolled in, and he was fortunate enough to have a job back home that he worked all summer and every break, saving up spending money to use during the semester. He’d call you every night you worked, dropping $25 for each 15-minute phone call, paying with the debit card his mamá helped him get the summer before his Freshman year, and hoping she never looked too closely at his bank statements that got sent to their address each month. 

He never wanted you to do your typical routine and talk sexy to him when he called, he just wanted to talk to you about regular things. How is Calculus going? Did you get your Chem homework done? What are you doing in your Systems Design lab? You’d tease him about waiting until after work so your conversation would be free but he’d say that’s 15 minutes you didn’t have to talk to some creep. You’d tease him by saying better the creep you know than the creep you don’t, and then have to stifle your laugh so you didn’t get in trouble. 

---

Elio slaps him on the shoulder, drunk for sure but more sober than Frankie would have expected, breaking him from his reverie. He sits down next to him and asks how he’s doing. Frankie goes to give the scripted answer but Elio says no, seriously. Frankie tells him some of the truth, trying to balance being honest about the state of his life without overwhelming his inebriated cousin. Elio says that Frankie’s always been the smartest among all the cousins and he’s sure Frankie will find a way to turn things around. 

“I think I’ve done too many stupid things at this point to feel smart anymore,” Frankie laments.

“Well I can’t speak to that, but at least you’re here in paradise and you can have a nice vacation,” Elio pokes him in the ribs.

“Oh shit that reminds me, they put me in the wrong room. They accidentally gave me an oceanfront villa!”

“Holy shit!,” Elio shouts too loudly, “See primo? Things are already turning around for you!”

“Sure,” Frankie laughs, clinking his empty glass with his cousin’s half-full pint of beer.

“Hey did you know Lili has three sisters?”

“Oh yeah? That’s coo-”

“You should totally hook up with one of them this weekend.”

“Dios mío, Elio,” Frankie huffs. “I don’t think a woman is interested in taking on all of this mess,” he motions to himself from head to toe.

“Three sisters though,” Elio repeats. “Well one of them is married… oh and one of them just got engaged.”

“My chances are rapidly decreasing, primo.”

“No, the third one is divorced and totally single,” Elio assures him. “Maybe you can take her back to your oceanfront villa, papi. Show her the front of your ocean.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Frankie laughs and Elio joins him, both of them dissolving into hysterical wheezing. Elio recovers first.

“I don’t know man, I just think you should have a good time. It’s my fuckin’ wedding, chulo!” Elio shouts, and they dissolve into a fit of laughter again. 

Frankie helps him up off the steps and carries him inside - putting Elio in the seemingly capable hands of his father and eldest brother, who appear to be the most sober out of everyone - and heads to bed. 

#francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #happy ending #noxturnalpascal #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #Frankie Friday #writing challenge 2.0 #iamasaddie prompt

[kingofpopmj]

hiii, can i request a story where y/n is Michael's babies nanny and she is in love with him but she thinks he is totally out of her league, a bit of angst & smut if its okay pls 💗

Y’all are so damn naughty. 🙈🙊 I support it! lol

Here you go hunni! I hope you enjoy!

Hallway Handsy

I stood off to the side watching over Michael’s photoshoot with his beautiful baby boy. He’s so happy to finally be a father. It’s truly a special sight. Michael’s wearing a white crystal covered blazer with pearl accents, black slacks and a black fedora. His hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray curls lying across his soft skin. He looked phenomenal— as always. His eyes sparkling more than ever before. And, his smile, when he smiles it feels like the entire world stops along with my heart. He’s everything I’ve ever imagined the perfect man to be, I never thought I’d find a man like that, I never thought they were real— until I met Michael. I didn’t realize how deep in my daydream I was until...

“Y/N!” Michael raised his voice, waving his hand in the air.

“Yes, Michael, what can I do for you?”

“Can you take the little one? I’m going to do a few solo shots.” I nodded, quickly making my way over to him and carefully lifting the baby from his arms.

“I’ll be in the nursery.” I stated, excusing myself quietly.

I gently rocked the baby, trying to get him to fall asleep, but he only stared back at me, making funny noises with his mouth. I decided to walk out to the backyard. He loved being outside. He would giggle uncontrollably at the sound of birds chirping. He enjoyed chasing butterflies and admiring all the flowers. The small water fountain was his favorite, it always put him right to sleep. It’s very calming on the ranch. I grew to fall in love with it myself— more so its owner.

Michael caught my attention immediately. It’s impossible not to fall in love with how kind, sweet, thoughtful, caring and handsome he is. I often found myself daydreaming as I roamed about his home. He’s my first thought when I wake up in the morning and the last when I fall asleep at night. He crossed my mind more than I care to admit— I couldn’t control how I felt. I was completely head over heels for him— and he had no idea. He didn’t see me, not the way I saw him. I wasn’t even on his radar and I couldn’t blame him. When I first started working for Michael, it was easy to lock away my feelings, but that all changed when he insisted I move in. It’s been about three months since Neverland became my home. It’s been a fairytale— for me at least. I spend everyday with Michael. It meant everything to me— yet so little to him I’m sure. I’m the nanny. I’m his employee. He’s my boss. There’s no changing that.

Once the baby had drifted off, I stayed outside, admiring the view. Everything is breathtaking here. The green grass, the clear blue sky, and butterflies constantly gracing the space. You can’t help but feel happy here. Neverland is unreal. It’s like a dream.

“There you are! I thought you ran off with my kid.” I turned around seeing Michael jogging towards us. My breath got caught in my throat when my eyes scanned his body, now he’s wearing a blue button down shirt. I admired how handsome he looked without even trying.

“I’m so sorry! I was trying to get him down for his nap. I got a bit distracted. It’s lovely here.”

“Relax. I’m joking.” He smiled taking a seat beside me. “I love it here too. I put thought into every little thing. I’m happy it all came together.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Mhm.. very beautiful.” I felt Michael’s eyes on me as I tried to focus on his baby boy.

“The carousel seems to be coming together.”

“Yes! It will be ready to go this weekend. Maybe you can be the first to ride it with me?” He smiled sweetly, I mentally kicked myself for thinking ‘yes, I’d love to ride you.’

“I’d be honored.”

“You’ve got beautiful eyes.” He pushed a strand of hair out of my face, his palm grazing my cheek, causing my face to heat up.

“Thank you. You’ve got lovely eyes as well.” I giggled softly, playing with the baby’s tiny hand.

“Has anyone ever told you how stunning you are?” My eyes shot up, falling on Michael with a longing expression on his face. “Your beauty alone can inspire someone to write songs— love songs.”

I could barely process what Michael was saying, responding to him proved to be a challenge, the beating of my heart clouding my thoughts. Michael stared at me with anticipation, leaning in, I could feel the warmth radiating off of him. He’s so close. The baby began to stir just as Michael was about to— well I’m not entirely sure what was about to happen. I guess I’ll never know.

“I should take him inside.” I said sadly, Michael quickly jumped up next to me.

“I’ll join you.”

We walked in a somewhat comfortable silence, our arms brushing against one another as we traveled through the halls of his home. Every few moments we looked at the other quickly sharing a kind smile. My mind was racing, trying to think of something to say, but I was at a loss.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Michael asked, breaking the silence. Bless this perfect man.

“I’m not sure yet. My family is out of state, I don’t want to travel back home this year. Besides, I’m the one that does all the cooking and baking. I think I deserve a break.” I laughed, Michael quickly joined in. Goodness, his smile could clear up a rainy day. His laugh is the reason rainbows exist, I’m sure of it.

Michael held the nursery door open for me, I walked in thanking him, standing in front of the crib. I gently laid the baby down careful not to wake him.

“You can spend it with me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Thanksgiving. You can spend it with me.” Michael coughed, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “With us. I meant spend it with us.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Y/N, you’re family. No intrusion I promise.”

“That’s sweet. I’d love to. Thank you.”

Walking out of the nursery and shutting the door behind us, there was a shift in his demeanor. He became more playful, if that was even possible. Michael winked, holding his arm out for me, I gladly linked arms with him, trying desperately to hide the effect his touch had on me. We began walking down the hallway with no destination in mind.

“You can teach me a few things. I’m not the best cook.”

“Ah-ha! Mr. Jackson, did you invite me to thanksgiving to do all the work?” I questioned, pretending to be offended.

“No, no, I like you. I’d like to have an excuse to spend more quality time with you.” He spoke quickly, shaking his head.

“I like you too.” I said with a smile, hoping that he couldn’t sense how nervous I was around him, or how honest those words felt coming out of my mouth. I meant those words with all my heart.

“Maybe, we can spend time together, alone, before Thanksgiving?” He asked hopefully, stopping in his tracks to face me.

“Is seeing me everyday not enough?” I teased.

“No. It’s not enough.” His tone was so serious it sent chills down my spine.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well..” He began, closing the distance between us, slowly gliding his long fingers down my arms. “I can take you out for dinner, just the two of us, then bring you back home.. for dessert.” his overly flirtatious tone, catching me off guard, I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of this side of Michael.

“That sounds—”

Michael cupped my face with urgency, shutting me up in the most tender way, but with just enough roughness to make a girl weak in the knees. His lips were like nothing I’d ever felt before, they were soft, but strong. This is really happening. Michael is kissing me, his breath tasted like mint and his hands had a firm grip on my backside.

“Michael!” I loudly whispered, breaking apart from his sweet lips, his lust filled eyes were focused on me. It felt incredible. He held onto me as if I’d run away from him if he let go.

“What is it baby?” Michael’s voice came out deep and seductive. I couldn’t control myself any longer, I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into me. I’m not sure how we got to this point, but I certainly wasn’t going to waste it.

My back collided with the wall as Michael clutched my wrists, pinning them to the wall above my head. I’ve never felt this kind of passion, I never knew it existed, but now that I’ve tasted it, I’ll never be able to give it up.

We hungrily went after each other, bumping into a tall end table, knocking off everything on it, an expensive looking glass lamp shattered all over the floor. Michael laughed against my lips as he lifted me onto the table. Confidently, I held his hands in mine, placing his palms against my bare thighs, with my hands resting on top of his, I guided them toward me, pushing my skirt up painfully slow in the process. Michael groaned in my mouth, without skipping a beat he tore my panties off, shoving them in his pocket.

