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fic recommendation [all x reader]

-> tlou masterlist ft abby [fic], ellie [fic]

-> woso masterlist ft patri [fic]

-> smosh masterlist ft angela [fic]

-> flufftober, 2025 — ft. abby/patri/angela

[kaliforniahigh]

Ok but peteacher!abby and englishteacher!reader where the reader is the newbie at the school and Abby is the seasoned, more experienced teacher.

Abby definitely defends reader whenever her hormonal and rude high school students are being disrespectful. She also tells them that if she ever hears about them being disrespectful again, they'll have to take it up with her.

And no one wants to piss off coach Abby.

You notice right away how the soccer moms look at her. Specially when it's a game during the summer, and Abby's got on a tank top, displaying her biceps.

You wear sunglasses to those games.

[lover-girl-to-your-lover-boy]

hiiii!! could u write something fluffy with angela giarratana x fem!reader, maybe like they've been dating and angela tells amanda and she doesn't believe it so they have to prove it, or something cute with them revealing their realtionship/engagement.

also maybe something with gentleman!angela?

(sorry if this was confusing :)

Proof

Angela Giarratana x fem!reader

Summary: You and Angela decide to take matters into your own hands after Amanda thinks you're playing a prank on her regarding your relationship

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Nothing. Just pure fluff

"Unbelievable!" Angela mutters as she enters the apartment. Well, not really a mutter, but she probably thinks it's a mutter. You don't really know what it is, but she's walking over to you while you're sitting on the couch and scrolling on your phone.

In a huff, she falls down on the cushion next to you. You wordlessly open your arms and she lays her head on your chest, pouting.

"Alright," You start, trying to keep your amusement at bay. "What happened?"

Staring up at you with those big, brown eyes of hers, she groans. "It's Amanda."

Blinking, you tilt your head. "Well, what happened?"

"Okay," She sits up. "You know how there's a prank war going on at work right now?"

"… Yeah?"

"Yeah." She repeated. "So, I might've forgotten that we were having a prank war."

"Angela."

"Hey, don't speak in that disappointed tone yet! I'm not done!" Angela defended, waving her hands for emphasis. "At least let me say my piece!"

Laughing at her incredulous reply, you put your hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, fine. What happened next?"

She remained glaring at you for a couple more seconds before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "So, you know how we were talking about telling the others about us?" When you nod, she looks away, almost guiltily. "Well… I might've accidentally let it slip that we were dating to Amanda." She winces. "Sorry."

Your jaw hangs open in utter disbelief. You can't say that you're exactly mad at her, but you are very much shocked, and maybe a little bit shaken by the news. You two were talking about soft launching for a while, sure, but you were hoping to at least be present when your relationship got revealed, not hearing about it until who knows how many hours later.

Though, you probably should've seen this coming. Angela has a history of not being able to keep quiet about certain things, especially when excited or trying to make a point. Honestly, you're impressed more than anything that she was able to keep it a secret this whole time.

Still, you wished it hadn't been so sudden.

"Angela." Is all you can say, much like Chanse does in some videos you have watched.

"Don't worry!" Angela exclaims, chuckling nervously. "It, uh, it didn't work."

Finally being able to pick your jaw off the floor, you stare at her quizzically. "What do you mean it didn't work?"

"Okay, so, about the prank war…" Angela pauses. "I accidentally told her about us, and she, y'know, thought it was a prank I was trying to pull. Which, by the way, is just plain stupid because what kind of a prank even is that? Like, that's the shittiest prank ever—"

"Ang." You cut her off by taking hold of her hands and giving them both a squeeze. "It's fine, okay. I'm not mad if that's what you're thinking."

She breathes out a sigh of relief and smiles. "Okay, yeah, that's-that's good. It would've been nice to be believed, though." She says the last part in an irritated mumble.

You can't help but laugh at your girlfriend and kiss her temple. "Well, what did you expect when you just blurted out some huge announcement while a prank war was going on?"

Angela stares up at you, confused. "When did I say I blurted it out?"

"Because you're you, Ang."

She scoffs and tries to shove your face away with no real force behind it. "Oh, fuck off. I'm not that predictable."

You wrap her up in a hug, laughing. She tries to stay mad at you, but ends up joining in on the laughter. Once you both calm down, you speak gently. "But seriously, we'll tell them, eventually. When there isn't some prank war going on. Okay?"

"Okay." She replies just as softly, kissing you on the lips. "Sounds good."

…

This was it. The day you two would finally reveal your relationship. Not just to your girlfriend's coworkers, but to the world. Which is more than nerveracking.

It has been about two months since you had that talk with Angela, and now you two can confidently say that the prank war was over and done with. At least, that's what everyone tells you, so hopefully they're not lying to you specifically for some reason.

You have been invited to be on an episode on TNTL. To everyone watching, you're just another actor who happens to be close with Smosh, which isn't entirely false, but it isn't the whole truth either.

Despite how nervous you are, you're also pretty excited to not keep such a big part of yourself hidden any longer.

The plan is simple. You and Angela are to go up when Amanda is in the stool (because she's petty like that) and at first, just play out a simple bit, which Angela insists on doing a princess and a knight having the most sexually charged situationship ever. Which, sure, you can go along with that. And at the end of the bit, you two are supposed to share a quick kiss as you walk back behind the curtain, so no one will think it's part of the bit.

As Amanda sits on the stool, you stood dressed in your princess outfit and Angela dressed as a knight. If it weren't for your mics, you would've leaned over and whispered to her about how hot she looks. But that would have to wait.

You two head out in your outfits. Upon seeing you, Amanda's breath hitches in a barely suppressed laugh.

Angela kneels down. "My queen, it is my pleasure to inform you that I would like to fuck you."

Taken aback by Angela's abrasive delivery of that line, Amanda immediately spits out the water while the cast and crew all lose it.

You slowly stroke the helmet that Angela has on as if it's hair. You speak in your sexiest voice you can manage while trying not to laugh yourself. "You know what? I think you're right, you've been such a good… knight." You purposefully stutter over that line in order to get more laughs.

"What the fuck?" You hear Amanda ask.

And just as soon as it started, it was over, with everyone clapping and cheering for you two and your hilarious bit. As you begin to walk back, you suck in a shaky breath. Here it is. The moment of truth.

Luckily for you, Angela to notice as she gives your hand a squeeze and says loud enough for the mic to pick up. "You did great, love." Before giving you a peck on the lips.

Silence.

When you walk behind the curtain, Courtney, Shayne, and Chanse are all back there, mouths wide open. You two try to pay them no mind as you get out of your costumes, waiting for someone to break the silence.

"WHAT???" Chanse is the first to break it, which you should've expected honestly. That reaction of his has caused some kind of chain reaction, since everyone began vocalize their own shock at the situation.

Chanse eyes were very wide, looking between you two like you suddenly became a dragon or something. While Courtney was beaming ear-to-ear and Shayne was laughing his typical seagull laugh.

You spare a glance at Amanda, and she stares at you both completely and utterly speechless.

"Wait," she finally says. "Hold on… what?" She laughs ever-so-slightly out of sheer confusion. "What the fuck is happening?"

Once done with his laughing fit, Shayne asks, "Was that part of the bit? Or…" You both shake your heads, blushing from the attention. He starts to laugh again. "Oh my god!"

Courtney can't contain herself anymore and wraps you both in a tight, supportive hug. "I'm so proud of you guys!"

"You really expected that when you both kissed no one would bat an eye?" As Chanse says that, he also joins in on the hug, with Shayne following suit. After a couple seconds, you all break apart and stare back at Amanda.

"Wait…" She says slowly, as if finally figuring out a puzzle. "You were serious?"

"Yeah, I was." Angela says indignantly, but not harshly. "And you didn't believe me!"

As soon as those words left her mouth, everyone started asking completely different questions than before about what those two were talking about.

"Well you told me during the prank war!" Amanda was quick to defend herself. "I didn't know you were serious!"

"Oooooo, someone's getting cancelled!" Chanse teased, still holding onto you. "So much for being an ally."

That causes everyone to crack up again, Angela leaning on your shoulder as she laughs, and you lay your head on top of hers. You can't describe the amount of relief that you just felt. All this time you thought you had to keep it a secret, but now? It feels like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Looking at everyone around you, being so unapologetically supportive, it means the world to you.

You don't even remember why you were so nervous to begin with.

[alloftheimagines]

abby anderson | just a stocking

MASTERLIST

words: 3.2k warnings: 18+, post-tlou2, catalina island!abby, fluff, angst with a happily ever after, hints towards smut but nothing on-page, mentions of ow*n being so so rude to my beloved abigail, a little injury & talks of death, a couple mentions of food & drink, some interactions with lev, dearest abby has an avoidant attachment style but she's working on it. request: I would like to humbly request some holiday angst involving Abby and a dang stocking she wants or wanted someone to make her out of love… smth that’ll hurt just right please!

tags: @hakandnsjoqmsn @abbyily @mamas-evil-hag @cherrybomber3000 @chraw @abbysburr1t0 @mewl3tte @loonetteslooneybin @lilredbird101@wontilly @klmr0

The last thing you want to do after a gruelling four-day resource run is celebrate. A week ago, you’d been eager to force festivity around the Firefly base, but then Abby Anderson broke your heart, just a little, and now…

Now, you’d much rather steal the party food and hibernate until your next assignment. 

