#Mac can actually sing well
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Code Broken (Series) dark!Joel Miller x f!reader
rating: explicit, 18+ mdni
summary: "You broke into my house," Joel says moving his gaze from your eyes back down to your mouth as his wide hand grazes his belt buckle. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."
You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?
[AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]
warnings/tags: Extremely dubious consent, oral sex [m receiving], rough oral sex, face-fucking, Come shot, Joel is bad at feelings, Mean Joel, Dirty Talk
word count: 6.9k
a/n: Y'all, this whole series is pretty depraved (from my perspective) and much darker than my normal stuff. I wanted it as a challenge and I had a lot of fun doing the series, there's 5 parts so I hope you enjoy it. Comments and the like really make my day. xx
masterlist
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Chapter 1: Go your Own Way
Joel Miller is the most serious man you've ever seen. The rigidity of his spine when he walks, the dark eyes always darting around in stormy irritation. People still greet him when he goes into the center of town, and he nods politely and makes small talk. But he never looks anything other than bothered.
He terrifies you.
You know his name only because of your friends in the small community of Jackson City. His brother is Tommy, a cheerful man married to Maria with a baby on the way. Tommy is the one that welcomed you into this settlement years ago, the one that settled you into the modest home you now live in on the end of Rancher Street. Larger homes buttress you on either side and yours is dwarfed in comparison but you don’t care. You still can’t believe you have your own house. Your own bed. Your own everything.
You watched the survivors come from all over the globe, watched as the community swelled in number and joy over the years. It was like a slice of heaven in and amongst a hellish landscape of the undead.
And then Joel Miller had entered and everything for you changed.
Tommy and Joel couldn't be more different. Tommy is sweet and polite and likes to ask after people to make sure they're okay. He’s stoic and his dark eyes light up when he laughs or makes a joke.
Joel keeps to himself. He doesn't talk to many people. He answers people with a serious tone in his drawl. He likes horses and he likes music, that's as much as you can tell about what he likes because he rarely does anything else.
When he'd moved into Jackson City he'd been given the home next to yours. Yours was a simple one bedroom, meant for singles, his was a spanning home with a garage. You rarely saw him outside unless he was headed for the stables or communal meals.
Sometimes on nights your window was open to let in the night breeze you heard him playing his guitar in his place. On rare occasions he sang, his voice rasping and mournful under the chords. It made your chest tight and your eyes prick with tears. It made you remember a youth you’d rather forget.
It was actually the music that had inspired your first attempt at an introduction.
You'd been out planting in your garden when you heard the front door to his place creak open. You walked casually over to the fence that separated your properties to see him sitting on the front stoop of his place, a pale blue coffee mug in one hand.
He was looking into the middle distance, his profile strong. You'd leaned on the fence, hoping to catch his attention. As a man always on alert he had, his dark eyes sliding over to you as you greeted him.
"You play really well," you told him enthusiastically, recalling the tune you heard him play late into the night the evening prior. "Was that Fleetwood Mac you were singing yesterday?"
Joel hadn't replied. In fact he'd given you the coldest look you'd ever received, stood up and gone back into his house. You'd stood there looking after him in shock for several moments until going back to your gardening.
When you'd told your friend Trish what happened that following Tuesday during your weekly "book club" (drinking poorly made wine and playing cards) she'd laughed in that annoying way of hers and told you to stop being so sensitive.
Trish told you that Joel Miller was rude to everyone. That the only reason people put up with it was because his brother was Tommy and because Joel himself was one of the few bachelors in the community. Then she’d gotten a soft look in her eyes and sighed that Joel was gorgeous in that sullen, quiet way that made older men mysterious. You hadn’t understood that, having never found poor humor and a bad attitude attractive.
You’d decided it had been a one-off. Maybe Joel was just tired that morning. You tried waving to him if you saw him in the street, one hand usually on the reigns of a horse tugging it gently behind him. He never returned the gesture.
It came to a head when you and Trish had been to a movie night in the square some months later, the summer heat always driving you indoors where it was cooler. They were playing an old science fiction feature and finding seats was near impossible. It was always like this when a popular film was showing. The popcorn lay in big tubs and patrons brought bowls to scoop the kernels into.
The children were hunched in front of the large white blanket that acted as a screen chatting animatedly. Your co-workers waved, observing how busy it was as you scanned the space, seeing an empty chair in the middle row near the back. Trish told you to grab it and that she'd search for another free one.
You'd been so intent on taking the chair that you didn't even realize who was seated next to you until you plopped down, brushing arms with the bare forearm next to you.
You noticed his jeans first, the way they seemed molded to his muscular thighs. Then his forearms, his plaid shirt rolled to the elbows and then finally up his neck to his profile, the full lips, the hawkish nose and the dark eyes that you could clearly see were trying to ignore your presence.
"Hello neighbor," you'd chirped trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. You'd watched as he glanced out the corner of his eyes at you, nodding briefly. Emboldened by this you motioned towards the large white sheet.
“You a big fan of Charlton Heston?”
He’d given a short nod, a grunt of a reply. This had felt like such progress to you and you relaxed a bit into the seat. You saw Trish heading your way with popcorn in hand and your knee bumped into Joel’s as you swivelled in your chair, angling your neck to see if there were any other free seats.
"Do you see any other empty seats? My friend Trish-"
He gave you one sharp look, scanning your body from top to bottom before rolling his eyes and jerking from his seat. Your face went bright red as he sidled past you just as Trish approached with popcorn.
"What was that?" Trish asked, looking after his frame quickly disappearing down the street. You'd shrugged, embarrassment overtaking you.
But the message was clear: Joel Miller can't stand you.
You suppose after that is when you decided on payback. Something innocent, really, silly in hindsight. Something that would irritate him on a daily basis.
The plan was to hide his guitar somewhere within his home. Specifically, in the back of his under his kitchen sink... then the bathtub ... then under his bed.
It's immature, especially at your age. But you'd missed out on so much life during those twenty years of running and hiding that this felt fun.
You could imagine him going insane trying to find it. Shouting angrily when he realized it was misplaced only to find it popping up in random places in his home.
It was an innocuous prank, borne out of boredom and humiliation. And if Joel caught on or accused you and brought you before the sheriff, what could they do? The guitar never left his house. How could it be stealing?
It had seemed like the perfect plan.
But now as you pull the black hooded jacket over dark jeans and look into the night sky this evening, you're wondering if this was really is the best idea.
You've gotten away with it twice before. Once to hide the guitar in his shower. Once under his kitchen sink.
You do this once a month on one of the evenings that everyone is at the movies. After your last experience with Joel, when you started to internally begin cataloguing his movements, you'd noticed that Joel attends every single one. His only habitual act that you can count on.
His visits with Tommy are regular but never scheduled, sometimes they go to the bar, sometimes at Joel's and you assume, sometimes at Tommy's. He's not a big joiner, not found during game nights at the canteen. He rides, that much you've seen and know. He likes to be around the animals.
There’s not much to do in the evenings in Jackson City, and that usually rests easily on the community. After so much violence it’s nice to have quiet, peaceful nights. But the movie nights provide popular and give you enough time to act, a good hour and a half minimum. You could push it to two hours but that seems foolish. It's a perfect time because it's where your neighbors are usually spending their time as well.
The first time you'd navigated from your roof to his, you'd been shocked at how easy it was. Your homes were close together and jumping onto his shingles was nothing more than a gentle leap in the darkness.
The window to his hallway was unlatched, just as yours was, just as most everyone's was. You lived on a glorified compound; no one felt the need to lock up the upper floor windows.
You'd squeezed in, falling gracelessly onto the wood floor. You'd worked quickly, finding the guitar beside the fireplace downstairs and gently placing it into Joel's shower half leaning against the tile.
Then you'd run back, closing the window after you, jumping back onto your roof and throwing yourself back into your bedroom with your heart in your throat. You hadn’t taken time to catch your breath before you'd rushed down your own steps and run to the movies, coming in the back to make it seem like you'd always been there, standing near the far corner with your heart racing, trying not to giggle.
When the lights flickered on and everyone rose to leave you made sure that Joel saw you, brushing past him intentionally. You had to have an alibi. He needed to see that you’d been here the whole night, just as he had.
"Excuse me," you'd said airily, not even put off by the silence of his reply when you ‘bumped’ into him.
The second time in his place you were finding an appropriate hiding spot for his guitar when you'd noticed other things about him. Like the detailed wood carvings that lined the mantle over the fireplace. The paintings of landscapes filled with animals hung around the sparsely decorated home.
You’d taken time to wander around the home, noticing the records, the other guitars hung on the wall. You’d seen the reading glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa and the woodworking space in the garage. It had been thrilling seeing this interior life, knowing that the impenetrable Joel Miller wore reading glasses and carved wood figurines. There was something beautiful in those small pieces of him.
But tonight as you stand looking at yourself in your mirror you wonder if maybe that's enough. You've had your fun. You've tricked him twice; you've snooped in his home. That's enough.
That should be enough.
But you haven’t seen his bedroom yet. Something holds you back every single time you consider it. You’ve walked by that closed door twice, knowing that solving the mystery of Joel Miller could be even closer if you just walked over the threshold.
You’re broken from these thoughts when you hear his front door open. You creep to your bedroom window, hiding in the shadows to see his tall frame pulling his jacket on, locking his front door and heading to the center of town for the film. His boots crunch the leaves underfoot as he moves and when he turns the corner you know it's time to move.
You traverse across your roof silently, cloaked in the darkness of the night. The neighborhood is mercifully quiet and you take a moment to appreciate the view. Your thankful for the still of the evening, the quiet and you glance up to see the stars dotting the sky.
Then you’re back focusing, leaping onto Joel's roof and hurriedly moving inside. You pass the familiar sights of his closed bedroom door, the creaking wood hallway leading to bathroom. The single red toothbrush that sits sadly in a fogged water glass. You jog quickly downstairs to retrieve the guitar, always in its stand by the fireplace.
It gleams in the moonlight streaming through the window, as if it’s begging you to grab it, to hide it, to play a game. You take it into your hands, always sure to be careful with it. Pulling a prank on him is one thing, willful destruction quite another.
It's your last time doing this, you've decided. So where should you hide it?
The answer comes to you almost immediately - his bedroom. The only room of his house you haven't snooped yet. The only space of his that you haven’t conquered. Excited tingles go through you as you race back up the creaking step to his bedroom, pushing the door open without ceremony before your nerves overtake you.
It's a simple box shaped room, larger but the exactly the same shape as yours, which is exactly the same as the many homes that line these streets. Joel's is much less inviting than yours though.
He has a bed near the window, tan sheets and blue coverlet. The bed is hastily made, as if he'd been in a rush to leave. There is a small nightstand next to his bed holding a pile of books. On one wall is a well built shelf holding a myriad of records, all ones you've heard him play and on the table below it is the record player.
You observe that his closet doors are half open and you pull them smoothly apart, your gaze going hungrily over the contents inside. You’re amazed at how neat and organized it is. Shirts and jackets are hung, hats on shelves, belts strung on hooks.
The familiar green plaid is hanging there dead center, reminding you of that embarrassment at the movies. Despite this your fingers go to the fabric and you find it soft with use and age. Without thinking you dip your face forward, dragging the fabric to your nose and you inhale. It smells like him, or how you imagine he smells. Like the outdoors and fresh laundry and warm cologne. Probably the cologne you saw in his bathroom during your last adventure.
You take the smooth neck of the guitar and place it gently in the far side of the closet floor, next to what looks like a beat-up tan backpack. You close the closet doors with a smile of self satisfaction, imagining what his reaction will be.
You've never actually seen Joel get upset by these pranks but one day working on your garden you did hear him complaining to Tommy over coffee that he must be getting old because he can’t remember where I put my fucking guitar.
You'd giggled yourself silly at that, trying your best not to be heard as you moved the soil under your gloves. It had tickled you immensely to know that your small inconvenience was upsetting him. You felt vindicated for the way he had treated you.
You stand in the center of his bedroom and your eyes drift back to that pile of books and you find yourself curious about what he reads. You traces the spines with your forefinger and your gaze and you're shocked when you find classics by Jane Austen and books on astronomy. You'd expected worn paperbacks of cowboys or travel.
You notice that behind this stack of books there's a framed photo of a smiling Joel and a sweet faced little girl, obviously his daughter at what looks like a carnival. You can see a waving Tommy in the distance. You’re shocked at how different Joel looks when he smiles, his dark eyes crinkling authentically, his smile broad and his face boyish. Perhaps he is sort of attractive, in a brooding way.
You notice the yellow of age in the corner of the photograph and the realization that the photo is over twenty years old. When you look closer you can see Joel is younger, his hair and beard not threaded with grey.
Knowing what that means in this dark world of carnage is what solidifies the realization that you've overstepped.
You need to leave. Fuck the prank. Fuck harassing a guy who clearly has very good reason to not like people. You were so quick to judge, so fast to make it about you when maybe, just maybe, he was just a loner who never got over the loss of his kid.
You even think about taking the guitar back to its place by the fire when you hear the distant jingle of keys hitting the lock to the front door.
What the fuck? He was supposed to be gone at least another hour!
Your heart sinks when you hear him enter his home, tossing the keys onto the kitchen table and moving quickly to the stairs.
Fuck.
Now his footsteps are on the creaking staircase coming your way. If you run for the window in the hallway he'll see you through the gaps in the banister. If you hide under the bed you'll be easily seen.
Panic overtakes you and you do the only thing you can think of and dash into the closet, sure to avoid hitting the guitar with your leg. You close the doors, leaving them open just a hair, just as he had.
You don’t want to arouse suspicion. You'll just stay here a little bit. Wait until he goes back downstairs and then try to sneak back out the window.
"The fuck?"
You hear Joel on the landing and now you realize your fatal mistake when he murmurs something else to himself and you hear the heavy sound of the window being closed.
You left the fucking window open.
He knows someone is inside.
You cover your mouth, muffling the shallow pants of terror that go through you when Joel enters the bedroom. Through the slits between the slightly parted closet doors you can just make him out. He doesn’t turn on the light in the bedroom, so everything is still bathed in a blanket of darkness tinged blue from the moon’s glow.
He’s wearing a flannel, this one tighter around the shoulder, emphasizing the muscles of his back and broad expanse of his upper body. He looks suspiciously around, his face stoic like someone on a deadly mission.
He walks past the closet, his body strong and his movement’s solid in a way that intimidates you. If he wanted he could snap you in half and not break a sweat. He scans the room before slowly dropping to his knees beside the bed, craning his head to see underneath.
When he sees it's clear he stands again and moves out of your view.
You tilt your head, trying to listen for his footfalls but hear nothing but silence. Did he go downstairs? You figure he's gone to check out the other rooms when the closet doors fly open revealing you to him.
Joel is there, his hands on either door as he looks down at your hooded frame hunched in the corner.
"I fucking knew it."
He reaches in and pulls you out of the closet by the arm of your jacket but you stumble out, wrenching out of his grip enough to run into the hallway, your heart pounding.
The window is closed. It'll take too long to open. Your best bet is to run downstairs and out the front door. You think since you're hood is still on he hasn't seen your face properly and there is a chance to make an escape.
You move swiftly down the hallway, your eyes on the nearing stairs but he's immediately there, gripping you by the back of your jacket and tugging harshly. You fall back into his arms before he’s whirled you around to face him.
You give a sharp yelp when he slams you against the nearest wall, his hand around your throat pinning you there.
"Who the fuck are you?"
His voice is loud and echoes in the barren hallway. He sounds furious, not that you're shocked. If you'd come home to a stranger hiding in your closet you likely wouldn't be elated either. You try to hide your face in the hood of your jacket, panic making you feel cold all over. If you could just-
His large hand comes to rip the hood of your head, taking with it a few loose strands of your hair. You give a hiss of pain as your scalp tingles.
You're caught.
Joel's stares down at you with fury in those dark eyes of his that fades abruptly when he recognizes you. "You live next door."
He still has you loosely pinned to the wall by the throat, but now he drops his hand, gliding it down your collar before pulling it from your body. He smooths his palm over his wavy hair, not out of nerves but more out of disbelief at seeing you of all people in his home.
"Did I hurt you?"
You stare up at him in shock. You've broken into his house and he's the one asking if you're hurt? You shake your head. The slam of your back against the wall had shocked you more than anything. He looks confused, his eyes narrowing on your face.
"How'd you get in my house? Why are you here?"
You're both breathing heavily and you can only hope he doesn't see the fear in your eyes.
"I'm sorry," you sputter instead of answering him. "Just a joke, was just-"
"How did you get into my house?" He repeats though this time his voice isn't as hard, more curious.
"I j-just climbed in the window," you explain shakily pointing to the window at the end of the hall. "My roof is close enough to yours that..."
You trail off, not wanting to incriminate yourself further. He's so close to you that you can feel his warm breath falling over your cheeks.
"I've never stolen anything," you assure him just in case that's what's really upsetting him. "Never touched any of your stuff except your guitar. Just hid it a few times and I was really careful with it."
"Why were you doin' that?'
"It was just a joke," you say again weakly, though now under his severe eye line you can't understand why at one time you thought it was so amusing.