I unbuttoned his slacks, finding myself extremely needy, I was desperate to get rid of his clothing. I’ve never wanted something in my mouth more than in this moment. He was glorious.

“Can I? Is this okay?” Michael asked, against my neck, I nodded eagerly wanting him to continue. “Baby, I need words.”

“Yes, I want this.”

My words ignited something in him and it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Michael didn’t waste any time pushing through my entrance, feeling every inch of him made my entire body tingle. He paused for a moment, looking into my eyes full of desire, he continued, overwhelming pleasure spreading throughout my body.

“I love the way you look at me.” He whispered into my ear, lifting up my leg, resting it on his shoulder, pushing into me deeper. “I’ve wanted to feel you around me for so long.”

“Oh my—”

“I’ve wanted you so bad.”

“Michael!” I whimpered as he kept his steady pace, my core aching more with each passing second.

“Oh, the things I’ve dreamt of doing to you.”

“I’m so close.” As the words fell from my lips, the ache in my core was replaced with a strong wave of pleasure.

“Baby, you’re perfect.”

“Oh, Michael.” My head fell back as I fought to catch my breath. Michael didn’t halt his movements, causing my high to drag on, making me whimper his name profusely.

“I want to taste every inch of your body.” Michael spoke against my breasts as he covered me with wet kisses, the pounding into my sweet spot being amplified by the table repeatedly crashing into the wall. The pounding was accompanied by the cracking noises of the table, breaking furniture has never been so satisfying. Suddenly, we heard a loud voice along with footsteps, the intoxicating feeling of ecstasy was nowhere near wearing off. We choose to ignore our surroundings. We choose to live in the moment.

“Michael! It’s me. Where are you?” A female voice carried through the halls. Michael stepped back, quickly pulling his pants up, dragging me into a nearby room and shutting the door softly. He was visibly panicked as he tried to make himself look presentable. I began brushing my hair with my fingers, fixing my top and adjusting my skirt to cover my legs.

“I should go check on the baby.” I muttered, reaching for the doorknob, too embarrassed to look at him. Michael stopped me, taking me into his embrace and kissing me passionately.

“It’s not like that. I’m not seeing anyone. It’s my sister Latoya. I know that irritating voice anywhere.” He chuckled, leaning his forehead against mine he continued. “If I don’t go out there she will just keep screaming until she finds us. And, as much as I would love for her to meet you, maybe in the middle of our—.” He paused, clearly thinking of the right thing to say and how to avoid hurting my feelings.

“Quickie in the hallway?” I asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, that’s one way to put it. I was going to say, impromptu love making.”

“What a gentleman.”

“Only for you beautiful.” He left a lingering kiss on my forehead. “I really don’t want to, but I gotta see what my very annoying sister wants.”

“It’s okay.”

“Wait.” He shrugged off his button down shirt, leaving him in a tight white undershirt, goodness his chest is perfect. He draped his shirt over my shoulders, his hands traveling down the length of my back, squeezing my bum one last time. “Just so you don’t go on missing me too much.”

“Is that so, Mr. Jackson?”

“Well, I’ll definitely be missing you.” His breath causing my lips to tingle, needing to feel him again, I could feel through his pants just how much he wanted me too. The look in his eyes, making me want to tear his clothes off and pounce on him.

“Little brother!” The loud high-pitched voice was moving closer causing me to jump, Michael sent me an apologetic smile.

“Fine, go.” I playfully rolled my eyes. “Don’t be too long. Please.” I smirked, batting my eyelashes at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He gulped, his eyes growing wide. “I will gladly disown my whole family to avoid future interruptions.”

“No!” I laughed, pushing him towards the door. “Go see your sister.”

“We will be finishing this tonight.” He winked. “I am nowhere near done with you.”

Michael left the room, leaving me to overthink his last words. I regretted letting him leave, call me selfish, but I didn’t want to share him, especially, when I just got him. I could still feel the electricity from his touch.

“What happened? The floor is covered with broken glass! I heard loud pounding!” Latoya’s voice pierced through the door. I quickly covered my mouth to muffle my laughter. Michael was right about her voice.

“It’s none of your business!” I heard Michael say loudly. “Now, stop with the yelling I got a baby napping.”

I couldn’t wait for tonight. I couldn’t wait to feel Michael.

He was right.

I missed him so much already.

#michael jackson #michael joseph jackson #king of pop #michael jackson imagine #michael jackson x reader

[abiiors]

1. she's american // george daniel x oc

a/n: erratic is literally the only word i have to describe it. like i don't have a posting schedule, i don't have a masterlist for it yet (i'll add the link when i have one). idk how many chapters. this literally doesn't even have a canon-accurate timeline!! but i wrote something and i wanted to publish it so i did. hope you enjoy! discussions about it in my asks are always welcome hehe <3 cw: arguments and yelling?? can't really think of any hard warnings wc: 3.2k masterlist

it is a truth universally acknowledged that something must go wrong every time i land in london. this time, it’s matty texting me that he can’t come pick me up from the airport. 

soz, mate. his text reads, really urgent work came up. i’m sending a friend to pick u up tho. i’ll make it up to u tonight. xx. to compound the annoyance of it, a blast of july heat hits me square in the face when i step off the plane and onto the tarmac. 

“make it up” i lightly scoff to myself; make it up is code-word for plying my with cheap beer, greasy pizza and, sure, great weed. i have this routine rehearsed—it’s the same thing we’ve been doing since the age of 14. 

friend? i text back and start making my way towards immigration and the luggage carousels. heathrow is just as big as i remember—massive and winding and really fucking beige for some reason. stepping onto the escalator, i take another peek at my phone and at the three dots bouncing in place, waiting for him to finish typing his message. 

yeah. george. he responds.

george… i try to conjure up a face for the name. somewhere in the back of my mind, i know it’s familiar. george…matty’s friend george. my phone dings again. 

[attachment: 1 image]

it’s a photo of a man, a boy really… he looks like he’s matty’s age and it clicks in my head. this is george and i have most definitely seen him before. his wavy, dirty blond hair is piled on top of his head haphazardly, like he couldn’t be bothered with them at all. the dark roots peek from underneath. george stares directly at the camera, a straight face—straight nose and straight full lips. everything about him screams cool nonchalance. right down to the nondescript white t-shirt he’s wearing. 

and this boy is coming to pick me up after i’ve just travelled for eight hours all the way from new york. 

subconsciously, i sniff at my t-shirt. yep, the sweat combined with the general stink of the airport clings to me like cobwebs. what i really need is a long, cold shower followed by an even longer nap. what i get, however, is a long line at the immigration counter. 

passport clutched in my hand, i look around the area. behind me, an american couple chatters excitedly and plans their itinerary. ahead of me, a british mother reprimands her child for biting his nails. it’s jarring that the american couple’s accents are more familiar to me than the mother and her child’s. 

it’s jarring that despite being gone only four years, everything about london already feels foreign. 

“next please,” the immigration officer calls out, jerking me out of my thoughts. it’s a simple process really. once he sees my british passport, all he has to do is match my face to it and stamp it. 

“thanks,” i mumble when he hands it back to me. 

“welcome home,” he responds and smiles that kind, old man smile.

my heart snags on the word. home. and my life back in new york briefly flashes in front of my eyes; a quick montage of tall skyscrapers and glittery new york nights—but i shake my head and clear the thoughts away. 

yep, home is here now. and that’s all that matters.

bags in my hand, i make my way to the exit, craning my neck and looking all around me for any sign of the dirty blond hair from the photo. 

this is not how i had imagined it would be. i had imagined running into matty’s arms and breathing in his familiar scent, shoving each other playfully until we dissolved into fits of giggles. i had imagined familiarity and comfort; not having to find a practically unknown man in a sea of other unknown people. and even though i had his picture on my phone, i had no way of—

“cleo?”

i turn mid-thought at the sound of my name. the voice that speaks it is rich and deep, gravelly even. yet it’s not a voice i recognise. and then i spot him standing about ten feet away from me. george. 

he stares at me in a scrutinising way, then looks at the phone in his hand and looks back up at me. looks like i’m not the only one with a stranger’s picture in my phone. 

“george?” i raise my hand in greeting and smile slightly. there’s no doubt it’s a tired, pathetic smile but it will have to do. 

this is the first time i’m seeing him properly. and wow, he’s tall. all my life i’ve been used to matty and his almost six feet (the thought makes me smile, i know how mad he gets at the “almost”) but george is so much taller, with broad shoulders and toned arms that are littered with tattoos; colourful tattoos that i try not to gawk at but fail anyway. 

he nods once and starts walking in my direction; long graceful steps that should not belong to someone so huge. and yet in five long strides, he’s covered the entire distance between us. 

subconsciously, i lose a sigh. after the last 24 hours, all i want is for someone to carry my bags for me and preferably gently manhandle me so i won’t have to do the laborious task of walking. 

george does no such thing. 

he walks towards me and right past. and then, while i stand there gaping slightly, he turns around. “the car is parked this way.”

translation: are you an idiot? 

that’s what his tone screams anyway, and confusion along with annoyance washes over me. what the fuck is his problem? i get that he probably got saddled with the task of picking me up on a hot summer day but taking it out on me is hardly the fair thing to do. i roll my eyes and follow him out of the airport and towards the car park. 

dragging my two large trolley bags behind me and trying to keep up with his long strides is no easy task. by the time the entrance to the car park comes into view, i’m jogging lightly and panting to keep up with him. sweat rolls down my back in rivulets while the sun blazes overhead. it’s only 10 am but i am ready to go back to bed for six hours preferably. 

fuck george and fuck his long legs. i refuse to ask him to slow down. 

a mildly beaten-down ford focus comes into view and george opens the trunk before motioning at my bags. i resist the urge to baulk at him—so now he wants to help? wordlessly, i hand the luggage to him and mumble a quick thanks. 

then i turn around and make my way to the passenger side door. 

i realise my mistake far too late. or rather as soon as our hands brush, attempting to open the same door and i jerk mine away like i’ve just touched a live wire. george looms behind me, quiet judgement radiating off of him, probably wondering why i’m on his side of the car. 

i turn around, face burning with embarrassment and something unexplained, only to come face to face—face to chest, rather—with a very unimpressed george. heat radiates off his body this close, heat and an earthy, sweet perfume that i’ve never smelled on anyone else before. 

