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hyhkai · 3 months

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k.taehyun — dangerous woman!

[ 📚 ] after accidentally eavesdropping taehyun talking with his friends, you've got a question unanswered, a question which is straight up hilarious because it shouldn't be asked in the first place.

content : plot sprinkles, dom!reader sub!tyun, taehyun goes around calling the reader his wife/girlfriend, 'taehyun likes smart girls' agenda, public (in the empty auditorium), blowjob, degradation (m. rec.), making tyun swallow his own cum hah

a/n ; NEEDS TO BE EDITED! idk why I named it dangerous woman for angie and smiles txt birthday event + technically written off of my this thought but it doesn't appear in the limelight as brightly. though i still abide by it and always will. i have no clue how auditoriums look in your guys' vision but 🙏

"what're you even trying to do? makeout with me?" he asked as you pulled him aside from the piled hallway and led him to the top floor.

"trust me," you looked back at him, agony filled eyes. "kissing you is the last mistake I want to make, and I make a lot of mistakes."

he chuckled, god, he chuckled. he has some guts. "if you've started to make mistakes, then I'm a failure, noona."

he's always been like this. you wondered if he had some borderline obsession with you. which, now that you've found out the shit he's been going around blabbering — he definitely is obsessed with you.

almost throwing the two of you into the auditorium when you spotted a council member; you shut the door behind yourself as you stared at him, pulling his backpack onto his shoulder. "I'm actually starting to think you want to kiss me. it could've been in the cafeteria, no? why hide like we're middle schoolers?"

you shook your head no. "i already told you, I'd never kiss a dumb dog like you."

"then what are we here for?"

"why are you telling your friends I'm your girlfriend?"

silence. for about a minute. or two.

"i didn't." he said, turning back and walking to one of the chairs, sitting on the one at the corner. he's seriously planning to pretend, that he didn't go around saying you both fuck everyday.

"I don't like liars." you mumbled, walking behind him and letting yourself fall onto the chair right beside him, knees buckling. "what kind of a lie is this? we both are stuck in a loop of arguments and flirting. what makes you want to go around saying I'm your girlfriend?"

"I felt like it." he said dryly, eyes cast down at his fingers as they fidgeted.

"felt like it? you—" you closed your eyes in annoyance, nostrils flaring as your neck turned to look at him. "you felt like telling everyone that I'm your girlfriend? me of all people?" you hissed, he's such a bitch. fucking asshole.

it takes the average human being to start dating after 1-3 months of knowing each other, but it took taehyun one month to walk you down the aisle in his puerile dreams.

"well, why not you?" he asked, looking down at your fingers that were sprinkled with ink. you'd never dated any of the guys around here — because they're such bitches. what about the one in front of you? very evident.

"because I'm never going to really date you!" you almost yelled, lowering your noise when you heard your voice hit the walls of the empty auditorium.

"okay whatever, what're you gonna do about it?" he huffed out, his arms escaping the straps of his backpack.

motherfucker.

you looked away, this boy was making you so demented. you wished you were corrosive and could just touch him and destroy his entire existence in the moment.

and that's when it hit you. your touch... could destroy him. hell, it could probably make him dumb, to say the very least. you looked back to see taehyun, sitting there, staring at you with big big eyes, looking like he's going to swallow you whole.

"what?" you tore the silence apart, taehyun fluttering his eyelashes as he eyed you. the boy is still checking you out. "have some goddamn decency."

"I can't." he said, leaning in, leaning in close so close you wanted to flick his forehead and slap him across the face. he's always been like this for you since the day you put him in his place. he's been like a damn dog, like he wanted to be walked around by you since that day.

"then learn how to!"

"teach me, noona."

and so you did. so you did. and he's going to learn. he's going to learn to never annoy you again.

"noona—"

his eyes widened when your hand went straight for his crotch. fuck. you placed your hand on his cock, in the corner of the auditorium, after school hours.

"shut up. this is what you wanted, didn't you? you're filthy." and he, an exuberant kitten had turned into a lethargic dog. a dumb dog. "you're welcome for this. you're welcome."

"you— you-. what are you even thinking?" he asked, eyes wide as he leaned back, growing motionless. well, one thing was definitely in motion.

"shut the fuck up." you rubbed the tent in his pants as it eventually grew — still no consent of his, but his expression and activities history doesn't seem to be convincing you that he'll say no. you grabbed his face, making him look at you after his eyes had set down onto your hand on his dick. "tell me, taehyun. do you think from your dick or something?"

"y-you can't ask a question like— that.. h-hah." he groaned, a pretend exasperated tone when he was clearly enjoying this. he looked... desperate. it was scaring and making you want to fuck him at the same time. "please, noona."

"please what? use your words, bitch." you said, finger twirling the zipper of jeans, or more like a synonym for a cock cage.

"what're you gonna do?" he asked, eyes shooting around the hall as his knees buckled up, trying to squirm your hand away. this felt so emasculating to him — that you just basically palmed his dick from above the denim.

you were everything he wasn't — smart, perfect and untainted. but you were everything he wanted.

"maybe suck your dick," you said and the statement was definitely sent as an electric signal to his dick and his brain. "give you a reason to go around saying absolute bullshit, hm?" and he closed his eyes shut. his head fell back on the back rest as you unzipped his jeans, letting out a sadistic chuckle. "aw, is the delusion wearing off?" placing a hand under his chin and tilting his head to your side. oh lord, he was blushing. his ears were heating up and his cheeks went pink. "n-not bullshit.. not—"

"shut up." you attempted at a slap but only smacked his jaw, making his head turn away. lightly squeezed to his dick through the Calvin Klein and he whimpered. rubbing the tip with your nails.

if someone asked you if your panties were dry you'd have to deny it. his condition only got more tortured and jittery, you were chuckling like watching a stand-up comedy. you got up from the seat, kneeling in front of him. "h-hah, noona. shit— pl-please."

a malevolent expression, you took his dick out, cockhead lathered in precum — manwhore !

"you like this?" you asked, placing your hand in front of his mouth. "spit, whore." and he did, so fast like he was already preparing to, preparing to be sucked and jerked off.

"mmm, noona, i— h-hah." taehyun scrunched his knees together when your hand twisted at the tip, going down on his dick and his eyes shot open. "i l-love- this."

"of course you do, slut." you mumbled, licking the underpart of his tip, looking up at him as his hands reached to the back of your head to push you down on it unprovoked. he has the audacity to try to fuck your mouth. but no, you slapped his hand away. "behind your back."

he arched his back in sole pleasure, hands behind him now, he let out short, rapid pants. you opened your mouth wide, making him assume you'll finally take his dick, only to start pumping his dick rapidly.

"shit— shit, shit. noona no—"

"take it." you cut him off, using both hands, twisting. your lips set on the edge of his tip, rubbing against it. his brain was vacuous; and it got worse when you held the base of his dick and swallowed him whole.

"oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck." he whispered as you glide your hand up his hoodie, staying at his abs making him suck his stomach in. shook your head, the friction too much for him to bear. "noona, noona please."

pulling away, strings of saliva connecting you to his dick as his head flung back, closing his eyes shut when your nails slid up and down.

"keep it down, my god. the president might just hear you, would you want to be seen getting your cock sucked by me?"

his nails of each hand were digging into each other, his jaw clenching. "it— it'll make for a good s-sight."

"'m so close, pleasepleaseplease." he groaned as you completely stopped even the slightest of fuckery he was receiving from his imaginative slut. "no!"

you giggled at the sight — brain-dead taehyun, with his hands behind his back that were desperate to come forward and get him to cum, his embarrassing, dumbfounded state. a slap to his dick and he thrust into the air.

he could fuck any object that moves right now.

"you just love having your cock shoved down throats, don't you?"

hollowing your cheeks around him, the pleasure too much for him to bear. his hands escaped from behind and almost reached for your head but stopped mid-way, balling into a fist as his brain began jarring.

"noona please please please I'm gonna—" and before he could even warn you, prevent your annoyance and the malice you might have, he spilled into your mouth. and to his surprise, you kept his tip in your mouth, tasting him.

"noona?"

a pretend swallow that made his brain cloudy, did you just swallow his cum?

you got up, his eyes tracking up as you leaned down and pulled him by the collar of his hoodie, clashing your lips onto his and his mind skipped a function or two. you seeped his cum into his mouth, wiping your hands on his chest and he did not give the reaction you expected, the reaction you wanted him to give you — instead, to your surprise, he kissed back, his hand slipping up to catch yours. he didn't expect this at all but the whore didn't give a fuck. you pulled away, displeased that he wasn't mad you just made him eat his own cum.

"you ain't my boyfriend." you hissed, picking your backpack up.

and he was all gone to hell, no place for him in heaven, staring at the high ceiling, panting, beatific.

are they dating? no. do they both have mutual thoughts of fucking? absolutely.