He's not responding, not replying, just staring at you with that inscrutable gaze. There is a flutter of panic starting in your belly, the realization that no one knows you’re trapped between Joel Miller and the wall. The knowledge that despite a few interactions, he remains a mystery.
"I should get back home," you whisper, trying to sidle off to the left. "My boyfriend is waiting for m-"
His palm comes to lay flat against the wall just next to you, boxing you in. Its dark in the hallway, but the moon hits you both, silhouetting you and showing you Joel’s expressive eyes.
"You live alone," Joel says with a sigh, as if your lie has disappointed him. "Have for as long as I've been here. Only company you get at your place is on Tuesday nights with that gal of yours."
You gape up at Joel, shocked at how accurate he is. Your brows furrow in confusion. "How do you know that?"
"Same reason you know I go to the movies every other week."
He's been watching you.
Just as you've been watching him. And while you know why you've been following his schedule, noting his arrivals and departures you can't understand why he would be doing the same for you. He just keeps staring at you in that intense way of his that makes you feel warm and tingly all over.
"My friend Trish-"
"No one knows you're here," Joel murmurs, his eyes moving to your mouth and then back to your eyes. His voice is so low, so velvety, so soothing despite the inherent menace in the sentence.
You swallow thickly, the sensation of fear slowly curving the length of your spine. You’re suddenly so aware about how little you know of Joel Miller. For all you know he could be a serial killer.
But that doesn't fit with how he's studying your face. He looks more open, even bordering on amused. But that can't be right, he can't stand you and now he knows you've broken into his house on more than one occasion.
"Had a feeling someone was fucking with me,' Joel observes evenly. "S'why I turned around tonight. Realized the guitar thing only happens when I'm out at the movies."
You remain silent, feeling so stupid. Why had you needed to keep going? Why didn't you just go with your gut instinct and stay home?
"I’ll go," you croak, hoping that Joel will take pity on you and just let you leave. Joel's face remains placid, his hand going to rest where your neck meets your shoulder, stopping you from leaving.
"You broke into my house," Joel says moving his eyes from your eyes back down to your mouth. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."
Polite? What is that supposed to mean?
The meaning becomes quite obvious when you feel his heavy hand on your shoulder begin to press, moving you back to slide down the wall until you're on your knees between he and it. The wood floor bites into your denim clad knees, but you remain still.
His eyes stay on your face as realization dawn's on you. His fingertips are ghosting over your shoulder and you watch as his free hand goes to his jeans, undoing the button and bringing down the zipper. You can see his pale boxers underneath and watch his hand flexing.
Your eyes dart back up to his face, seeing the way he towers over you, his breathing elevated only slightly and his eyes fixed on yours.
Why aren't you running?
He reaches and grips your wrist in his fingers. You watch almost detached as he opens your hand with his own and slides it under the waistband of his boxers.
Why aren't you screaming?
His stomach is warm and taut, strangely smooth for a man of his vocation. You hesitate before his hand is forcing yours to continue, wrapping it tightly around his hard cock. You hold in a gasp as your palm hits it, instinctively curling.
"Like that," he murmurs gently.
He's warm and thick and under your exploratory fingers you can feel him twitch which excites as well as terrifies you. He hisses through his teeth softly as you begin to squeeze, your eyes focused on his face. His eyes never leaving yours, the full mouth dropping open as he groans.
You continue slowly, feeling the ridge of his shaft, the pulsing heat of that iron under velvety skin. He has his palm flat on the wall above your head, his forehead moves to rest in the crook of his arm as he gently shifts his hips.
You stare up at him from your spot kneeling on the floor, still in disbelief that this is happening. Usually just the sight of him walking down the same street as you is enough to send you bolting in the other direction.
But now his gaze is soft and half lidded. His mouth isn't curled into a sneer or scowl. Joel Miller is much less intimidating when he's leaning into your stroking hand.
Then with a soft grunt he bats your hand away and brings himself out of his boxers. You hide a sigh at the sight of his broad hand curling around his thick cock. You hadn’t expected beauty in him, a softness of movement inside his rigid edges.
He remains standing there unmoving and watches you stare, breathing shallowly as you drink him in. You think he must like it because you can see droplets of pre-cum gathering on the tip. It's obvious what he wants.
Your heart gallops. "I don't-"
"'Course I could just go down to the sheriff and see what they make of this break in," Joel interrupts tightly. "Whatever you'd prefer."
It's blackmail, plain and simple. And considering how the threat of being tossed into the wild with the ravenous clickers is always an option when it comes to the sheriff, you know your choices are limited.
His large hand has come to slip over the head of his cock, his hips moving to press into his fingers slowly. You seriously consider your chance of survival outside these walls survival when Joel tilts his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"I think you want it," he croons, his hand continuing to stroke himself shallowly. "Think you've wanted my cock for a while now, pretty eyes. Just been afraid to ask for it."
You frown, protestations dying on your lips as you consider his words. Had a small part of you been wondering what lay beneath your neighbors rough exterior? Was that why you had been so determined to engage with him in the first place?
Wait, did he call you pretty eyes?
A steady thrum starts between your legs at that, your knees pressing into the wood floor harshly. You feel too warm in your jacket, but you don't dare move. You feel like a trapped animal trying to outwit an apex predator.
"Just a taste," Joel suggests when you don't reply, his hand moving from his cock to cup your cheek. You feel your lips parting subconsciously to take in a sharp breath as you regard him twitching inches from your mouth.
Fuck why are you even considering this? You should be screaming, running away, not on your knees and looking at Joel's hard cock with what feels like a burgeoning anticipation.
No. You're not doing this. It's fucking degrading. You barely know Joel Miller and this is- Your eyes fly open when his hand comes to grip your chin. His eyes are heavy lidded with lust, the pupils blown wide.
"Open up," he commands huskily.
When you don't immediately acquiesce you feel his thumb drag over your lower lip, curling over your bottom teeth and urging your mouth to open for him.
After a moment of consideration your jaw goes slack and you feel your heart leap when Joel gives you a ghost of a smile. There is a brief shadow and you're almost convicted you saw a dimple in his right cheek.
You don't have time to consider this because he's taken his cock in his hand again, stroking the base languidly.
"Mouth open. Tongue out."
You hesitate, wondering how far this is all going to go. He's not actually going to go through with this, is he? You open your mouth a bit, your breathing coming out in hurried puffs. The amusement has fled from his features and he narrows those dark eyes of his on you
"Tongue. Out."
The words are clipped and offer no room for negotiation. With a quiver that goes through your core, you do as instructed, slowly inching your tongue out of your mouth and letting it hang over your lower lip.
He moves slowly, but you're still shocked when his hips shift forward. You turn your head at the last minute, panic overtaking you. Joel gives a grunt and you feel the warmth of his cock pressing against your cheek having just narrowly missed your mouth.
He growls in frustration, his hand coming to grip the back of your head as he drags his cock along your cheek. You feel the pre-cum smearing along your skin to the corner of your mouth like some debauched trail of pleasure but you seal your mouth closed, a small form of rebellion.
"Don't make me ask again."
His voice is low and dangerous. If it hadn't been so intimidating you might have pointed out that he hadn't asked for anything, just demanded. But as it is you’re caught in his home, his hand is wrapped in your hair and he doesn’t look like he’s fucking around.
You tilt your jaw and again stick out your tongue. With cock still in hand, he taps the weeping head onto your flattened tongue before letting it rest there, heavy and pulsing. The salty flavor of him explodes on your tongue, the ridges of his cock pronounced on your sensitive tongue.
Your eyes crack open and move up the length of his body, noting that Joel's breathing picks up when your eyes meet his again.
Without ceremony he slips past your lips, tensing only when you let out a small cry of surprise. When you offer no other protestations his cock inches further into the slick heat of your mouth. He gives a small shudder, his head tilting back and exposing the column of his neck.
Your eyes shutter closed, your mouth working around him, confused as to why you're not fighting this more.
"You deserve this," he says through slow exhales, his hand bracing on the wall behind you. His eyes are closed so you're not sure if he's talking to you or to himself.
His hips snap forward and you whimper, feeling him inch closer to the back of your throat. One of his hands moves down to stroke your hair as he withdraws, his slick cock dragging against your lower lip. You exhale through your nose, catching your breath as you look up at him.
He's breathing heavily, his mouth parted ever so slightly.
"You can take it all," he tells you plainly.
And without another word he's thrust himself back fully into your mouth. So deep that your nose brushes against the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. You feel him hit the back of your throat and it takes everything not to gag or pull back. You have a feeling if you did he'd stop.
But you want to continue. You want to hear what other noises Joel Miller makes when he gets his cock sucked.
Does he do this often? Instruct women like he's done to you this evening? Fuck their mouths? The thought overruns your senses, imagining Joel in the throes of orgasm. Imagining that its you doing it to him. Your tongue swirls on the underside of him and you're rewarded with a shallow gasp.
Joel groans, watching your bob your head along his shaft. His hands are on either side of your jaw, guiding you along his slick member.
"I just know this is makin' you wet," Joel grunts as his hips continue to thrust forward. "Me fucking this sweet mouth of yours."
While you wish you could deny it, he's completely right. You are shocked at how wet you are. You can feel it there, pooling between your legs as you suck him.
His movements increase in tempo, the motions are abrupt and you search for purchase anywhere. Your hands go to the bottom of his t-shirt, gripping it as you urge him to bury himself completely in your mouth.
He growls as he begins to fuck your throat hard, so hard your head jerks back and presses into the wall behind you. He pins your head there and shoves his cock deeper into your throat, giving sharp moans as you whimper and writhe, knowing you can't escape. For a moment all you can feel and see is Joel's cock, slick with your saliva sliding between your lips over and over again. After a few guttural grunts and thrusts his movements slow and he lets his cock simply pulse there, your lips straining to wrap around it.
"Show me those pretty eyes," he murmurs. He doesn't need to ask you twice, you lift your gaze up the length of him, hollowing your cheeks. When your eyes finally meet Joel's you hear a sharp inhale from him.
"You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now," he says, his teeth clenching as you continue to suck him. "F-fuck, those eyes staring up at me.. Your mouth so... So full of my cock... You like it don't you? Having my cock fill your sweet mouth?"
You make a low humming noise of approval. Those words, those filthy, delicious words wrap around your insides. Now your hands are at the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft.
"So good," he grunts, his hand going to the top of your head. But instead of using it to brace you and push further into your mouth, it just rests there, almost fondly.
It's you who grips the back of his thighs, urging him down your throat. You who moans wantonly not for him but because you're so turned on you can barely function.
You suppose that's what tips him over the edge, your open desire.
Now his movements are erratic and he's fucking into your mouth so harshly you think you might faint. Not from pain but because it feels so fucking good to be used like this. So taboo to have the grouch from next door using your mouth for his pleasure. So fucking heady knowing that he’s going to come because of you.
Your hands fly back to the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft. He makes a sound that could almost be a whimper if it weren't so low and gravelly. He tilts his chin down, watching you.
"You want my come?" He grunts, pulling your hair back at the nape of your neck, forcing your gaze to his. You nod, your mouth stuffed with him and he makes a noise in the back of his throat as he pulls out from between your lips.
"Say it.” He's visibly shuddering as he takes his cock in his hand and begins stroking.
"I want it," you whimper, your body aflame.
"What do you want?" He asks jerkily, his movements becoming staccato-ed. "You know what I wanna hear."
"Please Joel," you say; drifting forward and licking the reddened head of his straining cock. "I want your come. Please."
He licks his lower lip swiftly.
"Fuck yeah you do," he sighs almost reverently before the fist around his cock increases in speed. "You're gonna take every last drop aren't you?"
Another nod from you and now your tongue is out, flattened and ready for him as you arch. Joel makes a tortured sound in the back of his throat.
"Keep those pretty eyes on me," Joel whispers raggedly. "Don't you dare look away."
Your eyes open just in time to see Joel Miller come undone before you. The face normally contorted into a frown or grimace is replaced by his mouth curved into a disbelieving smile as he looks down at you, his breathing coming out in short little rasps. Then he stills and you watch him spill out over his hand.
Thick ropes of his come erupt over you, landing in warm strips along your cheeks, your lips, your tongue. His hand continues stroking, painting you with him, muttering filth that you can't really hear before he is spent.
Joel's legs tremble a moment, but grow steady as he leans against the wall with his forearm. You go to wipe your face but Joel shakes his head.
"Don't move," Joel demands breathlessly. "I.. I just need to look at you."
You sit there, your face decorated with his seed and your eyes fixed on his face for what feels like forever. He looks at you as if you are art. As if you were designed and molded to be everything he wants.
You want to bathe in the warmth of his eyes forever, but soon his breathing becomes even. He tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his jeans.
You sit there expectantly, unsure of what to do next. After everything that happened is-
"Get out."
You blink twice as the words sink in. You’re still kneeling there, still staring up at him when Joel pulls back, his gaze hard again. He raises a brow in irritation, a silent question of why are you still here?
Humiliated again by Joel Miller.
You hastily wipe at the cooling seed on your face with the arm of your jacket as you scramble to a stand. Your eyes go to the stairs, thinking of how you'll get back inside your place and you make a motion to go down them. His hand shoots out, holding it in front of you to stop your movement. You notice he doesn’t touch you when he does this.
"You can go the way you came," Joel says without inflection and somehow this option of escape feels like a further sting. He steps back, indicating the hallway window with a tip of his head and you move past him quickly, hot tears pricking the back of your eyes.
You pull open the window with ease, not looking behind you to see if he’s watching. You hope he’s not. You pull yourself over the sill and lower yourself onto the roof. You hate yourself for looking back over your shoulder, hoping he’ll stop you and bring you back inside.
Instead you watch as Joel brings his wide hands to the lip of the window, preparing to shut it the moment he stops speaking.
"Don't ever break into my house again."
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller smut#smut#fanfic#pedro pascal#dad joel miller#fanfiction#dark!joel x reader#dark!joel miller#dark!joel#deaddovedecember2023
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hiii 🌷 could you please do gf!abby!!!! gf!ellie was so good i need more
hi honey!!! so sorry this took me so long to write...usual bad grammar and such.. overall headcanons and thoughts. me trying not to use the word yall. um mention of the word boobies. again on and off non apocalypse au. that's it i think Enjoy!!! ◠ ̫◠
while i know she's a strong woman. mentally and physically. i think she just wants to be babied. especially after a long day of patrol?!?! she comes home n jus lays with u while u take her hair out of the braid and rake your fingers through it. SHE LOVES IT!!!!!
ok i know i said this exact same thing about ellie. but she's a sleepy girl too!!! like if it was a competition abby would win by a mile. she comes home gets borderline naked, left in boxers with her boobies out, she hits the bed and within seconds she's out like a damn light
n also. i think she snores, not loud but you can definitely hear it n Its So Cute!!!! :333
and, hear me when i say this if you aren't in the bed with her she won't sleep. Refuses actually she could be so tired but if u aren't there Forget It!!!! she used to not sleep at all unless u were sleeping too but as i said, this girl has gotten progressively sleepier over the years
i think before you two started dating, you were the type of friends where everyone thought you were dating. which caused a few problems...but you two kinda led it on? without realizing? holding hands, always with each other, sharing beds. n you would wonder why people thought that?? "so you two aren't dating?" you and abby hand in hand shoulder to shoulder "no why would you think that?"
speaking Of!!! she was the first to realize she actually liked you, of course like i said your friendship had always been lovey dovey, so it was hard for her to take time out to realize her feelings for you were more than just really good friends who sometimes shared a kiss on occasion. it came naturally to her to confess, but nothing really changed. just more kisses for abby!!!!!
very clingy and forgive me for this but she would hold your hand while you peed if she could. she loves holding ur hand. idk if she's too big on pda tho.
either way she loves to follow you everywhere. like i said. if you got up to go to another room, she was right there behind u. sometimes she scares u cuz she's So quiet. "What are you doing?" u turn around and she's blocking the doorway
she loves to listen to u talk. blabbing about nothing and she'd still listen like it's the most important thing.
she has a Ton of cds you name it she probably has it. peter frampton, fleetwood mac!!! (two of my personal favs). she likes to sing them to u. n i think she likes dad rock as well, she picked it up obviously from her dad LOL.
for the girls that wear makeup (me :ppp) i think she loves when you leave kiss marks on her!!!! it's so sweet to her she'd never wash it off if you let her
i may dabble more with the friends before dating business in something bigger at a later date. hope u enjoyed. ･᷄-･᷅
#lesbian#wlw#the last of us#abby anderson x reader#abby tlou#abby anderson#abby the last of us#abby anderson fluff#abby anderson hcs#tlou#tlou2#the last of us 2#abby anderson x female reader
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I probably think way too much about how very little Sam knew about Mary. How John and Dean gave him almost nothing, to the point that she wasn't even really like a ghost shadowing his life, more like the story of one overheard in bits and pieces over the years. And yet, his whole life from when he can first remember—every bit of motivation or guilt, every point of pride or shame—is built around his mother, this person he isn't allowed to know.