“sorry,” i back away, “american habits.” but his face remains passive and his eyes trained on the door handle. 

“right. sorry,” i squeak and practically run back to the right door this time. 

i curse softly, at the wind, this entire day. this city and this entire fucking island. but mostly i curse at stupid american habits and stupid british girls who get used to them.

london is crowded as always; at least, that part is similar to new york. except here i see red double-deckers crawling along leisurely instead of yellow cabs zooming by, waiting for no one. in the twenty minutes, we’ve been on the road, the sun has disappeared giving way to grey clouds. the only sound in the car is the whirr of the aircon and the radio playing some old 80s hits at a low volume. everything else is an awkward silence. 

“so matty’s not free today?” i ask. well, i try but all i get from him is a shake of the head before he angrily overtakes the car in front of us. 

“and he’s not going to be free all day?”

“dunno. later maybe, in the evening.”

that’s the most words he’s said to me at one go. and it’s also a pretty clear indicator that he’s done with this conversation—well, ‘conversation’ is pushing it anyway. i just look out the window and at the taxi next to us. 

it’s the american couple from before; excitedly looking out their windows and pointing at all the buildings. i imagine it’s their first time, they certainly have the ‘americans in europe’ air about them. i imagine their day is going leagues better than mine is; i imagine them going back to their hotel room, spending their day being loved up and excited about their holiday. they’ll take photos, eat nice food. they’ll laugh around being silly and saying exaggerated british slang in exaggerated english accents. and then they’ll go home, back to some place that is theirs. 

i snap my gaze back to my lap. 

london is not so bad. matty is here. if i could make a life in new york from scratch then i can do it again. besides i already have friends here, it can’t be that difficult. right?

my phone buzzes in my hands bringing me out of my thoughts. 

nate. 

i have the sudden and violent urge to be carsick. nate, after everything, he has the nerve to try to call me. with more force than necessary, i stab the red button and close my eyes. if george has noticed any of this, he doesn’t react. 

images flash in front of my eyes in a dizzying blur after that—nate. new york. nights that used to blend into dawns. nate. champagne that flowed freely. laughter. friends. happiness. nate. heartbreak. and quite possibly utter ruin, if i want to be dramatic about it.

my phone buzzes again and this time i don’t even pay attention to it. 

george, however, side-eyes it and then shakes his head. “are you gonna get that?” 

i whip my head to look at him, riffling through several responses in my head to politely tell him that this is none of his business. 

half an hour of knowing him and i can already feel annoyance settling between us. george stares at me while we wait for the light to turn green. one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows is raised high, his mouth twisted in almost a grimace. what the fuck is his deal? has he never heard a phone buzzing before?

“no,” i reply curtly and go back to staring straight ahead, glaring at the double decker blocking my view of anything else. 

half a minute later, the phone buzzes again. and george stares. again. 

“for fuck sake,” he grumbles to himself, looking like he’d rather run us straight into the bus than sitting here with me for two more minutes. 

“have i done something to you?” i turn to face him fully, eyes trained on him as he shifts the gear and starts driving again. 

his jaw ticks at my question. i imagine his molars grinding down hard against each other in frustration as his fingers drum restlessly on the steering wheel. 

“no,” he grits out in the same tone i had before. 

“then what the f–then what is your problem with me?” i ask, controlling myself last minute. there’s no need to get rude just yet. 

george, obviously, ignores that and continues to mutter something to himself that i can’t quite clearly make out. 

fuck this and fuck him.

i think back to the last 24 hours i’ve had. i think back to packing my bags while sobbing so hard that i couldn’t see two inches in front of me. of having to figure out a way to get to the airport without nate. of having no one to say goodbye to, no one to tell me that they will miss me. i think back to four years in new york and how by the end of it i was almost back to square one. 

“it’s distracting,” he replies and i resist the urge to scoff. it’s hardly that bad. it’s literally just a phone buzzing. “if you don’t want to get it then turn it off.”

i’m almost certain that by now my jaw is on the floor of his messy car—no, seriously. i don’t know how someone would want to have that many receipts and empty beer cans in their backseat—but george has some nerve!

“what the fuck!?” i glare at him, not even bothering to conceal my irritation now and i have no doubt that if it weren’t for the busy road, he would be glaring right back at me. his hands grip the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white. 

“listen,” i continue, “i know you’re mad that matty made you come pick me up—”

“oh you think you know why i’m pissed off?” he retorts, cutting me off halfway. strike fucking two. 

“but i’m not going to sit here and take your shit.” i finish, ignoring him entirely. almost as if the universe were on my side, george turns onto a familiar street. extremely familiar, in fact. i know where i am, i know matty’s house is a five minute walk from here. internally i whoop with joy. 

“in fact,” i continue, mustering up all my snark, “i am not going to sit here at all.” then like a maniac, i put one hand on the door handle and jut my chin up in defiance. “stop the car right now and open the trunk.”

predictably, george stares at me like i’ve lost my mind. and maybe i really have because the next thing i’m doing is unbuckling my seatbelt and tightening my hold on the door handle. 

“stop the car right now, george or i swear to god, i’ll start screaming for help.”

if i weren't so pissed off, it'd be funny how his eyes go as wide as saucers in the span of half a second, how fast his head whips to me.

“you are fucking INSANE!” he yells and pulls over as fast as he can, “fuck, i don’t know what matty sees in you,” he spits and yanks his door open. 

i sit there frozen for a second, all the anger and snark almost leaving my body at his words. almost. but then i hear the trunk opening and the sound of two bags being harshly thrown onto the pavement. 

letting out a string of curses that are aimed at him, his family and at least ten generations of his ancestors, i stomp over to where he’s thrown my bags casually. i don’t stop there. i march up to him, staring him right in the face until i am on the curb and tall enough to reach his chin. 

“you!” i stab my finger in his chest, “don’t get to say that about me.”

george rolls his eyes looking down at me as if i were about as threatening as a baby penguin. and i have the sudden and insane urge to climb on his car so i would finally be tall enough to look down my nose at him. 

“i don’t know what matty sees in you!” i continue the finger-stabbing, just once more to drive the point home but the insufferable man in front of me only scoffs lightly. 

“very original of you,” he drawls, “now if you’re done…” he trails off before his massive hand wraps around my wrist and pushes my hand away. his fingers are warm and rough. calloused hands. 

someone who’s used to being rough with everything he touches. 

and just like that, he’s walking away and back into his car while i’m left fuming on the pavement. honestly fuck george and fuck everything else, i’m just ready to write this entire day off and rot in bed. 

with more force than necessary, i start yanking my bags behind me, practically stomping till the end of the lane where matty’s house stands. george and his car don’t move. 

i imagine him in there fuming like i am right now and then scream out in frustration. a bird in a nearby tree flies away in panic. 

i should not be thinking about that dickhead at all. 

when i’m halfway through the lane, the car starts back up. driving behind me, following like a creep. well, that’s an exaggeration—i imagine he has to report back to matty that i made it to the house safe. still, i want to turn around and yell at him to fuck off. 

between planning his evil demise and chanting all my angry thoughts, i finally reach the house at the end of the lane and freeze. because i realise i don’t have his keys, matty’s not home and i have no way of getting in. and the only person who probably has said keys is currently sitting in his car right behind me. 

slowly, like in one of those cheesy horror movies, i turn around and look in the direction of the car. through the window, i see george rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel, glancing at me while a slow smirk curls onto his face. i can feel the smugness radiating off of him all the way to where i’m standing. 

evil little shit. 

he takes his sweet little time, getting out the car and sauntering toward the front door. before he gets to the door, he stops in front of me, face carefully blank once again with only a hint of arrogance in his eyes. 

“need my help again?” george asks and my god does it take all my restraint not to punch him right in the face. 

“just give me the bloody keys and leave, george,” i spit at him and watch his face morph into confusion. 

he stares at me for a second longer than he should, eyebrows creasing and eyes hardening as wariness creeps in. “why would i give you my keys?”

“so i can get in, you idiot—wait your keys?”

i open and close my mouth like a fish, trying to make sense of his words. he doesn’t mean what i think he means, right? this is all just a stupid misunderstanding? 

“my keys,” he confirms and dangles them right in front of my face so that a tiny metal g smacks me in the nose. 

my throat feels drier than the nevada desert. beads of sweat roll down the back of my neck. and it’s not just sweat from the humidity—no, this is a cold sweat. impending doom and bad omens and whatnot. 

trying to clear my throat, i speak again in a rough, whispery voice, “why do you have keys to matty’s house?” 

but even i know how stupid that sounds before it’s even left my mouth. because why would he have keys to matty’s house. unless…

unless it’s not just his house. and george is not just his best friend. no, george, stupid and utterly infuriating george is also his housemate. 

and now he’s about to be mine too. 

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies

add yourself to the taglist

#the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel x oc #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #enemies to lovers #george x oc #george x reader #george x you #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fanfic #keep your enemies closer

[the-s1lly-corner]

Date nights with Laughing Jack include

Might type this up for myself when go take a nap!! Someones cast a sleepy spell on me!

I bet you're waiting for me to say carnival dates

And you'd be mistaken

Well now that I think about it, could it actually be possible for Laughing Jack to sneak himself into a carnival? I mean yeah hes a 8 foot tall black and white clown.. but it's not like hes the only clown there...!

I guess that idea should just be reserved for characters that can more easily blend in with people.. unless you wanna carry him around in his little wind up box, then be my guest!

That.. actually sounds.. cute though

Back on track, I do think he would take you to carnivals. Just not.. active ones. No this is going into the whole "exploring abandoned places" thing, which I think will appear again with other characters as I write this little mini series (side eyes masky and/or hoodie)

Walks around carnivals and amusement parks that have been abandoned for years. Probably tosses himself over the counters of some booths/stalls to run the game

Dont think he wont rig it or try to cheat, laughing jack doesn't play fair !

Scoops you up and carries you over some hazards

Not in like, a romantic way .. not holding you bridal style

Rather he picks you up under your arms and slings you over his shoulder.. once youre away from the danger he picks up up again (still under the arms) and kind of just

Dangles and lightly swishes you around

Like you now how cats get elongated when they're picked up? It's like that

THEN he finally puts you down

"But admin? The snacks there are likely spoiled, if they're still there!"

