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capuccinodoll · 2 days ago

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The boyfriend act, part 7: "The one with unexpected visit" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: You plan your weekend, preparing to tackle the clutter—the disorganized clothes in your closet, the ones strewn at your feet, but most of all, the chaos in your mind after an unexpected visitor shows up at your door. WC: 10.4k

A/N: Okay. Here it is. 😭

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Friday, August 30th

“This place is packed,” Santi muttered beside you, his gaze sweeping over the crowded tables, each one occupied by people leaning in close, lost in conversation or absorbed in their laptops. The low hum of chatter filled the air, punctuated by the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm sugar hung thick, comforting, almost intoxicating. The display case by the register was lined with golden croissants, glistening danishes, and—most importantly—rows of perfectly round, sugar-dusted donuts.

“The donut thing must be true,” he added, still scanning the room like he was making a tactical assessment.

“No, I heard the coffee’s actually good. Though, yeah, maybe the donut thing too.”

“I hope so. I want my free donut,” he said, flashing you a grin.

Ahead of you, two people stood in line. The café itself was like something out of a storybook—warm, inviting, all soft golden light and mismatched wooden chairs. A chalkboard menu hung above the counter, the handwriting slightly smudged in places, as though someone had changed their mind halfway through writing “oat milk.” A framed picture of what appeared to be the owner’s dog hung beside it, wearing a tiny apron.

“When’s Yov coming back?” you asked, nudging forward as the line inched along.

“Sunday. Why? Trying to get rid of me already?”

“No,” you said, smiling. “You can stay with me if you want. Tonight.”

Santi nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “I’d love to, but I can’t.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

“Dinner at Will’s place.”

“Ah.” You nodded, as if that explained everything. “Well, I guess I’ll be alone again.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he laughed, nudging your arm playfully. “As if you don’t love being alone.”

“That’s true,” you admitted, raising your eyebrows. “Now that you mention it, maybe I’ll use the night to finally sort out my closet. Do you have any idea how many t-shirts must be buried at the bottom of everything?”

“Wow,” he said dryly. “You really know how to have fun on a friday night.”

“Next,” the man behind the counter said, his voice carrying over the soft hum of conversation and the clatter of ceramic cups.

You and Santi stepped forward. He ordered an espresso. You ordered a latte. Simple, predictable.

But beside you, you could feel Santi hesitating, his fingers drumming lightly against the counter, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. Like he was holding himself back.

“And I’ll have a blueberry muffin too,” you said, sliding your gaze toward him, leaving space. An opening.

Santi didn’t say anything.

The man behind the counter gave you a knowing smile. He looked like he was in his early forties, maybe late thirties. His light brown hair was touched with soft gray at the temples, and his eyes—large, dark green, almost too deep for their color—had the kind of quiet presence that made you think he was good at remembering faces. He was tall, too, though he moved with an easy, unhurried air.

“This your first time here, right?” he asked, punching your order into the register.

You nodded. “It is. I, uh—” You gestured vaguely toward the sidewalk behind you. “I have a bookstore just a few doors down. Right next to the florist.”

Recognition flickered across his face. His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ah, Vandspell Books—that’s yours?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve been meaning to stop by,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel before leaning slightly against the counter. “My daughter loves to read. She’s in that stage where she’ll devour an entire book in a day.”

That got your attention. You smiled, suddenly much more invested in the conversation.

“Really? What’s she reading now?”

“Anne of Green Gables. She’s ten.” He hesitated, as if considering something, then added, “Do you have any recommendations?”

Your mind immediately began sorting through titles, but a quick glance behind you told you there were already three more people waiting in line.

“Oh, I have lots,” you said, shifting your weight slightly. “You should bring her by. I’d love to talk books with her.”

His face lit up, as if the idea genuinely delighted him. “Of course. I’m Bill, by the way.”

You told him your name, then gestured toward your brother. “This is Santi.”

“Nice to meet you, Santi,” Bill said, then tilted his head. “You want anything else with your coffee?”

Santi opened his mouth, hesitated. “Uh…”

“Pick some donuts,” Bill interrupted. He gestured toward the display case behind him, where an array of golden, sugar-dusted, chocolate-drizzled, and rainbow-sprinkled donuts sat under the soft glow of the pastry case lights. “On the house.”

You turned just in time to see Santi’s expression shift. You smiled.

With coffee in hand and two paper bags filled with still-warm donuts, you and Santi stepped out of the café and onto the sidewalk. The air outside was delicious, the kind of perfect morning where the sun felt warm against your face without being overbearing. A breeze moved lazily through the streets, carrying the scent of fresh bread from a bakery down the block, the faintest hint of lavender from the florist next door.

And, as it turned out, everyone had been right about the coffee. It was good—really good, the kind that made you close your eyes for a second just to savor it. The donuts, too. You had chosen one with plain icing, while Santi, walking beside you, was already biting into his, the chocolate coating cracking under his teeth.

“You look happy,” you observed, watching as he chewed, looking for all the world like a contented child.

Santi laughed, brushing a stray crumb from his shirt. “I’m happy in the mornings.”

You reached the bookstore and pushed open the door, the small brass bell overhead letting out a familiar chime. Immediately, the scent of books wrapped around you—old paper, faint traces of vanilla from the spines, something earthy in the air like dust settling in sunlight. The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, pooling in golden patches on the wooden floor.

You took a sip of your coffee and moved behind the counter, switching on the computer, unlocking the register, setting everything in place for the day. Santi made his way to the couch on the left, the one tucked against the universal classics section. He sat down with a sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him, his gaze drifting across the shelves.

“Thinking about something?” you asked, noticing how still he’d gone, how his eyes seemed focused on something only he could see.

“Not really,” he said, leaning back. Then, after a pause, “Just remembering how dad used to read Henry James to us.” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “And Poe. That man was out to terrify us.”

You laughed, the memory slipping in as easily as if it had happened yesterday—those slow, humid summer mornings, your father behind the counter, his reading glasses sliding down his nose, the two of you sprawled out on the floor, half-helping, half-distracted.

That first summer, when you were seven and Santi was twelve, you had spent the mornings at the shop mostly because there was nowhere else to be. Santi had been having a rough year at school, and your parents had decided bookstore shifts were a more constructive punishment than being stuck at home. You, naturally, had followed him. It had been the off-season, slow and uneventful, so your father had pulled The Turn of the Screw off the shelf and started reading it to you in pieces, depending on how long you could sit still. He hadn’t expected you to love it, but you had. You’d finished the book quicker than he planned. And after that, the habit had formed—morning readings of Poe, a little May Alcott, sometimes Dickens. Always, at the end, your father would close the book, clear his throat, and say in that particular, expectant voice, Well, kids, what did you learn?

“Yes,” you said now, settling onto the couch beside Santi. “I remember every story like it was yesterday.”

“Well, you have a better memory than me,” he admitted. “I’ve forgotten a few.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up.

“Take the book, then.” You crossed to the shelf, letting your fingers trail along the spines, stopping when you found the one you wanted.

“Really?”

“Yes, Santiago.” You pulled the book free and handed it to him. “Read it again and tell me what you think of it now that you’re old.”

He laughed, flipping absently through the pages. “Change of perspective, huh?”

“That’s what they say.”

Santi made a quiet sound, thoughtful, tapping his fingers against the book’s spine. “Something I remember, though.”

“What?”

“The way Henry James talked about it.” He paused, searching for the phrase. “Change of perspective.”

You laughed. “You mean 'points of view’?"

Santi nodded.

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Nothing. Just an interesting thing to think about. How we all have different points of view. How stories—experiences—can be—”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, swatting his arm as you walked back to the counter.

Santi just grinned, flipping open the book.

Saturday, August 31st

“What about this one?” you asked, holding up a shirt to the light filtering through the blinds. Mr. Darcy, curled at the foot of the bed, blinked at you in slow, feline disinterest. You stretched the fabric between your fingers, tilting your head as if seeing it from a different angle might reveal something new. “I think this color looks good on me,” you mused, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. “Don’t you think?”

Mr. Darcy did not respond. His eyes drooped closed, an infuriatingly serene expression settling over his face.

With a sigh, you pressed the shirt against your chest for a final moment of consideration before tossing it onto the “stay” pile. The bed was covered in these small mountains of fabric, some meticulously folded, others crumpled in a way that suggested their fate was still undecided.

“You’re not being much help,” you told the cat. He responded by shifting slightly and sighing—a real, proper sigh, as if he too were exhausted by the ordeal.

You picked up the last two sweaters that had been holding you hostage in indecision for the past twenty minutes. One was soft and familiar, a shade of blue you always liked on other people but never felt quite right in. The other was oversized and cozy but had a tiny stain near the collar you would never actually get around to fixing. With a sharp exhale, you placed them both in the “go” pile.

This had taken so much longer than you expected.

Yesterday night, full of unwarranted optimism, you had yanked everything from your closet in a single dramatic motion, watching as shirts and dresses tumbled onto the floor in a heap of fabric and regret. At first, you moved with purpose—lifting, sorting, folding—but soon, fatigue crept in. You had far more clothes than you realized, and the sheer volume of it all became overwhelming. Then your stomach growled, and you told yourself you’d take a quick break, have dinner, then get back to it.

Except you didn’t.

Instead, you ate too much, stretched out on the couch for what was supposed to be just a moment, and woke up (many) hours later with Mr. Darcy sprawled across your chest, his full weight pressing into you like a tiny, indifferent furnace. Your mouth was dry, your limbs heavy, and the mess was still waiting for you.

Now, after a long shower and a strong coffee, you had finally pushed through. The bed was covered in neat stacks, some slightly more chaotic than others, but it didn’t matter. Most of these clothes were staying.

Humming along to the song drifting from the speakers in the living room—Perfect by The Smashing Pumpkins—you began folding the last of the pieces, tucking them carefully into drawers, smoothing them into place. The sun had started to set, golden light spilling across the room, stretching shadows across the floor. Mr. Darcy let out a soft sigh in his sleep.

You rolled your shoulders back, stretching your arms overhead. The apartment felt quieter now, softer. As if, for the first time in a while, there was a little more space to breathe.

When everything was finally in place, you stepped back, hands on your hips, surveying your work with quiet satisfaction. The closet doors stood open, revealing rows of neatly folded clothes, the bed cleared of its previous chaos. It felt good, in a small but tangible way, to have imposed order on something.

Mr. Darcy chose that moment to stretch luxuriously, arching his back, his tail curling in the air. He let out a slow, deliberate meow, as if announcing his presence.

“Oh, now you’re awake,” you said, sitting down on the bed just as he slinked over to rub his head against your leg. His purring started up instantly, a low, soothing vibration under your fingertips as you scratched behind his ears.

“You’re a sweetie, you know that?” you murmured, pressing your forehead lightly to his.

He responded with a small, almost reluctant meow.

“Of course you know,” you said. “You’re the cockiest little thing in the world, and I love you for it.”

Mr. Darcy accepted this praise for a few more seconds before deciding he had better things to do. With a final flick of his tail, he hopped off the bed and padded out of the room. You followed his lead, heading into the bathroom.

Your reflection in the mirror was flushed, your skin still warm from the shower. Strands of hair clung to your neck. You ran your fingers through it absently, shaking it out, then padded barefoot to the kitchen.

The clock on the microwave read 5:37 PM. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day, which explained the hunger curling in your stomach. You opened the fridge, scanning the shelves, your eyes landing on a carton of eggs. Maybe pancakes. You could make pancakes.

Just as your fingers brushed against the milk, the doorbell rang, muffled beneath the music playing in the living room.

You cursed under your breath, shutting the fridge with a little more force than necessary before glancing toward the window.

“I’m coming!” you called, raking a hand through your t-shirt, smoothing the fabric over your stomach as you walked toward the door.

You glanced down at yourself—Santi’s old, faded Soundgarden t-shirt, worn soft with time, and a pair of shorts. Not exactly presentable, but it was just your brother. What did it matter? You only hoped he’d had the decency to bring food. A bowl of his stew, preferably.

You opened the apartment door and made your way downstairs, still prepared to greet him with some sarcastic remark about how he always showed up unannounced. Your fingers curled around the handle of the front door, pulling it open with a practiced ease, your lips already forming the beginnings of a smirk—

But then, you saw who was standing there.

Not Santi.

Frankie.

The smirk disappeared instantly.

Your gaze rested on his face, searching for something—an emotion, a clue, anything that might tell you what he was thinking. But if there was something there, you couldn’t decipher it. All you could tell was that he didn’t want to be here. Or maybe it was something else entirely, something you weren’t perceptive enough to name.

“Hi,” he said finally, shifting his weight back slightly. “How are you?”

There was a hesitation before you answered. “Fine.” Your eyes dropped before they could linger too long on his face, skimming down his body instead. No cap. No glasses. A gray T-shirt, black cargo pants. His car was parked behind him, engine off, as if he wasn’t sure how long he’d be staying. “You?”

“I was wondering if we could talk for a minute. About the other night.” His voice was steady, careful. “If you want to. If you can.”

Your pulse jumped, an uncomfortable awareness settling in your chest. You hoped the heat rising in your cheeks wasn’t visible, but it probably was.

You nodded. “Yeah, sure. Do you want to come up?”

You stepped aside, gesturing toward the stairs with a thumb.

Frankie nodded once, silent, and crossed the threshold. As he passed, you caught the faintest trace of something—clean, warm. You exhaled through your nose and turned to close the door behind him, hesitating a beat longer than necessary. A small, quiet breath left you before you followed him upstairs.

