#CLOSE THE DIVIDE!!!!!!!

[dittolicous]

My two cents on the whole 'ride Pokemon aren't nobles' debacle with PLA; I frankly think its kinda dumb that they made a big deal in game about the Ten Pokemon that fought with the Ancient Hero... but only treat half of them as worthy religious figures for whatever reason.

I've always approached it as there being two different levels of Nobles - The Greater/Offensive (aka the canon Nobles™️) and the Lesser/Defensive (aka the canon Ride 'mons). The Offensive ones are those that would take battles head-on to keep it far away to protect the Clans whereas the Defensive would focus on directly keeping the Clans safe. Hence why they would over time become the Ride 'mons, as they would carry people safely away from the dangerous battles.

The Ride mons might get a little less direct respect overtime because the common person is simply more familiar with them, more chummy, compared to the others who keep their distance and cause people to fall back on overly respectful to make up for any discomfort. But they are ultimately all still Nobles at the end of the day.

Of course, this is just my fanon take. It certainly is my approach for the Catching Trains fic (not that its been of much focus lol). But it's my sandbox too so I figure I'll build castles the way I like.

[seoyangi]

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ ~｡꒱ྀི১ 🍮 눈감기의 막내 서경배 ! 𓏸𓈒 ָ࣪ 𓂂 𓏸

[saradika-graphics]

Hi, can you make dividers for The Fantastic Four: First Steps, please? 🤍🩵

hello, I can do that! I am sure I will have more ideas as we get more content and posters, but I have a few for now! 💙🩵

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

[yu2ki]

Whisper of the Heart (1995)

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

okay okay, how do u think boxer!frank would react to you crying during sex cuz you missed him all day while he was training ? ☹️

- a crybaby

omfg u and me both babe this is so real 😭

𓆩♡𓆪 18+ smut ! 𓆩♡𓆪

you clung to frank as soon as he walked into your shared apartment, asking him if he needed food or water or a hot bath or —

“will you let me take my shoes off first? you missed me, i know. i missed you too baby, but i’m sweaty and gross right now, see?” he carefully pulled you away from him, holding up his hands clearly in need of some tlc, eyeing your soft white shirt that he couldn’t bear to ruin.

“so let me take care of you!” you moved your hands back to the wide space of his shoulders and pressed your chest into him, frankly not caring whether or not you got a little dirty in the process.

“come on, frankie. you take care of me all the time.” you gave him your best pout, taking his dropped shoulders and lack of further protest as a yes and dragging him to the bathroom.

it really was supposed to be all about him, his sighs of content as you gently patched his hands up and poured some lavender epsom salts in the running water music to your ears. unfortunately this is frank, and he wouldn’t rest until you were soaking in the warm bubbly water with him. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need it too though, long restless nights waiting on him to come back home catching up to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

it was quiet for a while, both of you listening to the others slow breathing as you soaked in the relaxingly scented water. until he pulled you towards him anyway, bringing you into his lap from your curled up position sitting between his legs.

the water splashed around you, leaving behind bubbles on the side of franks mouth and a smile taking its place when you brought them back to the water. he always did say you made him softer.

his hands made their way from your own to your neck, warming your face with just a few kisses. by the time he was actually fucking into you there were already tears pooling in your eyes, pressing your forehead against his to keep him as close as possible.

as soon as a shaky breath and a broken sigh of his name fell from your mouth he was grabbing your face, making you look up at him as the tears fell. “hey what happened, huh? you want me to stop?” you were shaking your head before his last word was out, sniffling as his thumbs wiped the stray tears away.

“no, it feels good. just missed you.” your words were quieter than you meant them to be, interrupted by your own cracking voice, but he still heard you.

“you just missed me that much? ‘s that right?” and the tears were back, nodding as you moved to hide your face in the side of his neck.

“y’know you could’ve just asked me to stay, sweetheart.”