Not to worry, jack has brought plenty of candy! Just dont ask how hes materializing it out of thin air...!

You guys stay out way later than you should, actually you probably hang out until the sun starts peaking up over the horizon..!

Hope you didnt have work in the morning; Jack tends to latch onto you for long periods of time

If theres still somehow power in the place, hes gonna start up some rides! Carousels and ferris wheels are great, i think!

Oh no I sure hope you guys dont get stuck on the ferris wheel at the tippy top, with a beautiful sunrise lighting everything up and making everything pretty and-

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #laughing jack x you #laughing jack headcanons #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack imagine

[sagesolsticewrites]

Today Was A Fairytale | Austin x fem!reader

You decide to surprise your boyfriend in Australia on Valentine’s Day! ❤️ 

a/n: Happy (belated, oops) Valentine’s Day! This is a week late, I know, and I’m so sorry y’all! But thank you guys so, so much for your patience 🫶 I do have plenty more WIPs that I’m working on, and I hope to have those out sooner rather than later for y'all. And my requests are open if y'all want to send anything in! ☺️ For this fic, covid doesn’t exist for Plot purposes lmao

Word count: 2k (technically 1,999 but shhhh)

Warnings: some allusion to sex towards the end (might qualify as fade-to-black smut??), I think that’s it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

Masterlist | add yourself to my taglist!

As you stand on the escalator, hands firmly gripping your carry-on to keep yourself from shaking with excitement, you scan the area near baggage claim as it appears bit by bit, keeping your eyes peeled for a sign with your name on it.

Your sweeping gaze finally snags on your name, the flimsy paper in the hands of an older, very fashionable woman, with a bright smile and cheerful eyes peering through cat-eye glasses. Your smile widens, and you wave to get her attention as you step off the escalator onto the polished concrete floor. You still can’t quite believe that Catherine Martin herself was the one meeting you here.

You greet her, a little starstruck, before she sweeps you into a hug.

“Darling! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She smiles, “You know Austin honestly hasn’t stopped talking about you since we started filming,” she teases as you made your way over to get the rest of your things.

You laugh shyly, “Well, that’s very sweet to hear, and I apologize on his behalf.” Laughter fading, you continue in a more sincere tone, “And thank you so much for letting me come on set for a couple days, I can only imagine how complicated it must be to organize that.”

Catherine waves the compliment away, helping you get your suitcase off the carousel with ease.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart! It’s very sweet that you want to surprise him, and I’m so glad we could help.”

Catherine explains the plan in the Uber on the way to your hotel: take a few days to recover from the jet lag from the 19-hour flight, and on Friday — Valentine’s Day — you’d be taken to set to surprise your boyfriend. 

After Catherine makes sure you’re safely in your room and assures you that you can call her if you needed anything — “absolutely anything, darling!” — before tomorrow, you finally allow a grin to overtake your face as you collapse onto the bed. As Valentine’s Day gifts go, you were fairly certain this wasn’t a bad choice.

You and Austin had been dating for almost a year, since March of 2019. Originally just your childhood friend, a friendship born of proximity when your family moved next door to his, your feelings for each other had blossomed into what was honestly the healthiest relationship you had ever been in. You had been with him when he was auditioning, when he was cast as Elvis, you had watched as he practically lived and breathed Elvis in the months leading up to the moment he left for principal photography in Australia. He was crushed that your first Valentine’s Day together was doomed to be long-distance, and as he kept saying how much he wished the two of you could celebrate together, the idea dawned on you.

And now here you were in Australia, on the opposite side of the world from your home in Anaheim, getting ready to surprise your boyfriend who was currently playing one of the most famous men in history.

-

You spend most of the first couple days of your trip sleeping, your body insisting on ten-hour naps to recover from the flight through seven time zones. You’re able to pencil in some sightseeing, too, though by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around you’re even more anxious to see Austin; you’re the closest you’ve been to seeing him in a month but the distance between your hotel and his set seems impossibly far.

Catherine is your escort once again, and on the way to set she explains the plan to you, detailing the scenes they’ll be filming and where you could fit in, and making it incredibly clear that pretty much everything you’re about to see is strictly for your eyes only; they couldn’t risk a leak only a month into filming.

Admittedly, you’re a little starstruck being on a movie set, and it’s all a bit of a blur as Catherine rushes you over to hair & makeup to get you ready for the scene. The crew slips you into one of their many spare dresses, and they get to work making your hair and makeup era-appropriate. As one of the hair stylists — a kind woman whose name you learned was Gail — is in the process of getting your hair into pincurls, the door to the hair and makeup trailer sweeps open. Every eye in the room swings towards the motion as Baz steps inside.

As in, Baz Luhrmann.

Legendary, acclaimed director.

In the hair and makeup trailer.

And he walks right over and gives you a hug (as best he could with you in the makeup chair trying to stay as still as possible, at least).

“Y/N! Happy Valentine’s Day, we’re so glad you’re here.”

“Thank you so much for helping organize this, Baz!” You smiled. “I really hope I’m not disrupting the schedule or anything too much.” You had gotten to meet Baz a handful of times as Austin was prepping for the role, and he was one of the sweetest people you knew. 

“Oh, it was nothing.” He waves away the compliment, “I love a good surprise, and I’m glad I’ll get to see you two crazy kids back together. I just wanted to say hello and make sure you were doing okay. You guys take care of her, alright?” He directs the last part to the crew, and bids you farewell with a “See you on set!”

Soon enough, your hair and makeup are the best they’ve ever been, and you’re almost afraid to move for fear of ruining the gorgeous blue gingham dress they’ve given you as you’re escorted to set by an assistant.

You take your seat in the front row, trying your hardest to hide your excitement as you catch a glimpse of Austin talking with Baz just offstage.Your breath catchesin your throat as you take him in. After not seeing him for a month, seeing him in person is in itself a bit of a shock, but underneath the slightly baggy pink suit and effortlessly disheveled hair, you see the sharp focus in his eyes that's something entirely Austin. Time is a blur as the rest of the scene is set up, and the last thing you hear before Baz calls “action!” is his suggestion to Austin to find someone in the audience to focus on. 

You holdyour breath as he, Xavier, and Adam walk onto the stage, the smudged eyeliner bringing out the blue of his eyes as he scans the crowd. You fight to keep the smile from your face in anticipation as his gaze sweeps past you, then snaps back as he does a double take. The Elvis facade fades, the anxious fidgeting and nervous manner he’s put on entirely forgotten as he freezes, his eyes locked on yours.

“Y/N?”

You nod, unable to hide your grin any longer as you give him a playful wave, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Aus.”

In a flash, the guitar that had been looped around his shoulders is set carefully on the stage and he jumps down to the floor to greet you, the cast and crew cheering him on.

You let out a breathless laugh as you’re swept up in his arms and spun around in a circle, his grip strong and secure and safe as always. As your feet finally hit the ground, Austin’s gaze sweeps over you, taking in your light blue gingham dress and 50s pin curls, before his eyes meet yours again and you’re finally, finally pulled in for a kiss. 

It’s a sign of how much you missed each other that by the time you pull away your carefully-applied, no doubt expensive, movie-star-quality lipstick is smudged beyond repair, and Austin’s artfully disheveled hair is a mess. Some part of you cringes slightly at the thought of messing up the hair and makeup crew’s hard work, but a much larger, much louder part of you — the part that had been missing him since the second he’d left — couldn’t care less.

“I— Sweetheart,” Austin laughs with a tinge of disbelief, still holding you tight as though you might slip away at any second, “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you.” You say simply, grinning. “And I knew how upset you were that we’d be missing our first Valentine’s together, so I thought I’d surprise you.”

“You flew all the way to Australia to surprise me?” He asks, as if to make sure he was hearing you right.

You nod, cheerfully humming an affirmative.

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“You’re ridiculous,” is all he says before pulling you in for another warm hug, lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you, too” you whisper back, tucking your face into the crook of his neck to hide your growing smile, toes curling at the familiar smell of his cologne — something warm and woody that you had gotten him for Christmas last year.

After what seems like not enough time at all, your very professional boyfriend regretfully pulls away — after all, he is here for a job. Baz is kind enough to let you stay and watch them film several scenes, but after seeing how distracted Austin is (he’s trying to stay professional, he really is, but you’re here and he’s missed you so much) he cuts the day short, offering everyone a chance to celebrate their Valentine’s Day properly. 

You’re glad you brought one of your nicer dresses with you, because that night Austin takes you out on the first non-Skype date you’ve had in a while. The two of you end up at a fairly nice restaurant, talking for hours as if you haven’t been apart at all. In lieu of the typical red roses, he gives you a paper rose to add to your collection back home; a tradition that began with your very first date, and one that you hope continues for as long as possible.

You spend a romantic evening together, followed by an even more romantic night, and the contentment you feel waking up the next morning in Austin’s arms is incomparable to anything else on earth. You don’t open your eyes at first, content with the feeling of your head on his chest, legs tangled together, his arms pulling you in closer, but you can’t help but smile up at him as you feel his eyes on you, and the softness in his gaze as you meet his eyes nearly takes your breath away.

Your hand, from its resting place on Austin’s chest, works its way up his neck to cup his cheek, almost as if you need to confirm that he’s really there, solid and warm next to you. You bite your lip to hide a smirk as your eyes catch on the marks scattered across his skin — proof of your, er, very enthusiastic reunion the previous night. He leans into your touch as you whisper a soft “good morning” to him, and he returns the greeting, mumbling it against your lips as you’re pulled in for a kiss.

He glances quickly at the alarm clock on the nightstand, making a note of the time: barely 9am. “What time is your flight, again?”

You mentally file through your sleep-scattered brain for your flight information. “My flight leaves at 1, but I wanna try to be at the airport around 11, maybe 11:30ish?”

He nods, seemingly incorporating that information into whatever idea he has brewing in his head. “I don’t have to be on set until noon,” he says, taking on a suggestive tone as he moves to hover over you, “Any ideas on how we could spend all this time?”