At the apartment door, you pushed it open and stepped inside first. He hesitated for half a second before following, his eyes flickering to the floor, scanning for the cat.

“Sit,” you said, already walking toward the kitchen.

He wordlessly lowered himself onto the couch, elbows resting on his knees. You opened the fridge, the sudden cool air brushing against your skin as you scanned the shelves.

“Do you want something to drink? I have coffee, tea, juice, um—”

“Water’s fine.”

“Okay.”

You poured two glasses—one for him, one for yourself—and returned to the couch, setting them down on the coffee table. You almost sat beside him. Almost. But at the last second, something made you change your mind, and you lowered yourself into the couch across from him instead.

Silence stretched between you, thick and unmoving. Neither of you seemed to know where to begin.

You were just about to reach for something, anything, when he let out a breath and spoke first.

“I owe you an apology.”

Frankie’s voice was steady, but there was a tightness in his jaw, in the way his fingers laced together, elbows resting on his knees like he was bracing himself. He was looking at you now, fully, not shying away. “For the other night and… for everything. I’m sorry.”

Your brows pulled together. “Everything?”

The word sat between you, unanswered.

Everything felt too big, too vague. How far back did he mean? Since the other night? Since years ago? Since always?

His gaze dropped to the coffee table where the glasses sat untouched. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were weighing his words, as if the right ones might suddenly appear among the condensation rings forming on the wood. When he lifted his eyes again, he looked more sure of himself.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard about Harry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said all that shit. I—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I had no right to get in your business like that. And it won’t happen again. You can trust that.”

There was something about the way he said it—without defensiveness, without expectation—that made you believe him.

“I know I don’t have an excuse,” he continued. “But I do know how you feel.” His fingers flexed against his knees before his hands finally relaxed. “I’ve been there.”

His gaze dipped again, like the weight of saying it out loud was too much. “I’ve been abandoned. And I found out the hard way that it was pointless to spend every day crying, wondering why.”

Your mouth opened before you fully registered the thought.

“Rachel.”

The name landed between you, quieter than you meant it to be, as if it had slipped out on its own.

Frankie nodded. You noticed the smallest movement in his expression—the way his eyebrows twitched slightly, how his throat bobbed as he swallowed. A moment of remembering.

“And I know you’re not me, and Harry’s not Rachel,” he said. “But I couldn’t help it. It felt the same. Like I was watching something repeat itself right in front of me.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.” He nodded quickly, closing his eyes for a second, like he needed to reset. “I know.”

Frankie rubbed his palms over his thighs, exhaling through his nose. “Seeing you hurt over him reminded me of myself, and I—I—”

“Do you wish someone had demanded you get over it? Would you have preferred someone to yell it in your face?”

The question came out softer than you expected. Frankie’s head tilted slightly, his lips parting just enough for a breath to catch. Then, slowly, he let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“I wish they’d been less careful with me,” he admitted. “Everyone acted like I was this fragile thing they couldn’t say certain shit to. Like if they said the wrong thing, I’d just… break.” His eyes flickered to yours. “Honestly? If I could go back, I’d tell myself to get over it. That it didn’t make sense.”

“But that’s not how it works,” you said gently. “You can’t force yourself to get over something. And you can’t force other people to, either.”

His jaw shifted slightly, the muscle tightening before releasing again. “I just would’ve liked some honesty. You know what I mean?”

You held his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I get it. But, what, did you think I wanted the same thing? Everything you said that night wasn't new to me."

“I just... I know I have no right to tell you what to do. Or give you advice," he said, quieter now. "And even beyond that, I know the way I spoke to you was wrong. I was insensitive. And for that, I’m sorry.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I got caught up in it. I saw how much you were hurting, and I—I messed up.”

His hand dropped, and when he looked at you again, something in his expression had softened.

“You and I… we’re not exactly made for each other, are we?” His lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “And I don’t even know what it is that makes us like this. But whatever it is…” His voice grew quieter, like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear the last part. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

For a moment, you considered the easy way out. You could tell him you understood, that you had been unfair too. You could nod, accept his apology, smooth over the jagged edges between you.

But the truth was, you were tired. Tired of this, tired of swallowing words, tired of pretending you didn’t feel the way you did. And, honestly, you had no idea when you’d get another chance to say these things to him. Knowing yourself, probably not anytime soon.

You took a breath, tried to shape your thoughts into something measured, something that wouldn’t unravel into a mess of frustration and regret. But overthinking it wouldn’t help. It never did.

So you just said it.

“You make me feel stupid,” you told him, and even though your voice was steady, it felt like tearing something open. “Almost all the time. Since the very first day.”

Frankie blinked, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s like nothing I do is ever good enough for you. Like all my choices are inconsistent, irrational. If I wanted to be sad about Harry, if I wanted to cry over him, why couldn’t I? Just because something similar happened to you? This pain is mine, Frankie. I get to decide how I deal with it, how I suffer through it. That doesn’t mean I’ll carry it forever. That doesn’t mean I need you—or anyone—to rescue me from it.”

His expression didn’t change, but something about the way he was breathing, the way his hands were clasped so tightly between his knees, told you he was listening.

“And I get it,” you continued, exhaling sharply. “In some messed-up, roundabout, very us kind of way, you were trying to help me. But you…” Your throat tightened, but you pushed through it. “You have this particular way of hurting me. Like you know exactly where to push, which strings to pull to completely disarm me.”

Frankie didn’t move. He just kept looking at you, so still it was almost unnerving. And as the words left your mouth, you felt something uncoil inside you, a weight lifting. But it wasn’t enough.

You straightened, rolling your shoulders back, bracing yourself.

“Can you be honest with me?” you asked. “Really honest? No bullshit, no deflections.” You gestured vaguely with your hand, like you were wiping the excuses away before he could even reach for them.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Tell me how you feel about me.” The words landed heavy in the space between you. “Tell me how you feel about the way I treat you. Tell me what it does to you, being near me. What you feel, and what you’ve felt all this time.” You inhaled, grounding yourself. “Right now, Francisco. I’m asking you for honesty.”

For a second, he just stared. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right. Or like he was trying to figure out if this was a trap.

And then he seemed to decide that, whatever it was, it didn’t really matter.

“I…” He exhaled, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I feel bad.”

His gaze dropped to the coffee table, avoiding yours like he was embarrassed to be admitting it out loud.

“I feel inadequate. Out of place. Like when you’re a kid and you go to a birthday party and no one wants to play with you.” His fingers flexed, then stilled. “Like I’m failing a test over and over again.”

You were quiet for a few seconds, letting his words settle, letting them exist in the space between you. If he had felt that way—if he felt that way now—you had never noticed. Not even once.

“I didn’t know,” you said finally, careful with your tone, as if the wrong inflection might break whatever fragile honesty was hanging between you. “I mean… I never thought anything I said actually got to you. All these years, you always seemed so sure of yourself. Like you wanted to prove that between the two of us, I was the one who wasn’t enough.”

Frankie lifted his gaze, meeting yours. His expression didn’t shift, but something in his posture did—something subtle, something you almost missed.

“What made you think that?” he asked. “What made you believe that what you said didn’t affect me?”

“You.”

Frankie blinked, caught off guard.

“You make me feel small,” you went on, voice steadier than you expected. “Like I don’t know what I’m talking about, like I’m constantly getting it wrong. Every time we’ve argued, you always seem to know exactly what to say to hurt me, like you have some map of my insecurities, like you know exactly where to press.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “And I’ve always felt like you win. No matter what I say to you, no matter how angry I am, it never feels like I’ve landed a hit. You always turn it around, always make it worse for me. And then it’s like you’re fine—like you’ve already moved on, like it didn’t even matter. Like you enjoy knowing you won, until the next time we see each other and do it all over again.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted slightly before he exhaled, dropping his gaze to the floor. He pressed his lips together, jaw flexing, and when he looked back up, something unreadable had settled into his expression.

“I didn’t feel like I won the last time we saw each other,” he said. “If that makes you feel any better. Or any of the other times, really.”

You let out a quiet breath, looking down at your hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them.

“Shit,” you muttered. And then, because it felt right—because it felt true—you lifted your eyes to his and said, “I’m sorry.”

His brows twitched slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry for everything I said to you,” you continued. “It wasn’t true. None of it. I was just—I was mad, and I was hurt, and I wanted you to feel just as bad as I did.”

Frankie’s lips curled at the corners, a small, wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

You shook your head. “That’s not—”

“It’s okay.”

“No, that’s not okay,” you said, shaking your head, as if you could physically reject the thought. “Because something like that—what I said to you—no one deserves to be treated like that. And it wasn’t true. Not even a little bit. I don’t actually think those things about you, Francisco.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “I just wanted to hurt you.”

Frankie exhaled, looking down, shaking his head as if he could shake off the weight of it.

“I deserved it.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “I… I didn’t know I made you feel that way. That it was that serious for you.” His hands flexed against his knees, knuckles pale with tension. “I didn’t know, or maybe I just didn’t let myself realize it. Not until the other night, when I—When I made you cry.” A pause. Then, barely above a whisper, “Jesus Christ, I’m such a fucking asshole.”

He pressed his fingers against his temples for a second before looking back at you. “All this time, all these years, I knew we were hurting each other. But I didn’t think—I didn’t think anything I said could actually wound you like that.”

“You didn’t realize?” The words left your mouth before you had time to temper them, sharp and incredulous.

Frankie nodded, almost to himself. “We fought, we pissed each other off, and in you, all I ever saw was anger. I thought, yeah, she hates me. So I figured that was all I was provoking—just that. Just anger. I never thought I was really—” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose. “I never thought I was actually hurting you.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “That’s what always got to me the most,” you muttered. “How come you always knew where to hit? How to cut?”

Frankie’s eyes rested on yours, unreadable, and then drifted down to your hands. You were twisting your fingers together, restless, wound tight.

He let a breath pass before answering. “The first time we actually argued was that day at the lake, remember?”

You did.

You nodded, and Frankie went on. “I took your life jacket by mistake. And when you found out, you just—tore it out of my hands without a word. We hadn’t even talked much before that. Barely knew each other. But that moment felt like… like it told me everything I needed to know.” He wet his lips, glancing at you briefly before looking back down. “I went after you, asked you what the hell your problem was, and you said I needed to be more careful. That I should keep my hands off your stuff. That I always managed to screw things up.”

His fingers tapped absently against his knee.

“Later that day, you lost the parking ticket, and we argued again. And I—I remember throwing it back at you. That you were the one who always screwed things up. That you were careless. That you needed to pay more attention.” He gave a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head at himself. “After that, I don’t remember the specifics. Just that it was always like that between us. Always fighting, always picking at each other, always knowing the worst possible thing to say. And Santi losing his mind over it.”

He glanced down at the side of the couch, where Mr. Darcy had stirred, stretching lazily before padding toward Frankie’s feet. Frankie reached down, scratching lightly behind his ear, gaze unfocused.

“I didn’t know the things I said were touching a nerve,” he said finally, still not looking at you. “But I did know that the things you said to me were.” His fingers stilled in the cat’s fur. “It always felt like you knew exactly where to press. Like you could see my insecurities before I even admitted them to myself.” He finally looked at you, his mouth curling in a wry, humorless smile. “And if you think about it too much, it’s almost funny. Because our attacks—our words—they’re the same. They always have been.”

You followed his gaze to your cat, who had curled up beside his feet again, content. Your thoughts tangled together, unspooling into more questions than you could keep track of. Would he answer them?

“Yes, I understand that. What I don’t understand is…” You stopped, your throat tightening so suddenly it caught you off guard. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to push through the burning behind your eyes. “What I don’t get is… why?”

Frankie looked at you, his expression unreadable at first, then shifting into something closer to confusion. “What?”

You blinked rapidly, a thin sheen of wetness gathering in your eyes.

“From the very beginning, you never liked me.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Since the first day, the first moment we met. You made up your mind about me on the spot. Why? You didn’t know me. You knew nothing about me, and yet somehow, you decided I was—” You stopped, struggling to find the right words. “—not worth your time. Not worth being kind to.”

His expression didn’t shift at first, just deepened into something unreadable. “I don’t... I don't know what you mean.”

You let out a breath, something like a laugh but without the humor.

“Francisco.” His name felt strange in your mouth, too formal, too intimate at once. “Come on.”

"No... I mean, I know it was weird, but that's not how I—"

“From the very beginning, you hated me.” A tear slid down your cheek, warm and humiliating.

“I didn't,” he said quietly.

“You did. Since the first time we met.”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching, like maybe the answer would be written there instead. “The first time we met?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated. “I... I don’t know if we’re talking about the same thing.” He glanced downward, rubbing his palm over his jeans, like the answer might be tucked somewhere there. “I—”

“We are.” Your arms folded tightly over your chest, and a single tear slid down your cheek.

Frankie watched it fall, his expression still, like he was afraid to move. “Are you... are you talking about the party?”

Your breath came out unsteady. “Yes. When Santi introduced us.”

Something changed in his posture, a nearly imperceptible shift. He straightened, his head tilting slightly.

“You decided,” you went on, voice gaining weight, strength, “that I wasn’t enough. That I was something you just didn’t care to bother with.” You swallowed against the ache in your throat. “Why? What was it about me? What made you so sure, right away, that I wasn’t worth respecting?”

The last word broke in your mouth, and you turned away, unable to keep looking at him.

