#I actually really wanted to write a comment to it but as of the time I'm scheduling this post I still haven't been able to get around to it

[capuccinodoll]

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

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— drunken night —

Warnings: alcohol intoxication, excessive drinking, fluff, sprinkle of angst, pregnancy, allusions to violence, nudity (not sexually), a few suggestive comments

Summary: Jason comes home from a boys night out.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader from She’s Mine

Word Count: ~4.7k

A/N: I was initially writing a drabble, but I got carried away. So it’s a little longer than expected, but full of cute drunk Jason. Please, feast upon this!

DC M.List || Navigation M.List || MCU M.List

Jason fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the front door, his coordination impaired by the alcohol. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he managed to open the door and step inside. Roy and Dick followed behind, still thoroughly entertained by the entire situation. They toed off their boots and threw their jackets on a sofa. 

“Careful there, Jaybird. Don’t want you tripping over your own feet now, do we?” Dick drawled out, a little tipsy, but much better than Jason. Jason shot both of them a withering glare before stumbling into the living room. He collapsed onto the couch, groaning as his muscles finally relaxed from the strain of walking. 

“You both are assholes, you know that?” He seethed at them. It was their fault he was drunk anyway—he would never admit it was actually his stubbornness to prove to them he wouldn’t be the first to cut out of the drinking game. 

Roy smirked, unable to resist taking another jab at him. “Yeah, but we’re your assholes, dude. And right now, we’re having the time of our lives watching you stumble about like a drunken buffoon.”

Jason groaned again, closing his eyes. “Thanks for the support. Really feeling the love here,” he grumbled out sarcastically. His head throbbed at the thought of you seeing him like this. 

Dick laughed, unable to hold back his amusement. “Trust me, little bird,” he started with a shit-eating grin as he flopped down to the couch, “this is how we show our love. We lovingly tease and humiliate your drunk ass.”

Roy chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s right, dude. This is just our way of showing we care.” He glanced at the stairs lead for a moment before his gaze flickering back to Jason. “We’re taking the piss out of your state right now because we care. It's called tough love.”

Jason lifted his head just enough to give them a sarcastic smile. “Oh, I feel so loved right now. My heart is just bursting with joy and appreciation.”

“Yeah, Jay. Consider yourself lucky we’re not recording this entire scene for future blackmail purposes,” Dick chimed in, a cheeky grin on his face. 

A floorboard creaked overhead and Jason’s eyes widened as he and the other two men snapped their heads up towards the ceiling. “Please don’t tell me that’s her coming down the stairs...” he muttered, bracing himself for the worst. Dick and Roy turned their attention to the staircase, curious to see what will unfold when you came down at this time of night. 

“Oh, mate, you’re in trouble now,” Dick said with a chuckle, unable to hide his excitement.

Jason groaned, feeling the effects of the alcohol still weighing heavy on him. He tried to sit up a bit straighter on the couch, but it only made his head spin more. “Yeah, I know... I’m screwed.”

You came down to the last step, arms crossed and an unamused expression in your face at the sight of your drunk husband and his tipsy friends. Your hair was in a braid while you wore an old band tee of his to cover your big belly fully and some maternity sweatpants. 

Jason’s eyes widened as he saw you standing at the bottom of the stairs, your arms crossed and a look of annoyance on your face. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, bracing himself for the impending storm. 

Roy snickered, loving every moment of Jason’s discomfort. “Oh, dude, you’re in for it now. The missus doesn’t look too happy, does she?” Roy exchanged a glance with Dick and tilted his head towards the door, a silent plea to leave before you ultimately started your lecture for Jason. 

Dick nodded eagerly, not wanting to be in the middle of a couple’s quarrel. “We should get going,” Dick announced, nodding at you. 

You nodded back, eyes softening slightly at the two. “Do you two have a ride home?” You asked, knowing if Jason was drunk, they’d also be tipsy enough not to drive. 

“Uh, yeah, we’ll be fine. We can call a taxi or something,” Dick replied, standing up from the couch.

“I can—” you started, about to offer to call an uber. 

Dick held up a hand to stop you. “No, no. We don’t want to impose any further. We’ll make our own way home. Besides, we’d hate to further ruin your night any more than we already have.”

You hummed. “Thank you for bringing him home safe,” you murmured, nodding at them. Dick and Roy nodded back, feeling relieved that the tension had eased a bit. 

“No problem. We’ll be sure to keep a closer eye on him next time,” Roy said, giving you a small smile. 

You smiled back slightly. “Be safe, you two.”

Dick and Roy nodded again, grabbing their jackets that they had thrown onto the sofa and heading towards the door. 

“We will, Y/N. Take care,” Dick called over his shoulder as he opened the front door. 

Roy followed close behind, stepping into his boots. “Yeah, we’ll be careful. Thanks again for everything.” And with that, the pair left the house, the door closing softly behind them.

Jason watched in silence as Dick and Roy left, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. He knew he had caused quite a scene in front of them, both at home and at the bar, and he dreaded the thought of them ribbing him relentlessly for the things he had said and done. 

You glanced at him then, hands going to your hips. The movement made the tee stretch across your baby bump and the sight made Jason soften a little. He loved your bump. He loved touching it and talking to the baby. He was almost obsessed with it. 

As you turned your gaze a little sterner, Jason couldn’t help but wince. He knew that look all too well. It was the look that told him he was in for a lecture.

“Why are you so drunk?” You asked, feeling a little irritated at the fact that Jason would drink so much. You wanted him to have fun, but right now he was totally shit-faced. 

Jason looked up at you, feeling a little sheepish under your gaze. “I know, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so drunk,” he replied, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He knew he had overdone it, and he couldn't deny feeling a bit guilty for letting things get out of hand. 

When you seemed to look unimpressed, he sighed and knew he’d have to come forward with a more sincere apology. 

“I guess the drinks just went down too easily, and before I knew it, I was pretty smashed.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry for putting you through that. I know it’s not a great look, coming home like this.”

For some stupid reason, perhaps because of how much you loved him, your eyes softened at his genuine apology. “Stupid,” you muttered as one last word, an insult filled with fondness, before you let a hint of a smile grace your lips. 

Jason couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him as he saw your features soften even just the tiniest bit. He knew he was lucky to have you in his life and he never wanted to take that for granted. The way you had just called him stupid, but with a hint of affection in your voice, reminded him of the playful banter you two often engaged in.

He couldn’t help but crack a small smile in response. Even though he was in trouble for his drunk behaviour, he couldn’t help but find your affection endearing.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stupid drunk. I just got carried away, I guess. But I promise I won’t do it again,” he said, trying to sound sincere despite the alcohol still coursing through his system.

You sighed, shoulders loosening with the breath escaping you. “Tell me that when you’re sober,” you retorted gently, taking a seat on the sofa beside him. Your hands rested under your belly as you glanced at him. 

Jason chuckled softly, feeling a flutter of affection for you as you sat down next to him. Even though he knew he was still in hot water, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in your presence. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you that when I’m sober,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “But you know I can’t promise that I won’t have a drink or two again. It’s just... sometimes I need to unwind, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding the need to loosen up after a rough patrol or even a stuffy gala that he had to attend. You smiled slightly and nudged his shoulder with yours. “Just one or two.”

Jason smiled warmly as he felt your shoulder nudge him. The small gesture felt like reassurance; you weren’t angry with him, only concerned and slightly frustrated. 

“Just one or two,” he agreed, holding up two fingers in a mock salute. “I’ll try to stay within my limits.” 

“Good.” You stared at him for a moment, just raking your eyes over his flushed face and disheveled hair, finding it endear. You nodded, shifting slightly so that you could get up without losing your balance due to the bump. “You reek.”

Jason chuckled, knowing that you had a point. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” He rubbed his face with his hands, the smell of alcohol and smoke clinging to his skin and clothes. “I could use a nice hot shower.”

“Maybe not a shower with your jelly legs,” you teased, knowing very well that when Jason was wasted, he often stumbled and tripped over air. 

Jason chuckled weakly, knowing that you were right. Even though he was a highly trained vigilante, when he was this drunk, he couldn’t even walk without stumbling. 

“Yeah, you might have a point there.” He sighed as he looked at you. “Do you think you can help me to the bathroom? I’m afraid I’ll fall headfirst into the toilet unless you help me.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding at his ask for assistance. He had done this a few times for you when you two had first started dating and you used to come home a little too drunk after a night out with friends. You supposed this was how he felt when he was caring for you; both finding it annoying and endearing. 

You helped him up from the couch. “I’ll run a bath for you, yeah?” You led him to the stairs and then paused, glancing between the stairs and your wobbly husband. “You think you’ll be fine on the stairs?”

Jason looked at the stairs with a mixture of defiance and hesitation. He didn’t want to look weak in front of you—or anyone for that matter, but he knew he wasn’t in the best shape to take on a flight of stairs. 

“Yeah, I think I can manage,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Just, uh, keep a hold of me, yeah?” 

You nodded. “Just so you know, I’ll let go of you if I think I’m going to fall with you. I have the little one to think about.”

Jason nodded, sharing your concern for the baby’s safety. "Alright, that’s fair," he said, draping an arm heavily around your shoulders for support. "And don’t worry, I wouldn’t have let you fall."