[comphy-and-cozy]

SO CLOSE TO WHAT | series masterlist

Welcome to the So Close to What fic series! I have wanted to do an album series for a long time and I am finally ready to take the plunge with our Canadian pop princess' latest album. Enjoy this anthology series inspired by songs from Tate McRae's So Close to What.

TRACKLIST:

01. Miss possessive (ft. Anthony Beauvillier) 02. 2 hands (ft. Andrei Svechnikov) 03. Revolving door (ft. JT Compher) 04. bloodonmyhands (ft. Pierre Luc Dubois) 05. Dear god (ft. Adrian Kempe) 06. Purple lace bra (ft. Connor McDavid) 07. Sports car (ft. Mat Barzal) 08. Signs (ft. Lukáš Dostál) 09. I know love (ft. Brock Boeser) 10. Like i do (ft. Brady Skjei) 11. It's ok I'm ok (ft. Mikko Rantanen) 12. No i'm not in love (ft. Brock Boeser) 13. Means I care (ft. Brady Skjei) 14. Greenlight (ft. Andre Burakovsky) 15. Nostalgia (ft. Tyson Jost) 16. Siren sounds (ft. Matt Martin)

please leave a comment or message if you'd like to be tagged in these creations!

← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

[lottiesliterature]

Summary:Javier Peña is injured during a mission, and you’re forced to take care of him while stuck in a small, one-bedroom cabin.

Warnings: 18+, mdni, injury (bullet wound), one bed, close proximity. Pedro Pascal

Wc: 1,340

The mission had gone south quickly.

It had started like any other operation—precision, stealth, and quick thinking. But things escalated when Javier was shot. It wasn’t a serious wound, thank God, just a graze across his side that was bleeding more than it should, and that’s how you found yourself in the remote cabin, tending to his injury in the middle of nowhere.

I'm fine,” he muttered, slumping against the wall as you wiped away the blood with a disinfectant soaked cloth. His eyes never left the floor, and his jaw clenched in that stubborn way you knew all too well.

You shot him a skeptical look. “If you're fine, then why do you look like you're about to pass out?” He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t. Javier Peña was a man who hated showing vulnerability, even if he was the one who’d just been shot. His pride always came before everything else, including the reality of his injuries.

The tension in the room was suffocating, the kind that came from two people who knew each other too well and not well enough all at once.

His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. “I said I’m fine. You don’t need to—”.

“Don’t,” you cut him off, sitting back on your heels and glaring at him. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re invincible. It’s not working.”

The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the storm rattling the windowpane. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your heart skip.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but still edged with that irritating stubbornness.

You froze for a split second, your hand hovering over his side. The heat of his skin beneath your fingers burned like a warning, but you ignored it. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?” The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your fingers tightened around the cloth, and you tore your gaze away from his, focusing instead on the blood staining your hands. “Because you’d do the same for me,” you said, your voice low but firm.

Javier’s silence was deafening, and it made the air between you feel heavier.

When you finally looked up, his face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable but undeniably vulnerable. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, but you couldn’t afford to get distracted—not now.

“Lift your arm,” you said, your voice trembling just slightly.

He hesitated, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment you thought he might argue. But then he exhaled sharply and did as you asked, wincing as the motion pulled at the torn skin. You didn’t miss the way his hand brushed against your side, whether accidental or deliberate, and it sent a wave of heat straight to your chest.

You worked in silence, your hands steady despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Every time your fingers grazed his skin, you felt him tense beneath your touch. The closeness was unbearable, every movement drawing you closer to an invisible line neither of you seemed ready to cross.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he said gruffly, breaking the silence.

“Liar,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

A low chuckle escaped him, though it was tinged with pain. “You always this bossy?”

You glared at him, your temper flaring. “Only when my partner gets himself shot and refuses to take it seriously.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You finished cleaning the wound, your hands lingering on his side longer than necessary. When you finally looked up, the raw emotion in his gaze made your breath hitch.