Another thin tear traced the curve of your cheek, warm against the cool air. Frankie shifted, pushing himself up from where he sat, his movements unhurried but purposeful. He didn’t hesitate—he crossed the space between you, lowering himself beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence in the subtle press of air, the quiet weight of him.

He didn’t touch you, not really. Just the faintest brush of his fingertips against the edge of your jaw, a barely-there pressure, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Like he was testing the shape of the moment, waiting to see if you would pull away.

“That’s not true,” he murmured. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Something burned beneath your ribs, something twisting and insistent, and you shook your head, exhaling sharply. A thin, bitter smile flickered across your lips, but it barely lasted a second. It collapsed the moment your eyes found his again, replaced by something heavier, something almost resigned.

“I heard you, Francisco.” Your voice was quiet, steady. “I heard you that night. Talking to Will.”

Frankie’s expression barely shifted at first. He was watching you carefully, trying to read you, as if unsure whether this was an accusation or something else entirely.

“What are you talking about?”

You studied his face, searching for any flicker of recognition, but there was nothing. Not yet.

“After dinner, when everyone went down to the bonfire,” you started, measured, watching for his reaction. “Benny stayed behind to help me with the dishes. I was already feeling off—because of you, because of how you looked at me when Santi introduced us, because of how you acted during dinner. Like there was something wrong with me. Like I was—” You hesitated, feeling heat rise to your throat, but forced yourself to continue. “Like I was something unpleasant that you had to avoid.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, but there was a shift in his features—subtle, almost imperceptible. He looked puzzled. But still, not like he knew.

You exhaled through your nose, gathering yourself before speaking again. “I wasn’t in a good mood after that. So after we finished, I went to the bathroom. And that’s when I heard you.”

Something in Frankie’s posture stiffened slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you go on.

“You and Will were outside, talking near the bathroom window,” you said, watching him closely now, waiting for something in him to give. “I wasn’t trying to listen. But then I heard you talking about me.” You swallowed. “You were telling him there was something weird about me. That I had... something.”

A pause. The air in the room changed. Frankie’s gaze darkened—not in anger, but in something closer to realization.

“Will told you not to be like that,” you went on, voice quieter now. “He said I was Santi’s sister, that you should at least try and talk to me. And you—” You stopped, bracing yourself, because saying the words out loud after all this time felt different, sharper. You forced them out anyway. “You said you’d rather sacrifice yourself in another way.”

And then—there it was.

His expression shifted, something cracking open behind his eyes. His brows lifted slightly, and his mouth parted like he might say something, but no words came. He pulled back just an inch, like the memory had physically landed in his chest. His gaze dropped to the floor, breath measured, something about the way his shoulders rose and fell too precise. He shook his head—at himself, at the situation.

When he finally met your eyes again, there was something different there.

“What else did you hear?” His voice was careful, but there was something uneasy in the way he asked.

“Just that,” you said simply.

“Nothing else?”

You shook your head. “Does it matter?” Your voice was steady, but there was an ache behind it. “You were clear.”

Frankie dragged a hand over his mouth, exhaling as his gaze flickered to the floor again. For a moment, it felt like maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

Then, finally, he looked back at you.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

“I heard you, Francisco,” you said, voice steady but sharp at the edges. “I heard you clearly—”

“I know,” he interrupted, nodding, inching closer. His voice was quiet but urgent, like he was trying to get ahead of whatever was coming next. “I know you did. But it’s not what you think. I didn’t—I never thought those things about you, I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Just—just listen to me.”

Your stomach clenched. “Why the hell would you say it then? If you didn’t believe it, why did you say it?” You could hear your own voice rising, the frustration bleeding through. “Because from where I was standing, it made perfect sense. The way you looked at me that night, like I was something disappointing. Like I wasn’t what you expected or wanted me to be. And then to hear you say it out loud to Will—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “It all lined up.”

Frankie held your gaze, unblinking.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, firm, his voice low. And for some reason—against all logic—you almost believed him.

You swallowed. “Then tell me the truth! Tell me what happened!”

Something flickered across his face, something uncertain. His posture stiffened just slightly, and his eyes darted away, just for a second, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go down this road at all.

He hesitated. Then, finally:

“I can’t,” he said. The words came out carefully, cautiously. “I can’t tell you. But you have to believe me when I say that what you heard wasn’t the full story. It wasn’t even the full conversation. I—” He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I said those things so Will would drop it. So he’d stop insisting.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “Insisting on what?”

Frankie’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting slightly, landing on Darcy, who had perched himself on the coffee table, lazily observing the conversation. He didn’t answer.

Your patience frayed at the edges. “Francisco.”

His eyes finally met yours again.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I promise. Just—not right now.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why won’t you just tell me?” You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you, your face inches from his. He had nowhere to look but at you, no way to slip past the moment, no escape. “I asked you for honesty.”

His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to steady something inside him. His eyes had darkened, locked onto yours with an intensity that sent something twisting in your stomach.

“It was a weird night for me,” he said finally, his voice rough at the edges. “A weird week. I—” He exhaled, shaking his head, running a hand down his face as if he could wipe away the memory. “Please, you have to believe me. Yes, I said those things to Will, but no—none of it was real. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think those things about you.” His voice caught slightly before he pushed through. “I barely knew you. We’d exchanged, what? A few words? An introduction? I wasn’t sitting there analyzing you, deciding what I thought of you. And whatever impression I gave you that night, whatever you think I believed—I swear to God, it wasn’t that.”

You let out a shaky breath, something sharp and unsatisfied curling inside you.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Your voice wavered but held. “How do I know you’re not just lying to make this easier, to convince me I misheard, that this was all some kind of misunderstanding?”

“I—”

“You ignored me all night,” you went on, your heart picking up pace. “When the others spoke, you were fine. You looked cool, easygoing. But when I spoke?” You let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “It was like you forgot how to be a person. Like you wished I wasn’t there at all. You barely looked at me, and when you did—” You hesitated, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So tell me, Francisco. How can I fucking believe you? You deliberately ignored me all night. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Are you seriously going to deny it? Do you think I’m stupid?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, something unreadable passing through his expression. And for a moment, all you wanted was to know exactly what was going through his head. To break him open and sort through whatever the hell he was keeping from you.

But it wasn’t that easy.

“No, not at all. I... I just... Fuck. Yeah.” He dropped his gaze, running a hand over his jaw for a moment before looking back up at you, his eyes filled with nerves. “I know I acted weird that night, I do. But it wasn’t because I didn’t like you or because I thought anything bad about you. And I know I probably sound like I’m making excuses, but I swear I’m not. I mean it. I’m serious.”

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. Are you seriously trying to tell me that something happened that night that made you act weird only with me? Just me? Come on, Francisco, don't fuck with me."

"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn’t think I was being that obvious. I didn’t think you noticed how I was feeling that night. And I never would have imagined that you thought my attitude meant I didn’t like you. Honestly, I remember feeling like you were the one ignoring me all night. If I had realized back then that it looked like I was ignoring you on purpose, things would have been different."

"That's not believable, Francisco, seriously. Just stop."

"I'll tell you everything, I promise. Just... not right now. The conversation with Will, that whole night—I’ll explain it all, really."

You snorted, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at him.

“Please, trust me,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ll tell you, I will, but not right now. I can’t.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But if you trust me—” He stopped himself, inhaled sharply. “God.” He shook his head, stepping back slightly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You have no reason to do it. I know that. But please—please, just trust me.”

"Why should I trust you? I know I have no real reason to. But give me one. Why should I trust you?"

Frankie stared at his hands for a few seconds, trying to come up with an answer (or maybe an excuse?) to give you.

"I don't have one." He met your gaze, his eyes full. "I... I only have my word. And if you decide not to trust me... I get it."

You stared at him for a long time, searching his face, studying every shift in his expression, every flicker of hesitation. You were ready to call bullshit, to let yourself hold on to the anger, to the version of him you had carried around for so long.

But you couldn’t.

Because somehow, against every instinct, every logical explanation—you believed him.

Whatever else Francisco was, he wasn’t lying. Not right now.

“All right, okay,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “I don't know what's wrong with me, but I trust you. But you’ll tell me. You will. You promise.”

Frankie nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell you. I will.”

"And I won't wait too long. I mean it. I think I deserve an answer. I do."

"Yes, you do. And you will get one, I swear."

You stared at him in silence, your eyes locked on his, like lie-detecting machines. Frankie didn’t look away. He held the gaze until it felt like it was too much.

Then, ee exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face before looking at you again. “Jesus… are you telling me this all started that night?”

You let out a small, humorless breath, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know what super secret reason you had, Francisco, but you were a dick to me. That’s just how it was. Whether you like it or not.”

His lips pressed together, his gaze fixed on you like he was trying to piece something together.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “I really am. I just… I thought this was all because you didn’t like me first.”

You turned to him with an incredulous look, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

His mouth twitched, just barely.

“I didn’t like you,” you admitted. “But only because I thought you were a rude, arrogant pain in the ass. That’s all. In fact, you have yet to prove to me wrong. ”

Frankie let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Is that why you didn’t give me a slice of cake?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at him. “And how do I know you’re not still that smug asshole, huh?”

Frankie held your gaze for a second, then shrugged.

“You don’t.” His expression softened just slightly. “And if you wanted to take some distance after all of this, I’d get it.”

Your breath hitched. “Really?”

He nodded. “I haven’t exactly been good to you. Not at all. I’ve hurt you, disrespected you. And yeah, it’s been mutual, but… I’d understand. If you wanted me to step back.”

You swallowed, something thick forming in your throat.

“I’ve been mean to you, too.”

A ghost of a smirk played at his lips. “Yeah. You have.”

“Remember when I threw that dart at you?”

Frankie groaned, rolling his eyes. “I still have the scar. Of course I remember.”

You looked at him then, amused, but it didn’t last. The lightness of the moment faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by something heavier pressing against your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. You blinked hard, but it was useless—your eyes were already burning. “About the other night. I’m really sorry. You’re none of those things. I don’t think you’re a failure. And I—I feel awful about what I said, Francisco.” You let out a breath, your voice wavering. “And I really like your family. Your mom is… she’s wonderful. No one with a family who loves them that much could ever be a failure.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could wipe it away, Frankie moved. He didn’t hesitate this time.

His arm came around you, pulling you in—not forceful, not demanding, just steady. Solid.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your hair. “It’s all right.”

You closed your eyes for a second, listening to his heartbeat, to the rise and fall of his breath.

“I’ve been a jerk to you,” he continued. “I just hope someday you can forgive me. For all the times I made you feel small or stupid. You’re none of those things. Never have been.” He let out a quiet breath. “I was—I'm just an asshole.”

You pulled away from him, your breath still unsteady, the warmth of his proximity lingering on your skin. When you looked up, his expression was tight, conflicted. There was something guilty in the way his gaze dropped for a second, like he wished he could take back whatever had just passed between you.

“Maybe,” you said, a small smile curving at the corner of your lips, though it wasn’t entirely lighthearted. “Then again, maybe we’re just too different. Or similar, at times.”

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on yours, steady and unreadable.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice even. “That must be why you make me so uncomfortable sometimes.”

A small, puzzled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Your eyebrows pulled together.

“What do you mean?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you could see the realization hit him, the regret arriving a beat too late. His shoulders shifted, a quiet exhale leaving him as he glanced down at the cat beside him, as if Mr. Darcy might somehow provide him with an escape route. But then something like amusement flickered across his face, and a breathy, almost reluctant laugh followed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally looking at you again. “It’s strange. You make me nervous, I guess. Like, I don’t know how to talk to you, what to say. Maybe it’s the arguments, maybe it’s my self-esteem, who knows.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, as if it wasn’t something that had been bothering him for a long time.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed.” A pause. “Although, now that I think about it, you do come across like you have a hard time talking to women.” The words were teasing, but your gaze stayed on him, curious.

He huffed, shaking his head. “I grew up surrounded by women. Believe me, a man learns things,” he said, eyes steady on yours, serious but with something wry beneath the surface. “Even if he doesn’t want to.”

You let yourself smile then, dropping your gaze to your hands. There was something about this—about him, about the quiet between you—that felt different than before.

Mr. Darcy rubbed against your legs, then made his way toward Frankie, stretching out lazily before flopping onto his back, belly exposed, trusting. Frankie ran a slow hand through the soft fur, absentmindedly scratching along the cat’s ribs.

Funny, you thought. Mr. Darcy already trusted him enough to show him his ridiculous little belly.

Maybe—just maybe—you could consider doing the same.

“Frankie?” you murmured, watching the sharp lines of his profile, the way the dim light carved shadows across his face. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap, absentmindedly pinching at the skin around your nail, a nervous habit you hadn’t been able to break.

He turned to you at once, eyes steady, dark, unreadable. “Yeah?”

You hesitated. Swallowed. “I want this to end.”

A crease formed between his brows. “What?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, as if that could encompass everything—the biting words, the unresolved tension, the years of something tangled and unsaid. “The fights. The confusion. I’ve had enough of it. I don’t want it anymore.”

Frankie was quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, his expression serious but thoughtful. Then he nodded, once.

“Right.” His voice was steady. “I don’t want it either. And I get it. If you want me to stay away, I will. I’ll tell Santi. I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you—”

“No,” you interrupted, leaning in just slightly, just enough for him to notice. “I don’t want that either.”

That caught his attention. His posture shifted, the tension in his jaw loosening. “No?”