Unfortunately, it’s not an option. Lev catches you as soon as you get back from the infirmary, complaining about how you almost missed the party. For him, you fake a smile, letting him drag you to the mess hall, which has been cleared to make a dance floor. Something apparently called tinsel — having never celebrated Christmas before, you wouldn’t know — snakes around every pillar and wall, and in the corner, a miserable ponderosa pine withers under handmade decorations. Your heart squeezes. It’s beautiful, all red and gold twinkling lights and an old-timey song drifting from the record player, but your head is throbbing, there are blisters the size of California on your feet, and the woman you love doesn’t love you back. 

A couple Fireflies wave your way, and you do the same distractedly. Some are already dancing, while others gather around the tables for drinks and food. The hot apple cider is being drained quickly, and the few kids here have their mouths covered in hot chocolate.

So, this is joy. You thought maybe you’d be part of it, and god, you want to be, but none of it changes the fact that you’ll go to your room alone tonight. 

It doesn’t surprise you that Abby isn’t here, but Lev still provides an explanation. “She said she might drop by before night watch.”

You ruffle his hair, all dark curls. He’s so much more alive than the boy Abby turned up with just over two years ago, when they’d both been emaciated and haunted.

It was his fondness for you that finally won Abby over, too, and after sharing patrols for over a year, air between you always pregnant with a tension neither of you were brave enough to comment on, the sex just… happened. And kept happening. 

Until last week, when an I love you slipped out of your mouth. She hasn’t talked to you since, not even to tell you it’s over. You guess that means the feeling is not reciprocated. Which is fine. You’ve been through worse things. Hellish things. You threw yourself into the most demanding assignments, tried to move on, only your bedsheets still smell like her and you found her shirt in your drawer and you don’t know why it ended. Why it’s such a bad thing to to be loved by you. Why you’re not even worth an explanation. 

“I made you a gift,” Lev says with a timid smile, producing something wrapped in paper from one of the tables piled high with presents. 

You brighten up. “Yeah?”

“Open it now?” he pleads, shifting from foot to foot. You smile, though it hurts your bruised jaw, and try to tear the paper delicately so that it can be reused — probably for his gift, which you only realise now you haven’t brought with you. 

“Oh, Lev. This is beautiful,” you whisper when the gift is unveiled. It’s a hand-carved bow, etched with the Firefly logo on the upper limb. He’s been teaching you archery in exchange for sharpshooting practice. 

“It was not easy to wrap,” he jests. “Abby had to help me.”

You force a chuckle. “Thank you so much. Seriously. I’d better hide this, otherwise everyone will want one.”

That rosy smile of his almost chases away the scars on either cheek. “It’s not that great. I’m still practicing how to carve.”

“It’s perfect.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and you blink them away quickly. “I actually left your gift in my room. Give me ten minutes?”

“Okay.” He nods, but then stops you. “Hey. You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Your voice comes out high-pitched and wobbly, and you’re quick to dash away before he can point it out. You won’t let this thing with Abby come between you and him. You’re one of the only people outside of her he’s opened up to, and his trust means something. Everything, knowing what he’s been through. You were the one who cut his hair when it started growing too long. The one who told him about binders and fashioned him one out of scrap fabric. He talks to you about things, and you him, and if that was gone… 

You’d have nothing left. 

You allow yourself two minutes of wallowing in your room, tears slipping and then wiped away just as quickly when you have to brush past Abby’s stocking to get to Lev’s in the drawer, and then you’re back out the door — and almost walking straight into Abby’s fist, raised and ready to knock. 

“Um…” The sight of her brings just as much pain as the times before, enough to dash the wind out of you. You struggle to find the right words, and so does she, her eyes wide and jaw tight as she takes you in.

She huffs on a mirthless laugh, hands rising instantly to your jaw to tilt your bruise towards the dim overhead lighting. “What the hell happened?”

Her touch stings like bleach on your skin, heavy palms rough and more familiar than you’d like them to be. “Hello to you, too,” you grit out. 

“I’m serious,” Abby speaks tersely. “Where else are you hurt?”

“Can you just… not?” You nudge her hand down, stepping away to put the threshold between you again. Her on one side, you on the other. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You should be in the infirmary.”

“You should be ignoring me, still, probably.” 

Her features shutter back to that unreadable granite she’s hidden behind since the moment you told her you loved her. It scares you, how quickly she can change. You’re sure it’s a defense mechanism, given how worried she was just a second ago, but she should know she’s safe around you by now. And if not that, haven’t you at least earned a right to the truth with her?

“You were gone,” she says, muscle in her jaw ticcing. “For four days.”

“You’re observant.”

She narrows her eyes. She hates when you’re short with her, although there was a fine line between hate and love when you were sleeping together. She liked to fuck the attitude out of you, then.

You still feel it, that want. It never ebbed, not after months of exploring each other. Her body feels half yours. You’d never been that close to somebody until her. She took care of you in ways nobody else would. You regret knowing how good it could feel, because living without it is like walking around with a bullet in your gut. 

Abby presses her hand into the doorframe, thick muscles tense. An angry vein protrudes from her forearm. “You’ve never been gone that long before.”

“We needed a lot of resources. Look, I’m not really in the mood tonight, and Lev is waiting for me — and you, for that matter — so, whatever you came here to say, just say it. Unless it’s that you’re breaking up with me, because I sort of already deduced that all on my own.”

She bites into her cheek, eyes dipping to the carpet. “I just came to see you were okay. Nobody told me it was gonna be such a long run.”

“Why would they?”

“Jesus, can you stop? I was worried about you. I still fucking am.”

“Well, you don’t have to be. I got checked out already.” 

Her nostrils flare on a long exhale. And only then does she seem to see the stocking in your hands, embroidered with Lev’s name. It’s made of patchwork granny squares, crocheted from any yarn you’ve been able to get your hands on. It was your mother who taught you, locked away in the dark midwest winters, in a different Firefly base, a different life. Her sweaters and blankets kept you warm until the stitches frayed and fell apart, and you’ve been trying to get pieces of her back whenever you have the time. 

“What is that?” she asks quietly. 

“It’s Lev’s gift.” When she says nothing, you chew on your bottom lip, thinking of the remaining stocking tucked into your drawer. It has her name on it. Can’t give it to anyone else. May as well get rid of it so you never have to see it again. You turn and retrieve it, shaky and filled with dread. “I made them before… So, you may as well take yours, too.”

It’s hard to enter her space again. Hard to look her in the eye as your throat fills with hurt. You shove it into her hands and hope she won’t laugh in your face, or worse, walk out the way she did last time. 

“Merry Christmas, Abby.” 

“You…” She clears her throat, fingers squeezing around the red wool you’d spent painstakingly long hours crocheting with. You’d missed a stitch halfway up the heel. Only realised five rows later, and so had to unravel and start again from the mistake. So stupid, to care so much about something she likely didn’t want. “You made me a stocking.”

“Yeah. The idea was to put actual gifts in them, but maybe you and Lev can do that next year or something.” 

“This…” She blinks like she can’t comprehend it. You don’t know why. She can’t know just how hard you worked on it, and even then, it’s just a damn stocking. “I don’t deserve this.”

It’s such an odd thing to say that you can only frown. “Like I said, I made it before you decided to give me the cold shoulder.”

Her head shakes faintly, and she dangles it between you like she wants to give it back but can’t. You suck in a pained breath, wishing she could go back to not talking to you at all, because this is infinitely worse. 

“I’ve got to get back to Lev, so…” Move, you want to say, but can’t find it in you to be rude even now. 

Especially not when you see the tears dancing in her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Are you allergic to cotton or something?”

“No.” She huffs again, this time amused. “I just… I can’t believe you made me this. Why?”

“Why?” Your patience begins to fray, words stuttering thick in your mouth. “Abby, I’m really trying to give you the distance you so clearly want from me. What the hell do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, a hint of weariness tinging her voice. Suddenly, all of those defenses are down. She’s yours again, even if she’s reluctant to be, scarred chin quivering and throat bobbing. “I’m sorry.”

Silence stretches between you. Eventually, you have to give it up. You can't do this, can’t get your heart broken a second time. You sidestep her, closing your door and making to head back down the corridor — until she says, “I’m sorry for all of it. Please…”

Abby Anderson is not a small woman, but she looks it when you turn around to see her under the yellow light, stocking in one hand, other curled into a fist. That damn downturned pout makes your knees weak. You want to scream at her to stop: stop looking at you, stop talking with that low, delicate voice, stop playing with you like this. 

But you can’t, because there’s something dark and wrong in her eyes, and you want to know what so you can make it go away. 

So you fold your arms, tiredness weighing on your shoulders. “Please what?”

*

Abby doesn’t know how to articulate it, what this thing in her hand means. How sorry she is for hurting you. How little she deserves the love you’ve so freely given her.

She tries anyway. “I freaked out. You shouldn't love me. I'm not good for you.” 

You sneer, and she deserves it, but it still cuts into her. “Probably should have told me that a year ago.” 

She grinds her teeth together. Tries again. “I’ve loved people before, and it didn’t end well for them.”

Your brows knit together. “What d’you mean?”

“I was the reason they died,” she says, a sudden bite to her words, because she’s thinking of the blood on the aquarium floor, and even though that threat is gone, there will always be another. If not now, then later. She’d make a thousand enemies for you, and that makes her dangerous. She never wants to be dangerous again, not as long as she’s in the walls of this base, with Lev and you. “I can’t ever…” She shakes her head. Looks down at the gift again. There are pompoms stitched to the cuff and her name is embroidered into it and— “Jesus. You made me a stocking.”

“It’s not, like, an engagement ring or anything.” 