Finally, you broke eye contact, your voice shaky as you muttered, “You should lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine,” he said, the gruffness in his tone not enough to mask the exhaustion bleeding through.

“You’re not fine, Javier,” you snapped, standing up abruptly and pacing to the other side of the small room. The tension in your chest was unbearable, a knot that refused to unravel. You gestured to the single bed pushed against the wall, your frustration bubbling over. “Just take the bed before you pass out.”

He shot you a look, one brow raised, the kind that usually made people stop arguing. But you weren’t most people.

“You’ve lost blood, and you’re hurt,” you added before he could argue. “You need it more than I do.”

“You’re exhausted,” he countered, his voice rough but firm. “You think I don’t notice how you’ve been running on fumes?”

You ignored him, grabbing the blanket you’d pulled off the bed and laying it down on the floorboards. The room was small, cold, and lit only by the flickering yellow glow of the bedside lamp. But you didn’t care. Anything was better than sharing that bed and having to endure the unbearable tension lingering in the air between you.

“I’m not arguing with you about this,” you said, lying down on your makeshift bed. You turned your back to him, pulling your coat over yourself for extra warmth.

He let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn’t say anything else. The sound of him settling onto the bed filled the silence, followed by the creak of the old mattress.

You tried to sleep, but the floor was unforgivingly hard, and the chill seeped into your bones despite your coat and the thin blanket. Every time you shifted, the bruises and tension from the day’s events flared to life, keeping sleep just out of reach.

Eventually, though, exhaustion won out, and you drifted off.

Javier lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for your soft, uneven breathing, a clear sign that you weren’t resting peacefully.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. Stubborn. That’s what you were. Stubborn and self-sacrificing, always putting him first even when you didn’t need to. It made his chest ache, though he’d never admit it out loud.

When your breathing finally evened out, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a groan, standing up carefully to avoid pulling at the stitches in his side. The sight of you curled up on the floor made him frown. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and the thought of you spending the night like that stirred something deep inside him.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

He crouched down beside you, moving slowly to avoid waking you. His hands hovered for a moment, hesitant, before slipping beneath you—one under your knees and the other supporting your back. You stirred slightly, letting out a soft murmur, but didn’t wake as he lifted you effortlessly.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered softly, more to himself than to you, as he carried you to the bed.

The mattress creaked as he laid you down gently, pulling the blanket up over you. He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering on the edge of the blanket as he looked at your face, now peaceful in sleep.

Shaking his head, he moved to sit back on the floor, resigned to a sleepless night. But before he could settle, your hand reached out, catching his wrist.

“Stay,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

He froze, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. Your eyes were barely open, your grip on his wrist loose, but the vulnerability in your voice was enough to shatter the walls he’d so carefully built.

After a long moment, he exhaled and climbed into the bed beside you, careful to keep some distance. The mattress was small, and the proximity was impossible to ignore, but he stayed still, watching as your breathing evened out again.

“Stubborn,” he whispered one last time, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

And for the first time in a long time, Javier Peña allowed himself to relax, the weight of the day melting away as the quiet rhythm of your presence lulled him to sleep.

[druidshollow]

Space is suddenly thrown into a panic, so Phrases helps them ground themself.

hellooooooooooo this wasnt an excuse to draw phrases and space cuddling. no of course not. i think the flickering blue light flung them into a flashback regarding dunes attack since the flashing is similar to the power given off by her spear. flashbacks can be caused by even very small triggers which is something i think space unfortunately struggles with pretty often. theyve got a good support system now though <3 phrases speaks pretty repetitively at points here- they're aware that space isnt mentally in the present and they're asserting what they know to help. sometimes you have to repeat yourself many times for someone in a panic to hear you or really process what youre telling them

[ahollowgrave]

PIGEON’S GPOSE WRAPPED 2024

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve

Gpose Wrapped 2023

WHEW! Here it is! My favorite shots from over the year, one for each month (or... close enough!) I love putting these together it's such a fun way to look back and I'm always stunned at what I was up to at the start of the year. Odette started the year surrounded by friends and she ended the year surrounded by friends! How lucky is she. I almost had enough Skeleton shots for the first six months of the year, but then I got to March and actually gasped when I remembered how we all played Mermaids together! That was such a fun time!! Man, I have so much fun taking my little screenshots!!! It has led me to some of my favorite people!! I'm so grateful I still love this hobby and screenshots.