You shook your head. “I think Santi’s had enough, too. I don’t want to put him in the middle of this, make him feel like he has to split his time between us. It wouldn’t be fair. Don’t you think?”

Frankie exhaled, nodding. “Yeah.”

You glanced down at the coffee table between you, the two water glasses still untouched, condensation pooling at their bases.

“I just… I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel good, for either of us. Maybe we could try again. Be normal. Be… cordial.” Your eyes flicked back up to him. “We’re doing it right now, aren’t we?”

Frankie let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Look at us. Talking like regular, well-adjusted people. What’s next? Respecting each other?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a smirk. “Actually, I’d like that.”

“So would I.”

“But it’s not going to be easy,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening slightly. “This is years we’re talking about. You don’t just patch up a road that broken overnight.”

“I’m aware of that, ma’am.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Really?”

He lifted his chin, his shoulders squaring as if accepting a challenge.

“That’s right,” he said smoothly. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your brow furrowed. Suspicion prickled under your skin as you studied him. “How?”

Frankie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his mouth, something familiar sparking in his expression. You recognized it immediately. It meant he was up to something.

“Are you still making your list?” he asked.

You blinked. “Yeah…”

“Good.” He leaned forward slightly, the space between you shrinking just enough. “If you let me, I could help you with that.”

Your lips parted, then curled into a grin. “You’re telling me you’d go to a club with me just so I can kiss strangers?”

Frankie laughed, deep and genuine. “If that’s what you want. Do you?”

Your gaze dropped, landing on Mr. Darcy sprawled between you, tail flicking lazily. You considered it for a second longer than you meant to.

Then you looked back up at Frankie.

“Not yet,” you said.

“Okay. Just think about it. Pick something, and I’ll do it with you.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Really?” Your skepticism sharpened the word, your head tilting slightly as you studied him.

“Just say it.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stood there, watching him, searching his expression for any sign of hesitation. Was this just him being polite, trying to smooth things over? Or did he actually mean it? Would the weight of the last few years—the fights, the misunderstandings, the things he knew you’d overheard—make him agree to anything just to prove a point?

The thought was almost amusing.

Your list was long. Some things were easy, some a little more complicated. Others, though, would be downright painful in the oppressive august heat.

How far would Frankie really go? He’d said anything. But how much did anything actually mean?

“Okay,” you said finally, drawing the word out just a little, watching the way his shoulders stayed loose, the way his eyes remained locked onto yours, waiting.

“Anything, then,” you repeated, testing him.

He didn’t blink. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” The corners of your mouth began to curve upward, the anticipation stretching into something almost giddy. You let the moment breathe, dragging it out just long enough to watch a flicker of uncertainty cross his face.

Then you said it.

“Skydiving.”

Frankie made a sound—something between a cough and a laugh, caught in his throat. His eyebrows lifted slightly, his expression somewhere between surprise and intrigue.

“Skydiving?”

“Yes.” You nodded, resolute.

For a second, he just looked at you, like he was waiting for you to take it back. Then, to your astonishment, he nodded.

“Perfect. We’ll go skydiving, then.”

Your breath hitched slightly. Your smile faltered, just for a moment.

“Really?”

Frankie shrugged, still watching you. “Yeah. If that’s what you want to do.”

“Good. Yeah.” You nodded, though the certainty you’d felt a moment ago was already beginning to waver. “Skydiving. I want... Skydiving.”

Frankie watched you closely, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “We can do something else if you want.”

“No, no.” You shook your head, as if saying it more than once would make it true. “Skydiving. I want that.”

You stood up, grabbing your glass of water from the coffee table and carrying it with you toward the kitchen. The condensation on the glass chilled your fingers as you took a slow sip, trying to steady yourself.

Behind you, Frankie got up too. His footsteps were unhurried as he followed, his presence easy, unintrusive. He stopped in front of you, shifting his weight slightly as his hand settled on his hip. His grin had stretched wider, like he was already enjoying whatever came next.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll figure out all the details this week and let you know.”

You watched as his gaze drifted past you, landing somewhere on the wall behind you. He seemed to be thinking about something, his lips pressing together briefly before his eyes flicked back to yours.

“I think it’s a good idea, you know?” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Starting the list up here,” he tapped his fingers against his temple, “and then working your way down. I mean, after this, going camping in the middle of the woods is going to feel like nothing.”

You considered that, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s true.”

His smile deepened, like he could see the shift in your expression, the way you were already beginning to believe it. “See? It makes sense.”

There was a beat of quiet. A comfortable one.

Then Frankie’s posture changed, his shoulders squaring just a little as he took a step closer. His voice was softer now, more deliberate.

“Well. Thanks for talking to me.” His eyes searched yours. “And for listening to me.”

You exhaled, glancing down at your glass before looking back at him.

“It’s okay, really. I needed it too.”

Frankie’s head tilted slightly. “Yeah?”

You lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “Yeah.” A pause. “And I really hope things will be different from now on.”

He nodded, slowly, his gaze dropping to your feet as if grounding himself. “Me too.”

But he didn’t move just yet. He stayed there, hand still on his hip, eyes lingering on the floor like there was something else on his mind.

You watched him in silence, a dozen new questions forming, waiting on the tip of your tongue.

But they could wait. You could ask them another time, another day.

Now you knew you could.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone,” Frankie said suddenly, shifting his weight before stepping back. His voice was casual, like he’d just remembered he had somewhere else to be. He was already turning toward the door. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yeah—oh, Frankie,” you called after him. He stopped, glancing over his shoulder, brows lifting slightly.

“Santi told me your mom was asking about me,” you said. “That she was a little worried. Is everything okay?”

Frankie exhaled, running a hand over his jaw like the question had pulled something heavy to the surface.

“Things are complicated,” he admitted. “But don’t worry. I’ll tell her something—”

“I’ll go to dinner with you,” you interrupted. “At her place. If you want.”

His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes. “Oh—you don’t have to, really.”

“I know,” you said. “But I will. I don’t mind. Besides, I promised her.” You lifted a shoulder, watching him carefully. “Really, it doesn’t bother me. I like your mom.”

Frankie studied you, his gaze steady, assessing. Like he was waiting for you to crack, to take it back, to say you were just being polite.

You didn’t.

After a few beats, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to her, then.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling.

“Okay,” he echoed, and this time, there was something softer in his voice. He smiled back. “See you, then.”

“See you.”

He pivoted on his heel, crossing the room in a few strides. The door creaked open, and just like that, he was gone.

You stood there for a long moment, gripping your glass a little tighter, your mind catching up with everything that had just happened.

Were you actually going to throw yourself out of a fucking plane?

Jesus.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella

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huntercoreene · 2 days ago

Text

Unscripted Venture

Pairing: Rafayel x MC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Rafayel has been away from MC for a few days and she decides to give him a surprise visit – it ends with sex. MC is not named and Rafayel calls her his canon petnames (cutie & miss bodyguard)

In other words, my attempt at trying to make sense of what we hear in Promised Wildfire, and what happens after it ends (spoiler - sex)

Word Count: 5.3k

Tags/Warnings: smut, fluff, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, squirting, safe sex

Read on Ao3 or under the cut 👇

It had been longer than a week since Rafayel had left Linkon. He got dragged from one exhibition to another while I had to go on the hunt for wanderers with almost no break which made it really hard for us to see each other. The moment I found some free time in my schedule I jumped on a plane to visit Rafayel. Now, I was standing in front of his door, my hand raised as I hesitated to knock.

“Really, Thomas? Another last-minute event?” Rafayel’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Well, duh. Of course I can't make it. I gotta return to Linkon tomorrow. Smell you later.”

I smiled as I listened to him whine to Thomas about work. I took a deep breath as he closed the call, straightened my hair and knocked on his door. I eagerly listened as his footsteps came closer and closer when finally Rafayel opened the door.

His expression changed from annoyed to surprised and then to happy in mere seconds. “Cutie, what are you doing here?”

I jumped into his arms just as he opened them. “I’ve missed you too much so I came to see you!”

He pulled me into a hug and lifted me up, taking my feet off the ground. I had wrapped my arms around his neck and held onto him as he twirled me around. “Are we trying for a new, romantic escapade here?” He asked when he finally stopped.

I held his face in between my hands and gave him a big kiss. “Did you like it?”

“This was the perfect surprise,” he said as he closed the door with his foot and carried me to the living room. “How did you know where I was staying?”

“I convinced Thomas to tell me,” I said with a smile as he sat down with me on his lap.

“How did you manage that? Don’t tell me – ah, I’m gonna have to go to that event tomorrow, aren’t I?” He said with a pout.

I settled on his lap with my legs on either side of his hips and brushed his bangs back. “I will come with you though… we can hide somewhere when you get bored of people, and have a little fun of our own,” I said, my voice getting deeper.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I guess we can figure that out later — right now, I want to enjoy having you here with me,” he squeezed me tighter and left a kiss to my cheek. “I’m so excited that you're here – you have no idea. It’s almost like butterflies are about to burst from my chest.” He held my hand and brought it down on his heart.

I could feel how fast his heartbeat was. Suddenly the air in the room changed. I felt myself blush when our eyes met, the rainbow colour of his iris was getting swallowed by his dark pupils the longer we gazed at each other. I felt myself leaning in for his lips like I was being pulled by some unseen force.

It started with small kisses on his lips, our breathing getting heavier by the second. I made my way down to his jaw and pushed open collar of his neck. I admired the view of his collarbone before I went down to lick and suck on his skin.

I felt Rafayel’s muscles tense under my touch and he let out a sigh. “Was this sneak attack also part of your surprise?”

I answered him as I left another kiss on his skin, pushing open his collar and making my way lower on his chest.

He grabbed my chin and lifted my head, making me look into his eyes, “your kiss couldn’t stop the butterflies from flying out of my heart,” he leaned in closer to my face, “but this is how you do it,” he whispered just before I felt the touch of his soft lips on mine.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in the soft strands of his hair as I felt his tongue search for an entrance on my lips. I opened my mouth, allowing him to deepen our kiss and bring us ever closer. I needed to touch him more, it wasn’t enough. My hands wandered back down to his chest, slipping under his shirt. My fingers caressed his chest, lightly stroking over his nipples as I delighted in the moans that escaped his mouth.

Rafayel’s hands were on my back, stroking up and down at first before he slowly slid them down, pressing hard enough on my skin that I could feel his warmth over my clothes. I could feel myself getting wet just from this, a warm and tingly feeling spreading from my belly to my body. I settled myself nicely on his lap, feeling his hard member right under my sex. Rafayel’s hands settled on my ass and squeezed the soft flesh just as I slowly started to grind on his lap.

“Miss Bodyguard,” he said with a sigh, taking off his lips away from my skin to talk, “you’ve given me quite a surprise. How should I repay you?”

“Kiss me,” I breathed out as his lips travelled down to my jaw.

“Sure, I can kiss you,” he whispered as he turned us around and pushed me down on my back. “Let’s start with just above your eyes…” he planted a kiss, adjusting our position to pull me in his embrace fully, “your nose,” he kissed the tip of my nose, making me giggle, “ears.” This time instead of a kiss, I felt him suck and breathe on my ear.

“Ah, Rafayel…”

I felt his chuckle on my skin before he moved back to my lips again, “and lips too…” he said pulling me into a deep kiss just as another moan escaped my lips. “I’ll make sure to say hello to each of them… it’s been so long, I’ve missed you”

My hands travelled on his back, stroking and making their way to his hair as the sound of our sloppy kisses filled the quiet room. “I missed you, too,” I whispered when I had a moment to breathe.

He kissed me again and again. It felt like my lips were the only things that could sate his thirst and he was a man parched, lost in a desert. I was feeling dizzy and warm, breathing in his familiar scent, squeezing him because I never wanted to let go. He slowed down after a while and slowly raised up.

“Rafayel,” I protested to the loss of his warmth.

He chuckled and stroked my cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t move. I want to savour this moment.” He gave me a soft kiss. “I’m always scared that you're just a figment of my imagination.” I watched his intense gaze as his eyes travelled my body before settling on my face. He looked down at me like I was a mirage, cupped my cheek like he wanted to make sure I was real.

I leaned my head into his touch as my hands travelled up over his arms, settling on his shirt collar before I pulled him closer. “Mm, why don’t you touch me,” I whispered as I switched our position and settled on his lap before I bent down to lick on his ear, “and find out.”

“Well, you're real,” he giggled, turning his head to find my lips as his arms wrapped me tighter, “and warm. It’s like I'm being enveloped in a pool of water.”

He pulled me into a deep kiss, his mouth moving to my jaw and neck, leaving a wet trail as they went. I felt his head nuzzle my cheek, his soft hair tickling my skin. The more I felt his touch the more colourful the world got. Linkon was so cold and grey without him. “Don’t, go away, again,” I said in a desperate voice. I never wanted to be apart from him.

“I don’t wanna let you go,” he wrapped his arms around my body tighter like he was making his point, “I could hold you like this forever.”

“Oh – really?” I asked with a mischievous smile. My hands stroked down his body as I swiftly pulled his loose tie away from his neck.

“What are you…” he started, a grunt escaping his lips just as I tied up his wrists. “When I said I wouldn’t let go, I wasn’t giving you permission to tie me up, and… you did it with my own tie, no less,” he said, giving me a cheeky smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“This is your punishment for not coming home sooner.” I wrapped the tie around his wrists one more time and leaned in for a kiss as I pushed his arms over his head. “Now, you cannot go anywhere.”