I've written a lot of bits and pieces about it before, but never a standalone. This is actually an excerpt from a longer story, but I modified it some and I think it works on its own, hopefully (he knows about hunting already but that's really the only canon difference).
..........................
When Sam's in fourth grade, and has to write a page about his favorite memory, he asks for Dean's help. All he can seem to dredge up at the moment is just too weird or too farfetched. Things that say far too much about the way they live for a teacher to read.
So he asks Dean what he would write about.
After some teasing about his best memories being of all the times Sam's embarrassed himself (and a well-aimed pink rubber eraser hitting him between the eyes) Dean quiets down and turns thoughtful.
"Well, I dunno what my most favorite memory would be, really. I guess…" He bites his lip, chews on it for a second, gaze directed absently into the distance. "I think it would prob'ly be my first memories? It musta been, like, when I was three and four maybe. They're…of Mom."
"Oh." Sam's chest gets a little tight. He speaks quietly, cautiously. Dean—Dean and Dad both—they don't talk about her much. Sam's seen her picture, the one that Dad keeps in his journal, a few times, but he knows so little about her. Just that she was pretty (beautiful), with a smile that reminds of him of Dean's and wavy blonde hair. "What was she—what are they like?"
Dean smiles, maybe a little sad, but it's more than that. Warm, wistful; gaze still unfocused and distant. "Mostly…happy. Like…bright. She'd sing to me a lot, and, like, I didn't know the songs back then, but, when I hear 'em now, I can hear her voice singing them. Beatles, Beach Boys, Simon and Garfunkel, um…Peter, Paul, and Mary, maybe…" Dean chuffs out a laugh. "I remember Puff the Magic Dragon, at least…I think I even remember Dad teasin' her about how she better sing me some real music, too, not just sissy crap, but, I dunno, maybe I made that up."
Dean pauses, that bittersweet expression on his face, still, and Sam doesn't want him to get lost in it. He also doesn't want to miss this opportunity, if he can help it.
"I dunno. He'd say somethin' like that." Dean spares him half a smile, still somewhere else in his head. "What…what else do you remember? What'd you guys do together?"
"Well, not a whole lot. I guess mostly just the normal stuff you do with a little kid. Like legos, I remember we'd build castles an' fortresses and stuff. I wanted her to build me a car but we didn't have enough black bricks, so she made me a little boat instead. Dad said it looked like a bathtub." He smiles. "Um, she'd dance with me, sometimes. To the radio. Make lunch—I mostly remember sandwiches and Mac n' Cheese. I'd sit in that little seat in the cart when she went to the grocery store, and she'd ask me what was on the list and I'd pretend I could read it and make up dumb stuff."
The silence is longer this time. Sam breathes out, carefully. "What kinda stuff?"
"I dunno. Just silly things, like 'elephant steaks!' Or 'a unicorn!' Or 'poop n' rhubarb pie!'"
"Gross." Sam wrinkles his nose.
Dean grins at that. "I think you're, like, the only kid ever who never found poop and fart jokes funny."
"'Cause they're not."
When Dean laughs, muttering little weirdo, Sam looks around for something harmless to throw at him, pouts.
"Don't worry, Sammy, if anyone wonders why you're so weird I'll just tell them it's 'cause you still poop your pants, and you're kinda sensitive about it an' all."
"Dean."
Sam decides that his pencil is perfectly fine to throw after all and, as a concession, doesn't aim it at his head. Dean grins, not seeming too annoyed by the assault, so Sam decides to push his luck.
"Did Mom think it was funny? Your lists?"
Dean's melancholy little smile is back. "Yeah…yeah, I think she did. She'd always laugh, anyways. An' she had the best laugh. I'd make up stuff that just got more and more ridiculous just so I could keep watchin' her laugh." He sighs, shrugs. "Anyways, yeah…that's Mom. That's what I remember."
It gets quiet after that, and Sam can see Dean's face starting to shutter over as he withdraws. It's rare for Sam to get to see his brother so open and unguarded any more. Over the last few years, Dean's started to change; Sam can tell. Still fun, still charming, still affectionate, at least with Sam (mostly when there's no one else around to catch him being so uncool). But, even though they're not always alike—Dean doesn't usually brood, rarely explodes, and he never gets that kind of burning cold John does when he's focused on something—sometimes now he kinda reminds Sam of Dad. He's been more closed off, the way Dad can be, his deeper emotions pushed farther away, out of Sam's reach. Doesn't show when things get to him, like he used to.
It's actually kind of lonely, sometimes.
"So, what are you gonna write about, Sammy?"
When Sam shrugs, Dean suggests the time they ran out of gas on a back road in central Florida. They'd only walked two miles before an Oscar Myer Wienermobile came barreling down the road, seemingly out of nowhere, and gave them a lift to and from the closest gas station (still a good eight miles away). Sam counters with the night in Montana that Dad got so drunk he started fighting with the motel owner about yetis (Dad coming down hard on the side of 'hoax'). They ended up getting kicked out at two am after Dad had cut down the guy’s “Bigfoot Crossing” sign with an axe. They toss back and forth increasingly ridiculous ideas until they're both laughing so hard they're in literal tears. When John comes back, they can't even stop long enough to answer what's so funny. Dad just smiles, bemused and fond, and shakes his head before heading off to shower.
Sam thinks maybe he can add this afternoon to his Good Memories pile.
In the end, he waits until that evening, before bed, and easily fills up a page-and-a-half about the time, last summer, when Dad was on a hunt out west and he and Dean had spent all afternoon exploring tidal pools in Yaquina Head, Oregon, marveling at the tiny little aquatic worlds they found. He invents an older teenage cousin that tagged along so the teacher won't question why two young kids spent the day alone in a national park.
He gets an A.
From then on, Sam keeps his eyes out in thrift stores for cassettes from the bands Dean mentioned; pockets them when he can to listen to later on the beat-up Walkman knock-off Dean stole for him for his sixth birthday. He likes a lot of it, but he's careful about what he keeps; only his favorites. He stashes them in the bottom of his school bag, in the hollowed-out book that Bobby showed him how to make last year, on a rainy day when Sam got bored with watching old Westerns.
For some reason, he doesn't want Dean to know about them. Doesn't want him to feel like Sam's trying to take something away from him. So he slips them in when he's sitting in the back of the Impala alone, on long trips, and closes his eyes. Lets the albums pour into his ears over the headphones; shuts the rest of the world out. Sgt Pepper's. Pet Sounds. Bookends. He tries to imagine his mom, Mary, singing the songs to him, in a sunny kitchen.
But he can never really pull together a complete image of her; just bits and pieces, blurred-together impressions: yellow hair, the smiling face from the picture (looking kind of flat, like a mask), a flowered dress he'd seen in a shop window. And he doesn't know what her voice sounded like, so it kind of just ends up being a composite of the voices of some of his favorite teachers (along with the mother of a classmate back in Indiana who drove him home once when she spotted him waiting for the rain to stop under the playground slide).
So he gives up on trying to picture her, and, instead, just tries to sink into the music, sees if he can feel what she was feeling when she listened to it. Imagines the conversations they might have: which songs would be her favorites, why she would have liked them, where she was the first time she heard them playing.
When he hears those songs on the radio now, or over the speakers in a restaurant, it makes him feel kind of happy and sad at the same time.
They remind him of her.
(Except for America—for some reason, that one makes him think of Dean.)
#spn fic#sam winchester#dean winchester#weechesters#mary winchester#john winchester#sam's lonliness#motherless sam#supernatural fanfic#my fic
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Okay! The Gang are playing Rock Band.
Dennis: Vocals. Always on Expert. Stops to smirk at everyone when he perfects every high note. Whenever he doesn't 100% a track he blames Dee’s attempts to sing along and Charlie’s ‘insane grunting’ being picked up on the mic. Stands in front of everyone so he has more room to move (sway his hips). He gets to pick every song.
Mac: Bass guitar. He started on lead guitar Expert but he was the sole reason they’d fail almost every track, and still kept failing on Hard. He claimed it was because his ears are actually tuned better for bass and took it from Dee. Alternates between Hard and Medium based on how tricky the track is. Claims he has to do that because when the song is fast his fingers get too sweaty and slip off the keys. Refuses to sit while playing even though it would greatly help him. Is the reason they stop playing because he ends up breaking both guitars.
Dee: Lead guitar after Mac snatches bass from her. Wants to be on vocals but Dennis won’t allow it because he says she’ll fail them faster than Mac does on guitar (but it’s really bc Dennis can’t do any other instrument well). Loudly sings vocals when Dennis picks a song she knows she can do better. Actually near-perfects guitar on Expert if she's sitting on the ground. Spends any break she has attempting to trip or elbow Mac.
Charlie: Drums. Literally just goes fucking crazy on Expert, no one’s sure he’s even actually looking at the TV but he’s somehow always hitting 100%. Mostly squatting or kneeling as he plays, never sits properly. Makes weird grunting sounds that aren’t in rhythm with what he’s doing. When he has an easy run or a break he speaks completely normally like drumming takes no effort. Always fucks up selections by absently drumming while they're on menu screens.
#iasip#headcanons#can you tell i played rock band a lot growing up#always on drums btw#we broke one of the drumsticks and i drummed with the wii sensor bar for awhile#any time roxanne comes on the radio my dad brags about 100%ing it on expert#im taking rcg notes on my bowling headcanons and making them more better at things#if they ever make switch rockband its so over for my neighbours
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i want to be with you everywhere
a tom holland imagine
PAIRINGS: tom holland x female!reader , tom holland x singer!reader , tom holland x famous!singer
SUMMARY: After being on hiatus for five years, you had managed to complete a whole new album for your comeback and announcing your upcoming tour in the process, as well as having Tom supporting you all the way.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: i offer you this tom imagine for the meantime. this imagine had been inspired by hayley william’s cover of ‘everywhere’ during the parahoy event back in 2018! also, i’ve been listening religiously to fleetwood mac. enjoy! (NOT PROOF READ!)
REMINDER: this is purely fiction, this is a product of the author’s (me) imagination. this work is originally written by me, do not in any way repost or copy my work. i write for self indulgence, if you don’t like my works, then don’t read it.
WORD COUNT: 1,757
WARNINGS: nothing, just some fluff. casually reiterating—poor attempt on fluff :D
Your comeback album had taken the world by storm, since you decided to drop it when the world wasn’t anticipating it. Everyone didn’t know that throughout your hiatus, you’re working on your new album because you have been so quiet, especially on your social media platforms. So when you decided to drop it out of nowhere, everyone—especially your fans are in shambles. To add fuel to the fire, right after dropping your comeback album, you had also announced your tour for the new album. Despite the shock that you gave your fans, they were really excited for your comeback and had managed to sold out your concerts in record speed.
Fast forward to your first night of concert, which is being held in Atlanta, Georgia. The air inside the stadium was palpable, it was packed with cheering and screaming fans, everyone had been buzzing with anticipation. You had been performing for almost an hour now, and there’s only one song left in your set list before you conclude your first night of tour.
“Okay,” Your fans cheered very loudly and you smiled at them, “This is the last song for the night. This is actually my first time singing this song.” The fans are pumping in excitement.
“While I was on my hiatus, I was staying in Nevada, working on my album, and I’ve been listening to a lot of songs from my favorite artist of all time, so you can say that I’m binge listening to them. This one song, I religiously listen to it wherever and whenever—in the car, when I cook in the kitchen. You know.” You giggled, “This is the song that had really inspired me in writing the album, especially the sound and vibe of it was inspired by this song. Also, this is the song that I wish I had written.” Everyone laughed and cheered.
“Alright! This will be the last song tonight, it is a song that is a perfect ending to a perfect night. If you know the lyrics to this song, feel free to singalong with me.” You smiled widely as your fans kept on cheering loudly, “This is ‘Everywhere’ by Fleetwood Mac.” The cheering had intensified, that’s when you knew that you have a lot of fans that loves Fleetwood Mac.
“Again, thank you so much for your never ending support. I hope that you had a blast joining me on my first concert after five years, thank you and good night!”
There was a surge of energy when the first few notes of the song had began playing, you looked around the stadium, making eye contact with each and everyone of your fans and smiling directly at them, noticing them. Suddenly, you felt your heart race as you scan the crowd further, hoping to see the one person that you wanted to see the most. Then, there you saw your boyfriend, Tom, seated amongst the crowd with his best friend Harrison, and brothers Harry and Sam. Both of you locked eyes and you smiled at each other softly and you began singing the song.
Can you hear me calling, out your name?
You know that I’m falling and I don’t lnow what to say.
I’ll speak a little louder, I’ll even shout.
You know that I’m proud and I can’t get the words out.
You and Tom been dating for almost a year now, and things between the two of you were going incredibly great, and you couldn’t ask for more. Tom was constantly on the go with his acting career, you don’t mind about it, he always make sure to make time for you despite his busy schedule—so that’s why you had decided to hold your first concert in Atlanta, Georgia. Tom is currently in Atlanta shooting a movie for marvel, so you decided to hold your first concert there because ever since he found out that you’ll start touring, Tom had expressed that he won’t be able to attend because it was also the same time as his movie shooting, and you know how badly he wanted to attent your concert since he’s a very big fan before you got together.
When you told Tom that your first concert will be held in Atlanta, he was over the moon. You told him that his concert tickets are ready, but he declined it, Tom told you that he wants to secure the tickets himself, he also reasoned that he missed fighting with other fans for concert tickets. The moment that Tom was able to secure his desired tickets, he called you immediately, telling you that he’s very excited to see you perform again on the stage in front of everyone and proceed on telling you how much he’s proud of you.
The song may only be a cover, but it holds a special meaning for you. You had secretly dedicated the song to Tom in your heart, hoping that he would understand the message behind the lyrics because the song exactly represents what you had felt when you when met Tom for the first time. The song is also the very perfect song to express your feelings for him.
Oh, I, I want to be with you everywhere.
Oh, I, I want to be with you everywhere.
(Wanna be with you everywhere)
You pointed at Tom, causing him to smile lovingly at you. As the beat played, you did your little dance, which Tom loves the most. It’s one of your little quirks that he finds really endearing.
Something’s happening, happening to me.
My friends say I’m acting peculiarly.
Come on baby, we better make a start.
You better make it soon before you break my heart.
Tom’s expression softened, looking at you softly as he listened to the familiar tune, and you felt a rush of emotion in you as you poured your heart into the song.
Oh, I, I want to be with you everywhere.
Oh, I, I want to be with you everywhere.
(Wanna be with you everywhere)
Can you hear me calling, out your name?
You know that I’m falling and I don’t know what to say.
Come along, baby, we better make a start.
You better make it soon before you break my heart.
The words of the lyrics echoed throughout the whole stadium, and you closed your eyes as you dance to the beat of the song, feeling it. You can’t help but imagine as well that you’re back in your home with Tom, dancing slowly to the song in the kitchen, with dim lights—which you do very often. You poured all your love and passion into the song, anf you felt it resonated with the audience.
When the song ended, the crowd erupted in cheers, screaming, and applause. But your attention remained on Tom—he was standing up, together with his brothers and best friend, cheering loudly for you. You couldn’t help but feel all the love for him, knowing that he’s proud of you. You thanked the crowd again and exited the main stage, heading straight at the backstage.
You were already at your dressing room, resting. You had just cleaned and changed yourself so you’re already fresh and no longer sweaty from the concert. You’re feeling euphoric, so never knew how much you missed performing in front of thousands of people. Now, you can’t help but look forward to your future concerts. You were lounging on your couch, keeping yourself busy as you scroll on your phone, checking for posts from different fans during your concert, liking and retweeting some of the posts.
There was a knock on your dressing room and the door opened, revealing Tom. Your heart skipping a beat as he walked towards you slowly, his eyes beaming with pride and love for you. He put his arms around your waist, his hands rubbing softly on your back, immediately sending a jolt of electricity throughout your body.
“Wow.” He said, his voice soft and sincere, “That was really really incredible. You never cease to amaze me, my love.” You blushed, cheeks beet red.
“Also, Haz, Harry, and Sam extend their congratulations to you for your successful first day of concert.” He added.
The feeling of happiness that you’re feeling right now is immeasurable as you look into Tom’s eyes lovingly. To be honest, you’ve been very nervous about performing the song, because he has no idea at all that you dedicated the cover to him. But seeing his reaction when you performed it, made it all very worth it,
“You know, I dedicated that song cover for you.” You admitted, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “It’s my way to let you know how much I love you.” You added, as you gently brush your fingers at his nape.
Tom’s eyes widened in surprise and grinned widely at you. He, then suddenly pulled you into a tight embrace. You felt him leaving trails of soft kisses on your exposed shoulder.
“I love you too, so much.” He whispered softly as his lips brushed against your ear, sending slight shiver over your body, “More than anything in this world.”
He stared lovingly at you, smiling widely, and finally pulling you in for a kiss. You had kissed back with the same intensity, both of you smiling through the kiss. Pulling back softly, looking at you again, Tom pulled you again for a kiss.
“I want to be everywhere with you as well, darling.” He smiled brightly.
You knew from the beginning you met Tom that you had found someone very special. Someone who loved and supported you no matter what. Both of you left your dressing room and the concert venue, with fingers intertwined with one another, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the love that you share.