Thank you guys for being here, thanks for making stuff, and thanks for sharing it!

(down here is a second, secret gpose wrapped)

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen

This year I had more than enough shots to do a second Gpose Wrapped (and then some) featuring my friends' OCs! That's wild!! These aren't in any particular order and one of them never made it to Tumblr. But I had so much fun making these and sharing them with my friends!! Thank you to the people who reached out and traded with me! Next year I want to be brave enough to do more shots with friends. Brave enough to ask, brave enough to brainstorm them, braver!!! There are people I gotta catch up with, too!

[anghraine]

Speaking of the social context of P&P and Austen in general, and also just literature of that era, I'm always interested in how things like precisely formulated hierarchies of precedence and tables of ranked social classes interact with the more complex and nuanced details of class-based status and consequence on a pragmatic day-to-day level. I remembered reading a social historian discussing the pragmatics of class wrt eighteenth-century English life many years ago and finally tracked down the source:

"In spite of the number of people who got their living from manufacture or trade, fundamentally it was a society in which the ownership of land alone conveyed social prestige and full political rights. ... The apex of this society was the nobility. In the eyes of the Law only members of the House of Lords, the peerage in the strictest use of the word, were a class apart, enjoying special privileges and composing one of the estates of the realm. Their families were commoners: even the eldest sons of peers could sit in the House of Commons. It was therefore in the social rather than in the legal sense of the word that English society was a class society. Before the law all English people except the peers were in theory equal. Legal concept and social practice were, however, very different. When men spoke of the nobility, they meant the sons and daughters, the brothers and sisters, the uncles and aunts and cousins of the peers. They were an extremely influential and wealthy group.

"The peers and their near relations almost monopolized high political office. From these great families came the wealthiest Church dignitaries, the higher ranks in the army and navy. Many of them found a career in law; some even did not disdain the money to be made in trade. What gave this class its particular importance in the political life of the day was the way in which it was organized on a basis of family and connection ... in eighteenth-century politics men rarely acted as isolated individuals. A man came into Parliament supported by his friends and relations who expected, in return for this support, that he would further their interests to the extent of his parliamentary influence.

"Next in both political and social importance came the gentry. Again it is not easy to define exactly who were covered by this term. The Law knew nothing of gentle birth but Society recognized it. Like the nobility this group too was as a class closely connected with land. Indeed, the border line between the two classes is at times almost impossible to define ... Often these men are described as the squirearchy, this term being used to cover the major landowning families in every county who were not connected by birth with the aristocracy. Between them and the local nobility there was often considerable jealousy. The country gentleman considered himself well qualified to manage the affairs of his county without aristocratic interference.

"...The next great layer in society is perhaps best described the contemporary term 'the Middling Sort'. As with all eighteenth-century groups it is difficult to draw a clear line of demarcation between them and their social superiors and inferiors. No economic line is possible, for a man with no pretensions to gentility might well be more prosperous than many a small squire. There was even on the fringe between the two classes some overlapping of activities ... The ambitious upstart who bought an estate and spent his income as a gentleman, might be either cold-shouldered by his better-born neighbours or treated by them with a certain contemptuous politeness. If however his daughters were presentable and well dowered, and if his sons received the education considered suitable for gentlemen, the next generation would see the obliteration of whatever distinction still remained. The solid mass of the middling sort had however no such aspirations, or considered them beyond their reach.

"...This term [the poor] was widely used to designate the great mass of the manual workers. Within their ranks differences of income and of outlook were as varied as those that characterized the middle class. Once again the line of demarcation is hard to draw..."