She closes her eyes, knowing she probably looks and sounds insane. Flashes of that stupid conversation with Owen, so long ago now, echo in her mind. 

I wish someone loved me enough to make me a stocking.

You don’t deserve one.

You can’t know what it means. She’s watched with awe so many times as your crochet hook glides through yarn. Aren’t you tired yet? she’d ask, because you’d usually pick it up in the middle of the night, after a heavy patrol or a few orgasms, and yet you wouldn’t put it down for hours. You’d told her, later, about your mom. How she’d taught you. How this craft had helped you survive bitter winters. You paused making things that people need to keep warm so that she and Lev had stockings to hang this year. 

And Owen was right all along. She doesn’t deserve it, because she pushed you away, and if she pulls you close now, she doesn’t know if she’ll survive it. 

Her cheeks are wet. She swipes at them, but it’s too late. You’ve seen. You’ve softened. For that, she knows she can’t walk away. Not from you. Not even if it kills her. 

“Abby, whatever happened to the people you loved before… that’s not going to happen to me,” you whisper. “If you’re pushing me away because you’re scared, I need you to stop now. I need you to tell me how you really feel, because I… I meant what I said. And I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I don’t understand why you’re crying over a stocking.”

You’re wrong. You’re already hurt. She’s not a fool. She knows you threw yourself into that assignment to avoid her.

She takes a steadying breath and inches closer. You stiffen but don’t retreat.

“I liked it when Lev was the only person I had to be responsible for. I can take care of one person. I can keep one person. I can just about deal with the fear of losing him, because I know that, as long as I keep training him, and as long as he keeps me around, I won’t let anyone touch him,” she says. “But you… I can’t…” Why is it so damn hard to find the words? “With you, I have to wonder if you’ll come back every time you leave. You were gone for four days, and I lost my fucking mind. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think about anything but whether or not you were bleeding out somewhere, and it made me want to…” Another sob threatens to escape. She swallows it down. “I almost went off base to come find you.”

“Abby…” You soften, and that means she's said the right thing, which is actually the wrong thing, because being honest with you is selfish. Keeping you is selfish. More than that, it’s terrifying to have this thing she could so easily lose. She would break without you. The I love you didn’t change that, only ensured it, and so all she wanted was to reverse the fall. Keep you at arm’s length so she could go back to the safety of before. 

Except the bruises on your jaw, and the stocking in her hand, and the way you are so understanding even now, all confirm that there is no going back. She’s in this, and she’s a fool for thinking that could change with the silent treatment.

God, she’s a dick. 

You cup her face, then, and she feels the air reenter her lungs, just like that. “You think I’m not scared, too? God, I told you I loved you, and you stopped talking to me. You think that’s not fucking terrifying? You can hurt me so easily…”

She takes your hand in her free one, turning her face with the urge to kiss your palm. Only she isn’t entitled to that. Not now. “I know. I’m so sorry.” 

“You said that already.”

“Because I mean it.” She dips her chin, forehead resting against yours. 

“Then where do we go from here, because honestly? I’m confused.” 

She doesn’t know the answer, or maybe she does but she’s still afraid. But then she looks down. Thinks maybe the fact that she stands with a stocking in her hand is proof enough that you are different. 

That, this time, it will be different. 

Nobody can take her from you, because she won’t let them. You’ve chosen her, told her she deserves this thing that only ever taunted her before, and she doesn’t want to keep making you regret it. 

“I messed up,” she says. “I want to make it right. Will you let me?”

“I don’t know. What’s in it for me?” You smirk, and she already knows that means your answer is yes.

“I can think of a few things.” Gently, she tucks your hair behind your ear. “I got you a gift too. It isn’t nearly as good as a stocking, but I think you’ll like it.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. 

“And what does that make us? Are you going to freak out on me if I accidentally tell you I love you again?”

“No. I’m going to tell you…” It’s hard, uprooting the words from the cave they’d been planted in, deep inside her, but for you, she curls both fists around them and yanks. “I’m going to tell you that I love you, too.”

It’s worth the fear for the wobbly, lopsided smile you give her. “Well, what an unexpected turn of events.”

She snorts, swiping over that bruise with ever-niggling concern. “Don't be so fucking smug about it.”

“Why not?” 

And then she kisses you, and it feels like a part of her has been rewritten, the stocking soft in her hand and you softer still. 

Later, you’ll go back to the party and you’ll force her to dance with Lev. Then, when the rest of the base is asleep, she'll take you back to her room and kiss sorries all over your skin, and you will get teary-eyed over the gift she got you — a basket of bright and wonderful yarn and a book of new patterns. She’ll teach herself how to crochet with clumsy fingers so that, the following year, your stocking will be hung with hers and Lev’s in your little corner of Catalina Island, and it will not be like it was before. She will come to realise that maybe she does deserve her stocking after all, but only because you keep making her new ones, a tradition that spans longer than she thought would be possible. 

Being loved by you is not so scary after all.

[chai-berries]

one of the top fics in the #mama!reader is an abby one i wrote and i’m honored that i’m able to bring lesbian moms into the tag 🫡

[worldwidegirlhood]

[angelagiarratana]

Saved

What starts as a hunt for a recipe ends in Angela finding the edits you have saved of her, in a totally platonic, normal way.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the windows and the occasional hum of traffic from the street below. Angela had been sprawling on your couch for the better part of an hour, her legs draped over the armrest in that effortlessly comfortable way she had of making herself at home anywhere.

"Okay, but seriously," she said, not looking up from her phone, "what was that pasta thing you made last time I was here? The one with the—" she gestured vaguely with one hand, "—the crispy stuff on top?"

You glanced over from where you were folding laundry, a basket of warm clothes between you and the TV playing some reality show neither of you were really watching. "The cacio e pepe with the breadcrumbs?"

"Yes!" Angela sat up suddenly, her dark hair falling above her shoulders. "That one. I've been craving it all week and I cannot for the life of me remember what you did to make it taste like that."

"I think I saved the recipe to TikTok," you said, reaching for your phone on the coffee table. "Here, you can look through my saved videos. It should be in there somewhere."

You unlocked your phone and handed it to her without thinking, turning back to match up a pair of socks. It was such a casual gesture, the kind of thoughtless trust that came from months of friendship, from late-night conversations and inside jokes and the comfortable intimacy of people who'd seen each other at their worst and stuck around anyway.

Angela took the phone with a grateful smile, immediately swiping to your TikTok app. "You're a lifesaver. I was about to try to recreate it from memory and we both know that would've been a disaster."

"Remember the time you tried to make that viral feta pasta?"

"We agreed never to speak of that again," Angela said primly, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. "The fire alarm went off once."

"Twice."

"Once and a half, then."

You snorted, shaking out a t-shirt. The comfortable silence settled back over the room, broken only by the sound of Angela scrolling through your saved videos, occasionally pausing to watch a few seconds of something before moving on.

You were halfway through folding a hoodie when you realized exactly what else was in your TikTok saved folder.

Your stomach dropped.

"Oh, wait—" you started, but it was too late.

Angela had gone very still, her thumb frozen mid-scroll. The light from the phone screen illuminated her face, highlighting the slight widening of her eyes, the way her lips had parted in surprise.

"Um," she said slowly. "So."

You abandoned the laundry basket entirely, heat flooding your face. "I can explain."

"Can you?" Angela's voice was carefully neutral, but when she looked up at you, there was something dancing in her dark eyes. Amusement, or something else you couldn't quite name. "Because I'm looking at what appears to be... a lot of edits. Of me."

She turned the phone screen toward you, and you wanted to sink through the floor. There it was: your carefully curated collection of Angela Giarratana fan edits, dozens of them, all saved over the past few months. Edits set to trending songs, edits from Smosh videos, edits that some very talented fan had made highlighting her comedy timing, her expressions, the way she could make you laugh until you couldn't breathe.

"Okay, so," you started, then stopped. What were you supposed to say? That you'd been casually obsessed with your friend for months? That you'd spent more time than you cared to admit watching these videos, marveling at the way someone had captured exactly what made Angela so captivating?

Angela was scrolling now, her eyebrows climbing higher with each swipe. "This is... extensive. There's like a whole folder. You organized them."

"I organize all my saved videos," you said weakly. "I have folders for recipes too. And DIY projects I'll never actually do."

"Uh-huh." Angela clicked on one of the edits, and the sound of some indie song filled the room, overlaid with quick cuts of her from various Smosh videos: laughing, doing bits, that one moment from a Reddit Stories video where she'd delivered a line so perfectly that it had become a meme for weeks. "This one has like a million views."

"It's a good edit," you mumbled.

"It is a good edit," Angela agreed. She watched it all the way through, and you couldn't tell if you were imagining the slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. When it ended, she clicked on another one. And then another.

"Angela—"

"No, no, I'm just... taking this in." She looked up at you again, and this time there was definitely amusement in her expression, mixed with something that might have been fondness. "How long have you been saving these?" House Tour by Sabrina Carpenter played from her hands.

You sighed, giving up on any pretense of dignity. "A few months? Maybe longer. I don't know, I didn't exactly keep a log."

"A few months," Angela repeated. She set the phone down on the couch beside her, but her eyes never left your face. "So you've just been, what, casually watching fan edits of me? Your friend who you see like three times a week?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds weird."

"It is a little weird," Angela said, but her tone was gentle, teasing. "I mean, you could just... look at me. In person. I'm right here."

"That's different," you protested, even though you weren't entirely sure how to articulate why. "These are... I don't know. They're like, concentrated moments of you being amazing. Someone took the time to find all the best parts and put them together."