Grinning, you pull him down into a bruising kiss, making a mental note to send flowers to the hair and makeup crew as an apology for the marks they’re going to have to cover on him after this morning.

All in all, not a bad Valentine’s Day.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper @hallecarey1 @adoreyouusugar @iheartcbe @nora-nexus-34 @finelineskies @dontbesussis @fangirl-imagines

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x fem!reader #austin butler fluff #elvis (2022) #elvis 2022 #elvis baz luhrmann #elvis biopic #valentine’s day fic #valentine’s day #my writing

[tagidearte-spam-sb]

Help Wanted 2 - DCA Minigames Swap Idea

So. Both Sun and Moon have their own minigames in hw2. I started thinking to myself "how would it play out if you swapped them?", because why not? Ideas under read more.

I want "Arts and Crafts" with Moon. That's it. That's the reason I wrote this.

Carousel Game

Sun is sent to watch over the player as they fix the carousel. In game, it is stated that poor Sun doesn't know how to fix it himself, so this would be a simulation where the AI learns by watching you do it first.

Sun sits on one of the rideable carts, his personality matching the one from his actual minigame. He throws quips and begs you to hurry up, and sometimes (accidentally) misleads you by giving poor advice (because again: he has no idea how to fix it, but he's programmed to teach others, so he is incapable of shutting up and letting you work by yourself). The carousel still has three phases, but fixing it is much harder and more complex than in the original, since Moon wouldn't be a constant threat.

Problem: if you fail/make a mistake at any point, the carousel has a chance of powering down which makes the lights grow dim, bringing Moon out. The chance grows higher with each phase/level. You must reset the power to continue your work, and use your flashlight (which has limited battery) to keep Moon at bay as you do so. On each phase Sun gets closer and closer to you on the carousel, meaning if you fail later on, Moon will literally spawn closer and closer to you.

On the last phase, the power for some reason goes crazy and the lights die. You must keep Moon at bay while fixing it, and you have a time limit to do so as well.

The game ends with the lights coming back on, Sun being embarrassed and thanking you for helping out, and off you go.

On the harder night, you could start the game having to fix the generator from the get go, or the power randomly going down, or making it so that the flashlight has a battery limit and needs recharging.

There could be a way for Sun to kill you too, if you take too long. Just for spice.

Arts and Crafts game

Obviously Moon is for nap time, not making crafts. Instead of paper pals and colour by numbers, you are tasked with playing activities designed for children who can't sleep during nap time - quiet things that wouldn't disturb the other sleeping children. You do these on a small baby tablet, in an area separate from the sleeping children (who are toys in this simulation), a tent with some light like the one ruined Sun sits under in the original minigame.

In this minigame you catch glimpses of a Moon that is not fully corrupted yet. In his normal mode he's calmer and speaks in a creepy, yet soothing way. However, "mistakes" trigger his glitched mode, making him revert to Security Breach Moon. This minigame would have both a sound check and a "mistake" check like in the original one. If you make too much noise while working, or fail your task, Moon becomes aggressive - you have three tries, where Moon progressively takes/covers the lights in your tent (by the third time you are basically playing in the dark, only with the small light coming from your baby tablet), and by the fourth he gets pissed off and "puts you to sleep".

The noise system would work in two ways: first, your tablet will glitch out sometimes. You must treat it like an old TV and beat it up a bit to get it to work again, causing noise. Do it too much, Moon gets upset. Moon is also walking around checking on "the children", so it's advised you fix your tablet when he's further away from you, to diminish the chances of him hearing it; second, sometimes your tablet will get the purple glitch and automatically turn on the audio. When you notice this, you must drop what you're doing and turn the volume down again, otherwise every time you do something a loud noise will ring out, pissing off Moon.

The minigames would be a mix of reading and ""drawing"". First you read a small randomly generated story and must answer a quiz about it (like the colour of a character's dress, or if they're a knight, etc). Second game is a "dress up doll" one. You know picrew? Something like that with pre made bodies, clothes, hair and accessories you can combine into a character. Moon sees you are not sleepy yet, and tells you to put together a character with specific characteristics for him. After you're done, you show him the result. If it doesn't match, that's a strike. If it does, you continue into the next phase.

The last minigame is a mix of both. You need to read a story and use the dressing game to make two of the characters in there (or maybe only one and the number grows higher with each level). However, by this point the glitches are more frequent, and Moon is more attentive because every other "child" is asleep, his attention mostly turned towards you.

There could be an added bonus of difficulty in later games with a power system: you have limited power on your tablet, and once the power goes out your tablet does a loud turning off noise, triggering Moon's glitch instantaneously.

And that's it. Apologies for Moon's section being longer, but since Sun doesn't kill you, we don't need as many details besides hypothetical voice lines (instead of the one about indigestion in hw2, here he could have one about electrocution for instance).

This is clearly not me crying and moaning over Moon only getting two new voicelines either ahahah what makes you think so?

#dca #dca fandom #fnaf dca #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #help wanted 2 #fnaf hw2 #help wanted 2 sun #help wanted 2 moon #daycare attendant #fnaf #moondrop #sundrop

[captain-lessship]

Creepy Pt.6

You had watched in a sort of glee when you saw the statue slowly going up in flames, that only increased you turned to the girl who made it possible. She was playing her heart out on her cello as a sort of farewell tune for the statue. 

Your happiness had faded as you paced your room, worrying Wednesday was going to be in trouble. She and Principal Weems had been talking for a very long time. 

You heard a knock, you ran to the door and flung it open: it wasn’t her. 

“Xavier.”

“Ticker.”

“What do you need? It’s getting late.”

“I want to ask you about yours and Wednesday’s relationship. You ever get the feeling that she may be using you?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” You said, more pain filling your vice than you intended. 

“You aren’t bothered by it?” He asked. Xavier was looking at you not with anger or condescension but with genuine curiosity. Like when someone has been told something they haven’t wrapped their head around yet. 

“Not this go around,” you said, “She just makes me feel like someone.”

Xavier still stared at you, “I don’t really get that but I know you dude. And like despite how we act to each other, you’ve done me a lot of favors and I do respect you in a sort of way.” 

You were slightly surprised, “I guess I respect you too. Both artists, ya know? Also your hair ain’t half bad.”

Xavier laughed. When you roomed with him, you cut it into a bowl cut after he poured paint into your cuckoo clock.

“I will see you, Tricker.”

“Later, Xav.” 

You watched him leave before shutting your door and walking to your bed. You laid down, gently closing your eyes, nearly napping.

Then there was a tapping. A rapping. 

You raised up from bed, ruffling your hair. You walked to the door and opening it. There she was.

“Wednesday,” she quickly came in, “Are you alright?”

“I am fine. Weems is going to be keeping a close eye on me.”

“It still can’t believe you did that.” You lightly laughed.

“I did and I don’t regret it.” 

You moved to your bed and sat down beside each other. “So, are you in a lot of trouble?” 

“Not a lot. Did you get into any?”

“No,” you smiled, “I know when to leave a party.”

Silence fell between the two of you. You looked at her, “Hey.”

She looked at you, “Yes?”

“Do you want to see something?”

She nodded, you stood up and walked to a model of a carousel. You flipped a tiny switch and it started spinning, playing classical circus music.

You then rushed to the other side of the room and flicked a switch you had placed on a small table. Other things began to light up and play sound, slowly synchronizing with the carousel.

You turned and looked at Wednesday, who was watching the object with a fondness in her eyes. You beamed as you walked back to the bed and sat beside her. 

“Why did you start this hobby?”

“Well, I always had some free time and my dad helped me get into it. I would fix the music boxes at the circus.”

You watched as the yellowed lights reflected on her face.

“You’re a Circus kid?”

You grinned, “A less colorful and flexible one but yeah. I can saw you in half.”

“Sounds lovely.” She looked at you, “What about knife throwing?”

“I had them thrown at me.”

She lightly grinned, “I’m envious.”

You turned back to the melody making creations. Wednesday looked at you, she slowly creeped her pinky and ring finger towards your hand. She barely grazed your hand when you moved yours to touch hers. 

It meant a lot to the both of you.

a/n: I am sorry this is short, I sprained my wrist.

#wednsday addams #wednesday imagine #netflix wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #Wednesday Addams x male reader #wednesday addams x male!reader #xavier thorpe #principal weems #enid sinclair #ajax petropolus #fanfic writing #romance #hand holding #friends to lovers #Comedy #humor #eventual angst #angst #male reader imagine #fanfic #fluff

[realreulbbrband]

Tuggoffelees hcs!! Ok so Tuggoffelees sweep, how did I not see that coming? but don’t worry I still plan to make content for other misto ships I mentioned in the poll and were suggested in reblogs ^^

I didn’t wanna disappoint since they were my first ship in cats and the most popular in the fandom so I kinda just went ham so enjoy it's a long one

♡ Mistoffelees has a habit of just appearing in areas in the blink of an eye, and sometimes while Tugger is talking to another cat Mistoffelees will just appear beside him trying to scare him it works 50% of the time but most times Mistoffelees ends up scaring the other cat far more.

♡ Mistoffelees doesn’t have any jealousy problems when it comes to Tuggers flirting he only really gets bothered when he feels Tuggers leading the other cat on. Which is usually when he steps in.

And stepping in meaning not so subtly stealing Tuggers attention away like walking by and letting his tail brush against Tuggers face for instance.

♡ Tugger tends to zone out sometimes when it’s too quiet or when he isn’t surrounded by the kitten fan club. This generally happens when he’s laying in the sun during the afternoon, whenever misto catches him doing this he’ll take the opportunity to curl up next to Tugger for a nap. Whenever Tugger snaps out of it he can’t help but smile when he finds Misto sleeping peacefully beside him.

♡ Mistoffelees took the obligation of planning their second date, he took Tugger to a closed for the night amusement park his Humans used to visit. Tugger thought the place was creepy when they got there but that all brushed away when Mistoffelees brought him to his “secret spot”. 

It was at the top of the carousel which thanks to Mistoffelees’s magic was still functional. All the lights and ornaments amazed Tugger, he hadn’t seen anything like it before. When they got to the top they watched the stars together, While admiring each other at the same time. Tugger loved how the moonlight made Misto’s fur twinkle.