—Dorothy Marshall, Eighteenth Century England (29-34)

(There's plenty more interesting information in the full chapter, especially regarding "the poor," and the chapter itself is contracted from a lengthier version published earlier.)

[seoyangi]

⋰˚εεεεε (＞＜*)ノ ١٥٧٤ ⠀ ⠀ ʕ´   ᩙᩙ `  ʔ  ♡⠀⠀⠀

[jils-things]

!!!!! A LOVELY COMMISSION MADE BY @sleepylemi-in-space / sleepylemi (vgen) !!!!!! ive been patiently waiting for this one and its absolutely worth the wait, im so emotional and jolly over how beautiful this was.... i am forever thankful ...!!!! 💚 constabell nation wins again!!!!!

[roominthecastle]

[mishy-mashy]

I just like the foreshadowing here

Somewhere around ch. 310

And then, in ch. 406

AFO can't let himself feel hatred too much, because that emotion reminds him of Kudo, and that AFO was the one to kill Yoichi.

It reminds him of Kudo, who he hates the most. And his last memory of Kudo had been the man spitting in his face that no one took Yoichi; he had been killed by the Demon Lord AFO proclaimed to be.

"Right. It's him... it was always him."

AFO is probably referring to Kudo. But the panel focuses on AFO himself, as the real culprit to Yoichi's murder.

He could be referring to himself. That's why he then narrates, "The one I loathe above all others"... right before completely losing his shit against Bakugo (Kudo).

Because he got reminded again.

[comphy-and-cozy]

Signs - Lukas Dostal

Pairing: Lukáš Dostál x OC (f)

Summary: Lukas' best friend, Evie Sato, is on a mission to find love. He's her support system, her personal photographer, and her biggest supporter. And she doesn't realize he's in love with her.

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Little bit of angst, little bit of fluff, a lot of simping. One very slight reference to sex and... that's it? Who am I? ← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST ← BACK TO 'SO CLOSE TO WHAT' MASTERLIST

Lukas always knew he’d make it to the NHL someday. He worked hard, focused on his drills, trained all summer. By the time he was a teenager, he had dedicated himself solely to hockey, telling himself that each day he was one step closer to realizing his dream.

And then he got to the United States and life as he knew it changed completely. All at once, he was playing in the AHL, and then his NHL debut, and then a steady NHL backup. He adjusted to life as a Westerner, learning how to play on smaller ice, experiencing Southern California warmth—and traffic—for the first time.

But none of that flipped his world upside down the way Evelyn Sato did.

Lukas is sitting on the rooftop level of his apartment building, back leant against a cushioned lounger. Evie is lying perpendicular at his side, the back of her head resting on his thigh. Her skin is coated in the pinkish-orange hue from the sun that’s slowly slipping under the horizon. Spectacular lavender clouds are splattered across the sky, like a scene straight out of a Bob Ross canvas.

To anyone on the outside looking in, they might think this is the sight of two lovers enjoying a Southern California sunset.

They’d be wrong.

Not for lack of wanting—no, Lukas has that covered—but because, no matter how many guys Evie dated, no matter how many relationships failed, she couldn’t see that the guy she’d spent so much time searching for is the one she’d never noticed. Not like that, at least.

They met through a friend of Trevor’s, becoming fast friends after being paired together for a beer pong tournament. For Lukas, it has long been an unrequited love affair, though admittedly, he’d never dared share his feelings for her for fear of scaring her away or ruining what they had. And what they had, while maybe it wasn’t quite what he wanted, was the easiest friendship he’d ever fallen into.

Lukas was sure there had always been a space for her carved out in his life, and now that she’d filled it, he wondered how he’d ever gotten by without noticing the gaping hole he now felt every time they were apart. He felt completely himself with her; outside of that one secret, Lukas had never kept anything from her, nor she him. It’s like muscle memory, everything falling exactly into place when they’re together.

It’s a beautiful friendship. And, in theory, has all of the makings of a beautiful relationship.