"The best parts," Angela echoed softly.

You pushed on, feeling like you might as well commit to the embarrassment at this point. "Yeah. Like, you're funny all the time, obviously. But these editors, they catch these little moments—the way you commit to a bit, or that thing you do where you pause right before a punchline, or just... I don't know. The way you light up when you're making people laugh."

Angela was quiet for a moment, studying you with an expression you couldn't quite read. The rain had picked up outside, drumming harder against the windows.

"Can you blame me?" you said finally, going for levity even though your heart was hammering. "You're hot and they know it!"

You'd meant it as a joke, a way to deflect from the unexpected vulnerability of the moment. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you realized they were also just... true. Angela was hot. The editors knew it. The comments on those videos knew it. The thousands of people who liked and shared them knew it.

And apparently, you'd known it for months, saving video after video like some kind of digital shrine to your friend's charisma.

Angela's eyebrows had shot up again. "Oh, so I'm hot now?"

"I mean." You gestured helplessly at her. "Yeah? Obviously? Have you met you?"

"I have, actually. We're pretty close." Angela picked up your phone again, scrolling through a few more edits. "I'm trying to decide if I should be flattered or concerned."

"Flattered," you said quickly. "Definitely flattered. It's flattering."

"Is it though?" But she was smiling now, a real smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Because from where I'm sitting, it kind of seems like you have a crush on me."

The word hung in the air between you, and you felt your face go hot again. "I—that's not—"

"It's okay if you do," Angela interrupted gently. She set the phone down again and shifted on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. "I'm just trying to figure out why you didn't say anything."

"Because we're friends," you said, like it was obvious. "Because I didn't want to make things weird. Because I figured it was just... I don't know, a thing I'd get over eventually."

"And did you? Get over it?"

You looked at her, really looked at her, sitting on your couch in your apartment, wearing one of your hoodies that she'd stolen weeks ago and never given back, her hair still damp from the rain she'd run through to get here. Angela, who texted you memes at two in the morning and knew your coffee order and had once driven across the city because you'd had a bad day and needed someone to watch terrible movies with.

"No," you admitted quietly. "Not even a little bit."

Angela nodded slowly, like you'd confirmed something she'd already suspected. "Okay. Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah." She stood up from the couch, crossing the small distance between you. "Good. Because I've been trying to figure out how to tell you that I like you for like two months now, and I was starting to think you weren't interested."

Your brain stuttered to a halt. "Wait, what?"

"You're not exactly subtle," Angela said, and now she was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. "I mean, I didn't know about the saved edits, that's a new development. But the way you look at me sometimes? The way you laugh at all my jokes, even the bad ones? The way you always make sure I'm included in everything?"

"That's just... being a good friend?"

"Maybe," Angela allowed. "Or maybe it's being someone who has a crush on me and is too scared to do anything about it."

She reached out and took your hand, her fingers warm against yours. Your heart was doing something complicated in your chest, a rhythm you couldn't quite follow.

"For the record," Angela continued, "I think the edits are cute. Weird, but cute. And I'm choosing to interpret this as you appreciating my work, which, as an artist, I obviously support."

You laughed, a slightly breathless sound. "That's definitely what it is. Pure professional appreciation."

"Right. Nothing to do with thinking I'm hot."

"Well," you said, finding your footing again, "I mean, that's just objective fact. The hotness. It's not my fault you have a face."

"I do have a face," Angela agreed solemnly. "It's one of my best features."

She was so close now, close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across her nose, close enough that you could see the way her gaze kept dropping to your lips and then back up again.

"So," you said, your voice coming out softer than you'd intended. "What happens now?"

Angela pretended to consider this, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Well, you could keep secretly watching edits of me on TikTok and hoping I don't notice. That seems to have been working out great for you so far."

"Or?"

"Or," Angela said, and her smile turned into something warmer, something that made your stomach flip, "you could kiss me, and then we could watch those edits together. I want to see which ones you saved. I bet I can guess your favorites."

"That seems presumptuous," you managed to say, even though your heart was racing. "What makes you think you know my favorites?"

"Because I know you," Angela said simply. "And because I've maybe watched a few of them myself. You know, to see what all the fuss is about."

"And?"

"And I get it," she said. "The editors are really talented. They totally get my good angles."

You laughed, and then Angela was kissing you, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, and it was somehow both exactly what you'd imagined and completely different. She tasted like the coffee she'd been drinking earlier and something sweet. She kissed like she did everything else, with complete commitment, like she'd decided this was happening and was going to make sure it was done right.

When she pulled back, you were both smiling.

"So," Angela said, picking up your phone from where it had been abandoned on the couch. "Show me these edits. I want to see all of them. And you have to tell me what you like about each one."

"That's going to take a while," you warned. "There are a lot of them."

"I've got time." Angela settled back against you, pulling you down onto the couch beside her. "Plus, we still need to find that pasta recipe. I'm not leaving until I get both."

She pulled up the first edit, and as the music started playing, you felt her lean into you, solid and warm and real in a way that no video could ever capture.

"This one's pretty good," Angela commented as her on-screen self delivered a particularly funny line. "But I think I prefer the live version."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She turned to look at you, her eyes soft. "The live version comes with better company."

You kissed her again, and somewhere in the background, the edit played on, but neither of you were really watching anymore.

The rain continued to fall outside, and the laundry sat forgotten in its basket, and your phone eventually went dark from inactivity.

Later—much later—you would find the pasta recipe together, and Angela would insist on making it right then even though it was nearly midnight, and you would stand in your tiny kitchen watching her work, marveling at the fact that this was real, that she was here, that all those saved videos had somehow led to this moment.

But for now, you just held her close and let yourself be happy, surrounded by the comfortable chaos of your apartment and the sound of rain and the knowledge that sometimes, the best moments weren't the ones captured and edited and set to music.

Sometimes, they were just this: quiet and perfect and entirely your own.

Though you did keep the saved edits folder. Angela made you promise not to delete it.

"They're evidence," she said, grinning. "Of your months-long obsession with me. I'm going to bring them up at every opportunity."

"That seems fair," you agreed.

And she did, but by then, you had plenty of new moments to obsess over, real ones, lived ones, the kind that no edit could ever quite capture.

Though the editors certainly tried, especially after Angela posted a photo of the two of you together with the caption "found out my friend has a whole folder of edits of me saved and instead of being normal about it, I kissed them about it."

The comments section went predictably wild, and your phone buzzed for hours with notifications. But you were too busy kissing your girlfriend to care much about any of it.

Some things, you decided, were better experienced than watched.

Though you still checked the edits sometimes, just to see what new ones had been posted.

Angela was right, after all.

The editors really did know their stuff.

[chai-berries]

Take A Picture — Angela Giarratana

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day Seven

You meet Angela through mutual friends. Your old college friend, Amelie’s 33rd birthday has arrived and she’s going all out. She’s been living in LA since graduation, but had asked you to come visit and celebrate with her. You are down to visit, planning on staying a whole week. The party happens on your second full day in Los Angeles.

Your college friend — and most of your friend group — are Board Game People ™, so you fully expected the two board games that are already set up and ready to be played at the beginning of the party.

After singing to the birthday girl and eating a slice of the delicious homemade coffee cake, the majority of people have settled down and have started a game or two between both familiar college faces and Amelie’s new LA friends.

After the brief introductions are shared, you actually end up on a team with three new people — Angela, Amanda, and Chanse — because they were missing a fourth. You awkwardly make your way over to them, scooting past your other friends and flopping down next to Angela.

Amanda greets you first, followed by Angela and Chanse.

“Hi,” you wave. “I just wanna preface that I have no idea what this game is. So be gentle with me.”

Amanda grins up at you and waves her hand. “It’s okay. I think only Amelie knows the rules.”

“Yeah, it’s just vibes at this point,” Chanse says.

“Exactly how I live my life. Okay good!” You sagely nod your head. You know these three are comedians and you hope they play along. They do;

“When in doubt: Just Vibe.” Angela proclaims in a silly voice, making you laugh.

“Ah yes, my dear. That is the most important part,” Amanda continues on with a fantastic English accent. She holds her wine glass up to her face and makes a sour-tart expression. “To vibe or not to vibe? That is the question, is it not?”

“Oui, oui,” Chanse clinks his glass against Amanda’s.

Amelie calls everyone to attention and explains the game quickly, passing out papers for each group. Amanda takes the paper and lets the three of you read over her shoulder to see what your purpose in the game is. It was a game of traitor, with two groups being good spies and one group being the evil spies who work to sabotage the good spies’ efforts. Thankfully, it was pretty simple and you had three players with hella good poker faces on so when you played your first game as the bad guys who all cleaned up good.

An hour passed with everyone accusing each other until the bad spies are left standing. In the final game, your team lost Chanse and Amanda before the evil spies were defeated, leaving you and Angela huddled up in the corner trying to read other people’s poker faces. The game ended once the evil spies killed your player and two more good spies.

The game finished and everyone dispersed slowly. A few people went to get more finger foods, while another group went outside to have a smoke and chat.

Thinking it would be the perfect time to go to the bathroom, you wave goodbye to your new teammates and make your way through the house, to the bathroom in the back by your guest room.

After washing your hands and checking yourself in the mirror, you exit the bathroom and walk back down the hall. You pass by Amelie’s office and see someone petting Amelia’s tuxedo cat, Bingo, who’s stretched out in her lush pink velvet swivel chair. It takes you a second to recognize that it’s Angela who is talking softly to Bingo, a wine glass in the other hand.