“Fine, fiiine,” he chuckled, adding with a sultry lick of his lips, “punish me however you want, cutie.”

I barely held onto the moan that threatened to escape my lips with the look he was giving me. It was hard to focus on tying him up under his intense gaze. His eyes were like the endless ocean, ready to devour me. I was on top of him, I had his hands bound and yet, I still didn’t feel like I was the one in control. I knew I would fold with just a single word from his lips as long as he looked at me like that.

I swallowed and wrapped the tie to the armrest. He let out an exaggerated groan as I secured the knot. “Ouch… an artist’s wrists are precious, you know, but you're very, very cute right now. I don’t mind being tied up by you.”

I felt my face blush at his compliment, and loosened the knot, worried it was too tight. I slid my hands over his arms, feeling his skin under my fingers and cupped his face before I leaned in for a kiss. He responded to my kiss, pulling on his bounds and groaned.

I chuckled at his struggle as my mouth left a wet trail of kisses on his skin up to his ear. "You look very cute when you're tied up, too," I breathed out before I sucked on his earlobe.

He moaned and bit his bottom lip as I continued to tease him. He turned his head, looking for my lips as I went back to kissing him. "This shirt is too tight," he said, breathing heavily. "Can you help me unbutton it?”

"Anything for you." I nuzzled my cheek on his face as my fingers found the buttons on his shirt. I kissed my way down as I opened his shirt, making sure to press my palm on his bare chest, feeling every inch of his hot skin.

“It’s still too tight… keep unbuttoning it," he commanded just as I finished opening the last button, my hand dancing on his lower stomach.

"I think we've reached the end of the shirt," I teased, my hand going down only slightly to stroke him over his trousers.

"You know what to do next then, don't you?"

"I don't think I do," I said as I leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You'll need to be more specific."

"Take that naughty hand," he kissed me, "and unbuckle my belt."

I moaned as his words sent a shiver down my body, my hands getting to work on his belt.

"Good girl, now keep unbuttoning."

I quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, my palm flattening over his boxers, feeling how hard he was. I stroked him over the fabric, my fingers dancing on his stomach, threatening to slip under the waistband.

"Mm, not yet,” Rafayel gave me a warning.

“How are you gonna stop me?” I asked with a smirk as I my hand contained to stroke him over his boxers. ”I hold the power now,” I said as I leaned in to capture his lips, my hands stroking over the bare skin of his chest.

My hands moved up to his hair as we deepened our kiss. I could feel his hips buck at my body the more I touched and grinded on him. My mouth moved from his lips to his jaw and then to his neck. Moans and groans escaped both our lips as I made my way down to his nipples, giving attention to both of them before going further down. My hands followed my lips, feeling as much of his skin as I can. One of them moved further down, feeling his hard cock and stroking it over the fabric again. I continued to kiss my way down. I let my mouth soak his underwear, feeling his hot and hard cock under my tongue while I looked up at Rafayel.

"Getting straight to the point, huh...?" he groaned.

"I'm not breaking any rules," I breathed onto his skin before I kissed right under his naval, feeling his muscles tense up at the slightest of my touch, I saw him throw his head back just as my lips touched the waistband of his boxers.

"We've only been separated for a few days and you somehow managed to become so bold," Rafayel said with a strained voice, “then, does this mean I can also be a little bold..." he whispered to my ear as his mouth trailed wet kisses to my jaw, "and spice things up?"

I was too dazed to realize he had broken free. In one smooth motion he had me in his grasp. “Hey! How did you break free?”

He chuckled and got up with me on his lap. “That's something I can't tell you,” he said as he made his way to the bedroom and gently placed me on the bed. He straddled me and moved his mouth closer to my ear, "a slippery fish like me, can't be caught so easily." He whispered before he sucked on my earlobe.

I moaned at his words as he swiftly bound my hands to the headboard. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and it was setting me on fire. "Rafayel, pleasee..."

He chuckled. "Please what, cutie? Let you go or don't let you go?"

I blushed. "I..." I looked up at him with my best pouty look. "Please, I want to touch you. I can't do that if my hands are bound, can I?”

Another delightful chuckle escaped his lips, making my heart skip a beat at the sound. "At this point, begging or running away won't help."

I pulled on my restraints, partly to get away partly because of how turned on I was under his touch as he planted kisses from my cheek to my lips. “Is it too tight? Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” I moaned. I wanted to lift my hand and cup his face but my hands were tied. “Don’t worry, keep going.”

He left a kiss to my lips and made his way down slowly. His hands moving up and down on my torso, slipping under my shirt and finally making their way to my breasts. “Ah, Rafayel,” his name escaped my lips as he lightly brushed his finger over my pebbled nipple.

“Mm, enjoying my touch this much, cutie?” he said as he cupped both of my breasts, thumbs stroking over my nipples. “They’re so hard already.”

“That’s because it’s cold in here.”

He chuckled. “It’ll be hot in here soon enough,” he left kisses to my neck, making his way down to the top of the soft flesh of my tits, ”then what will be your excuse?”

I felt blood rush to my face as he continued his exploration. He sucked the skin into his mouth, letting it go with a pop sound then licked and kissed the sensitive skin. One of his hands covered the breast he was just sucking as he moved his focus to the other. He pushed the stubborn hem of my shirt up with annoyance and pulled my bra down, revealing both of my tits to his gaze.

“I only touched this and you're already flushed,” he said with a deep voice, thumb caressing my nipple as he bent down to suck on the other.

“Rafayel…” I whined as his mouth moved to suck on the skin between my tits. I felt his chuckle on my skin as he ignored my whining — which turned into a moan every time he sucked and licked my skin —and made his way to my stomach.

He looked up at me as he made it to the waistband of my skirt. “What is it, cutie?” He left a few kisses that made me tremble, the look he gave me after every kiss sending waves of pleasure through my body.

“I want to touch you,” I said with a whimper as he stroked my legs ever so lightly.

“I'm not done painting a masterpiece on your body, Miss Bodyguard. It is my blank canvas,” he left a wet kiss on my inner thigh before he sucked in the flesh to leave a hickey and then licked the sensitive skin, “and only I get to admire it.”

“I wanna see your beautiful painting,” I pleaded as I gave him my best puppy-eyed look.

“But it’s not finished yet.” He moved his attention to my other leg. “I wanna leave my mark here,” he sucked in my skin and let it go with a pop, “and there… yes everywhere…” he made his way higher on my inner thigh, getting closer and closer to my heat with every touch of his lips, leaving a hickey everywhere his mouth has touched.

“It’s unfair,” I tried my luck again.

He chuckled and rested his head against my thigh as he continued leaving lazy kisses. “What?”

“I want to ‘paint’ on you, too.”

“Alright, I guess you’ve been a good girl so far,” he reached up and untied my hands, “and I need your hands free to take this shirt off.”

I chuckled as I raised my hands and let him take the shirt off of me. “Rafayel!” I was surprised as he picked me up and turned us over, placing me on his lap this time.

“I willingly surrender myself to you. Do with me as you wish.”

I settled myself on his lap, grinding only a little to feel how hard he is under me before I pushed his shirt off his shoulders and threw it to the other side of the room. I placed my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat right under my palm. His ears and cheeks were flushed, same with mine, when I leaned in for a kiss. My hand moved down on his stomach, feeling his abdomen before slipping beneath his underwear to feel his hardness.

“…you're greedy, aren’t you?”

“Can never have enough of you,” I said as I pushed him on his back.

“Ow!”

“Aw, where did it hurt?” I asked going along with his exaggerated pain, “here?” I kissed his jaw. “Or here?” I sucked on his neck, earning a moan from him then kissed the sensitive skin.

“Mm, cutie, making me surrender isn’t enough,” he breathed, “you also wanna leave your mark on me?”

I looked up at him as I kissed down his chest. “Yes. People should know you're mine,” I said with a hoarse voice before I sucked on his skin, earning another moan.

“Alright, then… don’t miss a single spot…”

I smiled and got to work on worshipping his body. I kissed his chest, licking and lightly sucking both his nipples, feeling the way his heart skips a beat with every touch of my lips. My hands made their way down his stomach, feeling his muscles tense with my touch until I've reached his trousers. I slipped my fingers under the waistband of his underwear, pushing it down as he lifted his hips.

“Don’t you think this is a little bit unfair?” Rafayel said playfully as I moved up on his body.

“What?” I was kissing his neck.

He wrapped his arms around me, his hands finding the clasp of my bra, “I’m all naked now and you still have so many clothing that’s blocking the view of my masterpiece.”

“Why don’t you take them off then?” I whispered before I sucked on his ear.

He groaned as he wrapped his arms tighter, pulling me flush with his body, turning us around in one smooth motion. He pushed the straps of my bra down before taking it off and throwing it to the other side of the room. He leaned in for a kiss, licking my lips with his tongue, urging me to open my mouth. I let him deepen the kiss as I felt his warm hands slid down my body.

He slipped his fingers under the waistband of my skirt and pushed it down, adding it to the mess of clothes around the room. I wrapped my arms around his neck, grinding my hips on his lap as his fingers started to stroke my sex over the thin fabric of my panties.

He hooked one finger to the strap on the side, pulling lightly and letting it snap to my skin, earning a moan from me. “Mm, this is cute. Did you get it for me?” he said, his mouth moving in between kissing my lips to sucking on my skin.

“Yes,” I breathed, “do you like it?”

“Very much,” he said as his fingers continued their strokes, “you're so wet for me.”

“I want you, Rafayel. I need you,” I whimpered.

He groaned, pushing my panties to the side, feeling my clit without a barrier for the first time. “Not yet,” he said before he kissed his way down my body and settled his head between my thighs.

“Oh, Rafa–“ I tried to say his name just as I felt his tongue on my clit. He sucked on the sensitive bud before licking stripes on my cunt. I raised my head to see just as he looked up at me, sending a wave of pleasure to my clit.

He alternated between flicking on my clit and drawing shapes, every so often stimulating me so much that I couldn’t help but pull on his hair. I felt his fingers stroke the side of my pussy lips, making my legs tremble with pleasure just as he pushed a finger inside. He pushed it as deep as he can, waited, then pulled out before pushing it again as I threw my head back. He slowly started to pump his finger in and out as he continued licking my clit.

He stopped again, making me moan in protest and slowly pushed two fingers inside this time. The sound of my wet cunt filled the room as he pumped his fingers. He reached his free hand and cupped my tit before pinching my nipple just as he curled his fingers inside of me. It was too much for me as I felt my body twitch and tremble with pleasure and came squirting on his face. He continued licking my clit and fucking me with his fingers even though I squirmed to get out his hold.

“Rafayel, enough, please,” I said in between my heavy breaths as my cunt twitched with over-stimulation.

He left a kiss to my lower abdomen with a chuckle before picking up a discarded shirt. He wiped his face and threw it away again, then dropped himself next to me on the bed. I turned to my side and placed my hand on his face, my thumb caressing his cheek. He was so beautiful. I leaned in to capture his lips, my hand sliding down on his body, finding his painfully hard cock. I gave him a few slow strokes as we continued to kiss. He tensed and moaned when I pressed on the sensitive spot on his tip.

“I’m gonna, spill in your hands, if you keep this up, cutie,” he said with a strained voice.

I slowly pushed him on his back and got on top, my cunt settling right over his cock. “Mm, we can't have that, can we?” I leaned in and sucked his earlobe before I whispered in his ear, “you're only allowed to cum inside me.”

His hands grabbed my hips and pressed my heat on him harder with a groan. “Get the condom from my pocket,” he said with a commanding voice.

I tried to reach it but he was holding me so tight as he rutted against me, it was impossible. “You need to loosen your hold a bit for that,” I chuckled.

“Ah, fiiine, be quick,” he said with a pout and loosened his arms just about enough for me to reach into his trousers on the floor and find the condoms.

“Got them–“ he pulled me down as soon as he could, taking the condom from my hands. He ripped the package open with his mouth and slid it on himself with ease before lifting my hips, “Rafayel, slow down,” I said with a chuckle.

“No,” he growled and turned us around in one smooth motion, “I can't wait anymore,” he started kissing my neck as he took his cock in hand and started rubbing it up and down on my pussy, “and you love teasing me too much.”

“Who’s teasing who now?” I whined as he continued to rub his cock on my cunt, tapping it on my clit, making me twitch and moan.

He let out a low chuckle as he aligned himself with my entrance, his lips moved up to my jaw, cheeks, finally arriving on my lips as he slowly pushed himself in. He stopped for a moment as he let me adjust to his size before pulling back and pushing in deeper.

“How do you feel?” He asked as he sucked my lower lip into his mouth.

“Good.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, my hand buried in his hair.

“Do you need a little help here?” He said with a mischievous tone and started to draw circles on my clit as he started to move his hips slowly.

“Ah, Rafayel…”

“Oh, you like that, yeah?” He increased the speed of his movements.

“Yes,” I breathed with blissed out head. It was such a great feeling to feel so full of him. I felt stimulated every time his hips slapped mine, as his cock slid in and out. I loved being so close to him, connected in every way we could, feeling how hot he got, how much he sweated, feeling both our juices mix and be as one.

I pulled his hand that was circling my clit and brought it to my mouth. “Come closer,” I said as I sucked on his fingers and pulled him down. It wasn’t enough, I needed to be closer to him.