I wrote this in like one hour forgive me

#sub!idol #txt smut #taehyun smut #txt x reader #sub!taehyun #taehyun hard hours #txt hard hours #sub!txt #taehyun x reader #taehyun hard thoughts

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months

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Microsoft put their tax-evasion in writing and now they owe $29 billion

I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

If there's one thing I took away from Propublica's explosive IRS Files, it's that "tax avoidance" (which is legal) isn't a separate phenomenon from "tax evasion" (which is not), but rather a thinly veiled euphemism for it:

https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files

That realization sits behind my series of noir novels about the two-fisted forensic accountant Martin Hench, which started with last April's Red Team Blues and continues with The Bezzle, this coming February:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

A typical noir hero is an unlicensed cop, who goes places the cops can't go and asks questions the cops can't ask. The noir part comes in at the end, when the hero is forced to admit that he's being going places the cops didn't want to go and asking questions the cops didn't want to ask. Marty Hench is a noir hero, but he's not an unlicensed cop, he's an unlicensed IRS inspector, and like other noir heroes, his capers are forever resulting in his realization that the questions and places the IRS won't investigate are down to their choice not to investigate, not an inability to investigate.

The IRS Files are a testimony to this proposition: that Leona Hemsley wasn't wrong when she said, "Taxes are for the little people." Helmsley's crime wasn't believing that proposition – it was stating it aloud, repeatedly, to the press. The tax-avoidance strategies revealed in the IRS Files are obviously tax evasion, and the IRS simply let it slide, focusing their auditing firepower on working people who couldn't afford to defend themselves, looking for things like minor compliance errors committed by people receiving public benefits.

Or at least, that's how it used to be. But the Biden administration poured billions into the IRS, greenlighting 30,000 new employees whose mission would be to investigate the kinds of 0.1%ers and giant multinational corporations who'd Helmsleyed their way into tax-free fortunes. The fact that these elite monsters paid no tax was hardly a secret, and the impunity with which they functioned was a constant, corrosive force that delegitimized American society as a place where the rules only applied to everyday people and not the rich and powerful who preyed on them.

The poster-child for the IRS's new anti-impunity campaign is Microsoft, who, decades ago, "sold its IP to to an 85-person factory it owned in a small Puerto Rican city," brokered a deal with the corporate friendly Puerto Rican government to pay almost no taxes, and channeled all its profits through the tiny facility:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-irs-decided-to-get-tough-against-microsoft-microsoft-got-tougher

That was in 2005. Now, the IRS has come after Microsoft for all the taxes it evaded through the gambit, demanding that the company pay it $29 billion. What's more, the courts are taking the IRS's side in this case, consistently ruling against Microsoft as it seeks to keep its ill-gotten billions:

https://www.propublica.org/article/irs-microsoft-audit-back-taxes-puerto-rico-billions

Now, no one expects that Microsoft is going to write a check to the IRS tomorrow. The company's made it clear that they intend to tie this up in the courts for a decade if they can, claiming, for example, that Trump's amnesty for corporate tax-cheats means the company doesn't have to give up a dime.

This gambit has worked for Microsoft before. After seven years in antitrust hell in the 1990s, the company was eventually convicted of violating the Sherman Act, America's bedrock competition law. But they kept the case in court until 2001, running out the clock until GW Bush was elected and let them go free. Bush had a very selective version of being "tough on crime."

But for all that Microsoft escaped being broken up, the seven years of depositions, investigations, subpoenas and negative publicity took a toll on the company. Bill Gates was personally humiliated when he became the star of the first viral video, as grainy VHS tapes of his disastrous and belligerent deposition spread far and wide:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/12/whats-a-murder/#miros-tilde-1

If you really want to know who Bill Gates is beneath that sweater-vested savior persona, check out the antitrust deposition – it's still a banger, 25 years on:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2020/09/revisiting-the-spectacular-failure-that-was-the-bill-gates-deposition/

In cases like these, the process is the punishment: Microsoft's dirty laundry was aired far and wide, its swaggering founder was brought low, and the company's conduct changed for years afterwards. Gates once told Kara Swisher that Microsoft missed its chance to buy Android because they were "distracted by the antitrust trial." But the Android acquisition came four years after the antitrust case ended. What Gates meant was that four years after he wriggled off the DoJ's hook, he was still so wounded and gunshy that he lacked the nerve to risk the regulatory scrutiny that such an anticompetitive merger would entail.

What's more, other companies got the message too. Large companies watched what happened to Microsoft and traded their reckless disregard for antitrust law for a timid respect. The effect eventually wore off, but the Microsoft antitrust case created a brief window where real competition was possible without the constant threat of being crushed by lawless monopolists. Sometimes you have to execute an admiral to encourage the others.

A decade in IRS hell will be even more painful for Microsoft than the antitrust years were. For one thing, the Puerto Rico scam was mainly a product of ex-CEO Steve Ballmer, a man possessed of so little executive function that it's a supreme irony that he was ever a corporate executive. Ballmer is a refreshingly plain-spoken corporate criminal who is so florid in his blatant admissions of guilt and shouted torrents of self-incriminating abuse that the exhibits in the Microsoft-IRS cases to come are sure to be viral sensations beyond even the Gates deposition's high-water mark.

It's not just Ballmer, either. In theory, corporate crime should be hard to prosecute because it's so hard to prove criminal intent. But tech executives can't help telling on themselves, and are very prone indeed to putting all their nefarious plans in writing (think of the FTC conspirators who hung out in a group-chat called "Wirefraud"):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

Ballmer's colleagues at Microsoft were far from circumspect on the illegitimacy of the Puerto Rico gambit. One Microsoft executive gloated – in writing – that it was a "pure tax play." That is, it was untainted by any legitimate corporate purpose other than to create a nonsensical gambit that effectively relocated Microsoft's corporate headquarters to a tiny CD-pressing plant in the Caribbean.

But if other Microsoft execs were calling this a "pure tax play," one can only imagine what Ballmer called it. Ballmer, after all, is a serial tax-cheat, the star of multiple editions of the IRS Files. For example, there's the wheeze whereby he has turned his NBA team into a bottomless sinkhole for the taxes on his vast fortune:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#economic-substance-doctrine

Or his "tax-loss harvesting" – a ploy whereby rich people do a "wash trade," buying and selling the same asset at the same time, not so much circumventing the IRS rules against this as violating those rules while expecting the IRS to turn a blind eye:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego

Ballmer needs all those scams. After all, he was one of the pandemic's most successful profiteers. He was one of eight billionaires who added at least a billion more to his net worth during lockdown:

https://inequality.org/great-divide/billionaire-bonanza-2020/

Like all forms of rot, corruption spreads. Microsoft turned Washington State into a corporate tax-haven and starved the state of funds, paving the way for other tax-cheats like Amazon to establish themselves in the area. But the same anti-corruption movement that revitalized the IRS has also taken root in Washington, where reformers instituted a new capital gains tax aimed at the ultra-wealthy that has funded a renaissance in infrastructure and social spending:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

If the IRS does manage to drag Microsoft through the courts for the next decade, it's going to do more than air the company's dirty laundry. It'll expose more of Ballmer's habitual sleaze, and the ways that Microsoft dragged a whole state into a pit of austerity. And even more importantly, it'll expose the Puertopia conspiracy, a neocolonial project that transformed Puerto Rico into an onshore-offshore tax-haven that saw the island strip-mined and then placed under corporate management:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#que-viva-albizu

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/13/pour-encoragez-les-autres/#micros-tilde-one

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

#pluralistic #irs #puerto rico #puertopia #microsoft #micros~1 #tax avoidance #tax evasion #pure tax play #big tech can't stop telling on itself #corporate crime #rough ride #the procedure is the punishment #steve ballmer #pour encouragez les autres

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blueparadis · 1 year

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+ cw. —› ex-husband aizen souske x (fem)reader, headcanon format, yan!behaviour, smût, angst undertones, marking, jealousy, mentions of breeding kink & baby-trapping | +wc. —0.7kish

+ notes. —› i was listening to cherry waves by deftones ( for the first time ) & this happened. maybe I'll pull this into a fic but for now, have this, please || redirect to blog navigation.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who feels his throat dry, lips corrosive against his favorite drink when he sees you in a cheap restaurant with another guy, considerably younger to y/n, who is alluded in her charms like he was when he first saw her walking down the aisle; when he casually stopped by, at that cheap bar after a long day at work.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who makes sure that from now on he will pay a visit to you and his beloved daughters every weekend so that she does not have to look for affection at some cheap bars and restaurants. This way at least he can ask her if she is actually planning for her second innings or not.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who calls you at ungodly hours: on a warm afternoon or in the dead of night just to let remind you that he will be coming to pick you up after work tomorrow for a weekly visit with his daughters just so his other meetings do not get delayed but all he wants to do is to keep you on watch as much as possible.

+. ex!husband aizen souske occasionally sends gifts to his daughters in order to send his ex-wife expensive presents with personal notes, as if he will return to this home after his work as if he never left.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who checks you out when you're unaware and yet tells you in that familiar deep husky tone: how much those colors suit her that he hated once, how much she looks charming and beautiful, how much she changed since he left and maybe divorce looks good on her : independent and elegant like a free bird.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who thinks her new young boyfriend is not good enough for you, always ends up going to the same restaurants and hotels where he used to take her, just remembering those good old memories.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who wants you back can not just let this opportunity slide, that is, him visiting you when the daughters are not home; so he just asks if you ever regret it or not as if he still can, as if he owns you. And, when he is responded with the same question right back at him he secretly congratulates himself for getting under your skin.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who knows your weak points lets you walk away knowing very well that you will turn around to have a last glance at him. So, all he would do is not turn his gaze when you have already walked passed by him, so that when you turn around all he has to do is to grab your wrists above her head saying, “Answer me. I asked you a question. Do you or do you not regret it?”