With your help, Jason began the slow and careful ascent up the stairs. He clung to you and the stairs like a lifeline, his grip tight on your shoulder and the railing. Every step was a strain, his legs feeling like jelly and his head spinning from the alcohol. But Jason made it up the stairs, albeit with a lot of stumbling and muttered curses.

Despite the seriousness of safety, you couldn’t help but find the situation a little amusing; here you were, guiding your drunken husband up the stairs like a wobbly toddler. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached the top of the stairs and entered the bathroom. “Alright, sit down here,” you instructed, guiding him to the edge of the bathtub. 

Once he was sat, you gently helped him out of his clothes, now a little damp in some places with sweat. 

Despite his inebriated state, Jason tried his best to help you undress him, but it was a clumsy and awkward endeavor. He was grateful for your help, but also felt a bit embarrassed at his lack of coordination. Once Jason was undressed, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking up at you with a goofy smile.

You smiled back unconsciously, something that often was merely a result of seeing Jason happy. “What is it?” You asked in a quiet murmur, started to fill the tub with water, adding some epsom salt and lavender oil as well. 

Jason’s drunken smirk grew wider as he watched you prepare the bath, the smell of the soothing oils filling the room. “Nothing, just enjoying the view,” he replied jokingly, his eyes scanning over your form. “You look pretty damn hot, y’know that? No, wait, scratch that, you look absolutely gorgeous. Beautiful. Stunning.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head fondly as a light wave of heat flushed your cheeks. For as drunk as he was, he was still the same flirt you knew. You didn’t know how he did it, even after three years of marriage, but he always managed to make you flustered. 

Jason let out a satisfied hum, enjoying the sight of you flustered as he complimented you. Even in his drunken state, he couldn’t resist teasing you. He knew just the right things to say to make you squirm and it was a skill he was proud of. 

“See, that's the reaction I was hoping for,” he said, pointing at your flustered state. “You still get all bashful after three years.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and nudged him, turning off the water. “Get in, you flirt.” 

Jason chuckled and slowly stood up, holding onto the edge of the bathtub for support. He stepped into the warm water and sunk down, letting out a sigh of contentment as the heat seeped into his muscles and joints. 

“Ah, this is nice,” he mumbled, his eyes half-closed. “Join me?” He peeked up at you with a smirk plastered to his face. 

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the tub. “No. You’re drunk.” You tucked a hand under your belly while the other rested on the edge of tub to keep your balance. 

“Damn. Can't blame a man for trying.” Jason pouted playfully, but he knew you were right. Despite his desires, he was in no condition to be intimate with you right now. He leaned back against the bathtub, soaking in the warmth. 

“You're such a buzzkill, you know that?” He joked, the words slurring together slightly. He didn’t blame you for not wanting to get into the tub. If roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have gotten in either. 

You merely hummed as he moved to rest his head against your thigh. Jason closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his head resting against your thigh. It was a simple but comforting gesture and it made him feel even more relaxed. 

“You know,” he said, his words still slurring slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

You raised an eyebrow at his unexpected confession. “What makes you say that?” You asked softly, your free hand moving to gently stroke his hair. Jason groaned, enjoying the feel of your hand through his hair. 

“I just... I don’t know. I’m a mess, y’know? I screw up all the time. I'm always away on patrols and missions, I've got a stubbornness problem, and I'm hardly a ray of sunshine.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You deserve someone better than me.”

You sighed softly, your hand still stroking his hair. “Jason, you may have your flaws, but we all do. And you’re not a mess, you’re just human. You do what you have to do for your job, and sometimes it's hard on you.” 

You kissed his temple, whispering the rest against his skin. “And as for someone better than you, I don’t want anyone else; I want you.” 

Jason opened his eyes to look up at you, his gaze searching your face. He could see the sincerity in your eyes and it made his heart ache. 

“I just feel like I’m a disappointment,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, the protector. But here I am, drunk and needing you to take care of me again.” 

You leaned down, gently placing a kiss on his damp forehead. “You are strong, but that doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time. Everyone needs help and support sometimes, even you.”

You continued, “As for being a protector, that doesn’t mean you can never show any weakness. You may be a vigilante, but you’re also human, and humans make mistakes and stumbles. And I’m here for you, to pull you back up when you stumble.” 

You rubbed your belly. “We’ll always be here.”

Jason’s eyes softened at your words and the gesture of rubbing your belly. He placed a hand on top yours, feeling the warmth of it and the knowledge that there was a baby growing inside you. 

“Yeah,” he said faintly. “You and the little one. You two... you’re my everything.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, cupping his cheek. “And you’re our everything.” 

You wanted to take every little self-deprecation thought of his and drown it in your reassuring words and sweet kisses, but you knew it would take a lifetime to do so. The best you could do was just tell him. Remind him why you chose him. 

Instead you settled on changing subject for now. “Boy or girl?” You asked with a glint in your eyes. 

Jason looked up at you, feeling the warmth of your hand on his stubbled cheek. The change of subject caught him off guard, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He pondered the question for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Well, I don’t think we'll know for a while,” he said with a shrug. “But if I had to guess... I think it’s gonna be a girl.” 

You raised a brow, silently asking why. 

Jason chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t know, just a feeling I have,” he said with a shrug. “I think it’s gonna be a little girl who’s as beautiful and strong as her mother.”

“And if it’s a boy?” You asked, not expecting anything but the best from him. You knew all he wanted was a healthy and happy baby. So did you. 

Jason smiled, a warm and genuine smile, at your question. “If it’s a boy, then he’s gonna be a little hellraiser, just like me,” he joked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “And I'll teach him everything I know about the world and how to take care of himself. But most importantly, I’ll teach him how to treat a woman right.”

He took your hand in his, his touch soft and gentle. "But no matter if it's a boy or a girl, they're going to have the best mother in the world. And that's all that matters in the end."

“And father,” you said, tugging his locks gently to emphasize your point. 

Jason chuckled softly, his head moving with the tugging of his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, the best father in the world too.” He looked up at you, a small grin on his face. “Can I be honest with you for a moment?”

“Of course. Always.” You stroked his cheek as you reached for a wash cloth with your other hand. 

Jason sighed, his eyes closing briefly as he leaned his cheek into your touch. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “Terrified, actually. I don’t know anything about being a father. I had a terrible upbringing, and I’m afraid I’ll screw this up.”

You hummed, rinsing the cloth and then gently trailing it over the expanse of his back, not even blinking at the scars you had seen so many times that littered his body. 

“Can I be honest with you, baby?” You murmured, waiting for his response. 

Jason nodded, his eyes still closed as he relished the feel of the cloth gliding over his back. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured back, his voice low and rough.

“I think you’re worried for no reason,” you whispered, pressing the cloth into his skin a little firmer to drive in your point. “You’re attentive, caring, and responsible. You love with all you got and that’s what matters. Maybe you can’t be home all the time, but the quality of the time you do spend with us is what matters.”

Jason opened his eyes, his gaze settling on your face as you spoke. Your words sunk in, each one chipping away at the self-doubt that had settled in the back of his mind. You were right. He was more than capable of being a good father. The fear of screwing up was natural, but he had to trust himself and his abilities to do right by you and the baby. 

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice tinged with an edge of amazement and affection. 

You grinned. “That’s what happens when I know your brain, Mr. Todd, and, as your wife, I’m supposed to know what to say.”

Jason chuckled weakly at that, his shoulders shaking slightly in the warm water. “Supposed to, huh?” he said, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, I’m glad you do. I swear, you’re the only one who can put up with me and my bullshit.” 

You put away the wash cloth with a gentle smile before grabbing his shampoo and pouring a decent amount on your hand. “I love you,” you murmured before massaging it into his scalp. 

Jason closed his eyes again, the feeling of your fingers massaging the shampoo into his scalp making him sigh in contentment. “I love you too,” he murmured back, his voice low and raspy. As you continued to rub his scalp, he couldn't help but let out a soft moan, the mixture of the heat and your touch lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

As you worked through his hair, you noticed how tension seemed to seep out of his body. His shoulders relaxed, and the lines on his forehead seemed to soften. You smiled softly, loving the effect you had on him.

“Feeling better?” You asked quietly, your fingertips tracing lazy circles on his scalp.

Jason hummed in agreement, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub. “Much better.” He opened his eyes briefly to look up at you, a lazy smile gracing his features. “You have magic hands, you know that?”

You chuckled softly. “Is that so?” You continued massaging his scalp for a few more moments before rinsing the shampoo from his hair. The warm water cascaded down over his head, the suds running in rivulets down his neck and back.

As you finished rinsing the shampoo out, you noticed his gaze was on your belly, his hand moving to rest on the small bump.

Jason’s eyes were drawn to the swell of your belly, his hand reaching up to rest gently on top of it. His touch was tender, almost reverent. It was clear that he was already feeling protective of the life growing inside you.

"You're starting to show a little bit more now," he commented softly, his finger tracing a gentle circle around your belly button.

You hummed, feeling the slight swell of your belly under his hand. It was a constant reminder of the life growing inside you, and it made your heart flutter every time you thought about it. 

“Yeah,“ you murmured, your hand covering his. “Won’t be able to hide it much longer with these old shirts of yours.” 

Jason chuckled, his eyes shifting to the oversized shirt you were currently wearing. It was one of his old ones, the fabric faded from years of wear and tear. 

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing your hip. 

You hummed. 

“Makes me think about what you're wearing beneath them,” he added, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You laughed then, flicking his nose and getting up carefully to make sure your balance didn’t falter with the growing weight of the baby. 