It’s a cute picture just waiting to be taken and you get your phone out and snap the photo before announcing yourself.

“Hey.”

Angela and Bingo turn at your voice. Angela smiles at you, Bingo mewing his greeting.

“Hi. I was looking for you, but then I found the cat.” Angela continues to pet Bingo, who has fully flopped over. You take another photo and Angela peeks up at you.

“Lemme see.” You show her the photo. “I love that.”

You beam at her. “I took a candid too. I couldn’t help it, look,” you show her the first photo you had taken from the doorway.

She continues to scratch the nape of Bingo’s neck as she leans closer to you. Her head is so close to yours, so she can see your screen. You note that her perfume smells amazing.

“I love that, oh my god!”

You giggle at her excitement. “I can send it to you? What’s your number?”

Angela blinks twice, then whips her phone out. She swiftly opens the messages, starting a new one, and hands you her phone within seconds.

You bite back a grin and enter your name and number into her phone.

“You know I could’ve given you my phone,” you tease.

She gives a melodramatic gasp. “Well-well y-you didn’t pass it over fast enough. Toooo slow,” she says this with so much faux confidence you laugh again.

“Well, I am sorryy!” You say, grinning from ear to ear. “Here you go.” You hand her back her phone.

Focusing on your own phone, you go to your messages and send the last photos you just took, to Angela. “Okay, I sent them.”

Angela quickly unlocks her phone and sees the pictures, smiling to herself.

You give her a moment, then lean forward into her space, like she did to you before. “Sooo, have you met Squish yet?”

Angela looks up, confusion on her face. “What?”

“Squish. Amelia’s other cat. He’s an orange long haired tabby. C’mon,” you stand up and hold your hand out to her. She takes it and you help her stand up. Bingo has already moved on, starting to clean himself now that Angela stopped petting him. You, gently, tug Angela out of the office, back down the hall, towards the guest room.

Where there’s more than a giant orange tabby rolling all over the extra blankets in the closet. There also happens to be a sweet first kiss waiting for you too, if you feel so inclined.

a/n: DAY 7!! i finished this one like a sprint during a marathon. i had the idea forever ago and frantically wrote it on a piece of printer paper. time passed. and then i wrote the story on a google doc and actually made it make sense and ta-daaa.

7/13 which means 6 more to gooooo!!

this is the fourth angela fic, so one more to go for her. i have so much writing to do…

thanks for reading!! :—)

[chai-berries]

You can be a little jealous sometimes. — Abby Anderson

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day Six

THE BAR IS PACKED when you and abby arrive, 10 minutes behind schedule because abby got handsy when you were helping her pick out an outfit for the meet up.

every few weeks, abby and her college friends get together at a bar in downtown seattle, the wolf's den, to catch up. they are currently all spread out in washington, with the exception of jordan and leah who drove up from northern oregon.

the last time they all saw each other was six months ago. leah threw a party for manny and jordan before they went to puerto rico for work

these meet ups often include the crews’ significant others. most of the long term relationships were introduced to the group at this bar. you met them all here for the first time two years ago. nora has invited and uninvited an ex-girlfriend. and whitney had actually met her current boyfriend while out with the group.

they all crowd around a table fit for four less than they were, but they made do with the squished knees, just to be close to each other for the first time in “foreverrrr”. most of the group is already there, the large communal nachos ordered alongside some beverages to begin the night.

“hey guys,” abby greets them first. manny jumps up from his chair and they embrace. manny pulls away to laugh at something abby must have whispered in his ear. he looks her up and down. he lets out a low whistle.

“damn girl, look at you in that vest! aye ayeee!” manny practically shouts. abby barks out a laugh, shoving his shoulder back.

and you don’t blame him. abby has been dipping her foot into other types of style besides her trusty bomber jacket and cargo pants. tonight was a personal favorite of yours. she’s wearing a silky, satin waist coat with only a bralette under it. the off white, creamy beige color makes her tan pop and her biceps pop too. with matching trousers and clean white sneakers, she looks deliciously confident. so delicious that, when you were helping her button the vest closed, you almost threw away the entire night’s plans for the look of heat in her eyes. she paired it with a navy blue sports jacket her dad bought her for christmas. looking absolutely fucking divine.

“shut the fuck up man,” abby shakes her head. “tell me how puerto rico was? see any hot babes?”

manny keeps one arm around abby’s shoulder and kisses the tips of the fingers of his free hand.

“oh, my friend, you have no idea. god damn, it was hot hunnies al’round!” manny makes a noise of distress, feinting a heartache. “i was so close to skipping the plane ride home for this one girl. she was just—”

“manny,” abby smacks his chest. he snaps out of his memories and looks bashful at being caught being an absolute dAWG. it’s during this moment that he finally sees you standing behind abby.

“oh my goddd, speaking of hunnies, how are ya, mamacitaaa?” manny pulls you into a big hug that you immediately reciprocate, giggling as he continues showering you in phony compliments to make you laugh. when you pull away, you catch abby rolling her eyes playfully at you both.

manny lets you go and immediately nora scoops you into hug, followed by whitney and mel. you make it through all the greetings around the table and take the chair that’s next to the one abby put her jacket on. when she walks by you to get to her chair, she brushes her fingers along your shoulder and sits down, giving you her hand that’s closest to you as if you explicitly asked for it, but you don’t say anything, simply clutching onto it in comfort as the conversations start up again. manny easily pulls everyone into a funny story from the trip where he and jordan got caught in a bad rain storm and got back to their lodging completely drowned in mud.

“— i was finding mud in my ears for days afterwards!”

after drinks, nachos, and delicious tiny tacos manny got for the table, you and abby started getting ready to leave. mel and owen already closed their tab and left, whitney was doing the long goodbye thing with leah and jordan, her coat and purse on but she was sat down, listening to jordan.

you put your winter jacket on, overtly watching abby put on her sports jacket, your eyes following the hem slide down her body. you then search for abby’s keys in your bag while abby goes up to pay.

since abby had wanted to drink alongside manny and jordan tonight, you play designated driver. however, this meant you got to drive abby’s fancy SUV and planned on going to your favorite ice cream drive thru on the way home.

now, abby didn’t get too drunk, but she got just enough buzzed to be very cuddly as you walked you both to the car. she’s too preoccupied with holding onto you and looking up at the stars to walk in a straight line. but her arm is heavy and warm on your shoulders. you carefully nudge her into the passenger side and make a show of buckling her in like she does to you often.

you climb into the drivers side and adjust the heat and stereo accordingly. you glance over at abby and see her already staring back at you with a specific look in her eyes.

“what?” you ask.

she shrugs, glancing out the front window. across the way, you can see whitney shoving manny into nora’s black car with all the strength she has in her body. abby is watching too but this time she has a frown on her face.

“you okay, baby?”

she sighs long, “yeahhh”

you can see she doesn’t want to say anything else right now if pressured, so you steer the conversation and the car towards your next destination.

“okay do you want the fudge almond sundae or a two scoop cone type of situation?”

+

later at home, ice cream devoured and a movie playing in the background, you bring up something you’ve been thinking about. you tap twice on abby’s forearm that’s sitting over your shoulder. she hums an acknowledgment.

“you now what i was thinking. that you can be a little jealous sometimes.” you have to fight the smile off your face.

abby, who’s pretty much sober now, leans back to look at you, a frown on her face. “what do you mean?”

your smile gets bigger. “earlier tonight, when manny complimented me and you decided i had to stay glued to your hip for the rest of the dinner?”

abby looked flabbergasted. “he didn’t just compliment you. he looked you UP and DOWN and called you “mamacita” and we all know that’s his hook line.”

“you don’t have to worry though,” you snicker. “manny means nothing to me in that way. i’m a lesbian for a reason!”

“yeah i know but if manny thought it’d be smart to say that then who knows what some sleeze will say!”

a/n: hey 🥸 if ur reading this i appreciate you! lemme know what you think <3

i’m exhausted and my tummy hurts send prayers

[chai-berries]

smosh by mads masterlist

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angela giarratana

🍂 Flufftober 2025

— Don’t laugh at me, but… I wrote poems about you. They were really bad / wc: 1346

— Gently resting her head on your shoulder / wc: 829

— You’re so pretty… It’s actually unfair! I’m mad at you now… / wc: 724

— Take A Picture / wc: 1042

🍝 more fics coming soon 🍝

[chai-berries]

The Sidewalk Rule — Abby Anderson

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day Five

Living in Seattle had its perks. The thrift game was fire. You can find a coffee shop/book store/record store hybrid on every other corner. You get to wear several layers of clothes pretty much year round.

The only bad thing was when it rained, it fucking poured rain. And while it was normally something you worked around, you hated taking public transit in the rain. Singing “waiting for the bus in the rain, in the rain. Waiting for the bus in the rain,” while you waited was your saving grace, the song making you laugh into your scarf and hood combo as you stood under the bus stop’s shelter.

Your other saving grace was your girlfriend. Abby was swamped with work back at home and couldn’t come with you to run errands, even though she tried to slack off work several times this morning.

“I wanna go with you, though,” she whined into your mouth as you kissed her goodbye at the door.

“You need to study for your exam, baby. Then afterwards, we can do whatever you want.”

Abby pulled away to grin at you. “Whatever I want?”

You rolled your eyes. “Watch it, Anderson. Keep it in your pants.”

“—Until I finish my exam and then I can do whatever I want to you?” Abby asked again hopefully.