+. ex!husband aizen souske who is currently inches apart from you, staring right into your eyes while you squirm and look away but his hold on you grows only stronger when he sees your beautiful eyes glistening more than it usually does, perhaps he scared you a bit, cocks his head to a side, in the dip of your neck inhaling her scent murmuring, “Still wearing that perfume I gifted you, huh ?”

+. ex!husband aizen souske who is absorbed in the good old memories of you, your scent, and what he used to do whenever you used to cry and look sad is now slowly curling his arms around your waist while his lips drag from the corner of your lips to the neckline and then on to collar bones.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who smirks the moment he hears you moaning, even if it's feeble he lets go of her hands so that you can rest them over his shoulders while he could carry her to the nearby cupboard top to make you feel less lonely. He has fucked her there, made babies with her and he can do it again.

+. ex!husband aizen souske who could already feel you gripping the collar of his suit while he presses his hard-on against your entrance is already marking all the way up your exposed neckline so that whenever you meet with your new young boyfriend, he would take the hint right away. There is no way he is losing to a mere boy like Gin Ichimaru. He has to be the better one.

– @tokyometronetwork & @underratedcharactercorner

@semisgroupie & @sailewhoremoon ( cuz you two like himmm ... that's why I tagged?! )

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 month

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1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst

One of the great unknowns about the 1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst is exactly how many cars were built. Estimates put the total as low as 485, and as high as 502 cars. Regardless of what the figure actually is, the car itself is a pretty special piece of machinery.

The 300 Hurst is a giant of a car at 19′ in length. All of the Hursts rolled off the production line finished in Spinnaker White. The cars were then shipped to the Hurst factory in Warminster, Pennsylvania, where a substantial transformation was performed. The first change to be made was the removal of the standard Chrysler steel hood skin, which was replaced with a fiberglass unit. This featured a decorative hood scoop and the obligatory set of recessed hood locks. The deck lid was also removed, and once again, a fiberglass replacement, complete with a spoiler integrated with the rear quarter panels, was also installed. The White paintwork was complimented by the addition of Satin Tan highlights and contrasting pinstripes, and the wheels were adorned with the same Satin Tan color in the centers. This Hurst is a clean car, with a small area of rust visible in the lower section of the driver’s side front fender, and surface corrosion present on the car’s underside. The Spinnaker White paint appears to be in good condition, but there has been some deterioration of the Satin Tan paint on both the hood and the deck lid. The exterior trim and chrome all look good, while the tinted glass is close to perfect.

The 300 Hurst was a premium car at a premium price, so naturally, it required a premium interior. In this case, seat upholstery was available in a single type and color. Continuing the exterior theme, the color is Saddle Tan, and the material is leather. The plush front seats are not standard 300 items but have been pilfered from the Imperial parts bin. While the original intention was for a Hurst shifter to be part of the interior features, this is something that never eventuated. The interior of this Hurst is close to perfect, with a single discolored spot on the dash pad being the most obvious fault. The rest of it presents in virtually as-new condition, and as befits a luxury car, it is loaded with luxury touches. These include air conditioning, power windows, six-way power seats, cruise control, a remote trunk release, and I think that there also might be an 8-track player hanging under the dash.

The 300 Hurst was the biggest of the muscle cars, and as such, it needed a big motor to get it moving. In this case, it is the TNT 440 engine, pumping out 375hp. The Hurst also features a 727 TorqueFlite transmission, a 3.23 rear end, power steering, power brakes, heavy-duty rear springs and front torsion bars, and sway bars. The exhaust was a full dual system, ending in quad tips. This Hurst hasn’t seen a lot of recent use, and documentation confirms that between 1986 and 2019, it managed to accumulate a grand total of 20 miles! Since being removed from its climate-controlled storage, it has undergone a meticulous mechanical check and recommissioning, and it is now said to run and drive perfectly. The owner does suggest that while the tires look good, they are pretty olds, and replacing them might be a good idea. He also says that the Hurst may need mufflers fairly soon. The car does come with a fair collection of documentation, including the original Build Sheet and Window Sticker, a pristine Certi-Card, Owner’s Manual, as well as dealer paperwork and other assorted items.

While there has always been some question surrounding the build totals for the 1970 300 Hurst, one thing is certain, and that is that there are less than 300 cars in existence today. Pristine examples can fetch sums in excess of $30,000, and even a rough example in need of restoration can still sell for anywhere around $13,000. This one doesn’t need a major restoration, but it does require some cosmetic work. I’m not sure where bidding is eventually going to go with this one, but I would suspect that it will be somewhere around the low to mid $20,000 mark. Even at that price, it probably wouldn’t be a bad buy.

#Chrysler 300 Hurst #chrysler 300 #chrysler #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #mopar #moparperformance #moparnation #moparworld

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chiyoso · 10 months

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“breaking the 4th wall”

h. star rail : jing yuan.

▶CONTENT. insomnia, self conscious doubt, comfort, self aware au, something personal for those who have trouble with loneliness, insomnia and exhaustion, jing yuan is self aware!

▶NOTE. im tired and its 3am, but jing yuan exists so have this comfort fic. also @ainescribe gift for your hardworking ass, ily aine feel better.

Your eyelids grew heavy, laid against the arm rest of the warm sofa, scrolling and tapping away at your phone for anything, any eventful thing that can spark a motivation, an inspiration to you.

It's eating you away. Death scrolling, letting the blue light affect your sleep instead of earning a sleep that your body desperately needs for tomorrow.

Yet, your fingers can't seem to stop moving, as if it had a mind on its own, causing further subconscious guilt and shame, a knowing voice gnawing and belittling behind your state of self, commenting on your disheveled, tired appearance, bags underneath your eyes, your flesh warning you of your stress and lack of self care that you couldn't find the time to do anymore. Shit, and the studying you have to do tomorrow.

All that, but your fingers never leave the glass screen.

3:25 AM Sun, Aug 6 ᯤ [▂] 22%

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⊗

“Finally.” You said, tapping the first notification.

You sighed, the notif reminding you of your shitty sleep schedule. It had originally updated you at the early mornings, gradually turning into afternoons, then the evening... night... and...

You were brought back to reality from the sound of the lobby theme, the Astral Express, traveling in your sight, wishing you would be reincarnated into such a life, meeting the ones who made this horrible, tedious lifespan bearable.

Once you hit tap, you were greeted with a loading screen that had Jing Yuan's fact along the bottom, earning a faint smile from you as the image of his splash art pops up in your mind.

Jing Yuan: The Divine Foresight, one of the Seven Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Alliance, leads the Cloud Knights of the Xianzhou Luofu. A student of the Luofu's previous Sword Champion, though not known for his martial prowess.

You were greeted by the sight of Jing Yuan's pixels as always, greeting him bubbly and warmly as you spin him around to face you, zooming into his features, especially admiring his beauty mark under his eye.

“Pretty, so damn pretty,” You hum, moving onto other features, before resuming, checking your daily tasks.

Now what were you doing at this time of night?

You wouldn't know, you will never know, but he will always appreciate the way you greet him every day, but this day—being the observant, Arbiter General that he is, he notices your slurred, tired voice, but still coated with affection that he enjoyed quite a lot. He didn't quite like the bags underneath your pretty eyes that he will take glances of every chance he can get. He didn't like how you were feigning ignorance to your bodily needs, on how you were sacrificing sleep to play.

You led him to the cavern of corrosion; Path of the Holy Hymm once again, endlessly grinding the perfect relics for your main dps, wasting all your trailblaze powder for him. Bronya, Tingyun and Luocha snickered to themselves on how much you spoil the Arbiter General, on how much you baby him lovingly despite his commanding, superior status as the Xianzhou Luofu's face, causing his cheeks to grow hot in result of your affectionate words whenever you go to the character screen, setting and upgrading his relics.

“So strong my general...” His breath got caught to his throat upon hearing you, his blush deepening from the sudden suggestive tone in your voice.

The character screen was filled with the various people that you earned, and they were giggling and smirking slyly to your gestures, making his arms full of materials from the endless grind you did, all for him—a bonus as well, he didn't feel any shred of guilt as you do the same towards the others, but he was just your very, very favorite, and he knew all about it from your vocal prowess.

He would find your curses endearing when you get a shitty relic, but he would soon then join your annoyance as this body relic had stats befitting for a damn healer, might as well give it to Bailu since she's the same element, and fortunately a healer. (In which case you did.)

...

You worried him. Once you were done with your tasks and finishing off your remaining trailblaze powder, your eyelids threatened to shut, giving the Arbiter General a feeling that he hadn't felt in awhile, a certain dread, and a strong one at that towards the player who felt strongly about him.

Your consciousness was drifting, your lids weighing down, but the unthinkable happened.