Jason chuckled at the playful flick on his nose, his eyes watching you as you stood up, carefully making sure you didn't lose balance. “Careful there, sweetheart,” he said, his hand resting on your hip briefly to steady you. 

You could see the weariness in his eyes now, the exhaustion slowly taking over as the effects of the alcohol wore off. He looked tired, both physically and emotionally. 

“Looks like the alcohol is wearing off,” you murmured, your hand tracing his shoulder.

Jason nodded weakly in agreement, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub. “Yeah... it's catching up to me now,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired. “I’m gonna pass out any second, I think.”

You smiled. “Let me grab your towel and get you dried up.” 

Jason grunted in assent, his eyes fluttering open as he let you attend to him. He was too tired to protest, and secretly he relished the feeling of your touch, tender and loving, as you dried him off with a soft towel.

You draped the towel over his shoulders, gently patting his back and chest dry. Jason leaned into your touch, his body heavy and weary. You could see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the weight of the world and his demons catching up with him.

“Come on, baby,” you said, grabbing his bicep and helping him. “Let’s get you in some cozy pyjamas and then in bed.”

Jason nodded, allowing you to help him out of the tub. He wobbled a bit on his feet, clearly still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but he managed to stay upright with your support.

“Cozy pyjamas, huh?” he mumbled dryly as you helped him walk to the bedroom. 

You chuckled softly. “I suppose it would just be a soft shirt and sweatpants.”

“Probably more comfortable, anyway,” he agreed, his arm looped around your shoulders for support. He shuffled to the bed and collapsed onto it with a weary sigh, his body immediately sinking into the mattress. 

You quickly grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and an old, soft t-shirt, helping him into the clothing. He was practically half-dead at this point, barely able to move on his own. 

Once he was dressed, you helped him under the covers, tucking him in snugly before making your way around to your side of the bed. You settled into bed next to him, the sheets cool against your skin. You could hear Jason’s ragged breathing, a sign of just how tired he was.

Jason grunted in appreciation as you tucked him in, his eyes already drooping shut. He was exhausted, his body desperate for rest.

You reached out, gently stroking his hair, letting your fingers trail through the messy, damp locks. Jason let out a soft moan, his head instinctively tilting towards your touch. He may have been drunk and exhausted, but he still craved your affection.

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered, your hand continuing to stroke his hair. “Just sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jason mumbled something incoherent, his words slurred with sleepiness. But you could tell he was comforted by your presence. He shifted closer to you, his head finding a place on your shoulder and a hand on your stomach protectively as he finally succumbed to sleep. 

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[olderthannetfic]

Unhinged confession time: I used to functionally fake having a self-insert OC. Everyone insisted that all people had one and that no one actually didn't have one or picture themselves in the story they were writing. I got hit with a lot of "oh, so you're lying. you're lying because you're ~*~not like other girls~*~, right? you're soooo much better than us because you would never stoop to our level, right?" and eventually I just caved. I gave up. I wrote an OC with my name and hair color in an obligatory, barely-there relationship with the fandom bicycle. That fic hardly ever updated, usually once or twice a year when I was bored. It made people stop accusing me of being full of internalized misogyny and contempt for women.

I have never pictured myself in stories. I don't picture myself when I masturbate. I don't make myself in games with customization and clothing. I don't daydream about myself. I don't have any desire to fuck the fandom bicycle, who I think actually is really annoying and needs intense therapy before he'd even be able to say something that wasn't hiding behind irony or trite MCU style humor. I was blatantly, obviously way more interested in shipping someone else with an OC who does not share my ethnicity, gender, age, economic background or upbringing. But woman = self-insert so if you don't self-insert, you must be against women.

Eventually fandom drama went down and I quietly retreated to writing on a different account. Being attached to any of the shit-stirrers was murder on the comments' section in that it immediately became all about so-and-so and not, you know, the story. And yes, starting from zero means less comments overall, but I would rather have no comments than comments about drama I wasn't even involved in directly.

Other than when doing so was needed to stay in the good graces of BNF in the main fandom Discord server, I've never written a self-insert and I was very glad to never have to do so again. It's so fucking boring. But if you think that, you must have low self-esteem or internalized misogyny or think you're soooo much better than everyone. You must, deep down, want to write an OC just like you! For representation and escapism and empowerment! Because no one could ever enjoy digging into the headspace of someone different than them, obviously. We all like to imagine ourselves all the time, right?

No. I don't. I like creating characters. I don't want to remake me again and again and again and again. I didn't even draw myself in my drawings when I was three years old in preschool. I don't know why I'd be into it now. "It's relatable!" I don't need a character to be identical to me to relate to them! I can relate to a character who's very different from me, and that's not rare, or weird, or unusual! Every single person reading this can think of a character who's very different from them who they related to or felt for in some way.

I think selfshippers and self-insert OC writers get too much flack. I do. But I loathe the "everyone does it!" mentality used to defend it because it always ends up back at this point where everyone who doesn't stands by going, "No, actually, I don't. And pretending I do is boring as tar."

--

I once read some sexuality researchers the riot act for leaving this axis out of their study. Their response: "But the older research we're comparing to left it out, so we have to as well or the results won't line up in a useful way!"

Self inserting makes my skin crawl in a dysphoric way. This is common among AFAB m/m shippers I've known in particular, but I suspect it's plenty common in general.

[nothoughtsjustficrecs]

This was such a sweet and lovely story! I really do love a good ye olde/ royalty fic 😍

Thank you for writing this wonderful story and sharing it with us!

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go because I knew I'd forget otherwise so below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such]

-

“ He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down ” aw bless him

“ He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. ” okay how dare he be so cute and precious tho, this story isn’t about you chan, take a step back (im kidding you’re so cute pls never stop)

“ it was almost two hours ” just the thought of that makes me exhausted omg

“ against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan. ” I read “accomplice” as “companion” at first and was like damn, I didn’t know it was that kinda story 😂

“ the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes ” mm delicious

“ You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle. ” I think the punishment would be a bit more severe than that for risking choking the prince, yikes, imagine that shitshow

“ this rustic meal ” nah why does that feel like an insult tho

“ You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. ” this sounds pretty perfect ngl

“ And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background. ” what assholes!

“ “Perhaps that cook quite liked you.” ” 😏 perhaps indeed

I love the way you describe stuff btw, I can be real iffy about descriptions sometimes because some people go over the top with it and I get bored, but you manage to paint a picture so effectively that I genuinely feel kind of envious of this character and I want to be her to experience the scenery

“ The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy. ” BEAT HIS ASSSSS

“ “you do not deserve my manners,” ” you tell him!

“ “Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” ” SCREAMING

“ “Not immediately, angel.” ” STOP IT, I WILL COMBUST

“ Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. ” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH im fine (im not)

“ Everything felt like it was collapsing around you. ” looks like she’s not fine either, poor baby :((

“ “I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.” ” ahahhahahaha good

“ “I’m saying that I’m in love with you.” ” SCREECHING OVER HERE

“ “I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.” ” nooo that’s so cute

⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah… i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

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[asterafroditis]

Hi, could I request Silver with a platonic know-it-all reader? Like they're blunt and always getting on everybody's nerves by flexing their knowledge on others and nobody really knows why Silver puts up with them, but he's always like "wow, that was really informative :)" whenever they talk and they genuinely enjoy his company. Sorry if this is an odd request!

𐔌 . ⋮ quiet understanding .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Platonic Silver x yapper gn! reader

𓏵 910 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, they/them pronouns used, fluff

teehee, I definitely had fun writing this, hope it caters to your request! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

If there was one thing people knew about you, it was that you knew things. A lot of things. About history, science, magic theory, ancient spell formations—sometimes even completely random trivia that had no relevance to anyone's life. And you made sure people knew that you knew.

"Actually, that's incorrect," you’d interject, arms crossed as you interrupted yet another conversation in the Diasomnia common room. "The proper incantation for that spell dates back to the late Sorcerer's Era, not the early one. If you used that variation, you'd end up setting your own robes on fire."

Sebek groaned loudly, turning on his heel with a scowl. "No one asked for your input!"

"Yeah, but you'd have burned your eyebrows off. You're welcome."

Lilia only chuckled, amused as always, but the rest of the students? Not so much. You had a habit of inserting your knowledge into every discussion, and it wasn’t exactly winning you many friends. Some people saw you as insufferable, others as a walking encyclopedia that never knew when to shut up.

But if there was one person who never seemed annoyed by you, it was Silver.

"That was really informative," he said as he blinked at you, entirely sincere. "I didn’t know that spell variation had such a history."

You smirked, satisfied. "Of course. Most people just assume the modern version is correct, but they don’t consider how—"

"Are you seriously encouraging them, Silver?!" Sebek cut in, looking completely exasperated. "They never stop talking as it is!"

Silver only tilted his head, clearly not understanding why that was an issue. "I think it's nice. They know a lot of useful things."

"Exactly," you agreed smugly, nudging Silver's arm. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Sebek let out a long-suffering groan and stomped away while you turned back to Silver, pleased as ever.

And that was how it always went. While most people avoided you when you got too deep into an explanation, Silver never brushed you off. He never mocked you, never got irritated—he just listened, nodding along even when your tangents stretched far longer than necessary. He even asked follow-up questions sometimes, which was practically an invitation for you to keep going.

You liked that about him.