♡ When Tugger can’t find his classic spiked collar Misto tries to recreate it with magic, though it looks slightly off. He instead gets the bright idea to offer Tugger his bow tie collar until they can find it. Tugger tries it on and it does look sort of funny on him but Tugger loves it regardless. 

♡ Tugger loves whenever Mistoffelees uses his magic on him, even though it’s usually small like zapping tugger. Tugger urges him to do more which Mistoffelees caves into eventually but usually not much to Tuggers amusement like by Giving Tugger a comically large polka-dot bow on the back of his tail to make him look silly. 

♡ Mistoffelees has very wealthy humans who like to buy him cat costumes. They dress him up in all sorts of things from a sailor, a bat, and a magician. Whenever this happens Mistoffelees can never manage to take the costumes off and so he ends up going to the junkyard dressed up. Tugger finds it amusing but he will gladly talk back at anyone who makes fun of Mistoffelees for it. Except for the kittens cause their kittens.

♡ Mistoffelees loves hearing Tugger sing, especially whenever it’s in his softer tone of voice, sometimes Mistoffelees would catch Tugger singing to himself in their den and he would quietly watch not wanting to disturb the show. Once he caught Tugger singing about him and he could feel his heart beating faster. He got caught seconds later though and Tugger just laughed awkwardly while patting Misto’s head.

♡ This isn't Tuggoffelees but just tugger however Tugger loves randomly scooping the kits up and giving them piggyback rides around the junkyard.

♡ Misto has cold paws almost all the time he loves to surprise touch Tugger sometimes on the shoulder or his hand to witness him get all jumpy at the sudden cold.

♡ Tugger is cautious about his relationship with Mistoffelees in the sense that he knows that Bustopher will never like him and think he’s a bad influence. While Tugger is aware he looks bad on the surface level due to his shenanigans and how he flirts around, He only wants to bring out the best in Mistoffelees and show him how great he thinks he is but most of the time Tugger agrees with Bustopher that he’s undeserving of someone like Mistoffelees. but Misto normally slaps him back to reality quicker than a fly. They’re on even playing fields regardless of reputations and they love each other very much <3

I also have this thought that 1998 Tuggoffelees is them before they get together and 2016 revival Tuggoffelees is them together henceforth why Misto participated in Tuggers song actively and excitingly instead of being a bystander. Yippie that’s all ^^

#tuggoffelees #rum tum tugger #mr mistoffelees #hcs #rambles #i love them so much #i can’t emphasize it

[wantonrowls]

Stray Kids headcanons : Dating a single mom

Kim Seungmin

Seungmin has a calm and soft persona. You would often catch him at his soft demeanor while his hyungs go all out of the practice rooms and be wild so you were not expecting him to enjoy all of the rides on the circus. He would shout at the top of his lungs when riding Noah's Ark, Would jump happily with your 10 year old when getting ice cream and would enjoy riding the carousel while he holds your kid's hand firm beneath his palms

This circus date does not end easily as your kid pulls you to the horror house, threatening to cry when you say no at first, Seungmin assures you that it's okay so the three of you went inside. You hide beneath him, holding tightly at his arm as the other arm holds your kid, shielding the two of you on any of the props and scary triggers. You could feel his chest that his heart is racing too but would selfishly choose to protect you and your kid at all costs so that's when you realised that you can depend on Seungmin.

Seungmin loves going to the grocery. You would often act like a kid with your actual kid naruto-running around in circles as he picks on the freshest vegetable. He would get a hold of you eventually, attempting to stop you by pecking a kiss on your cheek. Flustered, you would blush as he holds your hand against the cart as he strolls quietly continuing to shop while the kid sits atop the cart.

He loves to take the kid for a bath. You would often found him on the bathtub alongside your kid overflowing with bubbles as he plays with the rubber ducky, Seungmin likes to mold his hair and your kid's hair into different shapes of spikes. Shark, Mowhawk, Individual sections of spikes "Look Y/N! We look like soot sprites from Spirited Away!" "Oh my gosh let me take a pic!"

Seungmin will and always offer his shoulder whenever your stressed and you want to release everything, sobbing on his chest as he hugs you, loves to carress your hair on his fingers, Would love to listen to you rambling about anything. Unlike anyone, Seungmin loves to listen to your complaints. He doesn't say or butt into anything, Nodding at you whenever you say something that he agrees. His favorite intimacy is holding you on his chest and listening to your breathing.

Like mother, like son, whenever your child would complain, he would cheer him up by making him laugh. Seungmin loves to stroll around the neighborhood on an afternoon alongside your kid. They are inseperable.

Life with Seungmin is simple and quiet. He loves to kiss you on your forehead any chance he gets. He loves the quiet afternoon that he gets whenever the kid is napping as he sips on his tea, He loves the excitement you get whenever he's coming over the house. He loves it whenever you melt at his touch but his most favorite thing to do is to read a bedtime story to your kid. He would sleep beside Y/N and Seungmin, just as he's about to turn another page he notices that the kid and Y/N are fast asleep. He smiles to himself. Planting a soft kiss on your foreheads. What did he do in his past life to deserve this kind of woman and kid? He thinks himself while he slips the book away as drifts to his sleep, locking his hand on you and the kid.

He doesn't give a single flying-bethany-care that you're a single mom. He loves the kid and treats him as his own.

Yang Jeongin

Jeongin is the opposite version of Seungmin but in a good way. He loves to annoy the shit of you alongside your kid. They would often pull pranks on you whether by hiding the left pair of your shoe to planting wet kisses all around your face in the mornings to wake you up but nonetheless, you love him around. Jeongin is also a baby himself so he would often make his way of winning in an argument by pulling an aegyo at you. "We've decided that we love to watch another episode of We Bare Bears" "No" Y/N firmly stated "But look at us, how can you say no to this kind of faces??? ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ" Y/N would then get persuaded to watch another episode while Jeongin is on her chest and the 4 year old kid is on his chest.

Jeongin loves to get babied by Y/N. He loves getting pampered with kisses and loves it whenever she allows him to sleep on her chest. He loves getting dressed and would often buy a set of jordans for you and him and the toddler. He would then take like a hundred of photos of your feet spread out so he could brag it at their dorms.

He loves to receive love but he also does not forget to shower you with kisses. He loves to pamper you with kisses on your neck while you cook for the three of you. He lovingly watches as you slice the vegetables expertly "Woah that's so cool! How did you do that?!" "omg i just diced the carrot what are you talking about"

Jeongin enjoys taking long walks in the morning with your kid. They would jump around when they spot different breeds of dog around "Look a chow chow! Woah it's so fluffy like Uncle Felix!" "A pug!" "Woah a chihuahua?!!" Later on they would persuade Y/N to get a dog. Jeongin will dead ass pull out a slideshow to prove that you needed a dog

"Why do we need a pug?" "Shh! let me explain it Y/N"

He's the happiest when he gets to laze around the house with you and your toddler. He loves to give kisses at the top of your head whenever he towers at both of you. He's a dependable person in a different kind of way. He loves to cheer you whenever you're having a bad day. Assuring you that it's okay to take a breather and you can try it again. He loves to calm you down by massaging your head and trailing soft kisses on your shoulder telling you that he loves Y/N and baby only.

He enjoys hanging out at the park with your kid and taking various pictures and videos and sending it to you. He loves to play with him and he swears he sees the galaxy in the kid's eyes.

Do I really deserve this beautiful woman and her wonderful kid? he asks himself, staring lovingly at you and your kid's sleeping form at the bed. His heart is full of excitement and contentment as he pulls the cover to the both of you and sneaks a kiss on your lips

He doesn't mind it at all that you're already a mom because he loves the attention he gets from you and your kid.

#felix imagines #fluff #lee felix #skz #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz felix #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #i.n fluff #yang jeongin #kim seungmin #seungmin #stray kids jisung #stray kids headcanons #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines

[x-amount-verbs]

A Helping Hand - Part 23

[start here] || Part 22 || Part 23 || Part 24

[silco x f!reader] [3.7k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [hints of gun-related ptsd] [passive aggression] [drunkenness] [hijinks]

AO3 Link

Days seem to pass so much faster when you don’t have your evening meetings with Silco to look forward to dread.

Mornings are hell.

You’re sore all over the second day, but power through, stubbornly. Your nap (in the locker room, this time) feels justified, and Jinx’s eventual appearance makes up for it, pouncing on you with an affectionate hug. Sevika takes your identical message to Silco, even if she shoots you a warning look before doing so. The second floor of the warehouse (once you access it via ladder) is, as Wren told you, full of old reserve storage. Keeping Jinx away from the cans is easier now that they’re established as potential target practice.

Sevika returns from her break from Jinx with no further word from Silco.

The third day, you’re slower than the first, and your ass gets handed to you several times, each time darkening your mood significantly. Wren - notorious for making people practice (albeit in a modified manner) even when they’re not in full working order - actually takes pity and calls you off halfway through, so… that says something. You outright fall asleep in the shower.

Still no reaction from Silco.

The fourth day, you’re renewed, and Efin gets the short end of the stick (quite literally). The kid is absolutely terrified of you by the end of combat practice, and that fear feels good. No wonder Silco likes it.

By the end of the evening, Jinx has motors working for a moving target practice, even if there aren’t any targets clipped to the wire carousel yet.

Sevika informs you, grimacing, that “he called it charming.”

So it’s a war of attrition, then.

—

Day five, you sleep in.

Or, more accurately; you wake up, spend a while watching your clock, and then make the purposeful choice to go back to sleep.

It’s a bit of a thrill, wondering how long it will take for him to do something.

(If you’re at all aware of the problematic nature of your behavior - tempting fate - you don’t acknowledge it.)

That afternoon, you have a whole spread of street food available for Jinx when she shows up, even though Sevika informs you that the kid doesn’t need the food. Jinx’s delighted hums and messy fingers seem to contradict that, but Silco was right; no one in the Undercity should turn down a free meal. So you shrug at Sevika, and offer a skewer of mystery meat when she looks suspicious.

“I can’t take your death wish back to the boss today. And I need to bring the tripping hazard back early.”

You frown. “He told you to do that?”

Her sidelong glance gives you the answer.

Asshole.

Without Sevika to play messenger, you’re left with either finding someone else, or taking the message yourself. And come on, that’s not really a choice, is it?