On the top left corner under the map, a red exclamation mark appears on the chat logo, your tired eyes noticing the sudden mark, giving you a burst of little energy.

You blinked a few times, rubbing your lids gently before landing your irises upon the message again.

Was this a new message update?

A new trailblaze mission?

An event leak? Hoyoverse tease...?

You shook your head, regaining focus to check the patch notes in the game, seemingly finding nothing about any update, but your search doesn't stop there, you looked through the official website, hoyolabs, tumblr, youtube, heck even reddit—but none have mentioned a message regarding to this.

Deciding to remain quiet about this ordeal, you went back to the game to find another message, and another, his restlessness growing evident as the moonlight continues to dawn over your world.

3:38 AM Sun, Aug 6 ᯤ [▂] 19%

[Honkai: Star Rail] · 2 new messages from ▉▉▉▉ ▉▉▉▉ ···

[Tumblr] · hiraethsdesires just posted a post...

[Weather] · 28° in [Place] Feels like 33° · Mostly Cloudy · S...

[Honkai Impact 3rd] · Captain! Your energy has replenishe...

⊗

What- What the fuck?

Your throat lumped to the sight of the first notification, its whole box felt out of place from the others, yet you found your thumb nearing the glass towards the notif, accompanied with your growing blush and curiousity.

You were then met with the Hoyoverse screen once again, assessing the situation you were in as you stare into the blackness of the screen.

Was I... Imagining things? Surely not.

Fuck — I'll just... sleep all day tomorro—

...?

You were met with a slightly glitchy screen of the normal sequence of Jing Yuan's back, but he was... already in his phone. The sprite of his pixels, typing away, seeing the red exclamation mark on top of the speech bubble under the map, earning him a slight breathy inhale from you.

You click the link, losing your shit at the messages that fell before your eyes.

“Ha?”

“What the fuck? I-”

I've lost it.

Oh.

I haven't lost it?

You find yourself staring in silence, re-reading repeatedly the words that only instilled a slight fear yet wonder that was visible on your reddening face.

“But I-... How?” You spoke gently, softly. Something the General wished to hear again, and on cue, his sprite in the game chuckled, as if he was truly listening to you.

'I am only fiction to you' it rings through your head, aching your heart slightly.

You were about to speak, but another message popped up, leaving your body with disappointment and longing, gripping your phone as your eyes gloss over the phenomenon.

“W- Wait! Ji-... Jing Yu...”

You gulp down a lump, bringing your phone closer to your face, your eyes glistening, your whole senses overwhelmed with intensifying longing, warmth — yet accompanied with a growing heartache from the fleeting interaction and him excusing himself abruptly in this otherworldly situation.

...Wait.

Everythi—?

“General...” You muttered out softly, your reddening face from the embarrassing memories that flooded you, his words greatly reminding you of the times where you acted with full on eccentricity, degenerative behavior, lustful tendencies and so on. It made you wonder if other characters such as Blade, Welt — or perhaps even the Aeons heard and witnessed you all this time. It made you shiver with embaunable feelings of humiliation and continuous embarassment, making you unable to think clearly, and the way you threw away your phone onto the couch lightly to cover your heated face? Still being witnessed by the General, and a few other silent spectators of course.

Jing Yuan couldn't believe this situation as well.

This was somehow the work of Silverwolf, a wanted enemy of the Xianzhou, Destiny's Slave, but he felt the most warmth and joy since being summoned by you — no, especially this unforseen interaction with the mortal whose been taking care of everything in the universe within your phone, for taking great care of the Xianzhou especially.

... An endearing mortal at that.

The General and the rest of the game couldn't see as you apparently let go of your device, but your wails and silent squeals were still audible, as the General comes to a conclusion that you perhaps needed to calm down, but in reality, he quite enjoyed this spectacle of yours, even by only listening — in which he was once again very greatful for his grand, and sensitive sense of hearing as he listens to you.

After another, final deep breath, your hand reaches to your phone again, before beginning to press your fingers onto your screen in a frantic haze, but the joystick button was... unresponsive, as well as the others—except for the message button in this moment.

BZZT

Another messaged popped up, quickening your heartrate immediately.

“WH—” Your heart only fluttered and dropped at the same time.

He can do that?

It's... It's probably a bluff.

...

He's the Arbiter General, who am I kidding.

With a warm sigh of content, you find yourself smiling at your phone, hugging it onto your chest with the game still open unknowingly.

“...I love you all. You are all my calm and peace.”

You said quietly, sniffling and accompanied with sounds of your light breathing, drifting off your exhaustions away to fulfill your body's needs.

Finally in your slumber, your phone switches off within a few minutes, thus the floating screen on their end disappears, earning a content sigh from the General as he makes his way towards his office in the Exalting Sanctum, each step felt heavy without your sight now that you were aware he can — or his world can access yours in this small, yet impactful way, but his form grows with confidence, determination setting in his soul as his sights land upon the Cloud Knight whom guarded the way to his office.

Jing Yuan sought out to Welt Yang and Silverwolf immediately in secret after his satisfying interactions with you, informing them of what happened in full detail (though he left out the parts where you cosplayed a squealing tomato, sparing you from further humiliation) and the whole ordeal as it was successful. His subtle praises earned him multiple cheeky and cocky remarks from the criminal hacker, along with a few teasing about him being smitten by you (and to Welt as well), but what can he really do to retaliate back? She was a main source of intelligence and control who provided a connection to you in the first place.

Inevitable, but he was willing to cooperate either way, all for this world, for the Xianzhou — for you.

The three continue to dive into their conversations, planning on how he or others who are interested, can continue to interact with you further more without raising suspicion from their creators upon breaking a few bits of code and data. It was no doubt in mind risky, that was apparent, but so was their endearment and affection towards their human, their player.

In all honesty, Welt and Silverwolf also found themselves wanting to interact with you as well from Jing Yuan's stories of the first ever interaction you had to their world, but of course, if they did it consecutively, it would most definitely be noticable if a few more characters began to act on their own accord, threatening the programmed codes as numbers shift and modify suspiciously.

Though unfortunately, only resorting to using the message system for now, but Silverwolf was confident with her abilities, making use of the way she was made, using the descriptions laid for her against her own creators.

After all, Hoyoverse made her annoyingly cunning, intelligent and skilled. A mistake on their part, or rather, an intended choice of character building for players like us to create, indulge and enjoy? We'll never know.

Unless Hoyoverse put out a stream that specifies the matter, until then Silverwolf remains focused and unyielding to her program, heeding Jing Yuan's call if need be and taking Welt Yang's advices about his own knowledge when it came to multiverses and other worlds from his prior experiences. All this planning, the risk, the longing for more interactions with you — it was a motivation to the three, as well as for the others that greatly wished to converse with you.

An aloof and lazy, the general he may be, but he's a living legacy of dreams and determination for a reason.

A wielder of a great glaive with materials dropped from the remants of the Reignbow Arbiter's Lux Arrow — and tonight, as you slept peacefully, this felt like a moment of miracle once again, the fleeting moment of grace that made their world reach a state of serenity, all from the possibility of having to finally, finally interact with you.

reblogs help my audience reach, thank you.

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seesree · 3 months

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IT GIRL ENERGY(Venus Nakshatras; Bharani, Purva Phalguni, Purva Asadha)

Blake Lively, Purva Phalguni Moon

I have noticed Venus Woman tend to have such a expensive aura like i swear Venus Woman were made for the rich girl aesthetic and what is said about Venus is it’s externally splendorous and inwardly corrosive so it reflects on Venus Woman’s extremely splendorous fashion choices and physiognomy yet they are very fierce washing away impurities and things that they do not deem very good for them which is a very good trait. They have a aura about them that is very standoffish like a model typa aura where you get intimidated just by them.

Bella Hadid, Purva Phalguni Moon & ASC

Venus Woman often present themselves very neatly(like a model) and interesting to note that Mars Woman(opposite to Venus Woman) are completely different from that and represent themselves as umm idk how to describe it but Amber Rose, Urfi Javed and Anncy Twinkle check them out if you wanna know how Mars Woman represent themselves. Ok tangent back to Venus Woman, Venus woman if not are the most hygienic woman of the planetary dominant woman and they care alot to represent themselves nicely but even when they aren’t they still have this natural beauty to them and it doesn’t seem crude and offensive.

Zendaya, Purva Phalguni Sun

“The “it girl” is usually the girl that everyone wants to be. She’s beautiful, stylish and instilled with je ne se quoi that completely draws people to her”

Wonyoung, Purva Phalguni Sun

Venus Woman are Girl’s Pretty, the type of pretty young girls aspire to be(It Girl) complete opposite to Mars Woman, Boy’s Pretty which is more sexual leaning

Song Ji Ah, Bharani Sun & Kylie Jenner, Purva Asadha ASC

Give them Venus Girls money, they will beautify themselves to their highest potential and will win everyone’s heart with their splendorous aura. Aphrodite’s little angels

Aaliyah Interlude, Bharani Sun

her famous song IT Girl

#purva phalguni #bharani #purva asadha #venus #nakshatras #vedic astrology #astrology observation

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cockyroaches · 6 months

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"perry was too lazy to pay attention or check the vats and that's why his death was his fault" I'd say it was 25% his fault at most. The other 75% goes to HIS STUPID ASS DAD GOING SO OFF THE CODE BY USING INSANELY CORROSIVE MATERIAL THAT COULD NOT BE PROPERLY DISCARDED, SO HE WAS STORING IT IN A BUILDING SET FOR DEMOLITION SO THE EXISTENCE OF THE CHEMICALS WOULD BE SWEPT UNDER THE RUG LIKE THEY NEVER EXISTED!!!!!!!!