One day, as you sat under a tree with Silver during a break, you glanced at him curiously. "You never get tired of me talking your ear off, do you?"

Silver looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. "No. You always have something interesting to say. And I like learning new things."

You blinked. "...Huh."

That was… unexpected. But nice.

A breeze rustled through the trees, and you hesitated before adding, "Most people think I’m just annoying."

Silver closed his eyes, considering your words. Then, with the same calm sincerity he always carried, he said, "They're missing out, then."

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "Well, obviously." You leaned back against the tree, folding your arms. "I mean, I know things no one else does. If people don’t want to listen, that's their loss."

Silver hummed in agreement, then after a pause, added, "Still, I think it's nice to have someone who enjoys talking. I spend a lot of time in silence."

You thought about that for a moment. Most people probably assumed he was just a quiet guy, but considering how often he drifted off to sleep, maybe he was just too tired to talk much. If that was the case… maybe he liked having someone around who could carry the conversation.

A moment of silence passed between you before Silver spoke again. "You mentioned something about knight traditions earlier," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Can you tell me more about that?"

Your eyes lit up. "Oh, absolutely! Did you know that in ancient knightly orders, squires would have to recite the entire code of chivalry before they could even touch a sword? It wasn’t just about combat—they had to memorize historical texts, strategy guides, even poetry."

Silver’s lips quirked upward slightly. "I see. I think my father would have liked that tradition."

You paused, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh. Yeah, I guess he would’ve. You probably would’ve excelled at it, too."

Silver blinked at you, mildly surprised. "You think so?"

"Of course," you scoffed. "You're basically already a knight. Just missing the fancy title and dramatic cape."

He chuckled softly. "That’s… nice to hear."

You huffed, nudging his shoulder. "Well, don’t get too cocky about it. I still know more history than you."

Silver smiled faintly. "I don’t mind. That just means I can learn more from you."

For once, you found yourself at a loss for words.

It was easy to brush off other people’s irritation toward you, easy to act like you didn’t care whether they appreciated your knowledge or not. But Silver—he listened. He valued what you had to say. And in a world where people were constantly rolling their eyes or sighing in exasperation at you, that meant more than you wanted to admit.

So, with a quiet hum, you settled in beside him, watching the leaves rustle overhead.

"Alright," you said eventually, voice softer than usual. "I’ll tell you about the old knight tournaments next. You’ll like this one."

Silver nodded, his expression relaxed and content. "I’m listening."

And for once, you felt like someone truly was.

[uceyliyahh]

IMPERFECT FOR YOU

summary: Miyori and Jey were in a relationship for three years until she saw him laid up with another girl that wasn’t her and it broke her heart so she decided block him on everything and focus on her career until she gets a text message from him.

This fanfic is 18+! NO MINORS ALLOWED

word count: 4364

smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

Jey Uso x Miyori

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️@pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @li-da-savage @ctinadiva @clubsoft

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @lilucey @usoinked @christinabae

@celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @luvrsluxe @celesteheartsjey @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld

𝖈𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖗𝖔

uceyjucey, jazzyV, jonathanfatu, theshaderoom, and others liked your post.

miyorisworld: When He Sends U Money To Pay For Yo' Hair Appointment 😩🙂‍↕️ uceyjucey: anything for you baby girl 💗 miyorisworld: @ uceyjucey keep working on papa 💋 jonathanfatu: she ain't playing around this time uce @ uceyjucey

jazzyV: MAKE HIS POCKETS HURT DAMN RIGHT BESTIE

jeyusofannnn: she's using him for money that's sad

miyorisworld: @ jeyusofannnn honey I make my own money so you can move tf around with that

jaidaparker_wwe: @ uceyjucey what the fuck? How come you can send her money for her appointments but not me? 🤨 theshaderoom: 👀👀 aaron_pierre1: oh nah

Read all comments.

OMNISCIENT Miyori was at her desk, reviewing her client files as usual, diligently jotting down notes on her iPad to ensure she was ready for her next appointment. In the midst of her work, she received a text from Jimmy and paused briefly to check what he needed.

Big Jim🫡 sent a message

Big Jim🫡: Mimi PLEASEE come get Jey he's losing his mind like deadass crashing out over here

She couldn't help but laugh at the message he had sent. Ever since Jey took her out on that special date and everything that unfolded between them that night, he seemed to be struggling with feelings of longing since he left.

She had him captivated once more, sharing intimate photos and videos while they were apart, and it was consuming him with longing.

iMessage 💬 Mimi💓: I'm not surprised I knew he was going to go crazy😭😭 Big Jim🫡: do you know I hear him moan your name whenever he's beating his meat like damn Mimi what'chu do to him?

Mimi💓: I didn't do anything 🤷🏽‍♀️ just sent him pictures and videos to keep him company knowing how busy yall is I told you he has to work for it and deal with consequences Jim

Big Jim🫡: I understand 100 percent but please can you at least calm him down or something he's like rapid dog right now

Mimi💓: when are you guys off? Or have a day off?

Big Jim🫡: this upcoming weekend after Friday Night Smackdown you got something planned?

Mimi💓: something like that 😁 Big Jim🫡: you planning on coming to see him if im correct?

Mimi💓: yes I am actually, I know papa needs his mama badly but I should make him wait don't you think?

Big Jim🫡: shiii if I tell him that he's going to be pissed off even more

Mimi💓: go on ahead and tell em

Big Jim🫡: you is evil Mimi but aight

Mimi💓: kk tell Trin I said heyy

Big Jim🫡: will do ma'am

After she sent a message to Jimmy, she quickly received a text from Jey that made her laugh even harder at the predicament he was in, fully aware of how much he relied on her support.

Joshua🖤 sent a message

Joshua🖤: mamas I miss you so fucking bad

Miyori cherished this aspect of him, where he was vulnerable and pleading for her affection, just as she desired. It allowed her to take charge, showcasing her strength and authority, making it clear that she was the treasure he sought, one he needed to work hard to deserve.

iMessage 💬 Mimi💓: I miss you too big papa

Joshua🖤: you keep playing games with me Mimi ion like that shi

Mimi💓: aw is someone getting sexual frustrated with me?🤭

Joshua🖤: YES I am and you keep fucking playin Mimi

Mimi💓: I told you, you have to keep working hard for this and for us to be together again and I think you're doing a good job

Joshua🖤: so what that mean?

Mimi💓: that means you get a surprise for working so hard Papa

Joshua🖤: just wait Ouu just fucking wait until I have my hands on you baby girl

Mimi💓: what'chu gonna do to me Papa?

Joshua🖤: it's better to show you than tell you and no fucking runnin' you hear me?

Mimi💓: mhm sure do

Joshua🖤: send me some pictures please

Mimi💓:

Joshua🖤 heart both attachments

Joshua🖤: fuck you're so fucking pretty Ma

Mimi💓: pretty for you

Joshua🖤: mhm...

Mimi💓: I gotta get back to work papa I'll text you later?

Joshua🖤: aight then mamas I love you ❤️

Mimi💓: I love you too papa

Miyori smiled warmly as she heard a knock on the door, and she looked up to see Kelly peeking her head in once more. She gestured for her to come into the office.

"What's up Kelly?" She asked.

"You have a visitor, and he seems a bit angry?" Kelly said.

 "Did you get a name for this person?" Kelly nodded and informed Miyori that it was Aaron who was coming to see her, prompting a deep sigh and an eye roll from Miyori.

"Just bring him in here so I can get this over with." Kelly nodded in agreement as she followed the instructions, gently closing the door behind her. She couldn't help but wonder what he, of all people who had come to visit her, could possibly want after the stunt he pulled.

Was he feeling hurt because she was rekindling her relationship with Jey after he had put in so much effort to win her heart again, or was it simply jealousy that fueled his emotions? When she heard the door creak open, there he was, standing tall, his face set in a serious expression.

Was he feeling hurt because she was rekindling her relationship with Jey after he had put in so much effort to win her heart again, or was it simply jealousy that fueled his emotions? When she heard the door creak open, there he was, standing tall, his face set in a serious expression.

"Are you fucking kidding me Mimi? You're getting back together with him?" Aaron looked at her, curiosity evident in his eyes, as she stood with her arms crossed.

"Yeah, and what about it? Why does it concern you so much about who am I with? Does Normani know that you're here?" Miyori firmly held her position, expressing that she simply couldn't afford to waste any more time on this.

"What's the purpose for this? He can't be better than me ." She was in disbelief at the words coming out of his mouth; could he really be serious? "Aaron, please, Jey is much more better than you despite what he did we have history together that chemistry that you and I didn't have."

Aaron laughed softly as he walked back and forth, putting on a brave face while hiding his true feelings. Deep down, he felt a pang of jealousy that he was reluctant to acknowledge. It bothered him to see Jey effortlessly win her over, treating her to nice things and taking her out on dates, all the little moments he couldn't help but notice on social media.

She radiated a light he had never witnessed in her before, all thanks to Jey, who brought her joy and made her feel cherished. That was all she had ever desired, but if it wasn't with him, it simply wouldn't do for her.

"If you're done, you can leave I got clients coming in soon." She spoke breaking the silence between them.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me that you don't love that nigga Mimi tell me..." He exclaimed, clutching her arm firmly, which made her wince in pain. "Tell me that you don't love him after everything he has done to you." He gazed at her, his deep-set eyes seeming to penetrate her very essence.