He growled to the sight in front of him and stopped his movement with a deep thrust. I whined to the loss of his body heat as he raised up. He had an intense look on his face now, like he wanted to devour me whole. “Your wish,” he picked up my legs and placed them on his shoulders before he folded me like paper, “is my command.”

“Ahhh,” a moan escaped my mouth. “So deep, so full,” I babbled as he pressed his lips to mine.

He moved his hips just the way I liked it, his cock hitting that spot inside my walls again and again, bringing me closer to my high. One of his hands moved down to cup my tits as he continued leaving kisses on my lips. I pulled on his hair when he pinched my nipples, making him growl and bite my lip. His lips left wet kisses on my skin as they went down on my body, pulling the nipple he just pinched into his mouth. He lifted his head as he looked into my eyes and sucked, his hand finding my free breast. He pinched the other nipple before his lips switched to sucking on that one, all the while the movement of his hips never stopped.

I could feel myself gushing more and more with his every movement. My walls squeezed his cock every time he pinched, sucked and circled my nipples. The pressure was building in my belly. “Rafayel… I'm gonna, cum.”

“Me too,” he raised up and picked up the pace of his thrusts before he leaned down again, “let’s do it together.” He pulled me into a kiss, his lips travelling to my ear. He licked and sucked on my earlobe, and breathed out, “cum with me, cutie.”

I felt the trembling in my legs first just before the dam broke and I felt my whole-body spasm. “Rafayel,” I screamed his name, pulled on his hair and felt my walls squeeze his cock as if they wanted to milk every last drop of his seed.

He pounded his hips one last time and stopped, his head falling on to my neck as I felt the throbbing of his cock inside me. He moved his hips, slowly, pulling back and pushing in again, each time I felt him throb once again. “Ah, cutie, that was…” he lost his train of thought and started to pepper my neck, my jaw, my cheek –anywhere his lips could reach with kisses, making me giggle.

He tried to pull out, before I wrapped my arms and legs around him and pulled him closer to me. “No, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckled and pressed a kiss to my cheek, “but let me re-adjust. I don’t want to crush you.”

“Crush me, I don’t care. I want to feel your weight on me.”

“Alright, then,” he said and let his weight down on my body.

I felt the air escape from my lungs and I tapped his shoulders with urgency. “On second thought, you should re-adjust.”

He let out a laugh as he raised up. He pulled out his softening cock, removed the condom and tied it into a knot before throwing it to the floor and dropped down next to me. I planted a kiss to his cheek before I settled inside his arms. My fingers drew circles on his chest absent-mindedly as I felt his warm fingers do the same on my arms.

“This is perfect,” Rafayel said as he left a kiss to my damp forehead, “I'm so glad you came here.”

“Me too,” I let out a deep sigh and kissed his jaw. I held his chin in my hand and squeezed. “You're not allowed to go away for this long without me, again.”

He held me tighter in his arms. “Does that mean I can say the same about your trips too, Miss Bodyguard?”

I felt my face get hot. “It’s… not the same.”

“Double standards,” he said with a pout.

I raised my head with my arms planted either side of his face and left a kiss to his lips. “Stop pouting.”

“No. You can leave when you want but I'm not allowed to do the same.”

I left a kiss to his cheek, another one on his nose, another on the side of his eyes. He was still pouting even though his cheeks were getting red. “Okay,” I said with defeat. “How about this? When one of us is away for too long, the other is allowed to visit them and keep them all to themselves as long as they want.”

He finally smiled to that. “Deal.”

“You know this means you're not allowed to go anywhere until tomorrow night…”

“I do, this is gonna be a long night for us, cutie,” Rafayel said with a sultry voice as he got on top and once again, pulling me into a passionate kiss.

My first fic for LaDS fandom, I hope you've enjoyed it!

#lads rafayel #l&ds rafayel #rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x mc #l&ds rafayel x mc #lads rafayel x mc #love and deepspace rafayel x mc #mywriting #rafayel smut #rafayel fanfiction #rafayel fanfic

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lavender-butterfly-cookie · 2 days ago

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Au fic request! Gingerbrave and the others are heading back towards the Faere kingdom until the winds start to rush a little faster, and everyone disappears in Gingerbrave’s eyes, he then gets kidnapped by eternal sugar so he can rest (he’s a child and shouldn’t be doing all of the stuff he did without rest) and pv and the others wakes up and finds out that Gingerbrave is gone.

Pure Vanilla cookie: argh... my head... is everyone ok?

Wizard cookie: I've had better days, but yes I'm ok.

Strawberry cookie: I'm ok too.

Pure Vanilla cookie: phew, that's a relief. And Gingerbrave, how are-... W-wait...

Strawberry cookie: uhm... where's Gingerbrave?

Pure Vanilla cookie: I-I don't know... Gingerbrave? Gingerbrave!

Wizard cookie: Did- Did we lose him?!

Pure Vanilla cookie: no, it's not that. Something must have happened while we were knocked out.

Strawberry cookie: do you think that gust of wind had something to do with it?

Pure Vanilla cookie: it's a possibility. A very likely one.

Wizard cookie: Could it be Shadow Milk cookies doing?!

Pure Vanilla cookie: No, I'd have felt something if it was.

Strawberry cookie: and do you feel anything?

Pure Vanilla cookie: I do, but it's not Shadow Milk cookies power I feel. Whatever it is, it's making me tired.

Wizard cookie: What do we do?

Strawberry cookie: how are we gonna get him back?

Pure Vanilla cookie: hm... We could follow this energy to its source. Maybe we can get some answers.

Wizard cookie: but it could be dangerous!

Pure Vanilla cookie: that may be so, but it'll be worth it if we can get Gingerbrave back. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

Strawberry cookie: he... he's right! Think about how Gingerbrave would handle this situation.

Wizard cookie: he'd jump in head first without hesitation.

Strawberry cookie: well- ok that is true. But he wouldn't back down and neither should we. If he can be brave, we can too.

Wizard cookie: ugh, as tired as I am, I guess you're right. Ok then, lead the way Pure Vanilla cookie.

Pure Vanilla cookie: of course, follow me and stay close.

Strawberry cookie: oh Gingerbrave, where did you go?

...

Eternal Sugar cookie: *yawns* now what do we have here?

#crk #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #cookie run #lavender writes #eternal sugar cookie #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cooke #strawberry cookie #wizard cookie #gingerbrave

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theesterianempire · 1 day ago

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I'm Okay, Really - Spencer Reid x Y/N - Part Three

Chapter Three

Word count: 1014

Trigger Warnings: Eating disorders, anorexia, calorie counting, calorie tracking, bulimia and other eating disorders, fainting, hospitals.

Link to Previous Chapters:

Chaper One - https://www.tumblr.com/theesterianempire/776479578876182528/im-okay-really-spencer-reid-x-yn?source=share

Chapter Two - https://www.tumblr.com/theesterianempire/776565555994951680/im-okay-really-spencer-reid-x-yn?source=share

“Y/N… she… Yes I know… no, no… It’s fine, yes… okay… that’s fine… bye…”

“How��. Do…..”

“Sh… he… ncer…”

N…that…no…”

That’s all you could hear as you slipped in and out of consciousness, capturing small samples of conversations around you. You recognised the voices but you couldn’t quite place any of them.

You felt someone take your hand and squeeze it lightly… it was comforting. You felt them rubbing the back of it with their thumb, they didn’t let go. They just held your hand as you lay there unable to move.

“Y/N… Y/…” A voice called, it belonged to a man.

You reached deeper, begging your eyes to open. You were surprised when they complied and fluttered open.

“You’re awake,” Said the same voice, but now you could see it was Spencer.

Before you could say anything else Spencer stepped away and a lady reappeared in your line of sight.

“Hi, Y/N,” The lady spoke, “I’m just going to check a few things and then I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

She spoke gently as she made her way around you, coming in and out of your line of sight.

“What… what happened?” You ask, confusion setting in.

“Y/N, you’re in the hospital.” Spencer spoke slowly, “I found you unconscious in your car.”

“Oh…” Was all you could mutter.

“Okay,” The nurse filled the silence that had fallen over the room, “We saw your referral for an eating disorder clinic in your notes. We can let you go home for now provided you attend the clinic appointment tomorrow at twelve. If you believe for any reason you won’t attend we’ll be happy to keep you here and have a specialist come in tomorrow for the appointment.”

She explained.

“I’d like to go home.” You replied, before anyone had a chance to say anything.

“As long as you attend the appointment, I can sign you out now,” The nurse gave you a knowing look, as if she saw that you’d never attend that appointment.

“I’ll make sure she goes.” Spencer said, before you could speak again.

“Very well,” The nurse replied, “I’ll go and get the discharge documents and then you can leave.” With that, she left the room.

The nurse was quick to return with the papers that you were all too happy to sign. Then she once again left, saying farewell.

“Right lets get you home,” Spencer said, passing your clothes to you so you could change out of your gown.

Once you were dressed you and Spencer made your way down to his car. As you settled into the passenger seat he turned to you.

“Would you rather us stay at yours or mine?” He asked, nonchalantly,

“Us?” You asked confused,

“Well I said I’d get you to your appointment so I’m not going to leave you alone tonight.” Spencer explained as if it was obvious.

“I don’t need you to baby sit me,” You replied, annoyance playing on your tongue,

“I guess my place it is.” He responded, ignoring your annoyed comment.

You huffed out a sigh, knowing there was no point in arguing. Plus you were so tired, you just wanted to sleep, you didn’t care where.

When you got back Spencer guided you straight into his bedroom.

“What… why are we?” You began to question but he cut you off.

“You need some rest.” He simply said, as he gestured to his bed.

You took that as a signal to sit down. Then you watched as he opened his wardrobe and pulled out a hoodie and some sweat pants.

“Here, put those on.” He handed them to you before turning to leave, “I’ll just be out here while you get changed.”

You didn’t argue, you didn’t have the energy to so instead you pulled off your t-shirt, pulling his hoodie on before standing to take off your suit pants and pull on his sweats. You had to pull the cord and tie them extremely tight to get them to stay up and even then they were a little loose. You glanced into his bedroom mirror to see how his clothes looked on you and a sick sense of satisfaction rose up inside of you at being drowned in his clothing.

Spencer gently knocked the door and re-entered the room. He just stood there, looking at you for a moment. Taking in how his clothes hung off you. Sure, you were always smaller than him but they shouldn’t hang off you this much. In this moment you looked so small and childlike.

You slowly sat back down, a wave of dizziness lightly washing over you. You sat taking deep breaths, looking at your lap while you waited for the wave to end. Once it subsided you looked up at Spencer.

“Thank you, Spence,” You spoke barely above a whisper.

Spencer slowly walked over to you, sitting down next to you.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He smiled, gently,

“No… it’s not.” You slowly turned your body to face him, he followed suit doing the same. “I… my emotions…”

“Y/N, please,” He stopped, “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Just please, let me be there for you. That’s all I want.”

You wanted to say something but you couldn’t find the words so instead you moved to hug Spencer. Surprisingly he let you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly but almost as if he was holding back, as if you could break at any second from too much pressure.

As he held you he could feel the way your spine protruded and how small and thin your arms were. He took note of the way you gripped him as if your life depended on it but how weak your grip actually was.

It scared him… you scared him… he was so worried about you but he didn’t know what he could do. For now, all he knew was that he had to get you to that appointment tomorrow and be there for you every step of the way.

#criminal minds #fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x reader #yn fanfic #fanfiction #x yn #spencer reid x y/n #bau team #eating disoder trigger warning #tw eating issues #disordered eating mention #tw ed ana #ana y mia #tw ed not ed sheeren

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the--highlanders · 1 day ago

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Hii, I'm trying to think Jamie-related thoughts. And I guess I'm thinking about how he's often characterised by his limitations as a young 18th century man, but he travelled with the Doctor for so long. How much do you think he ever got used to technology?And what are some other things that he would've got used to in his travels or other time zones that he never thought he would?

oh I absolutely think he gets very used to technology!! he's probably never quite as fluent with really futuristic stuff as, say, zoe is, but I almost think he might take to it more easily than ben and polly do - because they're working with a 60s expectation of phones, computers, etc, whereas jamie has no expectations whatsoever. and also seems to be happy enough to press buttons until something works.

the writers' occasional insistence that he stays fairly oblivious to technology or things from other time periods, and so the implication that he's not very bright, is. a bit of canon I'm willing to handwave away honestly. it does him such an injustice. & it doesn't even hold up with other bits of canon! sure, the dominators write him off as having a 'simple brain' (which honestly feels more like it's because he's human than anything about him as an individual - they also complain he has only one heart. zoe might also have been dismissed as having a simple brain if she'd been in his place!), but they also say he shows signs of rapid learning.

we also see that he's very adaptable and good at figuring out /that/ things work, even if he doesn't know /how/ - for instance, he gets out of the krotons' machine by putting together what two and zoe must have done, even though he doesn't know the science behind it. he takes to the radio he's given in the invasion immediately, works the communications part of the rocket in the seeds of death, works the target training machine in tomb of the cybermen without anyone showing him how.

in the end I think he just winds up with a very patchwork knowledge depending on what he's been exposed to and what he's interested in. he doesn't know what a train is in evil of the daleks, but he can probably explain the engine of a specific spaceship to you because it was critical to some adventure they had last week. he likes recorded music and documentaries and things that make life easier.

in terms of other things he adapts to... jamie's interesting because he's very flexible and open but also still puts a lot of stock in his own culture and values. I think he'd be very open to different sorts of people and alien cultures and how they live, even if it confused him. again I think a lot of it sort of washes over him, and he carries that knowledge with him but otherwise nods along and just carries on being himself. but I also don't think anyone could travel for as long as he does and end up changed by it somehow!

food from different places and times is probably a big one - he may or may not like it, but he'll always give it a try, and the things he likes he probably winds up trying to cook for himself as well. (the food machine is something I don't think he ever adapts to, just on principle. maybe the tardis' milk detector was put there for him because he wanted the real deal.) again, music - it's such a big part of his life and identity and I think he'd be really interested in other people's music. he jams quite happily to whatever is playing on his radio in the invasion, and picks up the closest thing he can find to bagpipes in the wheel of ice. he probably winds up with a whole collection of different musical instruments he's picked up.

being able to read and write is probably something that takes him by surprise, once he's used to it - he would never have considered it a skill he's /missing/, just one he wouldn't expect to have or need, and I think it takes him a while to come around to actually wanting to learn. but once he does it obviously ends up being useful for him, but also I think he reads a lot in his spare time, just because he's a curious person. he still likes to get information by listening, hence the documentaries thing (he'd probably also like audiobooks even more than actual books!), but he'll quite happily read as well.

reading is probably the thing that comes most as a surprise to him, honestly! everything else I think he just sort of. takes in stride. it might be unexpected just because he never imagined it existing, but he'll give anything a shot.