You laughed at her cheeky expression. “I didn’t say that,” you said. You pressed another kiss to her, before grabbing your bag. Smiling up at her, you winked. “But it doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Abby’s eyes widened, watching as you easily slipped out of the door.

Now, sitting on the bus all you wanted was dry clothes and your girlfriend’s arms around you. Bonus points if the clothes are also your girlfriend’s. And they smell like pine soap and that distinct Abby smell you cannot explain in words, but the comfort is automatic when it hits your nose. You kick your feet back and forth, your head leaning against the window as you watch the rainy city pass by you.

The rain has thankfully lightened by the time your stop comes around and you don’t pay much attention to the people at the stop when you jump off. It’s not until one of them calls after you that you look over.

Standing under the bus stop’s shelter is your girlfriend. She’s bundled up and holding up your giant rainbow umbrella, smiling at you.

You run over to her fast, tucking your head under the umbrella. The bus pulls away before you say anything, taking all the people with it.

“What are you doing?” You ask her.

“I’m walking my girlfriend home. C’mon,” Abby reaches out for your hand, interlocking your fingers easily.

You beam under her gaze and words. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t. I wanted to.”

Your lips turn down into a pout, but you’re not sad. “You’re so sweet! What the hell!?!”

Abby laughs at your whiny voice, tugging you to the other side of her so she’s on the edge of the sidewalk and you're tucked between her and the brick wall that ran along the other side. The movement is unconscious on her end and you don’t say anything about it.

The rest of the walk is spent filling each other in on the hours you just spent apart. All the while you and Abby stay tethered together by your interlocked fingers, walking under the cover of the giant rainbow umbrella. A perfect juxtaposition to the gray and wet skies above you both.

a/n: just a wee baby of a post. this was kind of word vomit but based on a lil daydream i had where i wished someone was walking me home from the bus stop 🥺 the song mention is “still late” by satellite high, a song that was featured on Welcome to Night Vale. A classic song to sing if you live in a rainy city and take public transit a lot ​☔️🌂💧🌧️🌈

5/13 done <3

comments and reblogs make me wanna keep writing

[chai-berries]

You’re so pretty… It’s actually unfair! I’m mad at you now… — Angela Giarratana

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day Three

After a long fucking week of work, you were so excited to go home and lay with your girlfriend for two full days. You made a stop at Ralph’s to get breakfast fixings and another bottle of wine. Currently, Angela had Amanda over for some wine and gossip and you were itching to relax with them.

“I’m home!” You nudge the door open with your elbow, slipping your shoes off near the door!

“BABY!!!!!”

Before you could prepare yourself, a blur of brown hair rammed into you, wrapping their arms around your waist. You gently drop the bag of groceries and wrap your own arms around Angela.

“Hi honey,” you greet. You could immediately tell that Angela was a little more than tipsy, her body language so obvious. “How was work?”

“It was good! What about yours?”

“It was alright. I finished my portfolio thing today!”

Angela cheers enthusiastically. “Yay! I’m so proud of you. Now you can really relax. Come on, Amanda is in the living room.” She takes your hand and pulls you down the hallway and into the living room.

“Hey, Amanda,” you greet the tall brunette currently curled up on your couch, her wine glass half full.

”Hiya, babes!” She responds.

You look at Angela to see her now bent over and petting Spork who is laying in his giant dog bed. You smile at her soft coos to the tiny dog who stares unblinking back at her.

”I’m gonna go put this stuff away and change my clothes then I’ll be right back. Here’s another bottle,” you take the wine from your bag and sit it gently on the coffee table. That gets Angela’s attention

”Thank you, baby!” She reaches up and tugs you into a hug. You kiss her forehead before pulling away. She lets you go, walking back to the couch. You head into the kitchen and quickly put everything away, then quickly walk back to the bedroom to change into soft pants and a comfy shirt.

You are putting on some chapstick when you come back into the living room. The two women look up at you, Angela scoots over so you can sit between her and Amanda.

Amanda is staring at your chapstick. It’s a right pink tube that looks more like a toy capsule than a lip balm.

“Girl, your little lip balm thing is so cute! What is that?”

You hand it over to her.

“It’s starfruit flavored!” Angela chimes in.

Amanda leans forward to smirk at Angela, whose face immediately flushes.

“I was asking your girlfriend about her chapstick, but I do love that you love the flavor of her lips, weirdo,” Amanda jokes.

Angela opens and closes her mouth like a fish, trying to come up with some retort.

Amanda hands you back the tube and you stuff it back into your pants pocket.

Amanda starts to ask about work and you fill her in on your latest portfolio projects, both of you easily chatting back in forth about work for a few minutes.

Angela is silent next to you and during a lull you look over at her to see her staring right at you.

”What?” You can’t help but ask.

“You’re so pretty… It’s actually unfair! I’m mad at you now…” She says in an irritated tone, a comically exaggerated frown on her face. Her eyes stay locked to yours.

You smile sheepishly at her. Angela has this ability to completely fluster you when she compliments you. She’d say something off topic, like she was thinking about it for a while but waited before saying it. That or she would just blurt out a compliment like she couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“What’d I do?” You ask her innocently, making her roll her eyes.

”Nothing! That’s the problem! You’re too pretty for your own good!”

”You guys are freakin’ disgusting,” Amanda groans loudly, a big smile on her face not matching her words at all.

You laugh and shrug. “Sorry! We can't help it — being this cute comes naturally.” You say to her. Turning to Angela again, you reach over to smoosh her face with your hand, her lips pursing like a fish. You let her face go and wrap your arm around her shoulders, tucking her into your body. She goes willingly, her body fully relaxing against yours.

a/n: another one!!! two more angela fics after this one!! five total <3

HAPPY LESBIAN VISIBILITY DAY!!!! from one lesbo to another, i love u and you deserve to feel worthy of love (me to myself in the mirror lmao)

reblog and comments are devine and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside

[chai-berries]

Gently resting her head on your shoulder. — Angela Giarratana

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day Two

Going out on a Friday night is something you used to do. In your early 20s, when you could bounce back the next day quickly and painlessly. Now nights out are a few times a month and typically end before midnight. You and your friends tend to favor get-togethers at 6pm with food and drinks or even a movie night at another’s house. You still got to be silly and relaxed without having to drag yourself out of bed the next morning.

The event for today is a classic L.A. meet up that Smosh was invited to and you, Angela, Amanda, and Arasha planned on going together just to see what was happening.

“Hey! It’s my Big Three!” You call out to the other girls when you finally spot them circled around a tall table.

“Hey, Girly! You look so cuuute!! I love your outfit!” Amanda praises you.

“Thank you, babe. You look fricking amazing as always!” You jumped up onto the empty stool next to Angela. Without you saying a word, Angela slides the fourth glass of wine, that was ready and waiting on the table, towards you.

“Thanks, Ang.” You smile at her.

Her eyes twinkle back towards you. “You’re welcome. Is this the new shirt you thrifted on Saturday?” She gently pokes at your fabric covered shoulder with her finger.

“It it! I’m so obsessed with it.”

“You guys went thrifting without me? The fuck?” Arasha frowns.

“Actually, Arasha. It was a date type of thing, so you wouldn't have have been invited anyways.” Angela snarks back. Arasha holds her hands up innocently.

“Okay! Valid!”

Amanda coos over you and Angela. “Aw you guys had a thrifting date? That’s sooo cute!”

“We are pretty cute,” you respond. Angela sends you a wink.

“Damn right, we are!” She sings.

The rest of the evening goes by, all of you chatting and sharing funny anecdotes from your lives. You end up being the main topic for a bit due to the other girls seeing each other almost every single day. Amanda made sure to ask about work and the coworker drama you were telling her about last time. Apparently “Angela doesn’t get all the tiny details” when she fills Amanda in on your work, “getting distracted either by things in the building or just going off on a tangent about how great you are, etcétera etcétera.”

Angela tries to defend herself, but decides not to when she sees how much it makes you laugh and lean into her, your hands brushing hers under the table. Arasha brought up the thrifting date again, asking for thrift recommendations in different L.A. neighborhoods. You full on opened your notes app and copied and pasted the list in a message to Arasha immediately, making the girl give you an exaggerated bow of respect.

By the time the night was wrapping up, you were making a game plan in your head on how you were gonna get Angela, now a little bit drunk and very clingy, into an Uber and back to your apartment in one smooth piece. You had decided to stop drinking wine after your first delicious glass and stuck to nonalcoholic beverages for the rest of the time. So you knew you were sober enough to handle getting your drunk girlfriend home. But she was still drunk and attached to you in a way that you loved while also being extremely hard to work with. Arasha and Amanda were going to wait together for their partners to pick them up so you alone nudged Angela into an Uber. She fortunately went willingly and let you buckle her in before reaching for you to wrap both her arms around one of yours and laying her head against your shoulder.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” she says directly into your skin but you hear her anyways.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Ya know,” she starts, picking her head up to look into your eyes, then darting all over your face, before going back to your eyes. “I love that you and Amanda get along. Like, I love that you get along with all my coworkers, but like, especially Amanda. She’s my best friend and you’re my girlfriend and I wanted you guys to get along but the fact that you actually do, ugh, I love it so much!” She tells you all this earnestly and you see that it’s not Drunk Angela or silly Angela saying these things. She’s telling you this with only sincerity and love in her eyes.

You get closer to her. She doesn’t move her away and you’re able to give her a sweet smooch on her lips. She chases after you when you lean away, making you giggle. She gives you a deep, sad frown.