Roderick refusing to take blame for his son's death while very much being responsible for it is fucking insane bc it's very much his own corruption and greed that caused allll of this. Curse or no curse it would have happened. Verna didn't cause this death asshole, You did.

#do not take all my love for perry to mean i think hes without sin. theres grey areas ok im just attached to him bc of empathy (autism)#bitch mantis #the fall of the house of usher #fall of the house of usher #tfothou #tfothou spoilers #perry usher #prospero usher #im going insane. no this doesnt mean i love real life billionaires before i get messages about it. i just like Characters

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heartfullofleeches · 7 months

Note

I see alien and conspiracy theorist reader who is also hilariously oblivious/ refuses to believe the fact Alien is an alien. Like they're too OBVIOUS about it and it doesn't line up with their theories about what the ACTUAL aliens walking among us are like. Like, it can't be Alien, they don't have crab claws or a lizard tongue or anything. They don't even have a tail rendered invisible by hologram, but Alien doesn't mind when reader grabs their ass to check.

This is exactly where I was going with that-

Alien wouldn't even be in reader's radar for potential suspects. Their frequent insistence they're just a regular human guy is a little suspicious, but no real alien would walk around wearing a mask like his because it'd just draw unwanted attention to them. Writes off their glowy bones as paint. The fact they're more flexible than rubber is just a genetics thing.

Alien thinks it's nice to have some recognize them as human at first - but eventually they start to think how hot cool it would be to be the extraterrestrial reader scraps to a table in their study and grills for hours about their anatomy and the place they originate from.

"Did you bring the stuff?"

"Yea, gimme a sec."

Fiddling with the gate to the laboratory, your assistant turns their back to you as they retrieve a small vial from their pocket. Alien pushes the gum they'd been chewing against the wall of their mouth, gathering the saliva collected from their glands on their tongue and filling the bottle with the blackish substance. They grab a bag of white powder from another pocket and dumps it into the small opening. The concoction bubbles, fumes crawling along the cylinders walls as they face you once more. They push you behind them - sealing your body with theirs as they raise their fist.

Hurling the vial, its glass shatters on impact in an explosion of black sludge and white smoke. The slime eats away at padlock holding the gate closed and enough of the wall for you to poke your head through before Alien finally kicks what remains open. They stand off to the side, bowing as they extend their arm forward.

"After you."

Your eyes linger on the smoke wisping into the air. "What... was that?"

"My spit. Mix it with baking soda it becomes corrosive..... or was it acidic?"

"...Right. Well, let's get this over with before anyone arrives. We're lucky this was all this place really has in terms of security." You ease past Alien who skips behind you as you march towards laboratory's doors. Not wasting what little time you have, you pull off your backpack as you walk - removing the test tube brought with you from its protective sleeve. Alien eyes the teal tinted fluid sloshing around in the container curiously - a strange sense of unease hitting their stomach like a brick.

"So.... if I'm allow to ask questions - what uh... what are we doing here again?"

You hold the vial up for then to see - contents fluorescent in the moon light. "I found this strange substance on a tee shirt I left in my bathroom. It's oddly sweet, but left my mouth with a tingle sensation after I tasted it."

Beads of sweat roll from their neck down their shirt. "You... tasted it?"

Alien thinks for a while. They had broken into your house while you were away. They found your shirt in your bathroom. It smelled just like you. Kinda tasted like you too. They thought they cleaned up everything after they were done. They did not.

"Well I had to make sure it wasn't something I ate. This is clearly a sign. Once I get my hands on the microscopes in this lab I'll finally have concrete proof of aliens!"

Alien snatches the vial from you and throws it into the tree-lining. "On second thought let's just go hunting for aliens like normal people."

"What the hell-"

Alien tightly grips your shoulders. "You can have another taste once we're official, but you are not putting my fluids under any lenses until we are engaged!"

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #alien my oc #yandere drabble #tw yandere

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morallyinept · 5 months

Text

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS - A Frankie Morales Christmas One Shot

Summary: Frankie is facing the prospect of a lonely Christmas, and this time of year is particularly difficult for him with maintaining his sobriety. He and the Miller brothers go to a bar on Christmas Eve for festive drinks, and perhaps a chance encounter with you might make Frankie believe again in the magic of Christmas.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 5.9k

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's fluff. You're safe.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - None, this is pure Frankie fluff. The only warning is tooth rot from how sweet it is.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: This might be one of my favourite stories in this Christmas story collection. I love writing some angsty fluff for my boys. 🥰 Cameo's from the Miller brothers too.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

Laughter and festive music spills onto the wet sidewalk from restaurants and bars; a whiff of seasonal spices and cooked meats waft in the air.

Neon lights reflect back into Frankie’s eyes as he traipses alongside Benny and Will, a reserved contemplation etched into his tan features.

Will can't contain his wild excitement about proposing to his long term girlfriend. "I'm gonna pop the question, boys. Right there tomorrow on Christmas morning," he explains as he sidesteps puddles.

“About fuckin’ time!” Benny roars, clapping his big bro on the back, as Frankie hides behind a supportive smile in the shadows of his worn and slightly fraying cap.

“That’s great news,” Frankie says, as he pats his friend’s shoulder affectionately.

“Thanks, Fish.” Will eyes him carefully, noting the tight knot his face has become. “How you doing?”

It’s a daunting prospect, answering a question like that, which feels pretty loaded these days.

Frankie can remember all the times he’s been asked how he’s doing, and all the times he’s lied, convincing everyone that he was, indeed, perfectly fine. A well crafted façade as his life spiralled away from him right under everyone's noses, and the words feel hollower now.

The white, powdery gap has wedged itself in all of his relationships to note. The strain, and shame, of having and carrying the stigma of an addiction - something that he had tried to convince himself he didn't have for too long - has damaged some of those relationships permanently, most notably the one with his closest friends, his brothers in arms.

The separation caused by his addiction weighs heavily on him; he sees the way they step carefully around him now. Frankie’s acutely aware that the person they knew him to be during his darker days might be vastly different from the Frankie they once called a comrade on the front line.

Frankie's return to the fold of his former, closest friends, is a gritty experience, filled with the raw emotions of both redemption and remorse and the heavy load they drag. The scars run deep, and some days it feels like he won't ever escape the haunting spectre of the person he used to be.

Reunions like this, are like stepping into combat where trust is always the first casualty, and he has to navigate the minefield of scepticism whilst trying not to lose a limb should one detonate in his face.

The estrangement from his military buddies has left wounds on both sides. Benny was genuinely concerned, while Will harboured resentment for the times when Frankie’s struggles had impacted the cohesion of their once tightly knit phalanx.

The camaraderie that previously thrived in the crucible of combat and beyond, has been fractured by the corrosive effects of his weaknesses. He prepares himself mentally for the conversations that lie ahead, adopting the same meticulous planning mindset he had during his time serving in Delta Force.

Although, a fat lot of good that will do.

“I’m good, doing alright.” Frankie replies in a tired monotone.

“Six months, buddy!” Benny says, knocking into him. “That’s more than alright.”

And Frankie lets a crooked smile slip from lips that are constantly downturned as of late. Benny was the only one to really check in on a regular basis, to help him move what little belongings he had into the shitty apartment the VA had assigned to him after weeks of crashing on Benny’s lumpy couch.

He’s not mad at Will for taking a step back, he gets it; the man is in love and swept up with it, which Frankie is actually pleased about. Will needs a sturdy woman to take care of him when he faces his own darkness trying to claw at him in the middle of the night.

Pope’s absence is what cuts the deepest; it's been over a year since Tom’s passing in the Andes on that fucking stupid mission, leaving them all to try and pick up the pieces without him, and each of them failing miserably in their own ways. As resilient as Benny is, he still takes the punches in the ring to help quiet the tornadoes in his mind.

Frankie’s not heard a word from Pope, except for a text message, months ago, informing him he had moved on to Australia.

“Six months? Fuck. That’s great.” Will agrees. And he seems genuinely pleased.

Frankie nods, head down as he follows along with them. He squeezes the sobriety coin inside his pocket to the point it could absorb fully into his skin.

Six months into his journey of being clean, the pull of old habits still linger and twitch at his fingers.

The holiday season, with its emotional complexities, is akin to flying in low visibility conditions. Frankie recognises the familiar dreaded terrain of festive traditions, obscured by the fog of past memories and cravings. And navigating his way through this time of year in particular, alone, is something that has stunted his rotary blades in mid-flight.

“Any chance of Pope meeting us here, early Christmas present?” Will asks.

Frankie shakes his head. “No. He’s not back.”

“Still loved up with that gorgeous chick in Aus.” Benny interjects.