#second doctor #replies #being-of-rain #i'm definitely going to answer your other ask as well in a bit!!!

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vellicorsources · 3 days ago

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RESIDENT EVIL :: REVELATIONS 2 STARTERS

cut it out, we've been friends for how long?

long enough i'm allowed to give you shit .

O.K . You did your homework .

every time i ask him anything , he pushes back .

none of this makes any sense .

this is so messed up . what do you think this place was?

this could come in handy .

guess i'm on light duty .

fear what you will become and become what you fear .

so much suffering . you don't even know what to be afraid of yet .

let's not get ahead of ourselves .

said the poor lost soul as she lamented her fate .

fear requires an audience . . . and a conductor .

a radio tower . maybe we can send an S.O.S .

fuck you , hollywood .

all right , stay close , you're with me now .

end of the line .

this island is completely crazy .

that's one thing they left out of the brief .

who's the master of unlocking now , huh?

you stay the hell alive ___

i need to throw you at the wall and see who sticks . and who doesn't .

we will all die , there's no question of that , but one of you has a chance of dying well .

she can stick it right up her all seeing ass .

there is no shaking off the self .

my escape is death , but not this one .

oversee this , bitch !

that's cheating .

a shame about your friend . but you're tougher than he is .

you're not going to snap . are you?

it's like she's got eyes everywhere .

behold prometheus , who was bound to a rock for stealing divine power .

you'll have to brave the scaffold of the gods .

the gods' scaffold has served it purpose .

it's got all of our names on it .

you wanted a sample , now you've got it .

i'm just learning to see a little more clearly .

it's not death , it's power .

guess i never really got around to taking the blame .

the world is going to be very afraid .

my whole life has been a prelude to this .

time to meet the cause of our misery .

you came all this way just to say goodbye? oh, i'm touched .

it's already done . i've conquered fear and earned the right to become a god .

come out from behind that glass so i can choke a god .

all that remains is one final test . one last threshold to cross .

i will share in his fate , and then i will surpass him .

fear of night . fear of not-night .

the onlooker is in a sense , a sharer in life who hangs onto the living .

confessions and lies are the same . for one to confess , one must tell a lie .

just a word , just a please , just a stir in the air . just a sign you're alive and waiting.

the diabolical sometimes adopts the appearance of good, or even embodies themself completely within .

with the strongest of lights one is able to dispel the world .

not everyone can see the truth but anyone can be the truth .

#resident evil starters #roleplay prompts #rp prompts #ask meme #inbox meme #rp inbox meme

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beef-brisket · 2 days ago

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Adam: I died before money became a thing, so I never really got the appeal.

Lucifer: It's not just a money thing. It's wanting more... and not taking no for an answer.

Adam: So... like Angel when Husk's trying to close the bar?

Lucifer chuckles: Uh, that's not really Greed.

Adam: Oh... addiction!

As they drove through Greed, Lucifer was surprised by how decent the place looked. But it's still a shit hole.

Adam yawned: Fuck... when we're done here, I've got to catch the train to Sleepytime Junction.

Lucifer: ...What? Sleepytime- the fuck did you just say?

Adam: Sleepytime Junction? You know?

Lucifer: Uh- no. I don't know. What bullshit is that?

Adam gasped: It's not bullshit! You have to catch the moonlight cloud train that'll take you to Sleepytime Junction!

Lucifer: ...What are you? Six? And who's the train driver? Santa Claus?!

Adam: Who the fuck is that?! Captain Stardew is the fucking driver, you asshole!

Lucifer laughed: And where did you hear about this Sleepytime Junction?

Adam rolled his eyes and folded his arms: Sera came up with it to help me sleep. Didn't sleep well on earth, didn't sleep in Heaven... so she came up with Sleepytime Junction, and it became the only thing that would help... anyway, are we close to this asshole yet?

Lucifer: Uh... y-yeah, we're about a block away. Have a look.

Looking out his window, Adam's eyes widened as the large, misshapen circus tent came into view.

Adam laughed: H-Holy shit! He's a fucking clown?! A-And your a ring leader- Hell's a fucking circus-?! What the fuck?!

Lucifer would glare at the first man, but he had to focus on the road: Adam.

Adam: Oh, calm down. It's no biggie. It's fucking hilarious though, you have to admit. So uh... what's this guy look like?

Lucifer: Big, loud, bug, jester looking fucker. Green. Very green.

Adam: Huh... better than red.

As they walked through the tent and into the main performance area, Adam watched in awe as performers flipped and flew around.

Adam: Holy shit...

Lucifer grumbled as Mammon came unto view. But the king could hear him before he saw him, he was yelling at some poor performers that had their heads hung low as he yelled.

Adam: Loud, big, jester- aaaand green. Yip. Found him!

Lucifer sighed: Yes, thank you Adam- MAMMON!

The sin growled and spun around: who the fuck-?! Luci? O-oh shit! You finally climbed out of your depression cave! I would say good on you, but uh... I don't really care. Ooh, and who is this with you? That new performer you promised me~?

Adam raises his eyebrow at Lucifer, he had no idea what this guy was going on about.

Lucifer sighed: I never said I would bring you a performer. And this is Adam, if you have to know.

Mammon smiled and shook Adam's hand: Hm, not bad~. So, it's been a while since you've kicked some Greed dirt, what the fuck are you doing here?

Lucifer wanted to cut the fuckers hand off but he settled for handing him the invitation: Charlie is throughing a party. For her hotel.

Mammon looked over the letter and laughed: Holy shit- she's still on this hotel thing?! How many shit stains has she redeemed?

Adam: A big: one.

Lucifer shot Adam a look but quickly glared at Mammon as he started laughing harder: O-One?! Fucking Hell! She's as stubborn as Lily! And she's sent the king of Hell to be her very little messager?! Oh shit, this just gets better and better!

Lucifer growled: Are you coming, or not?

Mammon was silent for a moment before stuffing the letter in his jacket: Yeah, why the fuck not. Let's see what she's got going on. Come on, let's go.

Lucifer: Uh- go? Go where?

Mammon laugjed: It's getting late! You fucks can stay here. Trust me, you'll like it~. I've put a lot of time and money into my home.

They were quiet as they followed Mammon until Adam broke the silence: You got a pool?

Mammon flashed him a smile: Babe, I've git the biggest pool in all of Hell~.

Adam: Holy shit- that's sick... let me guess, green tile?

Mammon laughed: Yep. And green water.

Lucifer glared: Careful, it'll stain.

Mammon: Ha! Still the clown, huh Luci?

Lucifer: You're the jester, Mam, not me.

Mammon: Nah, you're just a-.

The sin was cut off as his phone rung. Rolling his eyes, he continued leading Adam and Lucifer deeper into his tent while he talked to a mysterious person.

Adam: ...Not very bug like.

Lucifer scoffed: Not yet...

Destination Redemption!

@beef-brisket

Pride was one of if not the largest ring in all of Hell. So when the population of sinners started to really take a toll from the paused exterminations Lucifer had no choice but to open up the other rings to fan them out.

So for the time being until they got word back from heaven about how to handle all the sinners they were all over Hell's creation. Literally.

Charlie, wanting to redeem more sinners now that it's possible thought it would be a great idea to spread the word to the seven rings of Hell to help all of the sinners reach the pearly gates!

Lucifer: You want me to do that? But sweetie it's your hotel.

Charlie: Yes! Buuut, if you succeed in getting people to come here they'll want to meet the "big boss" of the hotel herself. Pretty good huh?

Lucifer snickered, okay that was cute.

Lucifer: Okay, I guess I can just zap-

Charlie: No! You gotta take your time dad. Do it right, use the Jeep! Please, for me?

She wants him to go on a literal road trip?

Lucifer: ..... Can I bring Adam?

Charlie: Sure! It'll be good to get him out of into the fresh air for a while!

Lucifer nodded, him and Adam have been working on their...... Friendship? Relationship? Situationship more like it but it is what it is.

He went and knocked on Adams door, the fallen angel answered.

Adam: Yeah?

Lucifer: I'm going on a road trip, wanna come with?

Adam thought for a moment: Sure, if it means I get out of here for a while.

Lucifer beamed: Great! Pack a bag and meet me in the lobby in one hour!

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nottodayupstarts · 3 days ago

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That's what I've been SAYING. the chozen-hawk duo could've been so good and yet. yet it remains so unexplored.

if their narrative parallels and mirrored character arcs don't convince you, then let me say that hawk would see chozen doing ONE (1) cool takedown and instantly start clinging to his arm like a puppy.

hawk asks him to demonstrate something he did earlier in class, and once chozen shows him he picks up on it in just a couple tries because hawk is hawk. and chozen's like "ah well, you are the champ for a reason." and hawk kinda shrugs it off, "oh I guess so. I don't really feel like it sometimes tho"

and they get to talking and chozen tells him about his past with Daniel. and hawk is blown away that this guy in front of him was ever anything like he himself was. and soon enough they start bonding and next thing you know hawk is staying after lessons each day to do one-on-one sparring with him. and chozen refines his offense and teaches him defense because god knows he internalizes "best defense is more offense." after all, he wins fights not by avoiding or blocking hits but by bulldozing past them, layering aggression on his opponent in the moment , willing himself not to feel the pain until the fight's over, and icing his wounds in the night.

hawk gets his ass kicked over and over again while he learns, but eventually he starts scoring more and more hits. until one day he and chozen are sparring, and he manages to deflect chozen's knife hand, grabbing his palm, and uses the opening to duck under his arm and twists behind his back, jabbing his ribs and pinning chozen in an s-arm, all in the matter of a couple seconds.

and it's just silent for a minute.

chozen's proud of his student, impressed by the way he used miyagi techniques in his own, hawk-like way he hadn't seen before. he knows how to get out of this hold but he doesn't see the need to, not when hawk has surprised him in a way he hasn't surprised like in a very long time.

but hawk?? he's internally freaking out, "I should not have done that." because his hands still hold the memory of just how much force it took to break Demetri's arm, just how much he twisted, hell the exact angle he had it at. and kreese? when he and kreese had sparred, kreese had been unforgiving. He never pulled his punches but he sure as hell had no trouble pulling out his knives. his words still echoed through his bones, "finish the fight"

and he knew chozen wasn't like that, that he's not going to put him in a situation like that, but for a minute he was back at the cobra kai dojo, staring at white words on a black wall.

and then reality comes back, he breathes and releases the arm he's been holding for too long. and he's shaky and upset, and he just sits down on the deck he engineered, lost and a little afraid chozen is going to be upset. but chozen just sits down next to him and has a deep heart to heart, assuring him.

"Healing is not linear. It takes time."

"But I don't need to heal! I was the one who hurt them."

"You hurt them because you were being hurt. You have redeemed yourself, Hawk. They have forgiven you."

Chozen lets the words hang in silence before continuing: "Now you must forgive yourself."

Hawk proceeds to have a complete mental breakdown, but chozen is there for him for all of it, and helps him stand back up almost an hour later. hawk thinks maybe he can forgive himself, and he begins healing.

those two form a bond just as close as Johnny and Miguel, and it's frankly both adorable and concerning to see (they'd prank everyone in the dojo to hell and back and get away with it each time). hawk talks about chozen to literally everyone. his friends. his parents. his neighbors. even counselor blatt gets some of it (he still hates her and he sure as hell doesn't trust her but at least she was kinda entertaining now that she wasn't a conduit for creating his hell anymore). and chozen talks about him to Daniel and Johnny too. "he mastered this kata yesterday!" or "look at this grappling hook he's picked up." they tease him for adopting his own karate kid but they're both happy for him.

and chozen openly admits it, hawk is is favorite and everyone knows it by now. he gifts him his personal sai blades he's had for almost 20 years for his birthday and everyone pretends not to see hawk shedding a couple tears. a few days later, when chozen finally gets his own apartment, hawk helps him move in and when they finish, he shyly hands him a framed photo of them sam had given him, taken weeks earlier unbeknownst to either of them, bowing to each other as they finished sparring for the day (nobody comments during the housewarming party when the picture was prominently displayed in the middle of his living room wall).

anyways, I really do love the chozen-hawk duo and I wish s5 had given us that (two or three scenes would've been enough to fulfill my desires but of course not). what a missed opportunity.

my biggest cobra kai regret is that they didn't roll with hawk and chozen as a sensei/student pairing. those two would have been incredible.