Tom is one of the biggest plot twist that had happened during your hiatus, and you have never been happier in life.
#tom holland x reader#tom holland x y/n#tom holland fluff#tom holland x fem!reader#tom holland one shot#tom holland x you#tom holland fic#tom holland x singer!reader#tom holland x famous!reader#tom holland imagine#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland#peter parker x reader#peter parker imagine#tom holland peter parker#mcu!peter x reader#peter parker x y/n
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Wekiddy Headcanons cause yes
Also my take on the characters personality and such.
Part 1
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Going in order from the wiki lol
Boom 9
Boom 9 is the quiet one of the group and often doesn't talk, he does but only to ones he likes lol.
He isn't human(obviously) but a lot don't know WHAT he is especially trying to figure out by his eyes, KC Glow does however but wants to keep it a secret to troll the others.(everyone's dying to know what he is).
He besties is KC Glow.
Kevin
Kevin is a quiet tired type but still has his bright loud moments.
Kevin is Swingy and KC Glows brother (Swingy by blood and KC Glow by Adoption).
He has social anxiety hard core, Especially when he first joined the band, He actually only joined cause of his brothers but after the first show, he felt confident with his brothers by his side.
Still has anxiety but not as bad as before thankfully
Likes that he doesn't have to sing or rap on camera lol.
Double K
He is chill and probably the most mature one of the group despite not being the oldest.
He is soft spoken and sometimes doesn't say much besides "Yep" or "No" (Big Mac ref lol).
He loves being a great help to the rest of the group even if he doesn't say much.
Blue GT
Blue GT is the type of guy to party all night and in the morning he just sleeps until he can do it all over again(he hasn't but will if given the chance lmao).
He's rich but doesn't flex about it that much, he only likes to party mostly then anything else.
Despite loving to go to a rave club he would be let down if people started smoking and would leave cause he can't stand the smell(sensitive to certain smells).
MJ 182
He is the chaotic one lol, definitely has bitten a few people before and will do it again.
Has told others that he isn't human before which isn't much of a surprise cause of his sharp fangs and eyes.
Legit shows off what he is with pride on his shirt(Alien lol).
He's a alien 100% (I blame @zankydraws lmao).
Loves cats so much lol.
Boom Fuzz
Definitely the tired angry gremlin that will eat your shirt sleeves when angry which is always.
Will play by his own rules with beatboxing and will make his own beat that doesn't really follow the rest of the band but somehow works anyway.
Has gotten in trouble for spray painting in famous places lol
Hates everyone....well besides KC Glow, no one knows how he got into the band to begin with or even became friends with them to begin with lol
ASAP Bee
Cool chill man that won't secretly kill you in your sleep if you insult him or his friends.....Or in general.
Had bees in his small bag lol or well bee theme stuff.
Oddly smells like honey,Blue GT loves the smell lol which would explain why they are friends lol.
Likes rolling his tongue randomly when he touches to troll others from rolling his R's.
M.O.G
The kind sweet gentle creature that loves making others happy.
Loves pie,apple,lime,cheese,berry, Pumpkin, etc.
Just a sillay emoji.
Arashi
I actually don't know much for him lol but um I guess he's the mascot of the group with a personality I guess lmao
Big Duke
The most chill one of the group complete and rare to anger or upset.
Had a calm deep voice but can change the pitch to a lighter one sometimes.
Is friends with everyone even if some (*cough cough* "Boom Fuzz" *cough*) don't like him.
He likes braiding his and others hair
Okay finally finished with part one lol so yippie
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you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc
one. you make loving fun (sweet wonderful you)
content (for this chapter): smut, drinking, bad jokes and flirting, cursing, fluff, some insecurities (both frankie and camila), child surprise (not a pregnancy fic), general softness, mentions of food, some lengthy prose
word count: 9.1k
a/n: she is here. i've wanted to write something inspired by fleetwood mac for so long and frankie (alongside @lcvenderblues meddling, ily) just lends himself so well for it. as i've mentioned in the series notes, this was supposed to be shorter but, in true me fashion, not only did it turn into a never-ending thing, i also somehow ended up with camila (whom i love dearly). so there you have it. i'm also currently without a beta reader so if you see mistakes just... pretend you didn't
reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
series masterlist | masterlist
“We didn’t necessarily do things the proper way–Will would say we actually did them backwards, which I think is just partially true, I’m not giving you the satisfaction, Miller. You see, when I first met Frankie we didn’t say a single word to each other for exactly three minutes and thirty-four seconds–and I know that, because that’s the exact duration of You Make Loving Fun. Technically, the first thing I said to him was Sweet wonderful you, and after all this time I still stand by those words. We could’ve done things in order, we could’ve done everything scrambled through whatever amount of time, but the result would still be the same–Francisco, my sweet wonderful you, you really do make loving fun.”
Frankie couldn’t remember the last time he’d belted out to a single song while driving–if he drove alone, the music would be loud and he would just keep the rhythm by tapping the steering wheel or nodding his head, never taking his eyes off the road; if somebody else was with him, there would either be no music or he’d just feel too self-conscious to sing.
Yet there he was, a drop too much of tequila in him (in the morning he would chastise himself for the rashness of his actions), windows down and music high, singing his heart out with a woman he’d just met at his side, her hair whipping wildly in the wind, McVie’s bass making the speakers of his car tremble.
He hadn’t planned any of it–he was meant to go to the bar, have a drink, maybe two, and then go back home and fall asleep on the couch with a movie he wasn’t even interested in. But he’d turned in his seat as You Make Loving Fun by Fleetwood Mac had started, and met the eyes of this woman–dark hair, big smile–who, pointing directly at him, had started singing and beckoned him forward. He wished to pretend it had been the beer’s fault, making him stand almost immediately, but truth was he was completely enthralled by her.
Frankie had danced with her as she sang along with the song, her hands in his, her body warm against his–they’d kissed before knowing each other’s names, her own shouted into his ear: Camila. He’d laughed, offered to buy her a drink, two, three, the conversation flowing so easily they’d found themselves moving outside for a smoke, and then to his car, where she’d seen the Rumors album tucked in a compartment of the car and her eyes had lit up.
He hadn’t thought he’d end up bringing somebody home, but her enthusiasm had warmed his chest, and suddenly he found himself kissing that smile off her lips as they stumbled into his house tangled together, shedding shoes and jackets through the corridor until they fell into bed.
She huffed a breath when he landed on top of her, laughter bubbling in her chest as she pulled back from the kiss and regained her breath, raking her hands through his hair while he lifted his head and, wide-eyed, looked down at her flushed face.
“Sorry,” he muttered, arms bracketing her head, as he lifted himself off of her, kneeling between her parted thighs–he lowered his gaze to where her dress had bunched up around her hips, uncovering her legs and giving him a peek of her underwear. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and when he looked back up a grin crossed her lips. “You alright?”
“Being crushed under someone’s weight was not how I imagined I’d go,” she snorted, hands falling to his shoulders, down to the front of his button up–it was already wrinkled from her touch, and as she thumbed a button he arched his eyebrows and lowered one hand to her skin, fingers brushing across her exposed collarbones.
“That’s a bit dramatic,” goosebumps crossed her skin in the wake of his touch, smile still pulling at her lips. He lowered his head into the crook of her neck, lips brushing her pulse point–he felt her heart jump under his mouth and grinned against her skin. “Feels like you’re alive to me.”
She laughed again, the sound making Frankie’s smile widen, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down her neck, throat, chest, following the path he’d traced with his fingers down to the neckline of her dress and then further down, across the wrinkled fabric, her back arching as he moved down and down and down, a shuddering breath making her chest heave.
His hands followed, a too brief touch over her chest, cupping her breasts before moving to her hips, pulling the dress further up until her stomach was exposed and he could kiss the bare skin there, right above the waistband of her underwear as he caressed down her thighs, pulling them up slightly, parting her legs furthermore to slot himself with his shoulders underneath her knees.
His shoulders had been the first thing she’d noticed in the blinking lights of the bar, broad and constricted by his shirt, tugging at the top button she’d undone while they were dancing with a grin–he’d lifted his arms at some point, shirt riding up his stomach and giving her a peek of a sliver of skin. She’d thought about kissing the skin there, just as he was doing with her, the gentle scratch of his beard making her shiver.
“You don’t have to -” she gasped when he nipped her inner thigh, hips lifting off the bed with a curse muttered between her teeth that had him chuckle and look up.
“Where would the fun be in that?” he kissed her thigh again, moving slightly up as he hooked his arms around her legs and placed his hands above her hips. “Let me make it good for you, baby.”
A shudder of anticipation ran down her spine at his almost-request that had her flushing and push herself onto her elbows–she barely shifted over the bed, his hands keeping her pinned down.
“Is that the tequila talking, Francisco?” he grinned as she reached down, tracing his jaw with the tip of her fingers before pinching his chin gently, angling his head as if to lean over and kiss him. He liked the way she said his name, r rolling off her tongue, hissing s, hard c.
“A little,” he admitted, thumbs playing with the hem of her dress. He wasn’t drunk to the point of not remembering anything the following morning, but just enough to act cocksure. “But I mean it–only if you want to.”
Camila bit down on her bottom lip, another rush of excitement running through her–between the dancing, the drinking and Frankie’s kisses, every single part of her felt aflame. She dragged her thumb across the seam of his mouth, his lips swollen and slightly red in the dim lights of the bedroom parting under her touch–his pupils dilated, eyes dark and expectant. When she nodded, a shimmer crossed his gaze, and after kissing the palm of her hand he lowered his head between her thighs, pulling her gently closer to him–Frankie was eager, and with a loud sigh she fell back onto the pillows.
His lips never wandered too far from the soft skin of her inner thighs, peppering gentle kisses as he tugged her underwear down, parting just enough to expose her–the cooler air of the room hit her core right before he bowed his head, a kiss to her mound that had her eyes flutter shut. Pinning her hips down, Frankie pressed the flat of his tongue against her slit, and the moan that ran up her spine at his first taste of her made her shudder, hands grasping for the covers at her sides.
Another muttered curse left her lips as he dragged his tongue up to the apex of her core, her legs threatening to close around his head when he nudged her clit–he kept her thighs apart, fingers digging into the flesh as he glanced up at her. She kept her lips parted, short bursts of air leaving her each time he repeated the motion, lapping again and again, his tongue coated in her slick to the point he couldn’t feel the aftertaste of alcohol anymore.
Her thighs burned where his beard dragged with the motions of his head, muscles trembling as he picked up his pace, the noises filling the room almost obscene–had she been a little more sober, she would’ve felt herself flush with embarrassment, granted she could get past how good he felt. When he wrapped his lips around her clit, she clenched around nothing and moved one hand into his hair, tugging onto the locks somewhere between pulling him away and pushing him closer.
He moaned in response to the burn across his scalp, the vibrations making her back arch off the bed–again he pinned her down, hand spreading across her stomach, her muscles tensing under his touch. He shifted his arms, one half-draped across her hips with his hand reaching up, past her belly and towards her chest, underneath the now ruined dress–the other tucked into his side, hand dipping between her legs.
“Jesus, Frankie,” she moaned his name when he pushed his digit inside her, a mix of spit and her own slick aiding his movement–one knuckle, two, her chest heaving and she pulled onto his hair again, his name falling like a chant from her lips. He lifted his head then, enough to get a glimpse of her face–eyes glossed over, she looked down towards him and trembled at the sight of his glistening lips.
“This alright?” his voice was raspier, a little hoarse, caressing the skin of her stomach like a ripple of warm water. She nodded, eagerly enough her hair ruffled all around her head, and rocked her hips slowly into his touch. He began pulling his hand back, the drag of his finger making her moan and drop her head back.
“Please,” with a sigh, her hand heavy on his head, she arched towards him–he lowered his mouth to her again, tongue flicking over her enlarged clit as he slowly sank two fingers back inside her.
Frankie’s pace was agonizing, alternating between curling and pumping his fingers, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Camila had the fleeting thought she could not remember the last time someone had made her feel so good, right before he curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot she never managed to reach on her own, and simultaneously sucked her clit–her vision flashed white as her legs locked around his head, orgasm washing over her with a broken moan of her own.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered breathlessly, hands slowly reaching for her chest–her fingers interlocked with Frankie’s over her stomach as he pulled his head up, the hair locks she’d tugged at falling messily over his forehead as he chuckled, the tip of his tongue peeking between his glistening lips.
“Thank you?” he tilted his head slightly, cheek brushing her red-marked thigh as her legs eased from around his head, falling heavily still over his shoulders. She snorted, squeezing his hand and letting her eyes flutter shut as he shifted upwards.
With her free hand, she took hold of his shirt, tugging him up to her until she was kissing him again, bracketing his hips between bent legs as he leaned his weight on her once more, their joined hands moving up across her body, her skin warm even through the bunched up dress and his shirt.
Frankie rutted his hips into her when she licked into his mouth, a muffled moan as her whole body shuddered at the drag of his jeans growing too tight. She locked her thighs around his hips, belt digging into the soft, uncovered, already slightly reddened skin, and with the hand previously interlocked with his, she reached for his hair and tugged slightly.
He huffed out a surprised breath when he found himself on his back, both her hands now on his chest to push him fully down as she tilted her head, hair tumbling to the side as she left a trail of kisses down his patchy beard, his neck, button after button undone by deft fingers until his shirt fell open and she was kissing his chest, the room rocking slightly in his hazy vision. He bucked his hips again as she undid his belt.
“Top drawer,” buckle, button, zipper, some of the tightness against his bulge easing as his hands quickly fell to her uncovered knees, trailing up and up to sneak underneath the dress that had fallen back down her frame.
“What?” words slurred against his skin, she was kissing his shoulder, shrugging his shirt off fully as she did. He sighed heavily at her insistent kisses, at her fingertips dragging down his arms to bare him, the tickle of her unbound hair to his other shoulder and chest.
The last thing he wanted was for her to move away, so he wrapped one arm around her waist, pushing her close to him–in doing so, her knees slid up a little and she settled on his stomach as he shifted up across the bed, moving one hand away to reach for the nightstand, blindly grabbing a silver-wrapped condom, movements hasty and quick as she went back to kiss his neck, grinding down on him with soft whines. He followed the movements of her hips with his free hand spanning against her side, dress wrinkling under his touch.
Camila pulled away almost abruptly, a little gasp leaving her lips as she straightened her back with her hands resting on his chest–her fingers pushed gently into him to balance herself before reaching for the bunched up hem of her dress and pull it over her head, letting her hair fall right down over her shoulder.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” her hands once more resting on his chest, Frankie’s fingertips dragged up her side–knee, thigh, hip, waist, thumbing the soft skin underneath her breast and making her sigh softly, eyelids fluttering shut as a smile still pulled at her lips.
“‘Cause you look real pretty,” he shifted his hands past her legs to tug down the rest of his clothes, the movement making her lean her weight forward, fingers curling against his chest as she snorted–and felt her face heat up.
“Lights are off, Francisco,” she lowered her face to him, simultaneously lifting her hips from his as he kicked off his trousers and underwear almost impatiently, belt-buckle clicking somewhere on the floor over the edge of the bed.
“Would you like them on?” the sound of the foil ripping made her eyes wander downwards across his body–she licked her lips at the sight of his hard length, tip red and leaking resting against his stomach. “Mila,” he called her softly–so softly she shuddered, lowering her lips to his in a quick kiss.
“I don’t want you going anywhere,” with one hand cupping his chin, she spoke against his mouth, his lips parting to chase another kiss as he rolled the condom on, reaching to grab one of her hips right afterwards, slowly guiding her down.
Camila moaned into his mouth as the tip of his cock nudged her entrance, her legs parting a little more around his hips to give him more room as she sank further down his length. The stretch had her dig her fingers slightly into his cheeks, working his jaw open as he now gripped both her hips, steadying her movements.
“Fuck, it feels good,” between one kiss and the other, inch after inch, Camila began pulling her head back. “So good,” muttered over and over as she moved her hand down–Frankie felt the blunt edge of her nails across his neck, chest, fantasized about there being marks the day after. “You feel so good, Frankie,” she cried out his name as she straightened her back and sank fully down on him.
They remained still for a moment, panting as they both adjusted to the position, a slow, gentle grinding on her part as she tipped her head back, hands resting on his chest–Frankie’s heart felt like it was about to burst out of him and rest on her palms, the grip on her hips tightening as he groaned softly.
“Look at you,” he hummed, kneading her flesh as he pushed himself in a seated position–her hands slid from his chest to his shoulder to the back of his neck, again a gentle scratch that rose goosebumps in its wake. The shift of positions made her sigh heavily, eyes fluttering shut as she bit down on her bottom lip and her chest heaved, pressed flush against Frankie’s. “Tan hermosa,” he mouthed against her exposed throat, seconding the next rock of her hips with one of his arms wrapping around her lower back.
She squeezed around him at his words, tiny breathless gasps at his words and the push of his arm, her back arched and her thighs trembling again. One of her hands threaded through his hair, a tingle spreading across his scalp when she tugged on the strands–but she did not pull him away from her neck as he kept kissing her, tongue dragging across her collarbones, tasting the salt from her skin. He could stay like that the rest of the night, he thought, buried to the hilt inside of her, nursing hickey after hickey on her soft skin, listening to her uttered praises.