Miyori was fully aware of her deep love for Jey; she just wanted him to put in the effort to earn it. In contrast, her feelings for Aaron were nonexistent, especially after he betrayed her trust by cheating and expressing his boredom with her. As she gazed into his eyes, she leaned in closer, determined to confront him.

"I love him Aaron, whether you like it or not I don't care, and weren't you the same nigga that said that he was bored of me? And my sex game was horrible?" She retorted.

"Yeah, I did and it's true." It caused her to chuckle darkly at him. "Then what the fuck are you pressing me for then? Sounds like you're jealous Aaron." She was correct; he felt a pang of jealousy seeing how well that other guy, someone from her past, was treating her. It truly affected him deeply.

The atmosphere in the room became tense as they locked eyes, each lost in their thoughts without uttering a single word. Miyori sighed and rolled her eyes, glancing at her Apple Watch to check the time.

"You can leave my office now." She pulled her arm free from his grasp and moved past him to return her clients' files to the folder. Suddenly, he grabbed her hair and pressed his lips against hers. The unexpectedness of the moment took her by surprise, but she quickly reacted, pushing him away and slapping his face in the process.

Leaving him stunned as she glared at him.

"The fuck is your problem! You know what get out! Get the fuck out!" Miyori shouted while pushing and shoving him out the door.

As security entered the room, they quickly apprehended the officer, who was struggling to resist. In the chaos, he managed to strike one of the security personnel, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground. Meanwhile, Aaron was being escorted out of the office, his voice echoing as he yelled and shouted in frustration.

Miyori noticed a warm sensation running down her face and, upon touching her nose, realized it was bleeding. She quickly rose from the ground and made her way to her desk to grab some tissue. As she leaned forward, she caught sight of Kelly entering the room, worry etched on her face.

"Oh my goodness, Miyori are you okay?" Kelly asked coming to her aid.

"Y-yeah, I'm good Kelly, I'm good." She said.

"Do you need a moment before your clients show up today?" Miyori gave a slight nod as she made her way out of the office, heading down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Miyori gazed into the mirror, pulling the bloodied tissue from her nose. Her reflection revealed a chaotic visage, a clear reminder of the turmoil caused by that foolish decision. Deep down, she had anticipated this outcome the moment she ended things with him.

He had always struggled with feelings of possessiveness and jealousy, especially when he learned that she was seeing someone else after their breakup. While he knew he could be intense, Jey's emotions ran even deeper. If he had been aware of what was happening, he would have rushed to her side without a second thought, ready to confront Aaron for treating her poorly.

She wiped her face clean and took several deep breaths, slowly opening her eyes as she reassured herself, "You're alright, Mimi, you're alright." With a sense of calm, she discarded the bloody tissues and stepped out of the bathroom, making her way back to her office.

☞

Jey sat on the tour bus, scrolling through TikTok and chuckling at the funny videos, all the while trying to push thoughts of Miyori from his mind. He missed her deeply, and the ache of her absence was almost unbearable. He found himself hoping that after this Friday, he would finally get to see her again. Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly noticed someone standing in front of him. Looking up, he saw Jaida with her arms crossed, watching him intently.

She grabbed his phone from him, knowing it would upset him, and it definitely stirred him up as she anticipated.

"Yo' what the fuck is yo' problem Jaida? Give me back my shit." Jey snarled.

"No! Because what the fuck is this huh!" She raised her voice while displaying images and text conversations with Miyori, which made him smirk.

"You know what it is Jaida don't play fucking dumb aight? I told you me and her got some history together."  She threw his phone at him while rolling her eyes scoffing in disbelief. "Man what does that bitch have that I don't?"

Jey ran his fingers through the back of his neck, his hands moving to cover his face as disbelief washed over him. He couldn't fathom that he was facing this situation now, especially given how sexually frustrated he had been since leaving. The longing for Miyori's touch was overwhelming; he craved the way she would tug at his hair, pushing him to confront his feelings. He truly missed those moments.

"Watch yo' mouth when you speaking on her, she does a lot for me than you do I mean hell you barely show me any attention so I got my attention somewhere else." He remarked as he reclined on the sofa, his arms extended wide.

As Jimmy and Trinity drove to the next town for their house shows that evening, they observed the situation unfolding around them.

"But you're with me! You cheated on her with me!"

"And I wish I didn't maybe if yo' little homeboys didn't throw you at me we wouldn't be in this situation but here we are right?"

"So what? She's better than me?"

Jey nodded his head while leaning in placing his arms on his knees. "Yeah, Miyori always been better than you Jaida, like I said you don't give a man no time or even like affection from me." He noticed the tears welling up in her eyes, but it didn't seem to matter to him at all. Why should he feel any compassion for her when she was simply reflecting the emotions he was grappling with himself?

"I'm telling you what it is and what it ain't so you won't get no false promises of us being together forever." His words shattered her heart, but to him, it was inconsequential. He couldn't grasp why she was in tears, especially since she had never expressed any affection towards him before.

"So you never loved me?" Jaida asked.

"I did love you but once you started acting differently and showing me less affection I just knew I made the wrong mistake." In that moment, she struck him across the face with a force that made both Jimmy and Trin flinch, as if they were the ones feeling the sting of the blow.

Jey rubbed his face, trying to keep his composure. He never faced this kind of situation when he was with Miyori; they would simply communicate and then share an intimate moment, avoiding all the toxic behaviors. He wasn't one to engage in that kind of drama unless someone really provoked him.

Jaida stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Jey let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temple in frustration. All he could think was that he needed Miyori at that moment. With that thought in mind, he got up from the sofa and made his way to the bathroom.

"He finna go blow off some stream." Jimmy said as Trinity hit him upside the head.

iMessage 💬 Joshua🖤: mamas?

Mimi💓: hm?

Joshua🖤: you okay? sounds like you're stressed did something happen?

Mimi💓: mhm but idk if I should tell you knowing how you are.

Joshua 🖤: what happened?

Mimi💓: you promise you won't get mad?

Joshua🖤: I can't promise that if it's that bad for you to tell me so what happened Mimi?

Mimi💓: Aaron came to my job and we had an argument about you and me being together

Joshua🖤: he sounds very jealous to me

Mimi💓: that's what I said but the problem is he got so pissed off about it he...

Joshua🖤: what he do Mimi don't hide nun from me you know I'm here

Mimi💓: he slapped me in my face causing my nose to bleed but I'm okay I swear

Joshua🖤: does his bitch ass wanna get fucked up?

Mimi💓: Joshuaaaa you promised

Joshua🖤: I never said that and I don't play about you

Mimi💓: I know you don't but I don't want you to go crazy security took him out

Joshua🖤: that's don't matter he'll come up there as many times as he want just to put his hands on you and I won't stand for that shit period

Mimi💓: don't book a flight down here Joshua please I can protect myself just focus on your house shows please for me

Joshua🖤: Baby Girl

Mimi💓: pleaseeee 🥺 Joshua🖤: aight aight I won't but fuck I miss you

Mimi💓: you do?

Joshua🖤: yess I fucking miss yo' ass I need to blow off some steam mamas

Mimi💓: lms

Joshua🖤: sends attachment/ look what you're doing to me Ma I need you

Mimi💓: hm since you've been working so hard for me I'll help you out Papa

Joshua🖤: please do mamas please

(MINI SMUT WARNING) - PHONE SEX JEY AND MIYORI

Jey had pulled down his sweats along with his boxers seeing his dick springing up hitting him on his stomach as pre-cum was already spilling out from the tip while he stroked his dick up and down.

Mimi💓: you ready for me Papa?

Joshua🖤: fuck yes mamas talk to me

Mimi💓: stroke it nice and slow for me Papa

He followed her instructions slowly stroking his member up and down feeling a lump inside of his throat as he threw his head back listening to her soft voice through the phone

Mimi💓: you miss this pretty pussy Papa?

Joshua🖤: yes I miss that shit mamas...ohh fuck I miss it so bad

Mimi💓: how bad Papa? Tell mama how bad you miss her pussy

The way her voice was through the phone was turning him on so much he couldn't wait to see her again and fucked her senselessly through the mattress.

Joshua🖤: I miss it so fucking bad Mimi...I wanna taste her and be near her..

Mimi💓: whatchu going do to me papa? When you come see me?

Joshua🖤: Imma beat that pussy up mamas imma beat it up good so you can never forget who it belongs to

Mimi💓: you know it's your Papa it's been yours stroke that dick faster for me

Jey did what he was told to do stroking his dick in a fast pace manner brushing his thumb against the head of his dick making him lose control over himself.

Joshua🖤: Mamasss keep talkin to me please

Mimi💓: you like working hard for me huh? Just to get back with me?

Joshua🖤: I love it mamas I fucking love it imma keep working hard for you fuck

Mimi💓: stroke it faster baby c'mon

Speeding up his pace he rolled his eyes in the back of his head clenching his thighs in the process while rubbing against his body with his other hand imagining that it was her doing all of this to him while she was bouncing on his dick or him fucking her silly.

Mimi💓: that dick is mine right? It don't belong to that bitch or anyone else but me right Papa?

Joshua🖤: yess this dick is yours Mimi all yours ouuu shit I'm finna nut

Jey felt his dick twitching in his hands as he kept stroking it in a fast manner feeling his body shaking letting his toes curls up.

Mimi💓: you gon' cum for me?