#cobra kai #hawk moskowitz #eli moskowitz #eli hawk moskowitz #johnny lawrence #John kreese #daniel larusso #cobra kai s5

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delusionalbitchinthehouse · 6 months ago

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Special angst. Featuring touch-starved Special, homemade quintessence fuckery and lore, basically Special can't touch anyone or they die, Omega and Delta try to help.

CW : Angst, like pretty heavy angst I think, Hurt/comfort, talk of death

Ghouls are social creatures. Not all to the same extend, not all in the same way, but the fact remains : ghouls thrive in eachother's company, in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is waiting for them, ready to welcome them.

And, ghouls are physically affectionate, as a result of this need to be close and feel surrounded by loved ones. Of course, it's a generic rule, and it doesn't applie the same way to each individuals, but, most of the time, ghouls live off of casual touch, hand holding, hugs, cuddles, clasps on the shoulders, arms slung around waists, tails intertwining.

It's Satan's best joke, really, that Special can't even have that.

That he's so fucked up that not only no one bears to be in his presence, but he could also kill the poor ghoul who'd pity him enough to try and give him a hug.

Because Special's elements are all pulling him in different direction, trying to evade the too tight confine of his body, weak fire sorrowfuly begging to be smothered out, destructive quintessence furiously grasping at every bits of vital energy it can find, literaly sucking the life out of anyone stupid enough to have any kind of skin-to-skin contact with Special.

At least it's vaguely less awfull now that he managed to contain the devastating effect of his quintessence to his body - the screams of agony of the people who tried to approach him after his summoning, Omega's pained grunts as he backed away, the soft blanket he had held out for Special falling at his feet, the sheer terror on the ancient ghoul's face as he watched the humans unfortunate enough to be in Special's quintessence's range dropping like fly, oh, Special remembers it all so well.

Six Siblings died that way, simply because they were standing too close to him. Omega was, too, and is only alive because of his highly resistant nature, allowing him to stumble back in time.

It took weeks of sitting across from Omega, safe distance between them, training relentlessly to try and tame his quintessence, before Special could evolve around people without draining them. But it worked.

Provided he stays dressed head to toe, not a silver of skin showing, of course.

Special could, theoretically, be on the recieving end of ghoul's typical affection, the soft nudges, pats and caresses rythming their lives, long as no one makes contact with his skin, long as all those displays take place through a layer of clothing.

But then again, Special can't blame them for being wary, and prefering to stay away altogether. They're right, after all. You never know what might happen, if Special won't suddenly lose control and kill everyone in a three meters radius just by existing.

Special hasn't see anyone in days. Omega said he'd come by, but he hasn't yet. Special vaguely remembers something about Delta the...water ghoul, right ? Well, one of them anyway. There's a lot of those around, Special keeps forgetting who's who, doesn't see them enough to properly remember. He sticks to the dark corners, only goes out in the dead of the night, only watches the other ghouls from afar, except maybe for Omega.

But Omega's not here, hasn't been here for too long, busy taking care of Delta, whatever that means. Special wonders if he'll come back. Special wonders why he needs Omega to come to his room, why he can't bring himself to get up and go find the quint by himself. It's not like it's forbidden or anything. He just can't do it, the thought of opening his bedroom door in the middle of the day strictly unfathomable.

No, Special, at least during the day, needs someone to open it, someone to drag him outside if he really is needed, like for interviews, because apparently he's the only fucker who agreed to do them when neither Papa nor Omega are free.

A third choice, that would probably be even further down the list of candidates if it wasn't for his uncanny ability to entertain humans, with jokes and crudes, snarky remarks masking the cracks of his shattered soul.

So Special waits, sitting motionless in the middle of his bed. He hasn't seen anyone in days. He hasn't been touched since forever. No, that's not true. Omega cupped the back of his head the last time he was here, protected by the mask and balaclava Special always has to wears, and pressed a kiss to the metal covering his forehead.

It had nearly unraveld him.

Special doesn't know why Omega still bothers with him, what sick sense of responsability pushes the quint to visit Special as often as he can bear, why he insist on being so patient, so gentle, smiling with sadness in his eyes.

Special doesn't want pity. But he could never tell Omega not to come back.

His hair is getting too long. It's itchy in the back of his neck, keeps getting stuck in folds of fabric. Special shifts uncomfortably, thinking about stealing a pair of scissors and chopping it off himself. It's always a delicate task, cutting his hair : he's not good at it himself, but whenever Omega's doing it, he has to be extra cautious, avoiding any contact with Special's scalp, not even able to properly run his fingers through it. Special's hair is never perfect, always a bit messy, as a result, but now it's even worse.

He really needs Omega to come back.

It hits Special like a freight train.

He needs Omega to come back. He needs to hear his voice, to see the lines and creases on his face, the tired slope of his broad shoulders, the softness of his eyes. Special needs his tentative, fleeting touches, needs to talk to him, needs to be carefully held, even if it's all tainted with Omega's guilt, obligation and pity.

He needs to know Omega hasn't moved on, hasn't chalked him up as a lost cause, that Special hasn't lost the only comfort life ever granted him.

A knock startles him out of his thoughts, his whole being shaking with relief at the familiar pattern.

"Spesh ? Can I come in ?"

Special nearly sobs. His voice scratches in his throat.

"Yes."

Omega slips in the room. He's maskless, and Special drinks him in like a ghoul starved. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in days, but. He's smiling. Omega is smiling, wide an bright, eyes gleaming. It makes Special's own lips pull in an unfamiliar direction, up up up, until concealed under the mask, his mouth weakly mimics Omega's.

"I have good news for you, Spesh. Really good news. Would you let me bring someone else in here ?"

Special visibly flinches, though still half frozen, cossed-legged on the bed. Omega's face softens in that way Special yearns for.

"It's okay, it'll be fine. I promise. Do you trust me ?"

Special doesn't need to think about the answer, nodding with more conviction than he ever displayed before. It gets a soft chuff out of Omega.

"Attaboy."

The quint moves with a grace Special envies, reaching for the door and opening it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Maybe, to him, it is.

The ghoul that steps in looks just as tired as Omega, if not more, but is also sporting a smile, hair an absolute mess, looking like it got chopped with absolutely no regard for the aesthetical result, as uneven as it is unruly.

"Spesh, this is Delta, remember ? Delta, this is Special."

Special blinks, unmoving as a statue, as he often is. Sometimes, he thinks that if he keeps perfectly still, the universe will forget that he is supposed to be, and simply let him stop existing.

Delta. Yes Special remembers. He doesn't smell like most water ghouls, though, it's quite disarming.

"Hello, Special," Delta breathes, barely above a whisper, "it's nice to officially meet you."

Unsure of what to do with that soft tone, with how genuine Delta apparently is, Special looks toward Omega, silently begging for guidance. The quint goes to sit next to him, one hand brushing his back ever so slightly. Special has to bite his tongue to contain a relieved whimper.

"He's here because we discovered something, and I have a theory," Omega explains.

Delta is standing straight, hands folded behind his back, withstanding Special's wary scrunity with an easy smile. Something about him is...off, Special notes. It's not necessarily bad, but it intrigues him.

Delta looks like a water ghoul. Blueish tint to his grey skin, gills, needle sharp fangs, webbed fingers, a few fish-like scales visible on his forearms. And yet...

Special doesn't realize he's leaning forward until Delta tilts his head in amusement. He leans back immediately, clasping his gloved hands tighter on his lap.

"I think," Omega goes on, "that he might be able to touch you without consequences."

It's instinctive, the way Special stiffens, shaking his head desperately at Omega, clearing his throat to find his voice again.

"No, no, no, Megs, it'll end up badly-"

"Listen- listen to me, Spesh, listen," Omega interrupts his panicked babbling, craddling his masked face between two big hands, "i'm not pulling this out of my ass, okay ? Delta here, well, we needed a new quintessence ghoul, at least for a little while, until we could summon a new one, and...Delta volunteer for an...elemental transition of some kind."

Special blinks, shaking in Omega's grip. Well, that explains the funny feeling, the strange scent.

"But...Delta's still water," Special rasps. Omega hums, nodding.

"Yes, but not exclusively. He's not...quintessence either. It's more like...he became a vessel quintessence can pass through. He can channel it from the outside, dig it from the source rather than something within him like us quintessence ghoul do, quite literaly pull it from thin air, let it flow through him, and release it."

Special frowns, trying to wrap his mind around all this.

"But...raw quintessence, the one that is everywhere, is impossible to access to unless you are a quint, because your quintessence connects you to it, opens you a door. Right ?"

It's more words than he's spoken in weeks outside of interviews, but excitement suddenly buzzes in his body, brain finally feeded something to think about, to analyse, to study. Special is a cerebral creature, no matter what people might thing, and such an incredible discovery makes him feel almost alive.

Omega laughs, a breathless, amazed little thing.

"I know. But, apparently, we managed to crack that door open for Delta. He doesn't have much control over the quintessence he releases, but it's enough for the Clergy, for now."

Special glances toward Delta from the corner of his eyes.

"That's...you wrote it down, right ? Records of this could be incredibly useful-"

The smile he gets makes Special's heart miss a beat. Omega looks so fond, so full of love, it's almost painful.

"I did. I'll hand you my notes. But, back to you. What your quintessence does, is devouring energy out of living things-"

Special hangs his head down, shame creeping up his spine, wrapping around his throat.

"Hey, none of that, Spesh," Omega soothes, pulling his head up by the metal point of the mask's chin, "let me finish. What if someone was full of an energy they can fully dispose of ? If someone could let your quintessence take without it harming them, that means they could touch you. Delta could touch you."

Special blinks.

"But...you can't touch me."

"Because your quintessence takes the one at my core - drains me dry of a source of power so entangled in my being that losing it would mean losing me. But Delta's quintessence doesn't come from him."

Slowly, Delta comes closer, kneeling by the bed, offering his bare hand to Special, smiling, and Special- can't understand why. Why anyone would willingly take such risks - first the attempted elemental transition, now this.

Omega brushes Special's shoulder.

"Please, try it. I know...how hard isolation is for you. Please, sparkle, try. If anything goes wrong i'll pull Delta away before any real damages can be done, I promise."

The coppery taste of blood hits Special's tongue, and it's the only reason he's aware he's biting his lip. Then Delta talks.

"I volunteered, Special. I know this is going to work. I trust Omega's theory, and. I think I can trust you, too."

This time Special does sob.

"If I hurt you..."

"You won't. Give me your hand, Special, it'll be okay."

And Special is terrified. Terrified that it won't work, that he'll hurt Delta, who seems the nicest ghoul you could ever wish for. Terrified that it'll work, that the one time he manages to touch someone without killing them will kill him, that all it would take would be a brush of skin against his own to destroy him.

Despite all that, Special slowly, oh so slowly takes one glove off, revealing too-pale skin and twitchy fingers. Delta' smile widens, then the air shifts a bit, starts blurring around him. One of his eyes turns purple, his skin shimering slightly.

"It's a bit like holding my breath," the water (?) ghoul explains, "i can't keep it for too long, maybe a couple of minutes, after, i have to release it. Open the valves, kind of. But, if I just keep them open, just let quintessence flow in and out freely, like this-"

Another shift in the air. The shimer on Delta's skin dims, his features relaxing.

"Then I can keep it that way as long as i like, effortlessly for the most part. That's how we can touch. I'm ready when you are."

He's going to do this. Special is going to do this. His hand is shaky when he wraps it loosely around Delta's - ready to pull away at any moment - but the second their skin makes contact, he gasps and can't help tightening it.

Delta doesn't flinch. His skin glints a bit more, but that's it. Special's quintessence is hungrily drinking in the one flowing though Delta, but he doesn't need it. He can let Special take it.

Salt. Salt on his tongue, now. Special is crying. Holding onto Delta's hand for dear life, shoulders shaking, Special is crying, the water ghoul shushing him softly, thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand.

Omega helps unclasping the mask, watching with tears of his own as Special takes it off, throws it somewhere, who cares, where the balaclava and second glove quickly follow.

Delta opens his arm, still not letting go. Special sobs so hard he's sure it's going to turn him inside out, slidding off the bed and into Delta's firm, tender embrace, burrying his face in the water ghoul's neck, finally able to touch, to feel, truly feel.

He can't see it, but Omega's crying in earnest now, Delta fighting tears as well.

Special isn't okay. Special might never be okay, Delta might be the only person he'll ever get to touch, it might stop working at some point, there might be a catch, but oh, Special doesn't care.

He'd trade his infernal eterinity for this moment in time, folded in arms that hold him like something precious.

#what special doesn't know is that the other ghouls constantly ask about him #even those who don't know him much #they think letting have some space is the best since he seems so keen on staying in his room #they don't know that his self-impose loneliness is killing him #and despite what special thinks #omega doesn't do any of this out of obligation #he cares #he cares so much #their relationship in this breaks me #i hope all the quintessence shit is at least half understandable #there's probably plot holes but oh well #delta is too good for this wolrd btw #i tried something different for his elemental transition #he's still water #but he can sort of #welcome quintessence i guess #anyway #hope that makes some sort of sense #special i'm so sorry for putting you through this #special ghoul #omega ghoul #delta ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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