But then Camila began moving, rolling her hips once, twice, held back moans trapped in her throat each time she lowered herself fully onto him, taking on a rhythm that had stars shimmer at the edges of Frankie’s vision–he knew then, resting his free hand behind him for balance, digging his heels in the mattress, that he was not going to last long, the smooth drag of her walls up and down his length pulling him closer and closer to the edge.
When he snapped his hips up to meet her half-way, she stuttered, bowing her head until she was muffling a loud moan into the crook of his neck, movements suddenly erratic. Frankie repeated the motion, again, and again, and again, the arm around her hips keeping her in place as he fucked up into her, each thrust punching the air out of her with a low cry.
“C’mon, baby,” he tutted, nosing at her cheek. “Let me hear you. Let me hear you, I’m close, so fucking close, so–” he groaned when she picked up the rhythm again, half-moons craved by her nails into his shoulder and a louder moan leaving her. “Attagirl.”
Camila did not hold back after that, the encouragements he kept murmuring through kisses making her dizzy, making her stomach flutter–thighs trembling, her rhythm started to falter again, clenching around him.
“Can feel you–little more, baby, just a little more,” he moved his hand from her back to her hip, reaching with his thumb to the apex of her core. She gasped at his touch, the quick, small circles he drew over her clit as he twitched inside of her–her lips on his neck brought his orgasm forth, dragged it on until she stilled with a cry of his name.
She went heavy against him, hot, long breaths caressing his skin as she clung to him, and slowly he shifted back, bringing his arm around her waist again to keep her close, guiding her to lie down on top of him. She peppered his neck and shoulder with small kisses, brushing her hand through the hair on top of his head, each strand standing on edge under her touch.
“You keep doing that, you might just be the death of me,” he murmured, the sudden quiet broken only by their breathings. Camila chuckled, grazing her teeth against his neck–he tilted his head and gave her more space, her kiss lingering over his pulse point.
“Feels like you’re alive to me,” she echoed his words, and Frankie laughed, his whole body shaking with it. She placed one final kiss on his neck and he could feel the smile on her lips before she rolled onto his side, a sigh leaving her before she moved one hand to her hip.
“You alright?” he asked softly, turning his head towards her. Her eyes were closed, eyelashes brushing her flushed cheeks, and her lips were curved in a smile still, as she slowly rubbed down her upper thigh.
“Haven’t done this in a while,” she returned, and he brought his hand over hers, pressing down gently to massage her flesh. She sighed again, relieved, lowering her chin to his shoulder. “Just need a moment.”
“You can stay, it’s alright,” she flickered her gaze up at him, a few rapid blinkings before he leaned in, placing an almost ridiculously chaste kiss against her lips before pulling back. “I’ll be right back.”
She hummed softly, her eyes shutting right away as her hand fell to the empty space previously occupied by him, fingers curling as if seeking to hold onto the warmth he’d left behind. His gaze lingered a moment longer on her, the way her hair fell across the covers and around her head, soft waves now tangled. He didn’t need any brighter light to see how beautiful she was, her body curling up onto herself as her breath slowed down furthermore.
When he returned from the bathroom, mere moments later, the air in the room was heavy with the smell of sex, but underneath lingered that scent that had driven him wild from the bar–rosemary, fresh and pungent and somewhat familiar. Camila’s body was completely wrapped up in his covers, untucked and twisted from the bed, only the top of her head peeking from underneath, the whole thing shifting slowly in tandem with her breathing.
“Mila,” he called her name softly, just leaning against the edge of the bed with the towel he’d brought for her resting on his forearm. “You’re hogging all the covers,” he whispered with a smile, and a quiet groan left her–a noise of protest as she shifted and lifted one arm, uncovering herself and the empty side of the bed. All through it, she did not open her eyes.
Chuckling, he climbed by her side, leaving the towel on the nightstand and shifting close, until her warm skin touched his again. She dropped the covers and her arm back down, right across his chest, and bowed her head until her forehead was pressed to his shoulder, the other arm tangling with his, interlocking their hands together.
Frankie looked down towards her again, unable to help the delicate smile curling his lips, and ever so slowly leaning in to brush his lips to her forehead. She squeezed his hand at that–the only acknowledgment she managed to give other than another soft sigh, warm hair brushing down his shoulder. So he said nothing else–there was no need to–and just fixed the covers until she was fully covered. It didn’t even matter he was still partially uncovered, the sheets mostly tangled around her body instead–he was warm enough with her at his side.
When Frankie opened his eyes, he realized he’d slept all through the night without waking a single time–no nightmares, no fear for his child needing him all of a sudden, and the warmth radiating from the body next to him a comfort he hadn’t felt in a while. The morning sun filtered through the drawn curtains, hitting the lower edge of the bed with feeble rays, and though his head hurt terribly he forced his gaze to shift at his side.
He shouldn’t have drank that much–he wasn’t used to it anymore.
Camila had abandoned her curled up position during the night, shifting almost onto her front with one leg hooked over his, and her arm still draped across his chest, fingers extended towards where his farther hand was. The hand he’d fallen asleep holding was tucked under her chin, just above his shoulder, and was pushing upwards slightly, so that a pout formed on her lips–his own arm was stuck underneath her, a little numb, disappearing underneath her curtain of hair.
Her eyelids shifted as if chasing a dream, her breathing still even, and against his side Frankie could feel her heartbeat, regular and soothing. Shifting ever so slightly, he tried to angle his body to face her, but her arm tightened around him, and a groan of protest left her as she pushed herself closer, brows knitting in a frown that was immediately covered by her hair falling across her face.
“Sorry,” he murmured softly, mouth parched. He reached forward with his free hand, brushing the locks back and tucking them behind her ear. There was a smudge of mascara underneath her eye, and he cupped his hand over her cheek to rub at it gently. She hummed, leaning into his touch before slowly licking her lips, smacking them a couple of times.
“What time is it?” she blinked several times in his direction, frown returning until she cleared her vision and he came into focus, brown eyes wide that showed her smile before he glanced at her mouth. “Hi,” she whispered, almost breathless, and Frankie chuckled.
“Hi,” he repeated, mimicking her smile. “Still early, I think. I have no idea where my phone is,” he cleared his throat–he needed some water desperately, but couldn’t bring himself to move away from her. “You can get some more sleep, if you want.”
“Do I look that terrible?” she turned her lips in an exaggerated pout, moving her hand across his chest, shoulder, following the curve of his neck before she was cupping his jaw, thumb brushing across his patchy beard.
“Quite the opposite,” some boldness from the night before clung to him still, in that moment of otherness from the rest of the world they were lingering in, in tangled limbs and tentative touches. Though she attempted to maintain her expression of mock-offense, a grin broke across her lips–lips he was glancing at over and over–and a flush spread across her cheeks. She grew warmer, pressing herself into his side.
“Even without the alcohol?” she teased, the tip of his nose brushing his–neither of them seemed to care about morning breath, or the way both their mouths felt padded with cotton. As long as they were close. Closer.
“Especially without the alcohol,” he retorted with a nod, rubbing the tip of his nose to hers.
She kissed him with a smile still on, scratching his jaw as she pushed herself up to meet him, and he let his hand wander back, fingers brushing through her hair until he cupped the nape of her neck. Camila sighed in the kiss, and he took advantage of her parted lips, licking into her mouth as her whole body went soft and heavy against his.
Frankie moved slowly, slotting his leg between hers as he shifted on his side, deepening the kiss and then moved again, guiding her until she was lying on her back, and he hovered over her, forearms bracketing her head as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and parted her thighs to accommodate his hips.
He groaned when she arched her back to cant her hips towards his, a muffled whine at the rub of his underwear he’d pulled on before getting into bed against her bare core. It was suddenly clear to him that it hadn’t been the alcohol making him dizzy the night before, but her, her kisses, the way her body pressed against his, the soft sounds she fought to hold back.
For a moment, that was all he heard–the rustling of the covers, her breathing quickening, his heart beating faster, louder, his name hanging from her lips once and twice and then again–and then the doorbell rang, and Frankie’s head snapped upwards.
“Were you expecting someone?” Camila asked, a little breathless, turning her head towards the door of the bedroom, the echo of the doorbell breaking the glass that had shielded them from outside, from the day ahead.
“I think it’s my mother,” he spoke in a lower voice, flinching at his own words, and the woman’s eyes widened as he snapped her gaze back towards him, a hint of panic crossing her face. “It’s alright, she’s just–she’s not staying, just passing through, I’ll–” he brushed his lips to the corner of her mouth as he moved from over her, the half-kiss hurried and messy. “I’ll be right back.”
He cursed himself as he stood from the bed, scrambling to find a pair of trousers to put on with a shirt that wasn’t wrinkled–he pushed the clothes from the night before aside, the doorbell ringing again and the realization of what was going to happen making him suddenly unable to look at her.
“Frankie,” she called softly, and he turned his gaze to a vague point of the duvet, right next to where her hand rested now that she’d sat up. “Where’s the bathroom?” she fidgeted with a loose thread of the duvet, and on her other side she drummed her fingers quickly. Nervously.
“Down the corridor to the right,” he stalled for a moment, then forced his gaze up. Her eyes were still wide, still worried. “I’ll be right back,” he repeated, and headed for the door before the doorbell could ring a third time.
The night before was a blur until the moment they landed on his bed–bits and pieces, snippets of songs and rumbles of music, bitter and sweet from alcohol and then her. They’d talked for so long, and yet he knew he’d never mentioned Alba–and with the way they’d moved through the house, she sure hadn’t seen any picture of her either. It was why he hadn’t brought anybody home in a long time–hadn’t even thought about it, before Camila.
“Ah, tienes mala cara,” was his mother greeting as he opened the door, and the little child in her arms immediately squealed, all but throwing herself towards her father. Frankie was quick to grab her, huffing out a breath that he hoped didn’t smell too much of tequila, stepping aside as the woman walked in.
“Hola, mamá,” he muttered, watching as she perused the living room. “¿Están bien?” he asked then, turning to look at the child with a smile–he couldn’t help it, the child’s joy infectious even when he felt like death. He needed water. And breakfast.
“Nuh-hu,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head, a smile already pulling at her lips. Frankie sighed. "¿Es bonita?” she asked–he felt his chest and face warm up, and was quick to glance away, focusing on babbling Alba instead. He could try and bullshit his way out of the conversation, but there was no winning an argument like that with his mother.
Mostly because he knew it was clear as day on his face that he’d actually had a great night.
“Sì, mamá, es muy bonita, pero–” she waved her hands in the air, as if shooing gnats away.
“Vale, vale, me voy,” she scoffed, walking back towards them. Frankie bowed his head, letting her kiss his forehead before she pinched the kid’s cheek gently, making her giggle again. “Ten cuidado, ¿sí?”
“No es como si me fuera a robar, mamá,” he chuckled, the sticky feeling of her lipstick on his forehead familiar and somewhat welcomed. He reached over to squeeze her shoulder softly, reassuringly, but his mother just looked back up at him with a sigh, patting the back of his knuckles.
“Me refiero a tu corazón, Cisco,” she murmured gently.
“It’s not like that,” he said quickly with a shake of his head, but his eyes trailed up towards the ceiling, where soft steps came from upstairs. His mother shook her head, humming her dissent as she followed his gaze. “Mamá–”
“Al menos pídele una cita,” she whispered, the steps drawing tentatively closer, stopping somewhere down the corridor. “Chau, nena. Proteges a tu viejo, ¿vale?”
Frankie scoffed, a quick peck to his mother’s cheek with a thanking under his breath before she showed herself out, one last glance over her shoulder, towards the stairs that creaked–the situation was almost hilarious, his mother trying to steal a look towards Camila while the woman tried to be as quiet as possible down the stairs. All the while, Alba squirmed in his hold, curious about the noise coming from inside the house, too distracted by it to see the door close in front of his grandmother.
Camila’s head appeared first, the rest of her body still a step back, and she glanced inside the living room with a careful gaze–she saw Frankie first, her expression relaxing. She took the final step forward and then stilled, her eyes falling to the kid still in his arms. They regarded each other, and Frankie had to clear his throat a couple of times while she pulled at the hem of his shirt over her wrinkled dress.
“Well, I thought it took longer to get one of them,” she tugged the sleeves of the shirt almost over her hands, taking a tentative step forward before frowning. “Didn’t we use protection?”
Frankie hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until he huffed out a laugh, holding Alba a little closer before crossing the space from the front door to Camila. Her gaze flickered from him to the child, her giggled pulling a smile on her lips as she tilted her head.
“Hi, nena,” she whispered softly, pushing her hand out towards Alba. The child grabbed her index, tugging it towards her face and immediately trying to put it in her mouth. Camila snorted, keeping her head tilted to look at her face. “I don’t think that’s very tasty, honey.”
“Alba, don’t,” Frankie chastised softly, trying to pry Camila’s finger from her grip. “Sorry, she will try and put everything in her mouth lately.”
“That’s alright,” her voice had a softer edge, eyes fixed on the giggling child. Frankie had managed to wrestle her hand out of the kid’s hold, and was now wiping her hand clean. “So she’s–you have a daughter?”
“Yes,” he looked up from their now joined hands to see her nibbling at her bottom lip, the hand he wasn’t holding fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt, thumbing the loose button.
“Just a daughter?” she asked, her voice lower, and looked up at him. Wide-eyed, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly, Frankie’s heart clenched at the hint of doubt in her words.
“Oh, God–yes,” he spoke quickly, and moved forward as much as he could while still holding Alba against his chest. “I’m sorry–yes. Her mother and I haven’t spoken in months.”
The tension left Camila’s shoulders, a long exhale that tasted minty and made Frankie all too aware of his own breath–he tilted his head to the side, keeping only his gaze directed towards her.
“You’ve been raising her on your own?” at her question, Alba tipped herself forward, lounging for her with open arms–Camila’s hand rested on her chest before his own could, keeping her upright and stepping closer, a wide and gentle smile as she murmured something under her breath as she rubbed her thumb across the child’s chest. Frankie shrugged.
“My mom helps, keeps her some nights if she thinks I need it,” he watched the soothing motions of her hand, the way Alba’s breath began to even, how the woman’s eyes did not leave the child for a moment, how her cheeks had a gentle flush that was somewhat different from the one of that morning, in bed. “My friends too–some of them. Benny can’t be trusted with a child on his own, I’d find her with purple hair or something.”
“Sounds like a charmer,” she chuckled, and after another beat looked up, meeting Frankie’s gaze. He sucked in a breath, his head bowed awfully close to hers–he wasn’t sure why it felt different now, to be so near her he could feel the warmth radiating off her body. In the new light, he could see faint shadows under her eyes, some remnants of the makeup she’d tried to wash off clinging to her eyelashes, the freckles dotting her nose, the grays at her temples that matched his own.
“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, shuffling on the spot. “I’m sorry, Mila.”
“What for?” she frowned. Frankie’s gaze shifted from her to Alba, her head now tipped back against his chest, eyelids drooping. “Hey, it’s alright–it’s not like a child is something you discuss with a one night stand. I understand,” she sounded so genuine, Frankie’s heart clenched again.
His mother’s words echoed in his head: at least ask her out on a date.
“What if it wasn’t?” he asked before he could stop himself, and watched the circling motion of her thumb still on Alba’s chest stop–the child grumbled in protest, turning her head to hide in the crook of Frankie’s neck. “A one night thing, I mean. That is, if–”
“Yes,” she replied immediately, almost breathlessly, then cleared her throat. “I’m sure there’s plenty of kid-friendly places, too.”
“I –” Frankie hadn’t even thought of suggesting Alba went with them, whenever it was, wherever it was, if it ever was– he already imagined calling in favors, finding a babysitter. Camila hadn’t even hesitated. “Might be a little rusty, but I don’t remember dates including one-year-old kids, y’know?”
“Oh, you meant a date?” Camila’s head tilted to the side, and Frankie’s expression fell, the little smile that had begun forming dropping quickly as his lips parted. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” she said right away, covering her mouth to keep herself from laughing. “Bad joke, I’m sorry,” she repeated, moving a little closer to his side, dropping the hand she was keeping on Alba towards his arm, wrapping her fingers around his wrist as she moved close enough to rest her chin on the opposite shoulder of the one the kid was falling asleep. “Whatever works for you–I’d just like to see you again.”
“Even without the alcohol?” he tilted his head so that he was looking at her still–from underneath the collar of his shirt, bright against her neck appeared a bruise in the shape of his lips. He stared at it a moment longer, while her smile widened and she nodded, chin digging into his shoulder.
“Especially without the alcohol,” she echoed, and he let his eyes flutter shut with an exhale.
He let himself linger in the moment, Alba’s warm puffs of air as she fell asleep against him, soft body slumped heavily over him, and Camila’s weight on the other side, the barely-there contact of her body against his side, fingers brushing his wrist with the same circling soothing motion she’d used with the child, the other hand resting over his shoulder.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, afraid of breaking whatever spell had been cast over the three of them.