“Shit. Pope in love.” Will chuckles in bewilderment.

Benny laughs. “Never thought I'd see the day.”

“What about you Fish, you patch things up with Carmela?” Will asks Frankie.

“That’s long dead in the water.” Frankie replies bitterly as he pulls skin from his bottom lip with his teeth.

“What about your kid, you’re seeing her for Christmas, right?” Will queries.

“Carmela's being… obstinate.” Frankie says.

“Carmela's being a bitch.” Benny corrects. “She got back to you yet?”

Frankie shakes his head and bites down on his cheek.

“Like I said, bitch.”

“Come on. That’s the mother of his kid, Ben.” Will interjects, softly.

“Don’t matter. She’s withholding visitation.” Benny explains.

“What the courts say?” Will addresses Frankie and he shrugs.

“Can’t afford a lawyer so we’re kinda freestylin’ it right now.” He bows his head further, almost tucking his chin to his chest, shoulders hunched up.

“You know, if you need money-” Will begins.

“Jesus.” Frankie mutters and shakes his head.

His ex-partner's decision to withhold visitation rights is a gut-wrenching blow, another barricade on the path to rebuilding a fractured life.

The pain of being separated from his daughter, especially at Christmas, only adds another layer of complexity to his struggles, testing the limits of his newfound sobriety.

It cuts deep as he squeezes round the coin tighter now, trying to drown out the voice that reminds him of all of his shortcomings.

Frankie, the single dad; the recovering addict, the deadbeat. Frankie, who can’t even afford a cheap condo or his own mattress, and can't help but feel a stabbing twinge of loneliness sweeping in beneath the sociability of some drinks on Christmas Eve with his friends.

Man, he fuckin’ hates Christmas, and all the schmaltzy shit that comes with it. Passing by windows lined with glitzy tinsel, he'd like nothing more than to wrap it around his neck and step off the stool.

He shakes the grisly thought away as his thumb runs over the familiar ridges of the coin.

Amid jokes and banter, mainly spurred on by Benny, they reach the bustling bar, squeezing through the door. A last get together before Christmas whisks them away with families and significant others, and Frankie goes back to staring at four walls on his own each night.

Frankie nervously checks his phone before he pushes in. The phone in his hand, a cockpit instrument, displaying crucial data for the upcoming flight - his daughter's presence on Christmas day - glancing at the obvious void of being left on read by Carmela.

It's cutting close to the hour, almost nine PM and he still hasn’t a clue about plans for tomorrow, so he taps out another quick message and pushes send with a growl on the cusp of his tongue.

Well? Can I see her 2morrow or not?

He shoves his phone back in his jacket pocket, along with his hands, grips around the coin in there again, and pushes into the bar after the guys.

Mismatched, but cosy furniture fills the space, from worn leather booths to tall barstools that line the crowded bar with bodies perched on them.

Laughter and lively chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of holiday cheer from groups engaged in boisterous and animated conversations. Behind the bar, bartenders expertly pour draught beer and craft seasonal cocktails; their hands moving in a dance of mixing, shaking, and smug pouring.

The clinking of ice cubes and the subtle hiss of carbonation adds to the melange of sounds. A tinkling of Slade echoes around the bar, muted out somewhat by the cacophony.

As Frankie navigates the crowded bar, the festive ambiance a rotor wash, swirling around him and lifting the spirits of those caught in its currents. However, beneath the surface, the turbulence of emotions echo his past experiences where clarity often comes after navigating through complex conditions.

His gaze lingers on the phone again, a lifeline dangling like a rescue hoist, awaiting confirmation that he could airlift his plans for Christmas with his daughter to safety. Instead he’s left in a holding pattern, patiently waiting for clearance to land.

Mierda.

Gritting his teeth, he dodges bodies coming at him.

Unable to find a table, the trio settle to standing at the end of the bar, squeezed in as Benny signals for the bartender as he pulls out his wallet, immersed in the festive chaos orbiting around them.

“So much for a quiet one.” Will smirks at Frankie.

“It’s fuckin’ Christmas eve, man.” Frankie responds with a shrug, taking off his cap, smoothing back his hair and settling it back on again. Curls billow out wildly behind his ears like he’s been electrocuted.

“So tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” Frankie questions.

“Yeah.” Will nods.

“You nervous?”

“Shitting myself, man.” Will says.

Glasses of whiskey are pushed into their hands by Benny. “Who’s shittin’?” He asks.

“Tomorrow.” Will explains.

“She’s gonna say yes, man. You don’t need to worry. She’s a good girl.” Frankie states taking his drink and sipping it.

He’s only met Will’s partner once and she seemed nice enough. Unmemorable, as he struggles to recall her face, but nice. The sharpness of his drink hits his tongue and warms his mouth.

“Too good for this asshole.” Benny ribs.

Frankie glances around the bar idly as Benny lets rip into his brother some more.

He’s pulled back into the conversation when he feels a light jab in his shoulder.

"Fish, when are you getting back into the dating game?" Will queries.

Frankie shrugs and his eyes find the floor again, looking at his feet. “I dunno man, I’m not exactly a catch right now.”

“Shut up, you handsome bastard. You just need to get laid.” Benny cajoles. "Fuck dating. Get you some pussy."

"I'm focusing on staying sober and being a dad right now. Or trying to be-” He’s acutely aware his phone hasn’t buzzed in his pocket.

“Fuck that bitch Carmela, man.” Benny hisses.

“I did. Look where it got me.” Frankie smirks.

“You’re on the up, Fish. Stop with the melancholy.” Benny says.

“You heard back about your licence appeal yet?” Will queries.

“They’re still reviewing it. S’been almost fourteen fuckin’ months. Got a letter last week."

“Shit.” Will says.

“Yeah. My sponsor’s putting in a good word.” Frankie explains. “Reckons it oughta get it rolling now.”

“Fuckin’ A!” Benny grins.

“I don’t wanna get my hopes up.” Frankie shrugs. “But it could be looking promising.”

“We’ll get you outta that workshop and in the air again!” Benny says.

“You still wanna fly for the Military?” Will queries, surprised.

Frankie shakes his head. “Private. Lessons, maybe for hire, that kind of thing.” Frankie explains.

“Fish has got a whole business plan mapped out.” Benny praises. “Even designed a business card.”

“You did.” Frankie corrects. “And you spelt aviation wrong.”

Benny flips him off.

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” Will says, holding out his glass. “New business venture.”

“Let’s drink to you getting engaged instead,” Frankie counters, feeling prickly. "Salud!"

They chink their glasses together and neck back the whiskey. Benny gathers the empties and leans over the bar again. “Same again?” He asks the guys.

“Yeah. I’ll be back. Gotta take a leak.” Frankie turns towards the direction of the toilets.

He squeezes past clusters of people and pushes through the door that feels sticky on the tips of his fingers.

A waft of ammonia tinged in the air, mixed with the lingering scent of various cleaning agents, assaults his senses. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights barely illuminate the small, cramped space. The walls, once painted a neutral colour, now showcase peeling paint and patches of unidentified grime.

Random graffiti and scratches mar the surface, telling tales of forgotten nights and transient patrons, and Frankie skims his eyes over them as he unzips his flies at the urinal.

Drying his hands on crunchy, blue paper towels, he pulls out his phone to check again for a message that he already subconsciously knows isn’t there. Sighing, he glances himself in the mirror and stares at his tired complexion.

The weariness etched in his expression doesn’t diminish the underlying determination. His jaw sets firm, a silent resolve evident even in the tired lines of his face, anger and frustration bubbling inside.

He takes the coin out of his pocket, staring down at it and grounding himself. Remembering to breathe as the vibrations in his skull begin to whir. He tucks it away quickly when the door opens and a couple of guys bundle in, chattering away.

The bar's atmosphere is electric, and the holiday spirit seems to amplify it with every step.

He bumps into a body on his way out of the bathroom, the encounter is a gentle collision, enough to pause him momentarily as a bright pair of eyes and gentle smile renders him still.

It takes a second for the wetness to register as it seeps through his shirt and jacket and onto his belly skin, cooling it.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” You gasp at him, your glass now empty and all over this rugged stranger who’s smiling at you, wiping himself down with his large hands, although it does absolutely nothing at all, and reassuring you it’s alright.

"My bad, I should’ve looked where I was going." Frankie says, offering a sheepish smile.

"No, I regularly make a habit of being a klutz.” You assure. “You’re the innocent party.”

“In that case, I’m glad for your lack of co-ordination.”

“Smooth.” You remark with a grin, eyes twinkling at him in amusement.

“Can I get you another?” Frankie offers.

The accidental spill on his jacket becomes a metaphorical bird strike, a sudden encounter with the unexpected. Yet, much like dealing with a bird strike in flight, Frankie handles it with some flooding, composure, brushing off the impact and continuing on his course. Even if he’s running on the subconscious act of keeping true.

“What? No. I should be buying you one for ruining your shirt.”

“S’not ruined. Just a little damp.” He explains.

“Well, I’m glad. It’s a nice shirt.”

“Now who’s being smooth?”

“Dude, I live for Fleetwood Mac, okay. I would be devastated if you had to throw it away on my account.”