Joshua🖤: I'm finna nut Baby girl Ouu I wish it was your pretty ass face I could nut on right now

Mimi💓: cum for me Papa cum for mama

Joshua🖤: fuckkk mamas fuckkk

Jey let out a guttural moan escape his lips as ropes of his cum began shooting out ropes after ropes over his hand while he was breathing heavily up and down stroking his dick slowly making sure that all of his nut spilled out from his tip.

Joshua🖤: fuck Ma got me making a mess and shit

Mimi💓: my bad Papa but do you feel better?

Joshua🖤: hell yeah much more better

Mimi💓: I hope Jon and Trin didn't hear you

Joshua🖤: probably did but ion care I fucking miss you

Mimi💓: I miss you too

Joshua🖤: if you miss me then why don't you come see me this weekend I'm off

Mimi💓: un-un see you tryna be slick boy

Joshua🖤: ion know what you talkin about mamas

Mimi💓: you think you slick boy go clean yourself up I'll text you later okay?

Joshua🖤: aight then mamas

CALLED END - SMUT OVER

Jey was tidying himself up when he heard a knock at the door, with Jimmy's voice faintly echoing in the background.

"You good in there Uce!" Jimmy shouted.

"Yeah, I'm good dawg I'll be out there in a minute." Jey said.

"A'ight we gonna stop to get some food since Trin said that she was getting hungry." Jey managed to clean his cum off of his body and hands while turning off the sink grabbing his phone in the process while heading out the door seeing his brother standing there.

"What?" Jey questioned him.

"You and Mimi are nasty as hell dawg." He commented on as Jey smacked his lips at him while shoving him away playfully.

☞ Miyori arrived home safely, parking her car in the driveway and turning off the engine. She reached for her purse from the passenger seat, stepped out of the car, and walked toward the front door. As she opened the door, she noticed Jasmine sitting in the living room, watching TV. Their eyes met, and a moment of connection passed between them.

"Heyyy bestie how was work?" Jasmine asked as she seen Miyori placing her purse on the couch.

"Girl, let me fucking tell you who showed up." She said while sitting next to her.

"What happened bestie?" Miyori shared with Jasmine the events that unfolded at work involving her and Aaron. She recounted how he had come to her workplace, visibly upset about her reconciling with Jey. She also mentioned the troubling incident where he had put his hands on her, which left Jasmine feeling furious.

"Girl, what?! Do I gotta whoop his ass? Does Josh know about this?" She asked as she stood up

Miyori urged her to take a seat and calm down. She confided in Jey about the incident with Aaron, still in disbelief that he would resort to slapping her at work just because he had cheated.

"He sounded jealous if you ask me bestie."

"That's what I literally said to him too, like how you gonna get mad at I'm finna be back with my ex-boyfriend you know." Jasmine nodded, fully grasping Miyori's feelings about the situation. While she shared her best friend's disapproval of Jey's betrayal, she also felt uneasy about Aaron due to his possessive nature.

"I understand bestie that's why I'm glad you and Josh are working it out together."

Miyori gave her a warm smile as she settled into the sofa, taking out her phone to browse her social media. As she scrolled, she noticed a few messages from Jey's girlfriend, who seemed to be reaching out to her.

IG messages 💬 jaidaparker_wwe: YOU ARE SUCH A SLUT

jaidaparker_wwe: RUIN MY RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM STUPID BITCHjaidaparker_wwe: JUST WAIT UNTIL I SEE YOU ITS UP THERE FR

miyorisworld: you done baby girl? It's not my fault that he wanted me back it's basically your fault for not doing your job as a girlfriend 🤷🏽‍♀️ jaidaparker_wwe: I WAS DOING MY JOB

miyorisworld: if you were he wouldn't be coming back to me now would he? And apparently you didn't do enough for him to want you so I have one up on you yet again sweetheart

jaidaparker_wwe: imma beat tf outta you when I catch you little girl you ain't better than me

miyorisworld: honey I'm better than you can imagine he know where home is and he's coming right back to it so don't get your hopes up aight? Now please stop playing on my phone.

Miyori decided to silence Jaida's constant messages, which seemed aimed at proving her superiority. She had no interest in engaging with those threats; they didn't affect her at all. Miyori was confident in her position regarding her relationship with Jey.

After her shower, Miyori slipped into her cozy pajamas and nestled into her bed, which still carried the comforting scent of Jey. She hugged her pillow tightly as she opened her laptop to book a flight for the upcoming weekend. With a day off ahead, they were excited to head to Indy for Friday Night Smackdown, so she quickly secured the nearest flight available.

As she completed the ticket purchase, a message from Jey appeared on her screen, bringing a smile to her face.

Joshua🖤 sent a message

Joshua🖤: hey pretty lady

She messaged him back.

iMessage 💬 Mimi💓: Hey handsome wyd

Joshua🖤: chilling in the hotel room hbu?

Mimi💓: booking a flight right now

Joshua🖤: 🤨 where you finna go?

Mimi💓: I can't tell you or it'll ruin the surprise

Joshua🖤: what you got planned mamas?

Mimi💓: Joshua I can't tell you

Joshua🖤: mmcht mane but how's your day been

Mimi💓: it's been good expect the fact that your girl keeps harassing me

Joshua🖤: bout what?

Mimi💓: about us I literally told her what it is and what it ain't

Joshua🖤: don't worry about her she's not important she know the history between us

Mimi💓: did you have a match ?

Joshua🖤: yeah I got the W for tonight though

Mimi💓: perioddd as you should I'm proud of you papa

Joshua🖤: thank you baby girl fuck I wish you were here so we could cuddle up with each other

Mimi💓: is you and shawty sharing a room together?

Joshua🖤: nah we got separated hotel rooms

Mimi💓: mhm but you've been doing so good working hard for me

Joshua🖤: I'll do anything for you baby girl you know that

Mimi💓: ofc baby

Joshua🖤: but imma let you get some rest got some pictures for me mamas?

Mimi💓: no I didn't take any today but I gotchu tmr tho 🫶🏽

Joshua🖤: aight then mamas goodnight 💗

Mimi💓: goodnight 🫶🏽

She set her phone down on the dresser and nestled deeper into the blankets, inhaling the comforting scent he had left during his last visit. Little did he know, she was planning to surprise him soon, recognizing how hard he had been working for her. He truly deserved it.

She gently shut her eyes, allowing herself to drift off into slumber.

IMPERFECT FOR YOU

A/n: Miyori is finally going to see Jey and soothing his nerves after crashing out that miss you sex finna hit differently. You think Jaida is going to beat Miyori up or will Miyori get one up on her?

But I hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below ⬇️

STAY UCEY.

[fireladyofink]

Oh God.. uuhhhh.. been a minute since I tried one of these..

Skipping 1, hate first person, just can't do it, not even read it.

2 is 100% Andlàtkyn. There's some issues here and there but it will always be my pride and joy.

Due to not posting on AO3 (even though I really should be), 3 is mostly ineffective. Except Wattpad has tags. I'd say UTAU, dragons and crossover.

4, lol. Literally. Lately I keep using that (only when texting others) and it's bothering me. I feel like a simpleton because of how much I'm saying that, eugh.

5 I've honestly learned a lot while researching fics. For one, I found out lantana berries are toxic to humans yet taste like blueberries, and I have them growing in my backyard. They're actually my favorite plant! I love their flowers; so pretty, and they have such a uniquely funky smell as well. Part of why I adore them, it stands out so much without being a bad smell. And the leaves have a sort of citrus smell? I love lantanas.

6 I don't know. I've thought about requests due to the money, but I feel like I'd either struggle to start writing it or get carried away with it- or straight up not finish in a reasonable timeframe. Commissions? Like art commissions? Maybe in a few years when I'm more confident in my skills and also somehow have a drawing tablet to properly draw digitally. Something like that.

7 Either or. I love making sickeningly sweet coffee or various different teas.

8 Is honestly hard to decide! Off the top of my head I can think of Dust initially meeting Killer with the hilariously absurd question of "What do you mean you don't have a mouth? How are you speaking right now? Your ass?"

9 Believe it or not it was basically when I first got a phone and commented a short story in the comments of a YouTube video. Someone replied with a suggestion of Wattpad. The rest is history, lol.

10 Off the top of my head I can't think of anything beyond something very specific for the fic I've been thinking about again lately, Ninjagaësia. Only time I've written outside of the UT fandom too, I specifically want to get around to writing that version of Zane more. What I had planned for him is fun as hell. An absolute badass.

11 Lots of comments, votes and people enjoying it. Which, continuing the above mention, Ninjagaësia doesn't qualify for. Pretty unsuccessful, but for once I don't really care.

12 Undertale AU's. I doubt I'll ever leave, either.

13 No. Hell, my ultimate fic of Andlàtkyn was written throughout the later half of highschool. I am technically working on an original story on the sidelines, I call it my worldbuilding project because I'm building up so much lore in this world before I actually touch on the story itself outside of a vague idea. About 60-ish different species of people, including the were-diseases. Last I counted, anyway. I'll be working on it for years, I know it, and I don't mind that either.

14 Comments talking about my fics on said fics. Actual interactions! It brings me joy. 🧡

15 My family is well aware. I don't bring up a lot of details but the last time I went into vague detail with my mother it was over a scene in Andlàtkyn (no direct spoilers) and she interpreted it weirdly and now she teases me by asking if I'm killing babies again! A bit awkward..