“Of course I am,” he felt her shift her weight forward before she kissed his shoulder from above his shirt. “D’you have your phone?”
“Back pocket,” he’d realized he pulled on the trousers from the night before as he walked down the stairs, and the phone was still there–before he could fix his hold on Alba and reach for it, Camila dropped her hand from his shoulder and took it, turning a little so he could watch the screen too as she thumbed in her number.
“There. Whenever you’re ready,” she smiled up at him, and almost put it back in his pocket, then stalled. “Actually, can I use this? Mine’s dead and I should get a ride back to my car.”
“I can take you,” Alba stirred in his arms, the few minutes of sleep seemingly enough for her, a grumble leaving her as she tried to squirm out of his hold and reach for the floor.
“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can make it,” she smiled, and her eyes wandered immediately towards the child, gaze softening as he lowered himself carefully to let her down. Alba toddled towards Camila, her arms out for balance–it still astounded Frankie, the way she could cross rooms by herself now.
“I know, just–” he followed the child with his gaze, hands outstretched to grab her should it be needed. But she went on, straight towards Camila’s legs, arms lifted towards the hem of the shirt, tugging gently on it. “We could get breakfast–Alba, pórtate bien,” he chided.
“Breakfast sounds nice,” the woman crouched down, bringing herself at eye level with the child–her dress pooled around her ankles, and his shirt brushed the floor, Alba grabbing the hem and pulling it towards her. “I know, nena, it looks familiar,” again her voice softened, a mock whisper as she leaned in and pulled one corner up. “I stole it from your dad because I couldn’t find my jacket–but don’t tell him.”
Alba giggled, looking between the two of them but leaning against Camila’s bent legs, one cheek squished against her knees. The woman’s hand reached for her head, gently brushing her dark curls back and out of her hair. Frankie had only ever seen his mother use such tenderness with her. His mouth felt dry.
“Give me just a moment, I’ll be right back.”
He got ready in record time, brushing his teeth while simultaneously trying and failing to make his hair make sense–he pulled one of his caps on, not wanting to waste more time. A part of him was apprehensive, leaving the two of them alone–but the other trusted Camila already, and he hoped this once his gut would not betray him. He really, really hoped so.
When he returned–still in the middle of buttoning his shirt–Camila had abandoned her crouched position and was sitting on the floor instead, her back against the couch and her purse abandoned on the side, as Alba sat between her ankles and placed one toy after the other over the woman’s dress. She babbled as she moved a stuffed bear towards the other, which Camila held against her stomach, her eyes crinkling at the corners while she smiled. The moment Frankie walked back into the living room, she looked up towards him.
“That’s an interesting shirt,” she commented, eyebrows arching, unable to hide the grin as her gaze roamed across the print of his button-up. Dark green with a floral print, it had been a gift from his mother, and he rarely ever wore it, the pattern a little too bold for his taste.
“I’m behind on laundry,” he muttered, fingers hovering over the last button, eventually deciding to leave the neck a little open. “And you stole the other one,” he pointed an accusing finger at her, and Camila immediately brought one hand to her chest, stuffed animal and all.
“Who told you that?” she gasped in mock-offense, her eyes falling back to Alba who had been following the conversation, eyes wide and attentive, giggling between their words. “I thought we were becoming friends, and you went and betrayed me like this!”
“Don’t blame it on the child,” reaching their side, Frankie offered her his hand to help her up, and once she was standing, a couple of staggering steps before he steadied her, he lowered his head towards her a little. “Thief,” he added in a whisper, and Camila smiled up at him.
“Is this alright?” she asked then, almost tentatively. “I really have no idea where my jacket is,” she admitted, sheepishly. Frankie rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, gaze falling from her lips to the places his shirt draped over her shoulders and collarbones.
“Of course–I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he didn’t say it gave him an excuse to call her afterwards, to actually see her again if for a minute.
“Thank you,” she cleared her throat, letting go of his hand to reach up and fix the collar of his shirt, fingertips brushing his neck while doing so. “I was just messing with you–it looks good,” she hummed then, smoothing it across his chest. He scoffed, a light roll of his eyes before turning to pick up Alba, the child already lifting her arms towards him.
“Come on, I’m starving,” he said instead, and the woman scowled at his dismissal, walking just ahead of him to open the door for him and Alba–she’d picked one of the stuffed bears with her, and when Alba noticed she squealed happily, looking over Frankie’s shoulder all the while to keep her eyes on Camila and the bear.
The drive was quiet, except for the initial moment, the radio starting again where they had left it on a too high volume the night before–the final notes of The Chain leaving place to the beginning of You Make Loving Fun, a nervous laughter leaving them both as they reached for the volume at the same time. In the backseat, Alba squirmed in her booster seat but was otherwise unfazed, the bear secured in her arms, and they glanced at her half-guiltily before turning towards each other.
Frankie thought he could’ve kissed her right there and then, above the handbrake with their seatbelts pushing into their chests. He also thought he’d had the same idea the night before. Was sure of it, actually. He’d probably done it, too, the alcohol making him bold enough.
But he didn’t need courage, he realized. It was so easy to be at Camila’s side, to talk about nothing and everything all at once, to joke and laugh and listen to her hum along with the songs, watch as she looked into the mirror towards Alba and made faces at her that made the child giggle with unabashed glee.
He forgot, for the whole ride, that they hadn’t even known each other for a full day. It didn’t feel like it mattered anyway.
Inside the café–right in front of the bar they’d been the night before, her car the only one still in the parking lot–there weren’t a lot of people. They sat themselves in one of the corners, Frankie between her and Alba, and ordered an exaggerated amount of food with two strong coffees–acknowledging for the first time their hangovers.
Passing in front of the counter, Camila had gotten an orange, and as they waited for the food she began peeling, the oils soaking her skin that still smelled like Frankie–a combination from his shirt, his sheets, his soap she’d used to rinse part of the night from her. In the meantime they spoke of her job–a boring office job that she needed to pay rent as she looked for something she actually enjoyed–and his job which left Alba with her grandmother during the day, how he still tried to be home early every afternoon.
“Yesterday was an exception–I barely ever get out when I don’t have her, and most of the time I just get a drink and then go back home to crash on the couch,” he looked down at the small white plate in front of him, the orange slices she’d dropped there dripping juice down the sides. She’d done it without thought, alternating between eating some herself and giving it to him as she listened, stealing glances at Alba every now and again. “I don’t–I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve done any of this.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to apologize?” she tilted her head as he bit into one of the orange slices, then removed the skin from the remaining half and gave it to Alba, her hands already extended towards him. “I thought this was going well.”
“It is!” he said quickly, his thumb catching some of the juice at the corner of Alba’s mouth. Camila repeated the process–one slice for her, another on Frankie’s plate. “I just–I feel I might be rusty, and I don’t want to f–” he stopped himself, a quick glance towards the child, “to mess this up.”
“Frankie,” she lingered on his name a moment, soft-spoken and tender. It hung in the air a long moment as they were brought their food, her gaze on him like a rooting force. He exhaled slowly, and only when the waitress left did he manage to look away from Camila. “I haven’t done this in a while either, you know? Any of it.”
He took a blueberry muffin, split it into tiny segments on the plate still covered in orange juices before handing them to Alba one by one–at the corner of his eye, Camila still looked at him and the child, the cup of coffee already in her hands.
“You can go ahead, she’s been obsessed with these lately,” he murmured, and to prove his point the kid began stuffing her face with the bits. “You still seem to be more at ease with all of this,” he admitted then, his voice still low.
“What about tonight?” she tilted her head to the side a little, food still untouched.
“You said it yourself–that was the tequila,” with a sheepish smile, he looked up at her, wiping his hands on the nearest napkin. “Made me think less about the fact you actually asked me over like that,” at that, she gave a quick laugh–a sudden noise that seemed to surprise both of them.
“Sorry, just–” she cleared her throat and took a quick sip of her coffee. “Why’d you think I asked you?”
“I have no idea,” he shrugged, honesty weighing his words. Camila’s gaze softened.
“My last relationship ended a little over a year ago–yesterday was the first time I actually got a night out for myself,” she spoke calmly, and for the first time that morning she did not meet his gaze openly, rather focused on the table as she ran her index all around the rim of the cup. “I just wanted to have fun. I spent so much time during that relationship staying quiet, staying still, and I just wanted to sing and dance for a while.”
“That doesn’t explain me,” her expression shifted quickly, that same scowl from the house at the way he’d just brushed off her compliment. He almost apologized right away.
“You looked like you might need it, too,” she shrugged, leaning with her elbows on the table and cocking her head to the side again, meeting his gaze once more. “And I really wanted you to need it. Which made me really really nervous.”
“You seemed anything but,” she smiled then, lowering the cup to the table to fill her plate once she saw him eat, too.
“Liquid courage,” she said it almost conspiratorially–her voice low, not enough that he couldn’t hear her, but had to lean in a little. Camila’s gaze flickered from his eyes down to his lips, and when she reached over to rub her thumb at the corner of his mouth, Frankie’s shoulders sagged with a slow exhale. “We could just test out the waters, you know? Slowly. See where this goes–it doesn’t need to be a grand thing.”
“I can’t ask that of you,” her fingers were still brushing his face, and when he shook his head his stubbled rubbed against her fingertips.
“You’re not,” she replied in a soft voice, dropping her elbow to the table. With the motion, his head followed her hand down, resting his cheek into her palm. Like the night before, Frankie believed he couldn’t possibly get close enough. “I think it’s worth a try, if–I mean, if that’s how you feel, too.”
“I really do,” he murmured, and she smiled again, so bright and pretty his heart ached. “I just have no idea what to do.”
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” she shrugged, and then, lowering her head a little so she could look at him fully from underneath the visor of his cap. “Can I kiss you?”
The warmth in her voice took him aback, the knot in his throat melting with it, and before he could register he was even leaning further in, he nodded.
“Yes,” he added, pointlessly, feeling her hand moving to cup his chin, leading him close, closer, gently pushing his cap back so that it didn’t stand in her way. Camila’s kiss was delicate, nothing compared to those of the night before, nothing like that morning–chaste, familiar, almost casual, somewhat tender.
There, then gone, leaving Frankie with the thought he could be kissing her all day long and never grow tired of it.
“Where the hell have you been?” Santi’s voice sounded metallic and distant coming from the car speaker, his greeting as soon as Frankie called him back.
“I’ve got Alba, mind your tongue,” he retorted, watching as Camila’s car moved out of the parking lot, her arm sticking out of the window to wave at them. Alba laughed, returning the gesture and squirming in her seat. “Did somebody die?”
“Hola chiquitita,” Santi called, and Alba squealed in delight. Frankie suddenly wondered if he should’ve given her that muffin with all its sugar. “I could’ve died. I’ve been calling since yesterday.”
“Well, you didn’t,” for a moment he stared at the tail of Camila’s car–up until he could see, and then began driving the opposite direction. “What’s up?”
“No, not what’s up,” Santi argued, his voice growing in pitch. “Where have you been, Fish?”
Frankie flinched, shifting his grip on the steering wheel–he cleared his throat.
“I was on a date,” there was no going around it–not with Santi. A clattering and a muttered curse, Santi’s voice was suddenly closer.
“Excuse me?” he turned the volume down a bit, sighing as he tipped his head back towards the headrest, eyes still fixed on the road. “For the whole night?”
“Yes, actually,” he sighed, glancing towards Alba in the mirror–she was tilting her head at the sound of her uncle’s voice, over and over, as if trying to find him right there in the car with them. “My mom had Alba so I went out. Camila stayed the night. It’s not a big deal.”
“Camila, hu?” the other man almost taunted. “I’m assuming the night went alright, since it’s almost lunchtime.”
“We went for breakfast,” Frankie shrugged, even though Santi could not see him.
“You–” a pause, “wait, with Alba?”
“With Alba,” he confirmed, a careful note in his voice.
“And it went–” Santi let the sentence linger, unsure. Great, Frankie wanted to say. It went great. I can’t believe my luck. It feels too good to be true. I’m afraid I’m about to wake up from a wonderful dream and be met with a disappointing reality.
“Alright,” he said instead. “Alba adores her, and she was–it was alright.”
“So, you’re gonna see her again?” he could hear the grin in his friend’s voice, and he almost rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it anytime soon, he knew. He also knew he didn’t care, Camila’s perfume lingering in his car, on his bed, the promise of going on a walk soon, to keep things easy.
“Yeah–I will.”
next
#you make loving fun#frankie morales#frankie morales x ofc#frankie morales x original female character#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales fic#francisco morales fanfiction#francisco morales fic#francisco morales x ofc#francisco morales x you#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales x original female character#frankie catfish morales#frankie 'catfish' morales x ofc#frankie 'catfish' morales x reader#frankie 'catfish' morales x you#frankie 'catfish' morales#catfish morales x you#francisco catfish morales#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales x ofc#pedro pascal characters
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"You're My Angel"
for @incidentale (Thank you so much for that ask and the inspiration ❤🌻 )
Words: 1323
(Ao3 link in reblog)
Characters: Simon (Dinner in America 2020), Patty (Dinner in America 2020)
Additional Tags: Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, They love each other so much, and I love THEM so much oh God we NEED a sequel, Also we need more fanfictions wtf, inspired by a song
“You know that I’m no angel, right?” Simon half-teases with an arched brow after she is done singing, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close on the bed.
“You’re a fucking angel, you’re my angel. All mine, mine, mine…” she sweetly sings into his ear this time. He can feel her smile against his ear and fuck him if it doesn’t make his heart race and ache like crazy.
Just like every time.
He decides that he’ll die a happy man if he can feel her smile like this every day.
“I’m no angel,” he insists.
“You are. To me. You saved me. You can’t deny that. No matter what you do and say, you’ll be always my angel,” Patty says as she nuzzles his neck and that’s what breaks him finally because fuck, he was no one's, and I mean no one's favourite person before: let alone an angel.
Sure, he had a few loyal fans maybe: fans who thought he was amazing and cool, but what the fuck did they know? They only knew John Q. And they sure didn’t think he was an angel. Not that he wanted them to. He knew he was no angel, and he wasn’t aiming for being seen as one by anyone. That wouldn’t be very punk of him, right? Right. Fuck angels, anyway.
Simon is not sure who saved who, actually, so he just lets out a dry chuckle and swallows the lump in his throat as the tears he was holding back gently roll down his cheeks.
It’s a weird and holy feeling; being loved oh so much.
He doesn’t think he has been ever loved like this before; so truly, madly and deeply. Yeah he is quoting Savage Garden okay, sue him. Not even by his parents who were supposed to love him. Because that’s what parents did, he used to think. They would love and accept their kid. Well, apparently that was such bullshit.
Patty, on the other hand, loved him without trying to change him: she accepted him as a whole, loved him as a whole.
Being loved by her was a miracle. She was a miracle in his eyes.
Patty, Patty, Patty…
Kind, funny, sweet, sexy, patient, honest, and just his-kind-of-crazy.
They were living together in their small but cozy apartment for the past seven months and nine days, and yet she never ceased to amaze him every single day.
He buries his nose in her soft hair and sighs.
“I’m sure you would figure something out by yourself to save yourself from that pathetic shit that you used to call ‘life’, eventually. You are punk as fuck and smart as hell, after all. I just… made the process go faster. Diamonds don’t stay hidden all their lives. They can’t. They find a way to shine sooner or later somehow.”
“I don’t remember allowing you to make this about me,” she complains and slightly pulls herself away to look at him. Seeing his tears makes her frown, but she doesn’t mention it or asks if he is okay. She leans her forehead against Simon’s instead, her thump caressing the side of his cheek as he closes his eyes in content. “But hey, at least you didn’t deny that you’re mine.”
“I don’t remember askin' for permission. Everything is about you for me now.”
‘There is no me without you anymore,’ he thinks.
“Is that so?”
“Hell yeah,” he nods. When he opens his eyes, Patty looks at him like he has given her the whole wide world. “You see that streetlight?” He points at the streetlight across the street from their window. “Even that is about you,” he whispers. “It helps me to see you better when you’re sleeping. Big fan of that one, I swear. Beautiful warm yellow. Maybe I should write a song about it later. And of fucking course I’m yours, music girlfriend. Always. Hell, I was yours before you even knew it.”
“Ew, babe, you’re sooo cheesy right now. You’re like, as cheesy as mac and cheese, even.”
That makes Simon laugh. Teach Patty a word and voilà, just watch her start using it all the time.
“I’m just fuckin' with you,” she laughs back. “And I’m yours, too, angel,” she adds as she starts pressing soft kisses on his body: first on his naked chest and then his collarbone, shoulder and jaw.
“This better not become a thing,” feeling his cheek heat a little, he mumbles, his hands wandering up and down her sides.
“What? Me calling you ‘angel’? How about… ‘Punk Angel’ ‘Angel of Punk? But nah, I think I love calling you just ‘angel’ more. Sorry not sorry,” she says with a cocky smile that suits her so much that Simon falls in love with her all over again.
He is utterly captivated by her and her affection.