“Nah, you can wait, Miss Giarratana!,” you joke. You fix yourself on the seat so you can properly hold your clingy girlfriend in your arms for the rest of the drive home.

a/n: day TWO!! another angela one 😌 i’ve been thinking about this exact scenario for a whileeee. ugh wine night with the girls <33

comments and reblogs make the world go round!

[chai-berries]

Stop looking at me like that. I’ll fall in love all over again — Patri Guijarro

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day Four

Using your own key, you unlock the door to Patri’s apartment. You slip your shoes off and take your bag and coat off as well. Following the music you can hear floating around the apartment, you walk into a scene of utmost suspicion. Patri, standing in the middle of her living room, frozen like she was just caught doing something bad. Her hands had gone flying behind her back as soon as you walked in. You only caught a quick flash of whatever she was hiding. Maybe pieces of paper?

“Ho-hola, chiqui! ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?”

You raise an eyebrow at Patri’s sheepish expression.

“You texted me to meet you here? Te acuerdas? For lunch?” You crane your neck to look behind Patri’s back. “Are you hiding something behind your back?”

“No, no, I'm just resting my hands behind my back. Just trying something.”

Patri steps back, away from you when you try to peek behind her. Rolling your eyes, you give up for a second. You then look her up and down.

Patri is wearing her reliable tan trousers. Thrifted, therefore they are softened but still durable. And a white undershirt with a new green short sleeve button up — unbuttoned, of course — on top. Everything was perfectly oversized on her and you really did love the look. She looked so, so very good. But also —

“You know, you look like a grandpa standing like that.”

“Que?” Patri shrieks. “What are you talking about? I thought you liked this outfit?”

You nod in confirmation. “Yeah, well two things can be true.”

Patri groans. “Ugh! I cannot stand you!”

You both know she doesn’t mean it.

You press on. “So, grandpa-patri. What’s behind your back, hmm?”

Patri straightens up. She stares back into your eyes; you can tell she’s weighing her options.

“It’s a… surprise.. for you!” She sighs loudly, defeatedly, under your gaze. “It’s a surprise for you and if I tell you all my work will be for nothing. That's all I'm gonna say! Vale?” She shoves the paper into her back pocket and walks up to you and puckers her lips.

“I’m sorry, mi Amor. I promise it’ll be good. Trust me, hm? Kiss? Por favor?”

You peck her lips quickly. She frowns at you and wastes no time bringing you back towards her lips, kissing you soundly. You smile against her mouth.

She pulls away and subconsciously licks her lips. When your eyes go from them to her eyes, she smirks at you.

“Bien, chiqui?” She asks.

“Sí,” you nod back.

There’s a part of you that wants to look at the paper Patri hid from you. But you also want to see what this whole thing is about, directly from her. The side that loves Patri’s sweet surprises wins and you let it go in favor of having a nice lunch with your girlfriend at the café on the corner that you guys loved.

On the walk back from the café two hours later, Patri brings it up again.

“I’m sorry for the whole hiding thing. I just have been working on a gift for you for a bit and you can ask even the girls about it, I've been driving people crazy planning it.”

“Patri.” You take your free hand and curl it around her bicep of the same arm that was holding your other hand in a warm clasp. “It’s okay. I'm not mad. I never was. I thought it was funny. Actually, now that I know that it’s a surprise for me, I'm excited to see what you have planned. I love your surprises.”

You rest your head on her shoulder so you don’t see the proud smile that grows on Patri’s face, her chest warming from your loving words and touch.

She turns her neck to press a firm kiss on your head wherever she could reach.

“Te amo mucho, mi Vida,” she whispers this into your hair but it’s loud enough for you to hear. You press your own kiss on her shoulder.

“Te amo más, mi Sol.”

Almost a week has passed since that day. Patri is pretty busy with football and your own job has hit the start of the busy season so you guys barely see each other besides when you fall asleep and wake up together.

But Patri’s surprise is sitting in the back of your head at all times. You haven’t caught her working on it again. You assume she hasn’t had time to even try to hide it from you. You don’t try to bring it up either, not wanting to pressure her.

It isn’t until she asks you if you wanna go on a date on the weekend that the surprise comes back to the forefront of your mind.

“An excursion” is all she tells you when you ask. And to wear something pretty, but comfy enough for sitting. She doesn’t give anymore hints and you fight against complaining about it because you didn’t want to ruin your surprise just because you are impatient for it.

The day starts out beautifully. You wake up to the bed empty but still warm, and a note left on Patri’s pillow that says “went for coffee and pastries, be back soon <3”

You place the note on your bedside table and decide to start getting ready for the day, hopping in the shower.

Patri comes back just as you exit the shower, her voice carrying through the door. You open it to see her holding up a to-go coffee cup and a sweet smelling paper bag.

“Thank you, mi Sol,” you press a loving kiss to her lips. She carefully sits the bag down and uses the now free hand to bring you closer to her, deepening the kiss. You smile against her mouth, feeling her do the same. She eventually pulls away so you can both breathe. Handing the coffee to you, she nods her head back towards the bathroom. “You finish that and I'm going to take my own shower. I can't believe you didn't wait for me,” she playfully scolds you. You shrug innocently.

”Well, you were gone when I woke up. and I wanted to get started for the day. I'm just so excited, Patri!”

She gives you a giant grin.

“Me too,” she confesses sweetly.

Switching places, you let her duck into the bathroom to shower. Taking your coffee and pastry bag, you sit at your vanity to get started on your hair and face, taking sips and bites as you go along.

An hour later, you are sitting in the passenger seat of the Cupra. Patri adjusts the radio till she finds a good channel. You watch her back out of the driveway and start the one hour drive to wherever she was taking you. She feels your eyes on her face, peeking over at you. She sticks her tongue out at you, making you giggle. She grins back, her eyes squinting into crescents.

The hour passes easily, you guys creating a balance of talking about anything to singing loudly to the songs on the radio. You don’t even realize you are at the place, until she signals and turns off the main road and onto a one way side street. You don’t recognize where you’re at, but you trust Patri enough to know where she’s going.

Finally she pulls off to the side and shuts the car off.

“Vamos, mi amor,” she winks at you and slides out of the car, heading to the trunk. You follow her and see that she has a whole set up in the back. There's the picnic basket you found while antiquing, filled with delicious food that you can now smell. She also has a giant tote bag, a blanket sticking out on top. You go to grab the tote bag from her and she hesitates but decides it's better to give in to you, making sure the bag isn’t too heavy for you. She shuts the trunk and locks the car, using her free hand to reach for yours.

”The walk is short,” is all she says, guiding you towards a trail that continues to slowly climb the hill you were parked on.

She’s right, the walk taking less than ten minutes. You step out from the trees and bushes and see a beautiful look out spot. You could see the entire city of Barcelona below you.

”Wow,” is all you can say.

”I knew you would love it,” Patri responds confidently. She heads towards a spot of green grass and flowers, sitting the picnic basket down. She asks for the tote bag and you give it to her. She then asks you to stand back so she can fully lay out the blanket.

She gestures down at the blanket and you sit down and watch her also sit and start digging through the basket. She passes you something food shaped, wrapped up in plastic and paper.

You both sit in peaceful silence and eat a little bit of food before Patri is digging through the tote bag again. This time she pulls out a familiar looking piece of paper and a small jewelry box. Your eyes widen at the box and you look up at Patri’s face to see her staring back at you already. She sits the box down and clears her throat. Words seem to fail her as she tries to start talking a few times only to close her mouth. She groans and shakes her head. She looks back at you, where you sit watching her with a small smile on your face. She can see the love and affection reflecting in your eyes and it both comforts her and flusters her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she begs.

You stare back in confusion. “Like what?”

”Like you can see in my soul,” she says. “I’m going to fall in love with you all over again if you keep looking at me like at.”

You smirk. “What would you say if I told you that was my plan all along?”

Patri grumbles, a grin fighting to appear on her face. “Then it’s working. Quite well.”

That makes you snort with laughter, her expression trying so hard to be serious.

“Okay,” she says, rolling her neck and shoulders, easing the tension out of her body. She starts to read off the paper, her eyes flicking between it and your eyes.

“Mi Vida. To say you are the love of my life would be immeasurably inaccurate. You are my best friend, my soul mate, my other half. Finding you is something I thank the Gods for every minute. I wouldn’t change any part of my life before you, if it meant I got to have you in every life, every time.”

Patri pauses when she sees you are tearing up. She reaches her thumb out and catches the fat drop of water as it rolled down the apple of your cheek. She smiles warmly at you and you return it easily. You reach up and hold her hand to your face. After a moment, she takes her hand back and grabs the box and hands it to you.

“Don’t open it just yet,” she notes before continuing to read off her paper. Her eyes stay glued to the paper but nothing comes out. This time you take your hand and pick up hers and squeeze it. She smiles at you again and you can see tears in her own eyes.

“Uh, sorry,” she chokes out. Clearing her voice she starts again. “I love you so much. I love you more every day and in every way. I am so grateful that you love me too. I hope you know just how much I adore you,” she says, looking deep in your eyes. You squeeze her hand again. “And if you don’t know, I hope the ring in that box reminds you every day you wear it. If you’d like it to, of course.”

As the words wash over you, you look down at the box, then back to Patri to see her nod her head. You take that as your cue to open it.

Inside is the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen. It was bright and shiny but not gaudy. It was absolutely perfect.

“Patri…” You murmur, your eyes not leaving the ring.

When you look up again, Patri has moved and is now on one knee, back straight and a giant lovesick grin on her face.

“Dios mío,” you whisper.