16 Actually finishing a damn story. I don't mind the periods of no writing until I get inspired again, but what annoys me is when I can't seem to finish anything. Only ever finished Andlàtkyn. I still have yet to write anything for the sequel to it, either! Zeradelsída is still just a bunch of loose plot points..

17 I am semi successfully writing benevolent eldritch horror. It doesn't intend harm, but it is truly.. horrifying nonetheless. The uncertainty of someone knowing he died, feeling his own heart stop beating, and feeling something OTHER seep inside and force it to start again, pulsing in his veins, fusing with his anatomy, permanently altering both him and itself into something completely unknowable.. I'm rambling. Anyone who hasn't seen my Wattpad, read Awakened. If you don't mind ridiculously long fics, read Andlàtkyn too!

18 I have at least 7 I mostly expect to finish, with at least 4 others just kind of.. there. I don't think I've posted any of those, either. I also have ideas inspired by dreams that I'd love to write down someday, though don't really expect to actually codify.

19 I kind of just don't. I work on different projects as the inspiration hits, take a backseat for a month or so, then come back to either the same project or a different one.

20 Hmmm.. Hard to think of something specific. I'm leaning towards stuff in Andlàtkyn. I don't really have a favorite kiss scene because I don't do romance. I write adventure! Andlàtkyn has some side romance though- not that any of it is my favorite. Platonic stuff, though.. I'd say my favorite is honestly Lust and Alter incidentally befriending each other and becoming venting buddies. It's the cutest thing, their friendship is adorable and wholesome despite the background angst. I didn't write nearly as much of them as deserved.

21 Honestly it's mostly lack of inspiration that I'm pretty sure stems from depression. If I could get an ADHD prescription or depression meds I'd probably be a lot better but like. I am completely broke. So much so that those issues aren't even in the top 10 of pressing problems solved with money.

22 Given I've literally only done it once.. not really. I guess I post it around everywhere I can think of in excitement?

23 That one continuous dream I had that went on over a month centered on a Nightmare that was freshly corrupted. He was honestly so nerdy and adorable despite putting on the brave and mildly "evil" front. The boy. Him. Goddamnit I want to write that at some point.

24 Honestly I can't think of anything for this one.

25 Oh yeah, I can't think of anything off the top of my head but there's a lot I'd like to fix in all of my stories, lol.

26 Kind of? It's a more recent development, did it for Zeradelsída which still has yet to be written, did it for that Ninjagaësia too. A little bit of a broad, even vaguer outline for things I want to happen in Awakened, too? More like events, no particular order or connection.

27 A few of those WIP's that haven't been posted... Okay technically just one. There's also the very first fic I wrote that is subsequently the only one I've ever deleted.

28 Angstiest often coincides with cursed for some reason, so I'll just go with the ending of Andlàtkyn for the Apple Twins.

29 I kind of just.. don't. If I do, I start hating everything, and because I'm not THAT bad at spelling and grammar I think it's mostly fine the way it is.

30 Oh absolutely. It's particularly obvious when one looks at Andlàtkyn, which I wrote over the course of 4 years. Really neat transition, if I ever manage to do it, I'd rewrite the beginning a little to match the rest when crossposting to AO3. If I ever get around to that.

31 Again, Andlàtkyn. That fic is my baby, man. It's so precious to me.

32 Honestly I don't know for this one, which is weird.

33 100% Ink of Awakened. My little boy. I have some friends that would rib the hell out of me if they ever found out, lol. Thankfully the main one doesn't even remember that he has a Tumblr.

34 I was not expecting how hard of a question this is! I thought it was Andlàtkyn, but thinking about it.. I don't think so? It might simply just change depending on which one I'm currently fixated on, but at the moment I think my favorites to get that on is Awakened and Ninjagaësia, second of which already has basically nothing to begin with.

35 I don't have anything, oof.

Fanfic/Author Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

What are some words or phrases you feel like you overuse?

What’s something you learned while researching a fic?

Would you ever accept requests or commissions?

Coffee or tea while you write?

What is your favorite line/section from [insert fic]?

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Is there a character or ship you'd love to write for, but haven't yet?

What makes a fic 'successful' in your opinion?

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Does anyone you know in real life know you write fanfiction?

What do you struggle with most when writing?

What is something you recently felt proud of in your writing?

How many WIPs do you have and how many do you expect to finish?

How do you get over writer's block?

Share your favorite kiss scene from [insert fic]. If there's no kiss scene, share your favorite moment of intimacy (romantic or platonic)

What stops you from writing more in your free time?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Which scene/theme was the inspiration for [insert fic]?

Are there any moments in [insert fic] that feel "blurry" to you? Is this a stylistic choice, or would you go back and clarify the descriptions if you were given the chance?

Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing, or do you just dive right in?

Are any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Have you noticed your style change over time?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

A character you enjoy making suffer.

A character you want to protect.

What is your favorite fic to get comments/messages on?

Wild Card: Ask me something else!

[trafficblrpositivityproject]

I have decided to try and link specific fics/art/videos when they are mentioned by name in asks if possible. I have been doing this somewhat irregularly already, but I think I want to make it a rule for myself to include them.

If your ask references a specific piece, please feel free to link fic/art/videos to me directly as part of your ask. If you do not provide the link, please make sure to supply enough information for me to find it.

With fic and animations/animatics, which come from sites like Ao3 and Youtube where you are not able to reblog works on your own account to share them, I am happy to use my blog as a way to showcase specific works. Please give me a link or the name of the fic/video and I will try to find and link it, as word of mouth is the best way to “advertise” these types of creations. Include the URL of the writer/animator, as I want to be able to ping them. And please do not forget to actually comment nicely on the fic or video directly!

If a fic or video is not mentioned by name and is only described, I cannot promise I will be able to find it, as I am not willing to promise I will watch a creator’s entire discography or read their entire profile to find a specific fic or video, especially if the description is vague (ie, “I love this author’s fantasy au” or something).

Also, if you tell me about a tiktok or Instagram post without a link I will not be able to find it. I do not have tiktok or Instagram and will not make accounts on them so I cannot access their content. Sorry for the inconvenience.

With art pieces, I would prefer asks that reference art to center the artist, rather than centering a specific piece. I would prefer this since we are on tumblr, which is the same site the art you send me is probably posted on, meaning you can directly comment on and share a piece of art by reblogging it with tags. Reblogs with tags are the most effective and direct way to show your support and “advertise” a piece, and will be easier for both you and myself.

An ask relating to art should primarily be directed at the creator, with the creator’s URL included so I can ping them. But if your ask mentions, as part of a larger ask, “and my favorite work by them is ___” or “I have been thinking about their piece ___” that is fine and if you are detailed about a specific piece I will try and find and link it.

Related: Two people have sent me on artist searches, describing a piece while being unable to remember the artist’s URL. While I do not mind an occasional investigation, please send asks like this off anon so I can confirm I have found the correct piece with you. Asks that are about a specific art piece that do not include that artist’s URL and do not allow me to confirm the correct person sort of defeat the point of this blog. I am, for all intents and purposes, a mail carrier. If I do not know and cannot confirm who the recipient of your letter is, how am I supposed to deliver it?

And finally, while I do not think we will have this issue, I want to say: Any complaint or harassment toward people who submit or create things you do not personally find favorable is explicitly against the point of this blog and I am not interested in hearing it. If you do not like something posted, ignore it. Not every post is “for you” online, and that is okay.

As always, I am not here to pass any sort of judgement on who or what is submitted, as far as fandom opinions go I do not care. I am, for all intents and purposes, a mail carrier. If a package is not for you, do not open it. Simple as.

Related. For fic, I am fine with M or E rated fic submissions—what you all write or read in your free time is not up to me to judge, so long as you tag it properly. I will probably add any E fics, if they are referenced to me by name or linked, to the “mature trafficblr” tag I already use. (I will kindly ask you not describe any E rated work to me in detail, because I am not really interested.) Beyond this, any posts including fic links will not include tagged warnings on this blog, as I usually do not know the content of fic submitted to me (I have rarely read the fics that people submit and do not want to promise warnings I cannot provide). So please check the tags provided by the author on anything I link before reading any fic submitted here in order to make sure it will be something you enjoy.

I will add all of this information to my FAQ page, possibly this weekend or sometime soon.

This blog has already accepted submissions based on specific fics, videos, or art pieces, but I wanted to make linking them an official rule for myself, and then communicate that rule with you all. If I cannot find a piece, do not notice that a specific title was referenced and do not link it (it happens!), or forget to link a piece, you all are free to link the work on the post for me.

And again. I am, for all intents and purposes, a mail carrier. Please do not forget to include the URL/@ for whoever you submit, even if they are off-site like youtube or Ao3. I want them to see the kind things you have to say about them and their work! That is the point of this blog!

I hope this all makes sense and more officially opens up new types of positivity you all can submit! (✨0✨)

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

I Want You Back

This was originally requested by Anon who asked: "Could you make headcanons where you have an established relationship with the Tokyo Debunker characters but your ex suddenly tries to win you back?" The links to the other houses are below.

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Characters: Edward Hart, Rui Mizuki, Lyca Colt x gn! Reader (separate)

Frostheim | Vagastrom | Jabberwock | Sinostra | Hotarubi | Obscuary | Mortkranken

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're happily in a relationship with the Tokyo Debunker characters. So how will they react when your ex suddenly tries to win you back?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ed has been alive for a large and undisclosed amount of years. He has infinitely more experience in every situation that any mortal human could ever hope for. And your ex thinks you’d rather be with them?