“Did I ever tell you that your voice is as deep as an abyss that I wouldn’t mind falling into for the rest of my life, angel?”
That sounds like a promise somehow and Simon’s heart suddenly skips a beat. He hopes and wishes it’s a promise because he would give everything for Patty to stay by his side for the rest of his life.
It makes him feel selfish to want her that much even when he has her now, though. He cannot help but feel like one day she will realize she can do better than him and then decide to leave his sorry ass because God knows she deserves better.
Even imagining that makes him feel like dying so he tells his brain to stop thinking such things and focus on the moment they are in instead.
“And you call me cheesy. Oh God, you’re ridiculous.”
“Goddess, you mean, am I right or am I right?”
“Yeah yeah, whatever you say, you adorable and sexy Punk Goddess.”
Satisfied with his answer, she locks their lips together finally. Simon kisses her back like her lips are oxygen and he is a dying astronaut.
“Don’t be surprised if I steal your idea about that The Streetlight song,” Patty lets him know when they pull away eventually. “I think I can pull it off before Saturday and sing it for you at my concert.”
“I have no doubt you could,” holding her close, he yawns and agrees as she lies on his chest.
“Now hush, I gotta watch you sleep while the streetlight accompanies me.”
“Whaa— You creep.”
“What can I say? You’re my inspiration, angel. And don’t act like I don’t catch you watching me sleep nearly every morning.”
“Who? Me? You can prove nothing,” he denies.
“Uh-huh, sure. Sweet dreams.”
“Being with you is like a sweet dream anyway, I need nothing else.”
And with that, he let himself start falling into the warm embrace of sleep. At this point he cannot even remember how he used to sleep alone before he met her.
“He sleeps soundly by her side, without a care,
While she traces his features with a loving stare.
In the quiet of the night, they're alone,
With the streetlight as their silent chaperone,” just when he is about to fall asleep, he vaguely hears Patty singing quietly.
“Sweet streetlight, keep shining bright
As I watch my angel through the night.
Guide him with your gentle light,
In this moment, everything feels right.”
“Wow, you’re fast. That terribly sounds like a gospel for some reason though,” he makes an honest comment, ignoring the way how it made him feel warm inside despite it really sounding like a gospel.
“Shh, I’m just warming up, ignore it. Sleep.”
Simon chuckles and does as he is told after planting a kiss on her forehead and whispering: “I love you.”
“I love you, too, my angel,” is the last thing he hears before falling asleep with a slight smile on his face.
He thinks he can get used to that.
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16.06 spoilery thoughts
love when sunny trojan horses us with a “ha ha funny” episode that actually turns out to have a gut wrenching undercurrent of tragedy throughout
made my heart smile to see them all singing in the car together
Mac and Dennis standing like a couple, Dennis acting nice so that he can send his boyfriend off and distract him while he goes to look at robot boobs, they’re so married
Dennis filling out his form then saying “that’s not my name” when he just spent months pretending to be someone else in order to date Mac (I’m delusional and imagining that he put Johnny on the form)
Dennis wanting to see the boobs bc he views it as a crucial experience that he missed out on. Something so earnest and tragic about the way Dennis checks off life experiences like milestones on a checklist just bc he thinks that’s what his life is supposed to look like and he’s always craved that sense of normalcy
“There’s no adults around” bc Mac still subconsciously sees himself as a kid. ouch
“bye Jesse” and mozzarella sticks bit were funny even though Dee still needs her own plot
Dennis worrying about the robot’s age :(
Everybody reverting this episode oof
“I don’t feel punished. Where’s the shame I should be feeling?” Gang goes to Hell!! Oh Mac my darling he hates himself and he has so much shame and I just (curls up into a ball sobbing)
“I don’t 100% understand what satire means” meta humor I see you
“Let’s give it another shot” “one last shot” macden meta hm?
Dennis touching Mac’s back at the end
this episode was so well-done, truly an elite balance of comedy and absolute emotional devastation
#iasip#sunny season 16 spoilers#iasip s16#iasip season 16#always Sunny#always sunny season 16#it’s always sunny in Philadelphia#sunny sweet 16#iasip s16 spoilers#Mac McDonald#Dennis reynolds#dee reynolds#Charlie Kelly#Frank reynolds#sunny#risk e rat’s pizza and amusement center#ha ha ha I’m gonna cry
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HxH Headcanons I believe very strongly (SFW)
I felt particularly called to do this so here they are
- Kite will say “huh” after you ask a question only to respond immediately after.
- Hisoka will lock the windows after telling people he’s going to fart in the car.
- Killua tears off all paper towel rolls unevenly and leaves them like that.
- Gon is dyslexic; on top of this i don’t think he’s ever had a formal education other than what mito has taught him before so he’s pretty academically stunted in general.
- Leorio drinks a glass of warm milk before bed every night; he is also lactose intolerant.
- Killua used to walk around the house and open people’s bedroom doors and leave them open.
- Leorio can sing but he doesn’t know his vocal range so he sounds like a dying bird when he does.
- Chrollo will just stare directly at you for a solid 30 seconds if you ask him a dumb question; you won’t receive an answer and he will go back to reading.
- Kurapika has grown so accustomed to his chains that they actually smell like metal; he really hates the smell but it helps maintain their “realistic” formz
- At some point Gon and Killua definitely got a hold of one of Bisky’s “Manly magazines”. They were silent the whole rest of the day.
- Gon thinks crocs are the best invention in the whole world. The automobile? Fire? Nah, Gon will say crocs. (He owns lots of jibbitz)
- Half of kite’s legs hang off when he sleeps on a regular bed. He prefers to sleep on the floor because it accomodates his height and that’s what he’s used to.
- Knuckle cries at ASPCA commercials every single time.
- Gon likes to play super smash bros with Killua, and he will get beaten every single time. He still continues to play for like the next 4 hours.
- Speaking of which, Killua definitely mains Ridley and Gon mains Little mac.
- Killua wants Gon to pick a better main but Gon refuses every time because “Little Mac is more fun, and he’s just like me.”
- Killua cannot disagree with that reasoning
- Ging eventually has to give “the talk” to Gon, but Ging is literally the last human being on earth anyone would want to get the talk from. The responsibility ends up being pushed to Leorio instead, an actual licensed medical professional.
—
Thank you for reading I appreciate it greatly! If u want more just let me know :) feel free to request certain characters as well.
#hunter x hunter#hxh#hunterxhunter#anime#killua headcanons#gon and killua#killua and gon#killua hunter x hunter#gon hunter x hunter#killua zoldyck#gon freecss#gon freccs#ging freecss#ging hxh#gon hxh#killua hxh#leorio#leorio paladiknight#kurapika#kurapika kurta#leorio hxh#kurapika hxh#hxh headcanons#hunter x hunter headcanons#chrollo#chrollo lucilfer#kite hunter x hunter#kite hxh#knuckle hxh
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it’s supposed to be fun, turning twenty-one
palestine etc. read on ao3. writing masterlist
description; Yelena and Kate are stuck in traffic when they head to Yelena’s birthday party, she’s turing twenty one and during the car ride she makes a new discovery about herself, she is aroace.

Yelena was sat behind the wheel in the car, Kate had some trouble when her mom was in jail, so Yelena was kind enough to give her a lift while they went over what of their property was actually bought with money that wasn’t a result of fraud.
It was Yelena’s 21st birthday and there was a small party that Natasha threw her with the help of Clint in what they said was a nearby club, it was in fact not nearby.
What made it all worse was the traffic, the streets were jammed with cars and there was no way around it, it was the winter break season.
So far the ride was good, Yelena had to stop Kate from eating in the car, as it was rented, but besides that it went smoothly, Kate was in charge of the radio, she kept playing recent pop hits which made Yelena’s ear ring, but seeing how happy Kate was to sing along she let it go.
But soon enough Kate got bored, she decreased the volume of the radio as she blankly stared at the side of Yelena’s head. The blonde noticed that immediately, but chose to ignore it, knowing very well that Kate had something to say and she could talk about it for the next couple hours and she was already agitated enough. She didn’t want to snap at Kate or be rude and not listen, but her mind was wandering for the last couple of days and traffic was a good place to collect her thoughts before she had to walk into a party that was hosted for her.
“So…” Kate cleared her throat. “It’s your party, so you make the rules…”
“No, Kate. You cannot drink.”
“Why not?!” She whined like a kid, Yelena felt like she was babysitting, not that anyone would actually leave her alone with a child, she instead got left with Kate, who was very lovely, but also insufferable a lot of the time.
“Because you’re not 21.” Yelena responded with a sense of obviousness in her tone.
Kate just scoffed in response.
The car feel into silence again and Yelena would be okay with it, but the radio remained on a low volume and Kate being this silent was alarming, so she made a call in that moment, a stupid idea popped into her head, but she still chose to cheer up Kate, they were stuck in traffic either way.
“Come on… You wanna play a game or something?” Yelena turned her head to Kate, Kate sat up straight and looked confused at Yelena.
“Like what?” She mumbled.
“Like… Questions! You can ask me something or… yeah…” She came up with that on the spot, Kate loved to talk, she talked a lot and she would definitely take her chance to make Yelena talk more.
Kate sighed, pretending to think about it, but Yelena could see the spark of excitement in her eyes. “Okay… So… What’s your favourite color?”
“Seriously? That’s your first question?”
“Baby steps, Yelena, baby steps…”
“I— Whatever…I like green.”
Kate nodded as she stared to think for a moment before she spoke up again.
In that brief moment Yelena scolded herself in her head, because she was sure this is how the rest of the ride will look like.
“What is your favourite animal?”
“Dogs.”
“Favourite meal?”
“Mac’&Cheese”
“Ever shot anyone?”
The question rolled off of Kate’s tongue so naturally, like she was asking Yelena her favourite movie or her best memory. It made Yelena’s grip on the wheel tighten and after a pause she sighed and answered reluctantly.
“You know the answer to that, Kate.”
“Ever stabbed anyone?”
Again a pause struck in the conversation as it was moving in a direction Yelena did not like.
“Kate.” She said firmly doing her best to make Kate read the room.
“Right, sorry…” She cleared her throat as she asked a next question. “Have you ever been in love? Like… Love, love from the movies, you know?”
“That’s not real.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean love. It’s not real.”
“You don’t love?”
“I love… I love Natasha, my… um Melina and Alexei…” She sighed. “I mean in the movies, the cutesy first meet, the idealistic way of loving, the amazing and full of love sex or kissing… That’s fake.”
Kate paused, she needed a brief moment, because she didn’t understand what Yelena was on about. “What?”
“What?” Yelena turned to her, her green eyes meeting Kate’s as the two stared at each other in silence for a brief moment. “You didn’t know it was all made up?”
“So, you’re telling me that romance isn’t real? That no one falls in love, ever?”
Yelena nodded as a response as the traffic moved so she had to focus on the road.
“That is exactly what I’m saying.”
“H-Have you never been in love?”
She groaned irritated. “Yeah. No one has, because those are not actual feeling you can feel.”
“I have thought… many people have, like a lot.”
Yelena rolled her eyes at the statement.
“Can you stop fucking with me? I need to focus on the road.”
“Yelena. I am not fucking… with you…” She paused and whispered an awkward “That sounds weird.”
Kate sighed as she sat up straight, Yelena could very well hear her, but her focus was on the road.
“I have loved before and I have kissed before and… It is real. I think that if you don’t feel it, there might be something wrong.”
Yelena shook her head. “Have you ever thought there’s something wrong with you for feeling that?”
“No, well… I’m not alone, but I’ve never heard of… that.”
“That?”
“Not loving people in that way, not wanting to kiss them or fuck them… Like sure not everyone, but no one, ever? That sounds…”
“That sounds what?”
“Sad. It sounds sad, Yelena.”
Yelena could feel her heart drop with each of Kate’s words, she could feel a hole in her stomach, of course it wasn’t real and it was all in her head, but it felt real, it felt like she was dying in that moment, Kate talked more and more and as Yelena listened to everything she was saying she fet as if it made more and more sense. She was the odd one out. She was broken and everyone could love? How come she never caught up on that? It wasn’t all an act? It wasn’t all forced?
While Yelena was deep in her thoughts, Kate pulled put her phone and started to type.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking it up…” Kate bit her lower lip as she focused on getting all the words correct and still misspelled most. “Hm… So… It’s actually a thing.”
“What is?” Yelena cleared her throat as she did her best to focus on Kate.
“Not loving and all that you are… It’s this thing called aro…aromatic, um no, aromantic and asexual.”
“Read it, the, whatever you just said.”
“Aromantic people have little or no romantic attraction to others. They may or may not feel sexual attraction. An aromantic person can fall into one of two groups: aromantic sexual people or aromantic asexual people.”
Aromantic.
Asexual.
“Well, I support it… Fuck yeah.” Kate smiled reassuringly at Yelena. “I was a bitch earlier, I’m sorry, I— There are other things worth living for and if you don’t feel what I feel… It’s okay.”
“…Thanks.”
Yelena was silent and Kate just kept reading more and more about it on her phone. That was it, two words that so precisely described her and not the whole world as she thought, not everyone felt like it was fake, forced or pretend… It didn’t feel gross and almost repulsive to everyone else, but it did to her and as Kate Bishop said… It’s okay.
#marvel#mcu#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#aroace character#yelena aroace#aroace yelena belova#yelena belova aroace#kate bishop#yelena and kate being friends#fanfic#fanfiction#yelena and kate being idiots#not proof read#no beta we die like men
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Rags to Werewolves Challenge: Week One
I compromised on the 'zero skills' thing that I absolutely hate for Young Adults by giving Min Jun low-moderate skills in CHARISMA, COOKING, FITNESS and PARENTING - basically skills that won't help him make money (so no singing or instrumental skills) - and added some reward traits from the Parenthood pack. Only you can't add them to adults, even with cheats, so I made him a teenager for a hot minute then aged him up.
So what he started with was some leftover birthday cake, a guitar and a knitting basket (both of which he has zero skill in), a few camping supplies and Zero Simoleons in his pocket.
(For the curious, my headcanon for this Sim is that he comes from a moderately well-off family, had a happy homelife but with high expectations. So when he found himself pickpocketed on a globetrotting holiday, he knew that his parents would help him out but was too embarrassed/proud to clue them in about his Simoleon-challenged state. Plus life always seems to work out, right?)
Since he needs to become a werewolf eventually, he started Day Two by trying to befriend Kristopher. Which worked pretty well, thanks to Min Jun's POLITE INTRODUCTION interaction and general good nature.
Later he went fishing. Less successful.
The next day Kristopher was nowhere to be found (likely off making one of the Nooboos he always seems to end up with in my saves), so Min Jun bonded with Lily via stargazing.
Day Four and Min Jun had a high enough level of friendship to ask Lily for the CURSED BITE (not all Werewolves have this unlocked but she does). Which she did.
In spite of how it looks, we did ask for this xD Also I'm loving Kristopher's resigned face in the foreground at the thought of having to take yet another clueless pup beneath his foreleg.
(Bonus little moodlet that your Sim gets if they actually explicitly ask to be bitten, as opposed to 'Greg's Gift' which is vague.)
Since pre-transformation hunger is nothing to be sniffed at and Min Jun would need to constantly eat until it was time, he wisely stuck around the Collective Cabin. And the Mac 'n Cheese Lily had thoughtfully made. And the fridge with its unlimited supply of snacks.
You asked to be bitten, my guy, and now you're getting the TENSE moodlet? Because you're around werewolves who are kindly letting you stay in their house while you ride out your first transformation? Rudeness!
The morning of Day Five (and about 20,000 Mac 'n Cheese later), it happened.
Since I unlocked the SCAVENGER reward trait asap (spend that one point you get initially on it, I beg you), Min Jun was able to pass his furry times by digging up the ground behind the cabin, avoiding scaring any non werewolves - and thus being able to unlock the TRANSFORM AT WILL ability. This is an important skill to prioritise unlocking early on as you will need to demonstrate it in order to join either pack.
Day Six was the Full. By then Min Jun had levelled up to RUNT and had been able to unlock the WILL TO RESIST skill, which allows him the opportunity to snap out of any rampaging (it has a short cool down period, but is useful nonetheless).
Surprisingly it worked on the first try (the only factor I can think of that may have aided this is that Min Jun has the CHEERFUL trait, and his needs were all met beforehand) and so he spent the rest of the night working on his singing skills atop a mountain like some kind of Disney prince.
On Day Seven he moved to Willow Creek and actually had enough Simoleons (thanks to busking and selling the produce he had gathered) so not much eventful happened.
And this is where he stands on Day Eight, the Sunday after we commenced this challenge. A 5x3 room, smol tv (thanks Eco Living hidden items), a sink, a cooler for quick snacks, a sleeping bag, two vertical garden planters and three regular plants for the produce he'd accumulated.
In terms of the whole werewolf thing? Well it definitely helped, although I was very very fortunate that the only trait Min Jun has unlocked is the EASILY EXCITABLE one (which is only a factor now that he has a TV). Being a werewolf he is able to gather and sell the plants growing near the Collective HQ, even without being part of a pack. He can sell items that he finds while scavenging. And he used the hidden bunker facilities once or twice, but not as much as I had anticipated.