And suddenly Frankie’s brain envisions you wearing it, the t-shirt depicting his favourite band under his shirt and jacket. Nothing else, but his faded t-shirt that he should have thrown out months ago, as the holes under the armpits get a little wider with each wear, but he can’t bear the thought of parting with it.

He swallows dryly and tries to remember to breathe again.

“Come on, I insist.” You say. And he doesn't have time to resist or object as you promptly link his arm and drag him towards the bar.

As you wait for the attention of one of the bartenders, you tilt your head curiously to him. "So, what brings you out on this busy Christmas Eve?" You ask him.

Frankie leans in so you can hear him. “Insanity.”

“Oh, you too?” You smirk.

He chuckles. “My friend’s getting engaged tomorrow. We’re out celebrating.”

“Oh nice, he’s doomed.” You cajole and Frankie nods in agreement.

“Something like that. What about you?”

“Drinks, work colleagues. Blah. Blah.” You say.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“You’re not. I can’t stand them. Besides, you're much more interesting.”

“I doubt that.” Frankie blushes.

“Oh come on. You love Fleetwood Mac. I’m already hooked.” You smile.

He smiles back at you and you notice the deep richness of his eyes stunning you for a moment. He nods just over your head as the bartender approaches, and you turn to order your drinks, breaking the spell.

“Let me get this.” Frankie insists as he pulls his wallet and thrusts a twenty into the bartender's hand before you can.

“That was supposed to be my round.” You say.

“Early Christmas present,” he confirms to you with a lazy shrug.

“You play dirty.”

“Surely that’s the only way to play.” He smirks.

“Well, thank you.” You say handing him a glass and you notice a subtle tremor in his fingers as he takes it from you.

There’s a pause between you, a moment where your mutual smiles bleed into the surroundings and turn the noise down.

You glance around the bar as you sip your drink, the colours of Christmas lights twinkling in your irises and Frankie tries his best not to stare at them. But it's difficult because he’s drawn to them, like a magpie in want of something shiny.

Smiling, you point them out in wonder. “I love all this tacky shit, don’t you?”

Frankie looks around and nods subtly. “We’ve even got mistletoe.” He nods further down the bar at a plastic sprig hanging over the oblivious revellers underneath.

“That's so cliché. I prefer the subtlety of strategically placed tinsel."

"Ah, a tinsel strategist. Now that's a title. Do you have a manual for that, or is it all instinct?" He asks.

"It's an art form, my friend. Requires a keen eye for Fung Shei and a touch of OCD."

“I’m a bauble man myself.”

You scoff into your drink, choking a little as you giggle and Frankie feels like he’s just been immolated on the spot at the sound of it tittering out of you.

“Is that a euphemism? Should I just cut my losses now and go?”

“Funny.” He smirks.

You pretend to fan yourself, "I try my best. Making handsome guys laugh is just a side gig, you know."

“It’s a look, it’s working for you.” You confirm. "I like me a bit of scruff."

“Handsome? That's the second time tonight I've heard that."

"Really? Look at you, Mr Popular. Am I encroaching on someone else's staked claim of you?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all."

"Good. I wouldn't care if I was anyway." You smile.

"Fighting talk."

"You better believe it, handsome." You chuckle.

"I mean, I’ll take it.” A small pink blush settles in over his nose.

Frankie baulks. “Well good. I haven't washed this t-shirt for like, eight days…” he laughs.

“Hot.” You laugh back. “But let’s get into the nitty-gritty here.” You say. You thwack your glass onto the bar top as you lean on it, studying him.

“Alright.”

"I bet your holiday playlist includes some seriously cheesy tunes. Care to share your guilty pleasures?" You prompt.

He laughs. "Guilty pleasures? Please, my playlist is a masterpiece. Mariah Carey's 'All I Want for Christmas' is a holiday anthem that frequents. No guilt, only joy."

"Mariah Carey? Bold choice for a man in a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt.”

Frankie shrugs. “I’m eclectic.”

“I respect the commitment. Maybe I'll have to reconsider my stance on disliking holiday music." You say. You swirl the ice around in your glass.

“You don’t like a bit of Mariah? What is wrong with you?” Frankie sneers with a grin as he raises his own glass to his mouth.

"Everything. I’m a lost cause.”

“I doubt that, querida.” He murmurs.

“So, what's your go-to holiday movie? This is crucial information." You question.

"Die Hard, obviously. It's a Christmas movie and an action masterpiece. What more could you ask for?"

"A man of macho culture, I see. I concur. Die Hard, it is. Now we just need to settle the pineapple-on-pizza debate, and we'll be golden." You smirk. “And there is a correct answer by the way…”

The banter with you stirs something raw within Frankie - he can feel it - a feeling he hasn't experienced in a while. A long while.

Your smile and the daring glimmer in your eyes at him chokes him up in a solar flare; he’s finding it hard to breathe.

It’s a gritty, unfiltered connection that cuts through the tarnished facade he often wears, but comes surprisingly natural.

The jokes and playful challenges become a form of rebellion against the loneliness that has silently plagued him.

In the midst of the crowded bar and flashing Christmas lights, Frankie finds a refuge in your shared banter - a reprieve from the weight of his own battles that have been pushed aside like the empties stacking on the bar top between you.

Your sharp wit and unabashed humour becomes a tonic for the rough edges that shape him, a remedy of a soothing salve for the scars he carries.

As Frankie leans into the quips and jokes, he finds solace in the cracks of vulnerability it exposes, instead of rushing to seal them back up.

The conversation isn't just light-hearted snaps coated in something flirtatious; it’s a reminder that, sometimes, the least expected connections are the ones that break through the walls built around ourselves, offering a chance at genuine, unfiltered connectivity in the midst of the holiday chaos.

It pulls him back sharply into reality and everything comes flooding back. Looking at you, the way you look back at him as though something incredible has landed in your lap, stunts him.

He shares another drink with you, paying for it again at your insistence that he doesn’t have to, even play fighting him to see who can get their note into the bartender's hand first. Your laugh is infectious as it warms his blood.

And then he remembers he’s left his friends hanging at the top of the bar as he catches their prying grins, gurning animatedly at him.

He can’t drag you down with him, he’s being ridiculous, selfish even.

“Okay. Yeah, I should show my face again I guess.”

“I should probably let you get back to your colleagues.” Frankie says, and turns as you hop off the stool.

He realises only now, that his phone still hasn't buzzed in his pocket.

He wonders if that’s disappointment in your voice, a subtle resonance reaching out to tug him back by the collar of his unwashed t-shirt.

“It was really nice talking to you.” You say, earnestly.

“And you.” He agrees, nodding.

“Have a good evening.” You say, with a warm smile and make your way back to your table.

“You too.” Frankie says, floundering.

Fuck.

He just let you walk away. Watches you go back to the table, no fight in him. Carmela was right, maybe he has no passion anymore.

He retreats back towards the guys at the end of the bar who are stunned and wide-eyed at his return.

“Dude!” Benny scolds.

“Did you get her number?” Will asks as Frankie approaches, hands shoved in pockets.

Frankie shakes his head and bows it again. “No.”

“Are you crazy? Go back over there and ask her for it, she clearly likes you, man.” Will encourages.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck it. I’ll do it. I’m your wingman, Fish.” Benny knocks his drink back bracing himself for manoeuvre, but Will tugs on his bicep.

“Leave it.” He says, noting Frankie’s unease.

Frankie tosses a weary glance over his shoulder towards your direction and catches you glancing back. You smile and he smiles back thinly.

“I need another drink,” he says back to the boys.

“You alright, man?” Will says, putting his arm over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Frankie sighs.

Although he’s pretty certain he’s sweating all over, and that Will can feel him shaking.

A while later and the boys have found a small table that they’re crowded around.

Frankie’s not sure how many he’s had, but he’s starting to feel warm and his arms are tingling from the alcohol consumption.

Something he knows he probably shouldn’t do.

“Fish,” Benny nods over his shoulder and Frankie turns to see you approaching gingerly, tossing your purse over your shoulder.

He can just hear his sponsor's nagging voice scolding him in his ear about other vices being the gateway back to the coke, Francisco. But he’s never had a problem with booze, never really getting wasted beyond all control.

He always stops when his fingers start to feel numb.

“Hi,” you say, warmly.

“Hey,” Frankie greets, immediately standing up like he’s been tasered.

You smile at the boys who look back at you grinning behind their tumblers as they sup.

“Urm, I’m about to head off. I don’t live too far from here, I just wondered if perhaps you’d want to walk me home?” You offer to Frankie.

“These streets ain’t safe for a woman on her own, Fish.” Benny pipes up and Will nudges him sharply in the rib cage.

“Fish?” You query with a smile.

“Nickname.” Frankie says with cheeks turning pink again.

“Well, you can tell me about it on the way.” You suggest with those sparkling eyes again, and Frankie swears he’s never seen a pair like them before.

They literally take his breath away.

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” Frankie says, he puts his glass down on the table. “I’ll walk you home, hermosa.”

“Great.” You smile and head towards the door.

Frankie glances back at the boys, who clearly can’t contain their excitement as they laugh and punch the air, and Frankie simply flips them the bird discreetly as he follows behind you.