You scour the gym’s inhabitants and are delighted to find Efin. With a hard enough glare, he agrees to take the note and drop it off with Orid.

If Silco is going to cut your Jinx time short, you’ll shorten his note as well.

NNN

—

Bastard.

Guilt drove you to morning practice (albeit late) on day six, but as afternoon approaches… comes… passes… you’re left stewing.

That absolute bastard.

He took Jinx from you.

Your timepiece reads 3:54, and no Jinx in sight. Theoretically, you can wait to see if she shows, but you have a niggling suspicion that she won’t.

Silco is punishing you. Punishing you, by taking away the one shining thing in your life you regularly look forward to. The one person who greets you with hugs you can eagerly return, who stands too close and you don’t mind it, who tugs on your clothes and invades your space and you only feel affection for it.

Glaring at the clock, you try to stay calm, even if… you’re not.

It’s not fair.

Sure, he’s her dad— or guardian, or whatever— but she’s your friend.

…Okay, that… Look, that’s not as sad as it sounds.

Brows pull together, a frustrated frown as you fend off thoughts about how pathetic your attachment is to this child. Or how pathetic your attempts to act out are. Replace those thoughts with righteous indignation.

You watch the clock another few minutes, foot jiggling impatiently. If you can’t find someone to take your message by 5, you’ll be in trouble. But, as is very apparent, you’re already in trouble.

Chewing your lip, you opt to avoid just a little longer.

Distraction isn’t your friend, which you realize about half a second after the end of the ladder pulls away from the second floor ledge. You drop down, but not fast enough, as the thing comes down right after, falling on top of you. It’s not too bad, though the metal jarring against the back of your thigh is far from pleasant.

No blood, no broken bones, just a reminder not to be an idiot. A nice painful reminder every time you step.

After a second to breathe, you reset the ladder and take your time getting to the half-finished gallery, grimacing.

You have time to reconsider your actions as you set up a row of old cans. Plenty of time to opt out of this particular display of childish frustration. But you don’t feel like it.

You feel like shooting things.

Ear protection on (thanks, Wren), you start shooting.

Honestly… you don’t remember all of it. After the first shot, your mind is jarred into blankness for several more, focused down to the gun in your hand, and the way your pulse strangles you.

You miss. A lot.

More than halfway through your magazine, you stop, breath labored, a dark ring around your vision.

This panic isn’t helping anyone.

Gun down. Give it a second. Try to focus. Don’t think about the assassination attempt, the flash and heat and pain, hitting you hours after the original event. Don’t remember.

Anger helps. Focus on the anger. The spite.

You will get better at this. You’ll be back in perfect firing order, better than before.

No— beyond that. That’s what he wants you to do. That’s one thing that, unfortunately, seems useful.

You know what’s not useful?

(You reload your pistol with shaking fingers, then bring it up in both hands, breath steadying.)

This stupid check in.

Miss.

And asking the same useless questions every time.

Miss.

Telling you to find someone to bring him a message when he knows perfectly well—

Hit.

—that he’ll have the same three answers.

Miss.

Telling you to come in yourself if you can’t find a messenger.

Hit.

Miss.

And taking Jinx away just because you were a little rude.

Hit.

Hit.

He thought that was rude?

Hit.

Hit.

You can be so much worse.

Miss.

Hit. Hit.

If he wants your same answer over and over again—

Hit hit.

—you can find a way to get it to him.

Hit hit.

In person.

Click.

You lower the empty weapon, mind made up.

—

4:42, after stopping for a quick change of clothes, you walk through the door of The Last Drop.

You may not be entirely in your right mind— and you don’t intend to be for much longer.

You go straight for the bar, order two glasses of the drink with the greatest alcohol-to-price ratio. Now that you’re medically allowed to drink, you intend to take advantage of that fact to gather a little liquid courage.

Or a lot.

35-ish minutes later, you are definitely feeling some kind of something.

“…You’re sure you want to do this?” the bartender asks.

Things are a little… tight in your head at the moment. Warm. But you resolutely have no regrets as you carefully form the two letters in marker (downgraded from the three you sent him last time).

“Positive,” you mutter, taking a deep breath, face flushed as you place the period at the end of the word. Those two heavy drinks were downed as fast as you could, and now you’re swaying a little.

Juuuust a little.

Just a teeeeeny tiny bit of give, that is entirely negated by propping your arm on the bar (you think).

The woman behind said bar looks down at your cocktail napkin, seemingly torn between amusement and worry. “I’m gonna have to go into hiding after this,” she muses. “Change my name, my face... I’ll be a ghost.”

Very seriously, you raise an even (if foggy) gaze at her. “Chuck. I will always remember you,” you promise. “And your great sacrifice. Fer my death wish.” Oop, you might be slurring a bit.

She scoffs. “I’ll take the message, but I won’t give him bad liquor. This is gonna cost you.”

You snort. “Oh I’m sure.”

“No, like— literally. It’s an expensive shot.”

“So expensive,” you agree. “Like my entire career.” You nod, solemnly. “Risking it all. To send a message.” Nodding, nodding.

This is so important. So stupidly important. You’re gonna fuckin’ show him. He can’t keep ignoring you. You want attention.

Wait. No: you want revenge.

Wait— uh. What do you want, again?

Him.

Right.

—Wait, no, not right!

Your third drink is half finished. You intend to completely forget this evening, if possible, and judging by how swimmy your head is, you’re on track to succeed at that. Load up all the alcohol at once, while on painkillers, and barely any food in your belly. You are on track to be completely wasted by the time you stumble out of here tonight.

You definitely have a goal, even if you’re a little fuzzy on what that goal is. A little fuzzy on everything, actually.

Chuck shakes her head, wonderingly. “Just— give me your purse. I’m leaving a deposit on your tab, in case I never make it back.”

It says more about your level of drunkenness than trust in the bar that you’re willing to hand over the pouch at your waist without question. Usually one to watch your coin, just giving it to her is… something you’ll regret in the morning. She may even realize that, based on her pitying smile.

“Take a seat, sweetheart. Drink some water.”

You shake your head. “Nuh uh. I’m watchin’ this.”

She sighs. “Watch from the booth, then,” she advises, nodding to an open table with a mostly-unimpeded line of sight toward the boss’s office door (aside from some railings). “If you keep at this rate while standing, I think you’re gonna faceplant.”

“Hmmmmm.” You nod sagely, considering her words. Smart. Wise. Good advice.

Personally, you think you remain remarkably poised on your walk to the aforementioned booth. You don’t spill the last ⅓ of your drink, so that probably says something, right?

Once seated, you watch the door. Watch Chuck go up with a tumblr of high-end something-or-other, on your very eloquent ‘NO.’ napkin. He wanted a report. He got a report.

Something in your gut flutters— or maybe flops. Maybe flails about like a fish out of water, violently unsure if you’re excited or terrified by your own boldness.

The drinks say excited. In fact, they say validated and vindicated and justified. You’re practically gleeful to throw that one word in his face, after today.

And maybe you feel a little sick.

Just a little.

Just a little angry and bitter and hurt.

Mostly good, though, that’s what you’re feeling, sure is. Feels good to throw your disobedience in his face. He called you obedient? Ha, not likely. You’re so not that. You’re being soooo bad right now.

Okay maybe water was a good idea, but it’s too late now. Your throat feels dry as Chuck exits the office sans-drink. Sans-napkin. A neutral expression that offers you no insight on Silco’s reaction to your rebellion.

You take another long gulp of your cocktail instead, pulling a face at the undeniable burn of alcohol along with the sweet mixer. Toxic, but effective.

All you can do is watch. And wait. Stewing in a brine of your own choosing. Pickling, even, with the amount of booze in your system.

You wait. And drink. And wait.

Your good mood fades, leaving you frustrated again. Here you are, putting your ass on the line to be a bitch, and he doesn’t even have the decency to be insulted! Fuckin’ basshole. Bastard.

Asshole.

The third drink goes quick, eyes never leaving his door.

What must he be thinking?

You can imagine him, in that silly fitted vest, with his dumb little waist and those stupid arms all corded muscle. Can imagine that superior look he gives you that makes you want to just— to just— makes you wanna kass him. Slap him. That’s the— that’s the word, slap. Yeah.

Cheeks burn as you glare, eyes glazed as your drunk brain casually takes over despite your best efforts.

Hands in his shirt, pushing him into his chair. Hitching your skirt up around your hips to straddle his lap. Giving him a real piece of your ass— mind, a real piece of your mind about his unacceptable bitch behavior. Mouthing off. On. Mouthing on? No, off. Ah, fuck.

The expression on your face is petulant.

It’s been a while since you got drunk with a specific person in mind. You forgot how, uh… Well.

You could ride the shit out of that bastard once he shut up long enough.

Dammit. Your drunk brain is right, but not helpful. It can show all the saucy steamy hot boss action, but that doesn’t help in the here and now, does it?

No. No it doesn’t. Just gives you lots of horrible ideas.

Those ideas are simmering as you sulk and glower, mind churning, focusing on the background functions so much that you don’t even recognize what you’re seeing right away.

However he might’ve been looking at you when he first arrived, by the time your brain processes his appearance, he seems unamused. Not angry, which is a little disappointing, and not entertained, which is good. Just… a subtle frown, which you return (although based on the tiny lift of one brow, you suspect your scowl may not be as intimidating as you’d hoped). (In an effort to correct, your eyes narrow more, 92% sure you have a death scowl going, though it may actually be a pout.) (Regardless, it earns you a flat look that very nearly becomes rolled eyes.)

You finish your drink, maintaining eye contact. (Maybe not the best idea, as the ice all moves at once and hits you in the face.) Silco’s dumb lips purse, and you want to kiss him. Wait no, you want to punch him. However you’re feeling, it annoys you, so you drop your gaze from his face to his hands now spread on the railing as he looks down from his metaphorical high tower. His fingers drum against the rail, and a little shiver hits you, shimmying the discomfort away and trying not to imagine those fingers on your skin.

The next time you look up, his expression is harder to read. Probably thinking about hisself. That guarded, thoughtful look is probably thinking about his stupid fancy clothes or his dumb desk, or shucking the fancy clothes off to fuck on the dumb desk— wait, ugh, no.