Most useful skills that he's unlocked are WOLF NAP (seems to regenerate full energy at least 2x faster as opposed to regular sleeping and can nap anywhere) and the ability to lick himself clean. Scavenging is also helpful but as the FREEGAN trait gives him better luck in dumpsters, he uses it more to keep himself away from non-werewolves during the Full.
He is now at the PRIME level of Werewolf, early stages.
(Edit: I forgot that he's also unlocked the PRIDEFUL trait. Which again is one of the easier traits to work with, especially since Min Jun seems to be universally liked xD)
#my sims#min jun park#sims 4 challenge#sims 4 gameplay#rags to riches#sims 4 rags to riches#sims 4 rags to riches occult#sims 4 rags to riches werewolves#sims 4 rags to werewolves#sims 4 werewolves#moonwood mill
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Heathers Incorrect Quotes
Veronica: *running towards JD with open arms*
JD: *moves out of the way*
Veronica: Hey, why'd you move?!
JD: I thought you were going to attack me.
Veronica: I was going to hug you!
JD: Why would you hug me?
Veronica: WHY WOULD I ATTACK YOU!?
Mac: Happy Scorpio season. If you have to burn a bridge, do it safely!
Duke: With NAPALM.
Martha: I will send my army to attack!
Martha: *releases a dumpster of raccoons*
Mac: Hello all, it is I, your favourite person.
JD: Actually, Veronica is my favourite.
Mac: Okay then, it is I, that bitch.
JD: How high are you?
Chandler: Mm, I don’t know how to say it in feet.
Veronica: No, he's asking what drugs are you on.
Chandler: Oh, antidepressants, why?
Kurt: Someone’s trying to break in. Call the cops!
Ram: *loads shotgun* I got this.
Kurt: Last week you fell up the stairs, what do you mean-
Veronica: You read my diary?
Mac: At first I did not know it was your diary. I thought it was a very sad handwritten book.
Ram: How do you connect with a fictional character?
Veronica: What?
JD: What?
Duke: What?
Martha: *pulls up a 500 slide presentation* I'm glad you asked.
JD: The ‘how the fucks’ and 'why are you so dumbs’ don’t matter. All that matters is that I have a new gun.
Veronica: When you've been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.
Kurt: Navy blue isn't your colour.
Veronica: Navy blue brings out my eyes you prick! *Chases after Kurt*
Duke: We can’t tell you because you’re not a member of the club.
Chandler: What club?
JD: The hating Chandler club.
Chandler: …The fuck? I should be the leader of that club!
Mac: What's the scariest horror movie you've ever watched?
JD: IT.
Chandler: Annabelle.
Duke: Paranormal Activity.
Kurt: High School Musical. All throughout high school I was scared that everyone was gonna randomly get up and start singing and dancing, and I would be the only one who doesn't know the words.
Veronica: Stop setting things on fire because you're curious about what will happen. What will happen is fire.
JD: But what if something else happens just this one time.
Chandler: You can do it Veronica!
Chandler: But if you can't, at least your death will be quick, painless, and really cool to watch.
Chandler, about JD: He's covered in blood again. Why is it he's always covered in blood?
Ram: Well, it looks like it's his own blood this time.
Veronica, writing in her diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.
JD: I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally.
#heathers#heathers the musical#heathers 1989#heather chandler#heather mcnamara#heather duke#veronica sawyer#jd heathers#jason dean#kurt kelly#ram sweeney#martha dunnstock#heathers incorrect quotes#sillyvisoncorner
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This is what I meant in my last post abt this version of Macavity trying very hard to be simultaneously more and less provocative btw.
It’s kind of fascinating-- there's a big chunk of Cats that does little to no storytelling beyond 'check out this cool character who’s part of the Jellicle club' and yet Macavity is one of the few songs that’s actually trying to tell the audience something vital to the plot: Demeter knows Macavity.
It's important that the audience learns this-- not only that there is a story between those two, but also what that story is. If Cats doesn't establish that connection, then it'll just look like Macavity is snatching up random ensemble cats during his and Munk's fight. This song establishes the connection between Dem and Mac, and gives the audience a big fat reason why Mac is targeting her specifically: their relationship was sexual. You cannot escape from the fact that their relationship was sexual in 98 Macavity.
And this gives Mac a motive! It characterizes him as a villain, it establishes why he's even interrupting the Ball in the first place, it establishes why he targets Demeter, & it establishes why Demeter specifically seems terrified of him. Without the context this song provides, Demeter might as well just be a random ensemble cat who gets the responsibility of yelling 'Macavity' for each scare.
See: Macavity and Demeter had a sexual (maybe romantic) relationship > Macavity wants to get Demeter back > Macavity interrupts the Ball and takes Deuteronomy (and attempts to take her along the way) > Misto has to bring back Deuteronomy. This song sets up a big chunk of what Cats' plot/conflict is.
But tswifts bomba/dem Frankenstein (Demetaylurina if u will) is very obviously not in a relationship with Macavity; she works for him. He's her boss. She's not even a Jellicle, there's no reason we need the relationship between these two cats to be explained to the audience.
The stage play certainly doesn’t bother establishing the relationship between Macavity and the 2-3 henchcats that help him kidnap Deut! Their relationship doesn't matter, Demetaylurina herself doesn't really matter either, all she does is drug the cats (which is its own weird thing, plot-wise) and she only does like 2% of that job, most of it is M&R and the rigged moon prop.
And then you can say 'well she doesn’t matter to the plot but her relationship with Macavity can still be explored, not everything has to be plot-relevant’ which is true, there are big chunks of Cats that’s pretty much just exploration of non-plot-relevant cats' relationships. But the song doesn't explore their relationship. Because their relationship in the movie pretty clearly isn't sexual, and yet Demetaylurina still acts and sings in this provocative manner that (tries to) mirror the stage version. Like I said in the other post, the choreo that slings it in the audience's face that Demeter (and Bomba) had a sexual relationship with Macavity is gone, so their relationship is comparatively pretty sexless. But there's still this sexuality to the song that tswift just tries to jam in there with her voice and sort-of dancing that serves absolutely no storytelling purpose.
All of the sexuality in regular Macavity is very pointed-- both Bomba and Demeter have this sexual tension between themselves & Macavity, which is impressive bc he’s not even present. That 'there’s no one like Macavity' line where Demeter smacks a hand on her inner hip is an excellent example-- and it loses all of its oomph in tswifts version.
By all definitions, if they wanted to rework Bomba/Dem to being Macavity's henchcat instead of his former lover, then the song should've reflected that-- make it a menacing jazzy song like the original M&R!
But they don’t do that. The song is still sexual, or at least it tries to be: instead of the very potent, very pointed sexual aspect between these two characters in the stage play, you get Demetaylurina just kind of putting off sexiness into the world with no target and no goal, it’s just. there. It doesn't have any storytelling aspect to it and frankly it feels like the bargain version of most Demeters and Bombas-- and that's not even a dig at tswift, because again Dem and Bomba actresses are working with this actual story, dynamic, and history that they're given to act out to the audience as vividly as they can. Meanwhile tswift is just. Being sexy. Her character has no background, no meaning, no dynamics with other characters, no history. She’s just there. Being passively sexy.
Except it’s not passive because you can tell she’s trying very hard to come off that way.
It's just… odd and janky.
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kinds of music call of duty character listen to but it's based off of my music taste
genre: fluff!
word count: just under 900
content warnings: none i think? just my very wild music taste projected onto my boys
a/n: i got bored and way too invested in making this to not post it so enjoy! i used my music taste as well as a little bit of my boyfriends for a little more range. also so sorry i keep just disappearing college is kicking my fucking ass.
kyle “gaz” garrick
he always has a pair of headphones on him when he can, has a mini speaker he frequently uses in his office on base, definitely listens to music the most out of the group, can't sing but he’ll sing anyways, often jams out with soap and share new songs with each other, listens to a bit of everything but tends to listen to rap, r&b, and indie (also a little bit of bedroom pop he’s got a lot of favorites okay) the most, he can do several tiktok dances pretty well but he gets embarrassed doing them in front of others, he’s very me coded
favorite artists (in no particular order):
flo millie
bruno mars
sza
the weekend
lil uzi vert
the notorious b.i.g.
some songs on his playlists:
pay day - flo milli ft rico nasty
hypnotize - the notorious b.i.g.
low - sza (he thinks this song is so underrated and so do i)
after last night - silk sonic
redbone - childish gambino
everlong - foo fighters
john "soap" mctavish
a close second on who listens to music the most, listens most when he works out and likes to have background noise while he does just about anything, loves movie soundtracks, god awful singer and proud, him and gaz singing together is torture in the funniest way possible, very wide music range but nu metal and rock are his top categories, soap loves when the whole team sits decides to sit in a conference room and wordlessly work on their paperwork together while music fills the silence between them
favorite artists (in no particular order):
beyoncé
deftones
slipknot
coraline soundtrack
the smashing pumpkins
poppy (hear him and me out okay)
some songs on his playlists:
bloodmoney - poppy
me, myself, and i - beyoncé
bullet with butterfly wings - the smashing pumpkins
cha cha - freddie dredd
other father song - they might be giants (yes the coraline song. it’s good okay.)
clay - the garden
simon "ghost" riley
does like music quite a bit but doesn’t listen as often as gaz or soap, sometimes silence is overwhelming for him so he uses it as background noise to stay relaxed, won’t sing (he can just barely sing well like not a bad singer but he’s not getting a record deal even if he tried), has no particular favorite genre but has a decent range, he describes his music taste kinda weird but in a good way (just like me fr)
favorite artists (in no particular order):
insane clown posse
michael jackson
pierce the veil (they’re a guilty pleasure of his)
amy winehouse (i once made a cod characters as tweets on tiktok and ghosts tweet was “amy winehouse was right, what kind of fuckery is this” and now i just hc he listens to amy)
nirvana
type o’negative
some songs on his playlist:
hold on till may - pierce the veil
chicago - michael jackson
you know i’m no good - amy winehouse
southern nights - glen campbell (so good for what)
21 guns - green day
sugar we’re going down - fall out boy
captain john price
doesn’t often go out of his way to listen to music but still listens enough that he has favorites and keeps playlists, HAS to have his own music playing in the car if he’s driving though (which he usually is and this is a well known rule), quite the singer if he actually tries tbh but he doesn’t often try lmao, primarily like’s songs from ‘his time’ as he calls it (john you are 37 not 60), he doesn’t really have a favorite genre but will say rock if asked (doesn’t like pop much tho)
favorite artists (in no particular order):
queen
fleetwood mac
metallica
black sabbath
aerosmith (play dream on when he’s drunk and he’ll give you a full performance)
prince
some songs on his playlists:
chain - fleetwood mac
war pigs - black sabbath
let’s go crazy - prince
cherry bomb - the runaways
rooster - alice in chains
even flow - pearl jam
rodolfo "rudy" parra
listens mostly when he does chores or to calm himself when he’s anxious (which is sometimes just before missions), he’s always open to new music suggestions, his singing voice is absolutely beautiful and he’ll sing and hum along as he does chores, guilty pleasure is bedroom pop and indie
favorite artists:
laufey
the marías
whitney houston (he misses her so much cause me too)
tame impala
pink panthers (because i said so)
tv girl
some songs on his playlist:
slow down - laufey
little by little - the marías
the blonde - tv girl
show me how - men i trust
take a picture - filter
heart to heart - mac demarco
alejandro vargas
when he listens to music he listens to it LOUDLY, loves to have music playing at home while he cooks, he’s not sure if he’s going deaf because his profession requires him to constantly be around guns or because of how loud he listens to his music in his headphones, karaoke enjoyer, decent singer if he tries (price is a little better than him, just by a little), he’s an “anything but country” kinda guy
favorite artists:
bad bunny
doja cat (i’m not elaborating)
kali uchis
rihanna (he can’t resist)
arctic monkeys
elton john
songs in his playlist:
i’m still standing - elton john
shut up and drive - rihanna
tití me preguntó - bad bunny
bills, bills, bills - destiny’s child
promiscuous - nelly furtado ft timbaland (yes he knows all of timbalands parts)
poison - bell biv devoe
#i love them so much#my darling boys#call of duty headcanons#call of duty#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#captain john price#rodolfo rudy parra#alejandro vargas#cod#cod fic#cod headcanons#incorrect call of duty quotes#kayden writes#call of duty fluff#cod fluff
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Here is a little short fic for my darling @mac-and-thefox 🩵🖤
Soft moments with Cumulus and Mountain. (Listened to a bunch of oldie songs for this as well because damn, they got me in the FEELS!!)
Mountain was waiting for Cumulus downstairs near the door to go outside. He nervously and very carefully picked out flowers for Cumulus with the help of Cirrus and Aurora.
The flowers were wisteria’s and peonies sprinkled with lemongrass and bits of sage violets with lillies. The ghoulettes made sure he was also dressed up a bit and they helped put his dark green and auburn hair into a nice french braid, with little flowers tucked into them.
Mountain could hear Dewdrop and Cumulus chattering about as they got closer to the front of the dens, Cumulus lightly giggling at Dewdrop’s comment of how she looked good enough to eat. Mountain could feel his tail lightly thumping against his own leg as it was wrapped around his thigh when he glanced down. Huh. Didn’t notice that he did that. He quickly unwrapped his tail as Dewdrop brought Cumulus over to Mountain. The giant couldn’t stop staring at how royal and ethereal Cumulus looked. Both of his partners giggled at his stunned expression, Dewdrop teasing lightly.
“Dunno Lulu, if Mountain doesn’t close his mouth and snap out of how much you look like a Goddess, I may have to go change and take you out myself.” Dewdrop giggled, reaching up on his tiptoes to poke at Mountain’s cheek. Said Earth ghoul lightly batted at his teasing partner’s hand before swooping down to press a chase kiss to his cheek.
“Later Firefly. Sorry Lus, but you… You look amazing. Stunning.” Mountain said. Cumulus preened and shimmied a bit, showing off how the dress sparkled slightly as she moved, her lavender ringlets bouncing around as she did so. Dew said a quick goodbye to both and left, most likely on his way to bother Rain and Phaeon.
Mountain gifted Cumulus the flowers he picked, purring in content as Cumulus squealed and hugged him.
“Oh! Honeybee, these are so beautiful! Let me put them away real quick and we can go okay?” She spoke, already running back to the kitchen. Cumulus returned swiftly and grabbed Mountain’s hand.
“I'm excited for tonight, Dew and Swiss helped me with my hair and picked out the dress. Do you like it Momo?” Cumulus asked, letting go of Mountain’s hand as she spun gracefully around in front of him before returning to his side.
“The entire look suits you so well Darlin. I love the dress. Its a new one I noticed.” Mountain commented.
Cumulus nodded, her bright purple curls bouncing around.
The dress she adorned was a black A-Line that almost had a holographic look, and the heels she wore were also a black holo.
“Aurora actually picked this out for me.” Cumulus said, after a moment of silence.
“She chose well.” Mountain replied.
Soon they arrived at their destination; they could hear loud music from the area and both grinned. Cumulus didn’t realize Mountain was taking her out dancing to one of the party’s that a Sibling of Sin was throwing.
She threw her arms around him and pulled him into a deep kiss.
“Thank you Honeybee.” Cumulus whispered.
“Of course my darling wind spirit. Anything for you. Cmon.. Let’s show them how to party.” Mountain answered, dragging Cumulus towards the dancefloor.
The pair laughed and danced away, having sips of drinks here and there and just genuinely enjoying each other's company; stealing quick teasing kisses here and there. Soon a sibling of sin played a slow song and “Dream a little dream of me” from the mamas and the papas started crooning in the background. Cumulus smiled, flashing her fangs and tugged Mountain back to the dancefloor once more, siblings moving out of their way.
“It's our song Honeybee!” Cumulus chirped out, wrapping her hand around Mountain.
“It is Sugarplum. I'm surprised people still know of this song.” Mountain whispered, pulling Cumulus closer to him. They swayed, both singing to each other softly and giggling to each other.
“Stars fading, but I linger on, dear, Still craving your kiss. I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear. Just saying this,” Cumulus sang along as Mountain spun her around.
“Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you. Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you; But in your dreams, whatever they be. Dream a little dream of me,” Mountain sang back, pressing one more kiss to Cumulus’ lips.
She let out a content moan and wrapped her arms around his waist, deepening this kiss before breaking away.
“Thank you for the best date night ever Mo. I appreciate it.” Cumulus whispered, her hand reaching up to rub her thumb against his jaw. Mountain smiled and nuzzled against her hand.
“I’d do anything for you my dearest Sugarplum. I love you to the moon and back.” Mountain answered, his hand cupping hers against his jaw before he moved it to press a kiss to the back of Cumulus’ hand.
They finally made their way home, Mountain helping Cumulus undress before pulling her onto his bed and wrapping himself around her, burying his face into her lavender curls humming another one of their songs they adored so much, which was “At Last.”
“Love you Honeybee.” Cumulus whispered once more, before drifting off to sleep, content and happy, her tail twinned around Mountain’s.
“Good night my lovely Clover.” He whispered back.
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