“So, you’re Spanish?” You query once outside in the cool air.

“Texan. I'm from from El Paso. But beyond that it’s a mix of Mexican and some Colombian thrown in.”

“That’s cool.” You smile.

“What about you, where are you from?” He queries as he throws his hands inside his pockets. The weight of his phone tugs lightly at the frustration spiking on the edge of his mind.

“Here. Born and raised. I’ve not seen you around before though.”

“Should you have?”

“It's a small town.” You remark.

“I’ve been out of it for a while.”

“Just moved back?” You ask.

“No. I was… in the military for a while and then-” he pauses as you walk along together.

“Ah, the nickname. Fish.”

“Catfish.”

“Dare I ask?”

Frankie smiles. “Used to fish a lot with my pop growing up. Caught a big fish once, a catfish, that almost threw me overboard. It was twice my size. Told the guys about it one night when we were on duty, it kind of stuck.” Frankie explains with a wily smirk.

“Nice. What did you do in the military?” You question genuinely enthralled to hear him speak.

“Pilot. Helicopters, mostly.”

“Oh wow, you fly?”

He nods subtly. “Used to.”

“So, you’re not in the army anymore?”

“Special Ops. And no, retired.”

“You’re not old enough to retire surely,” you say with a smile.

He shrugs. “Feels like it sometimes.”

You smile at him as you clutch your hands over your purse and he walks with his hands fisted in his pockets. Grasping tightly around the coin and his phone in equal measure.

“So you live close by?” He queries.

“Yeah. A shitty apartment block on third. Work’s close by too. Glad I can walk because my car packed up weeks ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I'm a triple threat.” You say and he laughs.

“You not got it fixed?” Frankie enquires.

“Can’t afford it right now. It’s a sore subject.” You say bitterly.

“Say no more.” He smiles. “I can... take a look, if you want?”

You turn to him with a small, coy smile. “Do helicopter pilots know how to fix cars?”

“It’s a combustion engine. They’re all pretty much the same.” He shrugs.

“Well, then. I might take you up on that, Pilot.” You say glancing at him and he smiles.

“So, obvious question, but why are you alone on Christmas?” You ask him.

You both walk along with some comforting sense of ease. As you stroll through the quiet streets, the banter that had filled the bar now gives way to a more subdued, yet charged atmosphere.

The occasional laughter and shared glances add a layer of unspoken intimacy, a peep of vulnerability; a departure from the boisterous energy of the crowded bar you’ve just left that settles into your pores with ease.

Frankie glances at you with a knotted tongue.

"No ring, you’re not married. Unless you are, and you’re a player. But you don’t strike me as the type.”

“Not a player.” He confirms with a side smile.

"Divorced?"

"Not lucky enough to have been married yet." He confirms.

“And you’re not gay. Despite a penchant for baubles.”

He laughs. “Definitely not gay.”

“Good.” You chuckle.

“How about you? What’s your situation?” Frankie questions tentatively.

“Lonely.” You say after a few moments to deliberate, and he feels the sharpness of your choice of descriptive pierce his skin.

“I’m tired of being the awkward third wheel in my group of friends.” You say.

“You too, huh?” Frankie smiles gently at you and you smile back nodding.

And the sincerity in your eyes mirrors his own. He knows how that feels, only too well.

“Me too.” He agrees.

“Any existing Christmas plans tomorrow?” You ask as you both round off the street and down another.

“Hoping… to see my daughter.” He braves.

The unspoken truth about his life - being a single dad and probably a failure at it too - is out there now, and he wishes he could cram the scathing truths back into his mouth when you don’t say anything.

He expects you to recoil.

Expects you to say thanks, but you’ll walk the rest of your way by yourself. He comes with baggage, so much more than what your little, dainty purse is equipped to carry.

He can’t expect you to shoulder the weight of his as well.

When you allow him to hang there, suspended in the awkwardness of laying himself bare.

He expects a change in your expression, waits for it. That subtle shift that often accompanies the revelation of such personal details.

But instead, you simply nod and smile curiously; a reassuring gesture that eases the tension instantly in his shoulders.

“That’s cute. How old is she?” You query and your interest seems genuine.

“Almost two.” He replies.

“So you’re a daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Hot.” You smirk. And he laughs.

“I don’t know about that.”

“I think so.” You confirm.

“Yeah?” He queries with raised eyebrows.

“Absolutely.”

"You got kids?" Frankie asks, feeling his cheeks burn.

You snort. "Please. I'm not insane. I can barely take care of myself."

You both laugh as you come to a stop outside an apartment block.

“So, this is me.” You say, turning to him.

“Nice.” Frankie says inspecting the building.

Your apartment block stands at the end of a weathered street, surrounded by buildings that bear the scars of time and neglect. It’s a little shabby and run down with yellowing lights that emanate from inside the lobby doors.

"It's really not nice. It's not much, but it's home, I guess." You say, clearly embarrassed about the state of it.

“That's all that matters, trust me.” Frankie says. It’s far more than he’s had of late.

“I’d invite you in, but I’ve had a bit too much to drink.” You say, sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t come in because you’ve had a bit too much to drink.” He clarifies.

“A gentleman. That’s rare these days.”

“That I am, ma’am.” He says, saluting with two fingers under his cap gently.

You rummage in your purse for your keys. “Well, thank you for wal-”

“Have dinner with me?” Frankie interrupts. “I mean, if you’d like to, I'd like to take you out for some dinner?”

You smile widely and it takes his breath from his lungs. “I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

You nod smiling. “Yeah. Give me your phone.”

He hands it over and you put your number in there. You then call it from his phone and pull yours out of your purse. Fleetwood Mac’s Gypsy plays as your ringtone until you silence it.

“That’s my favourite song.” Frankie smiles.

“Mine too. Told you I had good taste in music.”

The air between you both shimmers with the unspoken tension of another, new shared commonality. The banter and laughter has woven in a comfortable bind around you both, seemingly pulling you both in tighter.

Charged with a quiet anticipation, the kind that precedes an intimate moment, your eyes meet, a silent agreement passing between you both as you instinctively step forward and so does he, without hesitation.

Leaning in, the gentle press of his lips against yours is soft, breaching.

A delicate meeting of lips that convey a sense of mutual understanding, some semblance of painful hesitation lying on the outskirts, that this is truly a Christmas miracle of some kind.

The cold night air contrasts with the warmth exchanged in that fleeting touch, creating a sensation that’s both electrifying and comforting.

And mildly terrifying.

Frankie can feel himself tremble as you moan gently into his mouth, seeking you out with an explorative tongue.

His heart is racing, he’s convinced you can hear it clattering around bruised ribs as it fills his ears with a thumping bass.

Your hands clutch onto his arms, winding up the length and thickness of them gently, carefully feeling him out too.

His hands settle tentatively on your waist, pulling you into him further as he tastes you.

You lean up on tiptoes, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as you kiss him with more fervour, enjoying the way he tastes, the way he sounds as he grunts into you hungrily.

He can feel himself stiffen, the oncoming rush of blood coursing through his body and centering in the length of his cock.

Fuck, it’s been too long since he’s felt a rush like this. One that wasn’t chemical and burned away the cilia in his nostrils.

The way his hands clutch onto you desperately as if he’s convinced you’re going to fly away. And the way you hold onto him too, trying to convince yourself that he’s real as your fingers scratch gently into the subtle greying hairs on his cheek.

You feel the visor of his cap clip your forehead and you pull back giggling a little as he chuckles. You plant another kiss on the side of his scruffy face, his beard soft and fuzzy against your lips.

“That was really nice,” you whisper in awe.

“Yeah.” Frankie agrees, his thumb stroking across your cheek.

“I’ve never kissed a Catfish before.” You muse.

He snorts and you giggle. "How was it?"

"Good. Real good." You smile. “Thank you for walking me home.”

“My pleasure, hermosa.” He kisses your mouth again, a delicate lingering smooch before you reach in to pull out your keys.

“Get yourself inside. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

He watches you walk up the steps, unlocking the door and pushing it open with your behind as you turn to smile at him.

You nod enthusiastically. “You better.”

"I will be, don't you worry." He says, smiling and blushing further.

“Merry Christmas, Pilot!” You call out to him.

He waves, smiling. Frankie doesn’t leave until the door closes behind you.

He pulls it out. There's a message from Benny that he didn’t feel come through:

He walks up the street, trying to contain the grin on his lips that now make his jaw ache. His body feeling like it could give way any second.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

You score yet?

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He types out another message to Carmela, noting her lack of response, despite clearly reading his messages.

And he feels that he can finally see straight.

I’ll b ova 2morrow whether u like it or not. I’m seeing my daughter on xmas day. If u think that I won't fight u 4 joint custody, ur wrong.

His phone buzzes again. A response from her almost immediately.

FINE. U can stay for some lunch. 2pm.

Frankie smiles again, tapping out a message, but it's not a response to Carmela.

Instead, Frankie types out a message to you:

Merry Christmas, hermosa x

You message back a minute later:

All I want for Christmas is you, Pilot. Merry Christmas from me & Mariah xx

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal charcters #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x you #christmas stories #jett's writing

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