You shake your head in frustration to clear the thoughts from your mind, and the motion leaves your head in your hands, still spinning. So dizzy. Ow. Pressing the ice-filled glass to your forehead helps. You haven’t had so few drinks hit you this hard in… oh dear. Well. A while. Uhhh.

A distant memory of the temporary ban on drinking hits, along with the brief clear thought of just because you can doesn’t mean you should, and you wave them off with your prosthetic hand, trying to keep your head still where it is to stop the spinning. Sure, maybe you brought this on yourself, but it’s still his fault. Somehow.

A low voice speaking your name should be enough warning, when sober, to pay attention to the figure whose feet are inches from yours out the side of the booth, but you’re still getting your head straight. Your grunt of affirmation nets you nothing. The next time he says your name, you turn your head just enough to squint one eye at the man.

Oh. Lock.

Recognition makes your head raise and gaze flick back up toward Silco’s office, but he’s disappeared.

“Need you to come with me.”

Shhhhit.

Based on the hulking man’s tired expression, you may have said that aloud.

“I uh— I was gonna um. I was uhhh…” Your brain ticks gears that go nowhere, not a single excuse coming to mind. Not that it would be believable. “Hmm. Right. Yes.”

Your serious stalling nods only serve to make you dizzy again, so you stop, grimacing.

“Are you kicking me out?” you ask, voice notably less confident, though hopefully far from sheepish; there’s still plenty of bravado mixed in with the inevitable dread of being confronted by a massive bouncer.

“Worse,” he mutters. “Upstairs.”

For some reason, you’re thinking that is definitely not worse.

In fact, some not-so-small part of you is practically titillated at the prospect. Whoops.

“Hmmmm.” You try to sound serious and grim, brow furrowed and lips pursed.

Lock lets out the most burdensome sigh you’ve ever heard. Then a grunt. Then, “Get up.”

You manage to make it upstairs with minimal assistance, and you’re proud of that. You’re also not a little grateful that it’s not quite 6pm so the bar is mostly empty, with fewer people to witness both your stumbling and the rather damning fact that you’re being escorted to Silco’s office, drunk.

The door closes behind you, and you try very very hard not to sway as you stand just inside the entrance. A bubbling mess of dread, excitement, shame, anger, and so many bad ideas rolls in your gut.

Oh. He’s not wearing his usual prim waistcoat.

…Nope, no distractions. “You look—” Your mouth closes just in time to stop ‘particularly heinous today’ from spilling out in an act of overcorrected rudeness. Best not to poke him when you’re in such close proximity. Especially when he’s looking at you like that. Chilled anger turning his good eye to ice.

Silco’s thin lips curl in a sneer. “Oh, do continue.” Sarcasm so dry it makes you thirsty. “How do I look, my dear?”

Hot. Wait— nope. Scary? Uh… “You uh. Um.”

“You’re drunk.” The words are flat, inarguable, and yet you’re driven to argue.

“Nuh uh.”

His brow raises, utterly unimpressed. “…You're not drunk.” Oh, he doesn’t believe you. Not even a little bit.

The intoxicated flush somehow feels even hotter than before. “…Nope.”

A single slow blink as he stands from his desk, and begins walking toward you like he has all the time in the world. “So you’re…?”

“Sover.” Not a word. “So— ver…y sober.” Nice.

“Hm.”

“Like a nun.”

Huh. He’s steadily looking less furious, more… well, evil. Eyes flick over you, the sharp line to his lips somewhere between smirk and blade. “A nun.”

“A sexy nun.” Shit- “I mean, a badass uh— a— um—” Your face burns. Frustrated and dizzy and embarrassed. Annoyed. Your brow furrows, eyes shutting tight as you fall back against the door, grumpily. “Shut up, you know what I meant,” you grouse.

That very distinct sardonic flatness to his tone— “I assure you, I do not.” The sound of glass on wood.

“Like a… like a warrior nun or some shit…” you mumble, bringing a hand to your head. Wish you still had that ice.

Eyes closed is nice. Staying still. Just breathing for a second and not trying to move or think.

The scent of spicy sweet cigars and shimmer…You breathe in deep, letting the scent swim in your head. “Mmmmmm...” Smells good.

“How many drinks have you had?” Oh he’s much closer now.

Heavy eyelids half open to look up at him. Barely a foot away. You stare into that hellfire eye and feel it burning you up. “None,” you lie, for sheer spite. A pause, then you choke on a snort. Nun.

The grim line to his smile should be ominous. He moves and you finally notice the glasses in his hands as he holds one out to you. “We’ll make it one, then.”

There’s definitely something devious going on. There’s no hiding the suspicion from your face as you look at the cups. “Nnnno… thanks…”

“Take it.” That’s an order, tone flinty as he presses the glass into your hand.

Shame your brain immediately zips to a completely different interpretation of that command. Hot under the collar, your throat bobs, trying to look casual as you take the glass with your good hand. He doesn’t complain, and for that you’re grateful, because you feel like you’d probably drop anything you tried to hold in your prosthetic hand right now.

“Drink.” Another order.

You look up, feeling your bravado wavering. When he talks like that, it would be very hard to think clearly even if you were sober. Your tiny sip is foul, but you manage to not gag on the stuff, quite proud of the poker face you keep (even if your eyes screw up, nose wrinkles, lips purse— look, the fact that you aren’t sticking your tongue out and trying to wipe it off is a win).

The look he gives you is challenging.

You frown, then take another, longer sip. Gross gross gross.

He drinks from his own glass, never breaking eye contact, and face completely clear of any tells. Obviously he doesn’t hate it. Or maybe he’s drinking something else.

“What is it?” you ask, trying to stay confident.

“Doesn’t matter.” He puts a graceful finger to the bottom of your glass, tipping it toward your mouth again. “I tell you to drink, you drink.”

Oh you hate that. Lips close spitefully, letting liquid overflow the edges and trickle down your chin until he stops pushing and removes his finger from the glass. “No.”

His lips thin, eyes trained on the wet trail down your neck. “‘No?’”

For a second you pause. You wouldn’t take a drink from a stranger, not in a situation like this. You wouldn’t let a stranger give you something you couldn’t verify wasn’t spiked or drugged.

But Silco isn’t a stranger.

What he is, is testing you, you just know it. What, he wants to prove you’re… what, exactly?

Something stirs at the edge of your mind. Something about trust and cynicism and loneliness and loyalty.

For a second, you watch him, foggy brain attempting to interpret the impenetrable gaze he has fixed on you.

Then, without another word - eyes locked with his - you drain your cup.

—

[next part]

[ :) man, can’t wait to drop the preview for the next chapter ahahahahah

Please keep an eye out for tags in the next few chapters! And tag changes on ao3 as well. Speaking of ao3, HH recently hit 100 public bookmarks! :0 Thanks so much to everyone for loving on this fic, and I super duper hope that I don’t disappoint you as I fall into a well of sin 🥺👉👈

As always, please boost the post if you want to help combat the number of links I put on these posts, and if you want to really make my day feel free to add tags or comments 👀 All comments over on ao3 get a reply, too, so…. Pls? If you want to get tagged in future chapters and reverse POVs (there’s an upcoming one regarding this chapter, actually), join the tag list by commenting on this linked post.

This is honestly one of my fave chapters! Props to @insult-2-injury for the cocktail napkin ideas. And we met Chuck! (My headcanon is that this is the Chuck that worked the bar before Theiram, and Jinx refused to learn the new guy’s name after she left.) God I love intoxicated thinking, it’s very fun to write. Let me know what you thought! ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @of-the-argonath @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @emprixnix @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin

#silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco #silco arcane #silco/reader #x-amount-writes #wip:a helping hand #a helping hand #silcoxreader #arcane x reader

[brassandblue]

From here with @maroonhigh

CW mentions of drug rehab & mental illness

Arthur watched as Alfred touched, moved, and disturbed things that weren't his to disturb, then bring him tea and water, and-- Did he even know how Arthur liked it?!-- His nerves are frayed, and it is grating.

"Would you STOP for just ONE moment?!" he snapped, loud enough to startle George, who leapt off the couch and decided that these two in the same room was not a good napping environment, and so minced indignantly right across the threshold.

Even with the weight of impatience and authority in Arthur's voice, there was just a slight crack to his utterance that spoke of the strain of his nerves and brittle temperament.

Arthur did not give Alfred time to answer.

"I don't owe you an explanation on anything, but since I know you're going to be a stubborn, nosy prat about it-- No, I did not check myself out, I am on newly prescribed-- "

--Ah. He cut himself off and shook his head. America didn't need to know that Arthur was on medications for depression. Anxiety. Trying new drugs under a doctor's supervision was a nightmarish carousel of false hope, electric nerves, and days spent dissociating.

America-- Alfred...Did Not. Need. To know.

And just like that, what little fire and bluster he'd had was extinguished with no more spirit to fuel it. He didn't want to talk about being medicated, as though something was innately wrong with him-- he'd known that for millennia now, but never wanted to actually face the cold hard reality of it.

Arthur closed his eyes again and let out a pained, annoyed sigh.

"Jack is taking care of things," he adds, far more even-toned. Jack was taking care of him, too. Arthur wasn't sure where he'd be without his old friend, his capital, and it was a thought he had no desire to entertain.

"Not that it's your business. It's not like you ever visited," he said dryly. "And God forbid you have the courtesy to not fucking touch everything after barging in here, probably didn't even wash your hands! Can't even say hello, or ask me how I'm feeling."

And then, to the crux of Arthur's angst regarding his former protégé: "I know I am a washed-up failure, but the least you could do is stop and--and just-- listen."

Truthfully, he'd never actually asked for those things--at least, not directly. Because doing so would betray that England-- No, Arthur--himself longed for a friendship that did not leave him wanting. He dared not open his eyes, for fear that America would see his vulnerabiliity and the aching desire for a friend, despite feeling down t his marrow he didn't deserve one.

The problem was, Alfred was one of the very few people on the planet who could understand how stupid and tragic and complicated their lives were. But Arthur felt like too much of a coward to ever ask.

#.// (ic: arthur) #maroonhigh: america #.// ruled the waves (arthur) #ahh yes the Dumbass Boys Hour #I love this already #Al ur still good he hasn't yelled at you to get out yet