Maybe someday he’ll work up the courage to tell her how he feels. He’ll bumble over some nervous, desperate monologue, tell her that she had him at hello—he doesn’t know the reference, but he knows it’s from something romantic—and proceed to sweep her off her feet and ride off into the sunset.

But until then, Lukas is resigned to helping her take her Instagram photos (that doubled as dating app carousel photos) and deciphering texts from situationships, determining which ones wanted one night and which ones were boyfriend material.

Through it all, Lukas stayed diligently single. Less for the fact that he was waiting for her—though he would admit that there was a piece of him afraid to get himself in any sort of tangle just in case Evie did ever come to her senses—and more for the fact that no one even came close to Evelyn Sato, so what was the point?

Of course, Evie occasionally comments on how long it’d been since he mentioned a girl. Usually he can play it off like he’s just busy, focused on the season, but sometimes she’ll nudge him and say, “You’re a professional athlete, Luk, you should take advantage of that.”

So he laughs it off, nods along, and on road trips, he dusts off the old app and swipes on a few girls who look nothing like her—he knows it’ll only make his heart ache if the girls he innocently flirts with remind him of Evie. (He doesn’t actually meet up with anyone anymore after he kissed a girl in Dallas and saw Evie when he closed his eyes.)

Nothing ever goes anywhere, but at least he has written proof that he tried. It wasn’t that he ever expected Evie to verify the truth of his statement (that would be insane—she trusted him too much); the evidence was more to lie to himself that he wasn’t in too deep.

But, while Lukas is busy trying to play 4D chess to keep his monumental secret, Evie is on a mission to find love. And Lukas has to watch as goes on date after date, coming home either disappointed or—worse—giggly, with flushed cheeks, wondering what their wedding hashtag should be. He grits his teeth and musters up his most supportive smile, listening to her gush about how he held the door open for her and what big 4 consulting company he works for, resisting the urge to grimace. If she’s happy, then so am I has become his mantra.

Inevitably, though, that perfect man from date 1 slowly (sometimes quickly) lets down his mask, shows his true colors, and Lukas braces himself. And eventually, Prince Charming turns into ‘Chad Do Not Answer’ in her phone.

Those breakups—the ones where she ends it—are tolerable, mainly because she’s usually back to her normal, wonderful self within a few days, and, selfishly, Lukas is glad he gets to claim the #1 spot in her life again.

But sometimes, things don’t end on her terms. Sometimes, she gets dumped, and Lukas has to bite his tongue and keep the rage that simmers in his stomach inside. It isn’t fair, none of it is—and how could anyone ever not want to be with her? Here he is, yearning for her, doing everything right, and yet he still has to watch as some other guy takes what he has for granted and leaves her behind.

While he knows he should have even a tiny bit of relief when he hears the words He broke up with me—because she’s single again, and maybe this time will be the time—the empty waver of her voice breaks his heart far more than the fact of her not being his. He can’t enjoy it, even selfishly, because she isn’t happy.

And Lukas, ever the world’s most perfect best friend, is always there to pick her up when she falls; he has her Dairy Queen order memorized from the times he had to come to her rescue, holding her crying in his arms until she fell asleep. The bottom left drawer of her dresser is full of his sweatshirts that he’s left her wrapped in when he has to leave for a road trip but she’s afraid to be alone; he usually FaceTimes her at least once on his trips, but when she’s in that state of fragility, he’s sure to check in more frequently.

It was nice, he admitted, to be the one man who was ever-present in Evie’s life, like a lighthouse on a <bay>, consistent and steady, a beacon of light for her to navigate back to. So far, he’d outlasted every single one of them, and from the sound of her current debrief on her latest beau, he was about to add another tally to the list.

“He never picks up on any of my hints,” she says with a huff. “I told him I didn’t care if he went to the bar with his friends, but it was obvious he wasn’t actually supposed to go.”