Patri silently asks you to stand in front of her and you carefully get up. She takes the box in her hand and picks the ring from it. Dropping the box to the blanket below, she pinches the ring between her thumb and index finger.

“Mi Vida,” she begins when you’re ready. “It would be an honor to be your wife for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”

You can barely let her finish before you blurt out your answer: “YES! SÍ, SÍ, SÍ!! Oh my God, of course!!”

You know you’re blubbering right now but Patri is grinning wetly up at you so you know you’re not alone. You hold your left hand out and let Patri slide the gorgeous ring onto your finger. Once it’s on, Patri stands up and scoops you into a tight hug.

“Oh Patri, mi Sol! I love you so much!” You wrap your arms tight around her neck and press wet kisses to her cheek and forehead. You can feel her kissing your face on the other side which makes you feel so warm inside you can feel it from your toes to your ears.

She loosens her grip and you lean back to take her face in your hands. She’s crying now and you wipe the tears before they fall. You press a firm kiss to her lips, tasting the salt from both of your tears.

Patri’s hand comes to cup the nape of your neck and deepens the kiss. You let out a pleased sigh against her mouth, the sound vibrating against her lips. She swallows the noise eagerly, keeping you close as you continue to kiss.

“Te amo,” Patri murmurs against your mouth. “Te amo mucho. Eres el amor de mi vida.” She peppers kisses all over your face, before coming back to your lips and pecking them over and over again.

“Mmm, te amo, cariño,” you whisper back to her. “I love you so so soooo much.”

a/n: over 2400 words by accident lmao ya know this didn’t start as a proposal fic but patri’s surprise also took me by surprise. it’s like she took over the writing for a second and it went from a cute surprise date to her getting down on one knee and asking Thee Question <3 hope u patri lovers enjoyed this sweet dose of love!! i had so much fun writing it

reblogs and comments make me wanna write more ;)

[chai-berries]

Don’t laugh at me, but… I wrote poems about you. They were really bad! — Angela Giarratana

chai-berries’ Flufftober ‘25 — Day One

You and Angela met back in 2023, overlapping with friends and random improv skits between your many other jobs. Back then, you lived close by her and often carpooled to venues that had you both listed. She’d pick you up, pop music, or an actual musical on full blast as she waited, car running, for you to run out of your house. Those car rides were your favorite routine. If you weren’t running late, you’d even pick up a coffee together on your way. And if you were late, Angela still managed to surprise you with your favorite coffee or matcha sitting in the second cup holder. She’d pass it to you absentmindedly, like she wasn’t making your entire morning, afternoon, or night with a simple 16-oz drink.

Soon, you guys were hanging out on days you didn’t have work. Angela would be free and call you up asking if you wanted to go on a hike or to the beach for the day. You’d both bring books and your journals, but they would never leave your bags, as you both always found something to talk about. You made it your mission to show her new sapphic artists, and she made it her mission to make sure you were educated on musical theatre. The joy that was on her face when she found out that both Hamilton and Waitress were on heavy rotation on your Spotify Wrapped was something you wanted to bottle up and look back on forever.

She was the perfect soundboard for your ideas, laughing manically at your jokes and willing to help you come up with lore for your more basic characters. She would send you weird voice notes when she didn’t have time to text them out. If she wasn’t writing stuff in her notes app, she was sending you voice notes with random ideas she had. She let you read her Shakespeare notes, the excitement bubbling out of her when you asked her to explain something in the prose to her. She’d rest her chin on your shoulder, pointing out the iambic pentameter like an English professor. You’d hide your fluster at her proximity, listening intently.

You found her in your writing later when you were alone. You’d be sitting with your giant mason jar of water, scanning your paragraphs, when suddenly you hear her voice in your head. The writing was still your voice, but Angela’s tone and sincerity would peek through enough for you to notice. When you mentioned it to your mutual friends, they would simply smile at you like they knew something you didn’t.

The one thing Angela didn’t share with you freely was her poetry. You had nudged her to share when you first caught her frantically scribbling in her designated poetry journal, but she blushed and carefully shut her journal and threw it into her bag, turning her attention back to you like she had no idea what you were talking about.

You pushed it to the back of your mind, trusting that if Angela didn’t want to share, it was probably for a good reason.

You guys continued to be each other’s soundboards when it came to writing. She’d call you late at night on her way home from a long day of Smosh, telling you about an idea that she had. On your known editing days, you would invite her to look at your Google Docs, her cursor keeping you company even when she was miles away, deep in rehearsal. She would leave little notes along the document. Things like “I really like this!!!! Her wearing red to show that she’s a walking flag is hilarious” and “okay?!1?????? this is romantic as hell!!”

You were lucky enough to score a writing position on an up-and-coming web series, and Angela was the first person you called. Before your parents and friends, she was the first to hear you go from excited to nervous to sick to your stomach (with both good and bad anxiety). She was there for your late-night rambles, the lack of sleep making you say things like “I’m so thankful for you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You are my favorite person, truly,” before you passed out against her shoulder. Leaving her to sit still for the first time in a while, her focus only on making sure you were actually able to get a good amount of shut-eye during this phase of your project. This happened many times, either of you falling asleep on the other due to lack of sleep. Angela knew her way around your home by then. She knew what throw blanket was your favorite. Knew how to make your pour-over coffee so perfectly it made you cry on stressful days. As for you, you learned what helped her calm down, what her favorite take-out meal was when she was homesick. You and Spork were very familiar with each other, the tiny dog crawling into your lap as Angela danced around the kitchen, making you something soaked in red sauce and cheese. You picked out tiny treats and toys for him when you guys were apart for a while. He loved your favorite big hoodie that had pockets big enough for him to snuggle into.

A level of domesticity settled into your friendship. Something that hit you in the middle of a movie you guys were watching. An old romcom that made you both coo, giggle, and gag at together. Angela had paused the movie to grab a snack, bringing back a bowl of popcorn. She stuffed a handful into her mouth, handing the bowl to you as she crawled back into the nest of blankets. She looked so sweet and comfy, drowning in one of her SMOSH hoodies, her hair half up in a tiny bun and her glasses actually on. You remember looking at her when she unpaused the movie and carried on watching her until a funny part came up and she looked over at you to see if you were laughing too. When she saw you were looking directly at her, she blushed.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” She brought her hand up to her face. You smiled at her, shaking your head.

“No. You — you look really cute, that’s all.” How you said that without dying of embarrassment, you don’t know. But the expression on her face was enough to make you swallow your fear and keep your eyes locked to hers.

A smile grew on her face, her eyes flicked down at Spork, cuddled between you both. She swallowed, then looked back up at you.

“Really?”

You giggle. “Really.”

Without saying another word, Angela shoots off the couch, running off down her hallway to the bedroom. Straining to listen, you guess she’s looking for something.

She comes back with her poetry journal. “I want to show you something.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth between Angela’s sweet face and the journal in her hands. “One of your poems?”

She smiles at your obvious excitement. “Don’t laugh at me, but… I wrote poems about you. They are realllly bad.” She thumbs open the journal, carefully flipping through the inked pages.

“Don’t say that. I bet they are beautiful.”

Angela flushes at the praise, her heart responding before her brain can catch up to it. “Not as beautiful as you–” Somehow, her eyes widen even more.

You blink once, twice. Then smirk. “What’d you just say?

“Nothing! Anyways, could - could I read you a poem?”

“Of course! Go ahead.” You curl back into the couch, bringing Spork closer to you.

Angela smiles at the image of the two of you. She seems to finally find the page she was looking for and clears her throat.

“You are something else.

Something new and bright.

Every time I see you, I find

New things that make me want to learn more.

Every day is better than the last when I’m with you.

I’m leaning into the sweetest escape with you.

And I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

a/n: day ONE!!! hi guys!!! i hope you like this one. my first official angela fic and it’s part of monthly writing challenge LMAO i think angela is just so fucking adorable ugh i wanna scoop her into my arms <3 look out for the next 12 fics of flufftober <3

reblog and comments are devine and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside

[alloftheimagines]

plus size!reader thinking you’re too heavy for abby to lift and she’s so desperate to prove you wrong that she just slots her arms around your waist and heaves you up like it’s nothing. even then, you’re sure she’s faking her nonchalance, so you struggle to get free with flailing limbs that are absolutely no match against her solid grip.

“jesus, abby, put me down.” you’re pink with embarrassment, but she refuses to let it win.

“would you stop it? I just wanna hold my girl,” she chides, hitching you further so your stomach, your core, brushes against hers.

only then do you let up, relaxing in her arms and hitching your thighs around her hips on a discontented sigh. just to humour her: you’re certain she’ll have to yield at any moment. “I’m too heavy.”

“no, you’re perfect.” abby’s fingers dig into your ass, and you squeal. she swallows your new giggles with kisses, trying to clamp on her own proud grin because there you are, surrendering, enjoying her and accepting yourself, and fuck, does she love having her hands, her entire body, full of your soft rolls and curves.

“so fucking perfect,” she murmurs gently against your jaw. “I got you, okay?”

you’re starting to see that she does, always, so you nod and let her kiss you again before looping your arms around her neck and resting your chin on her shoulder, unwilling, suddenly, to ever let her go.

🙂☹️🙂☹️

[chai-berries]

flufftober is officially over!

sorry i didn’t get to all of it.

life got really busy and all my free time was recovering from the busy part.

i also kept coming up with angsty ideas and that’s the literal opposite of flufftober…

which started as an excuse for me to clean out my drafts.

so YAY for that…

now i have nothing but a few angsty ideas that i’ll try fleshing out in the coming weeks