Lukas bites his tongue. He decides now isn’t the time to point out that Evie’s communication with her boyfriend, Dan, isn’t exactly clear, and that he is the only one who understands the Evelyn Sato language—from the look in her eyes that says I want to go to the way she chews on the inside of her cheek when she’s frustrated. Instead, he just nods and hums and gasps in the appropriate spots of her vent session.

“And my god,” she says, “he can’t ever seem to take the hint when I’m… in the mood.”

Lukas feels his face get hot. He hopes his cheeks aren’t stained pink, but if they are, she doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she’s picking at the fray on her shorts, eyes unfocused, like she’s replaying a recent memory. He feels the sting in his heart at the thought that it’s hurting her to be with someone who doesn’t understand her.

“It’s just like—know me better, you know?” she continues.

Lukas doesn’t realize his hands have started gently playing with her hair, a soothing card of his fingers through her long strands. He loves the way her black hair gets that bluish sort of glow in the right sun. The crease in her eyebrows soften just slightly, telling him to continue. “Right. Your partner should hear you and see you.”

She’s quiet again, soaking in the dying rays of golden hour, and he knows that she’s fast approaching a difficult decision. He opts to remain quiet, too, thinking to himself how beautiful she looks under the early dusk light.

Evie breaks up with Dan two weeks later. She doesn’t cry about it, which Lukas is thankful for, but she does act a little strange and he can’t quite place why. He has a western Canada road trip a few days later, which he thinks will give her enough time and space for her to process her feelings.

When he returns, everything seems normal, and she invites him over for takeout and Seinfeld reruns—one of her favorite post-breakup activities.

They’re sitting on her couch, empty Sweetgreen containers on the coffee table beside a half-finished bottle of her favorite kombucha. (She always goes on a bit of a health kick after a breakup.) Evie is typing on her phone, and Lukas asks conversationally, “Back to Hinge?”

Glancing up from her phone, she looks at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“No? How come?”

Evie shrugs. “I think maybe trying so hard is part of the problem.”

Lukas feels his heart flare. He swallows the urge to say, You don’t have to try with me, and instead just nods in understanding. “Yeah. Taking a break is probably a good idea. Give yourself some space.”

That same expression on her face appears again, the one that she had when she told him she broke up with Dan. Like she’s stuck on a decision and isn’t sure what to do. Lukas glances away, giving her the privacy to have her thought; when he looks back, her brown eyes are trained on him.

“What is it?”

“Luk, you… you hear me and see me,” she whispers, echoing his words from that night.

He’s paralyzed, afraid to say anything, afraid to even breathe for fear of changing the wind that might send her rolling off in a different direction. His heart thumps in his throat, caught somewhere between fear, elation, and utter disappointment.

“I can’t believe I never saw it,” she says. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

It feels like a trap, and part of him is bewildered at how she found out—but of course she saw through him. Just as she couldn’t hide from him, he had to realize it was foolish to try and hide from her. Especially not something like this, something that was woven into the very fabric of his being, stitched into every glance and smile and pressed into the tone of his voice.

Lukas doesn’t know what to say, so he stammers, looking for the right structure and arrangement of words. How long had he dreamt of this moment? Fantasized about what it’d be like to finally say it out loud, to see her smile as she realized what he was saying? Longer than he’d like to admit. And now, here he is, fumbling it harder than scoring an own-goal in a game.

She sits up further, scooting closer to him. Her hand, never afraid, now timidly reaches out to caress his cheek. “Luk?”

And then, as if he was a sleeper agent activated by the sound of his name from her mouth, he unleashes.

“I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I love you, Evie, and I have since we met. You’re the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the last person I want to talk to at night. I love your sleepy smile in the morning and I love the way the sun brings out the blue of your hair. The reason I don’t even try dating anymore is because no one compares to you. I just—I love you. You’re my favorite person. You’re my best friend.”

He’s not really sure what he said—he blacked out after the first three words—but it must have been good, because Evie is smiling. His heart thunders in his chest, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins from his confession.

She takes his hand, and he tries his best to keep it from shaking; if she notices, she doesn’t let on. “I’m glad you told me, even if it was super delayed.”

Lukas feels a soft laugh exhale out, too aware of the heat in his cheeks that he knows is a bright shade of crimson. He doesn’t know what to say, the unspoken question lingering in the air, feeling like lead in his throat.

Does she feel the same way?

His mind flits through the situation, reminding himself that finding out your best friend has been secretly in love with you is a lot to process. There’s a brief thought that the fact that her immediate reaction wasn’t to grimace and reject him on the spot—maybe it’s a good sign. Lukas clears his throat. “Um. You don’t have to… y’know, say anything back or whatever. I know that’s a lot to take in.”

Evie’s smiles, her eyes full of an appreciation that he understands, that even after baring his soul to her, he’s thinking about her and how she feels. Lukas’ heartbeat returns to a more normal level, and eventually a comfortable silence falls back over them as Jerry, George, and Kramer get into more nonsense.

A while later—he isn’t sure if it’s been 5 minutes or an hour—he hears her shift on the couch beside him. “Luk?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could kiss me?”

Lukas doesn’t think he heard her correctly. He turns to face her, but her expression is inquisitive, maybe a little bit bashful. Her eyes are a little bit wider, a small flush on her cheeks making her glow like they were watching the sunset on the roof. Looking at her, he realizes that he heard her exactly correctly.

“Are—are you sure?”

She nods. “I want to see what it feels like.”

And then his heart goes from 0-60 in the course of three seconds. He watches her scoot a bit closer to him and he can’t believe this is happening. Some of her hair has fallen loose from her messy bun, and he finds himself brushing it away from her face, leaning in closer to her. He knows his breathing has gotten heavier, but he doesn’t care; not with her lips on a fast-track trajectory to his.

Their mouths hover inches apart, pausing to feel each other’s breath against their lips. Lukas familiarizes himself with the feeling, memorizing it. Savoring it.

Evie’s smile is the last thing he sees before his eyes close and his lips finally graze hers. They’re soft, plush, perfect—everything he’d imagined they’d feel like. His heart soars, his senses flooded with her warmth and the smell of her perfume and the sound of her sigh; she is everywhere, and he never wants this moment to end.

To his dismay, it does end, but when she pulls away, he’s rewarded with a wide smile and flushed cheeks—an excellent consolation prize for having to be separate from her lips.

She’s quiet for a moment, and Lukas tries to quell the rapid thump of his heart. He wants to know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, because for once, he can’t read it on her face.

The words blurt out before he can stop them. He has to know. “So… how—what d’you think?”

Evie’s tongue darts out to lick at her lips, almost like she’s tasting him one more time. Then she smiles. “I think I could’ve saved myself from a lot of bad dates if we’d done that sooner.”

Author's Note: I promised @smileysvech I'd find the right fic to make my Dostal debut and am glad to say this one was perfect! Hope you like it bestie 😘

Taglist (message or comment to join!): @lam-ila @ashloveshockey @cellythefloshie @smileysvech @senditcolton

@fallinallincurls

[lottiesliterature]

American Sweetheart °Masterlist

Pair: Cowboy Joel x fem reader

Summary: You are a city girl, freshly engaged dreaming of the simple life. You plan a wedding in the countryside of Texas. Your friend Tommy lends you a room in his house down there to prepare for the wedding. What he didn't tell you is that you'll have a roommate. A little blast from the past?

Warnings: 18+, mndi, swearing, bickering, cheating??, Joel Miller as a cowboy♡, close proximity, second chance.

Series

Chapter One: Summer Days and Starry Nights

Chapter Two: Whispers of the Past

Chapter Three: Small Town Beginnings

Moodboards

Cowboy!Joel x The Girl Next Door!reader

EEEE making moodboards and scenarios are making me so excited to write!!! Very appreciative to the 25 people that liked the first chapter and many more to come. Xoxo