He’s probably going to suggest you go and have a drink at Rui’s bar before confronting your ex alone. And boy, does your ex regret saying anything.

Ed can be scary when he wants and it’s pretty safe to say your ex won’t be bothering you anymore.

Once he reunites with you though, Ed’s going to be seeking some comfort. The unfamiliar feeling of self-doubt has started to creep in and he’s starting to wonder whether he’s really the person you want to spend your time with.

Give him some reassurance and he’ll be back to normal in no time. He will be a bit more subtly protective of you than normal for a while though, just to be sure.

The king of making everyone think he’s doing okay when actually he’s falling to pieces inside. He’s probably going to let you deal with your ex unless you look like you need help since he trusts you to make your own decisions.

If you do ask for help, he’s going to politely but confidently tell your ex that you’re very happy with him and that you’re no longer interested in a relationship with them.

But inside, he’s shaken. He doesn't think he deserves you and is terrified of hurting you with his curse. On one hand, he thinks you should be with someone - anyone - else.

But on the other hand, he can’t stand the thought of being alone again. He loves you dearly and wants to be around you all the time, even if he can’t show you the affection he wants to.

You’re going to have a very emotional Rui on your hands for a while. Just give him some reassurance and comfort and he’ll slowly return to normal.

Lyca doesn’t really get what’s going on at first. Relationships are a very new concept to him and the notion that someone you used to date (but don’t anymore) wants to get back together with you takes him a while to wrap his head around.

As soon as he realises your ex is trying to steal you away from him though, he’s going into full protective mode.

There’s no situation where your ex is getting out of this unscathed, unfortunately. Lyca’s barking, growling, and leaping at your ex to defend your honour.

Once the confrontation has died down, you’re going to have a very clingy Lyca on your hands. He needs some reassurance after that; his self-confidence isn’t high enough yet to be sure that you’re actually happy with him.

Much like Rui, give him some comfort and reassurance and he’ll be back to normal pretty quickly. He trusts you wholeheartedly so if you tell him you’re happy, he’ll believe you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.

ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms

Important Note: Please only donate if you are financially able to. If you are currently in a position where you can't donate, a like, comment or reblog will mean just as much.

[esoogthegoose]

I AM GOING TO MAKE AN IN STARS AND TIME MUSICAL!!!

(Like, actual songs!! Sung!!!)

Read full post!!!

VOTE ON THE POLL AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS POST!!! For roles as SINGERS, WRITERS, and ARTISTS!!!

+required information, discord link, and characters to voice under cut

If you would like to maybe sing, reblog or comment whichever character. Duplicates are fine for now as that can be sorted out later

This isn’t professional or anything, just a fun fandom project I’d love to see happen!!! Anyone who likes singing, writing, and/or drawing!

Any additional questions, you can send an Ask (anonymous or public is fine) to @ISATtheMUSICAL or a DM to @esoogthegoose

Important points first!!! READ BEFORE ANSWERING POLL!!!

- I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL, I’m a teenager who wants to do a fun personal project with like-minded people who appreciate the same silly hyperfixations that I do!! Which means, I have no professional equipment, I am NOT trying to make this the most perfect, most well-written thing ever! I’m trying to have fun!!! Which also means YOU do not have to have any professional equipment! Whether singer, writer, artist, as long as you have the means to record, write, and draw, join us!!!

-COMMUNICATION will be done through a DISCORD SERVER!!! If you do NOT have Discord, you can’t join. Link is down by the poll

-IF YOU ARE AN ADULT THAT IS FINE, ANY age is welcome, but to everyone, do NOT be weird or crude in the disc. You will be IMMEDIATELY banned with no exceptions.

-You need to have played/watched In Stars and Time. If you’re only at the beginning or halfway through, there will be MAJOR spoilers and you also can’t really sing or write without knowing the full scope of the characters

-WHEN I MAKE FUTURE POSTS, LOOK FOR THEM @ISATtheMUSICAL

-IF YOU WANT TO BE A SINGER… all you need is a place to record, and a decent audio quality. I can send sheet music to read as well as audio recordings of melodies in the disc!

-IF YOU WANT TO BE A WRITER… I’m going to be composing all of the music, but if you want to take a shot at writing lyrics, planning out song order, which events should occur in which song, timeline, etc etc, just make sure you actually participate!

-IF YOU WANT TO BE AN ARTIST… For when we have a finished song and you’d like to make some art for it! Make sure it’s digital art, platform doesn’t matter, and don’t forget to sign your @ on it!

The Discord is HERE!

By the way, people can absolutely be multiple, or even all three. This poll is to see if enough people would like to partake!

Characters to voice:

Main characters: Siffrin, Mirabelle, Odile, Isabeau, Bonnie, Loop, The King, Euphrasie, Mal du Pays

Ensemble?: Sadnesses, townspeople of Dormont

There will be ways to choose more specific roles for those who’d like to sing on the discord server application form, as well as auditions in the future

[anticidic]

thanks for tagging me @frankenjoly @marichild and @saoirseyun <3 (I meant to do this eventually but three time's the charm)

20 questions for fic writers!

How many works do you have on AO3?

24 (but really 25, but one of them is written by a friend and I am merely a spectator and not really a cowriter)

what's your total ao3 word count?

406,373 words

what fandoms do you write for?

Only Bungo Stray Dogs, though I keep toying with the idea of writing for others (and then never do).

what are your top five fics by kudos?

from a to o, i love you so — omegaverse A/A -> A/O Soukoku piece

foiled fables — Kitsune!Dazai and human!Chuuya AU

with me, disaster finds a playfield — omegaverse Beast AU

letters to my chosen one — Angel!Dazai and Demon!Chuuya AU

bad days, good nights — Dazai birthday fic

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

Yes 💖 I do my best to respond to all of them because I appreciate others taking the time out to read and comment their thoughts, even if it's a simple emoji

what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

still the snowflakes fall — A what-if had Dazai been a part of the Decay of Angels instead. It doesn't end well for anyone involved.

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think probably from a to o, i love you so. Because it's about Dazai waking up one morning and losing a critical part of his identity and suddenly everything he knows is a lie. But despite fumbling, he comes to accept a new reality because, as Chuuya puts it, he's still Dazai. That core part of him hasn't changed.

do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I've gotten dumb trollish comments and people demanding for requests but I've shut them down

do you write smut?

wildly gestures to almost my entire catalog of fics And I'll do it again

do you write crossovers?

No, but I've wanted to write fusions. Like dropping bsd characters into Genshin or Honkai Star Rail or Psycho-Pass or something. Some of my fics have been loosely inspired by games or things I've watched but I definitely wouldn't call them crossovers.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, but I hope not jkdkjskj

have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had a few requests for one of my recent fics to be translated 👀 I'm over the moon every time someone asks

have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I SUPPOSE Darling, Some Things Are Meant to Be counts in a very roundabout way. @ohhcinnybuns gets full credits for the actual fic on there, but we go back and forth on here writing Snow White!Dazai and Prince!Chuuya ficlets (hey, go check out our fairytale playlist for them, I'm obsessed)

what's your all time favourite ship?

Probably IwaOi and ShuAke

what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I started a zombie apocalypse-flavored omegaverse in anticipation of finishing it for omegaverse week and that never happened. I'm feeling ambitious but I also have a lot of events I'm participating in at the moment and ongoing fics that need prioritizing.

what are your writing strengths?

Painting scenes and going into depth about character motives and inner thoughts! Also, tying subplots into the overarching plot. I love worldbuilding and creating seemingly insignificant backstories for characters that end up playing major roles down the road.

what are your writing weaknesses?

The last time I did this tag game, I said dialogue, and that was a couple of months ago now but I feel like I've made major improvements in that area with my recent stuff. I'm becoming a lot more comfortable with fleshing out the plot through characters interacting with one another than in exposition and narrative. Now, I'd say editing. I tend to second guess myself and will scrap several thousands-worth of words if something's not working and then rewrite it all over again because I can't pick out what exactly is wrong with something.

thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I write Japanese honorifics simply because I feel like it reads a little better, but that's about it since most of what I write takes place in Japan.

first fandom you wrote for?

K-Pop help it was so long ago...we don't talk about those days...

favourite fic you've ever written?

hunter's season my beloved. It's a Dark Era omegaverse fic revolving around Dazai/Chuuya, with Dazai who thought he was an alpha but turns out he was really living a lie his whole life and finds out the hard way after taking some tampered medications.

no pressure tags: @altruistic-meme @monkey-banana41 @chuuyaspinkmotorcycle @calmlb @bloodsherry

[felonytaxevasion]

Was so tempted just to write Ward and leave it at that as a Bit but in all actuality I do have things to say about Lily on this Unicorno post

I think that Lily is very clearly so close to being a Victoria but stopped right at crossing the line by her relationship with Parian. Like she's spends a lot of time on screen scoffing at Lisa Rachel and Aishas villainous behavior and how terrible it is despite the fact we know she is well aware of the way the PRT used its own capes to hurt people in the same way. And whatever, I think you can be a little snarkies to Lisa and still stick a crossbow through Taylor Heberts shoulder really badly. But even through the end of Ward she never really let's the delineation between Villain and Hero go no matter how muddy the lines get

She's still intentionally buddying up to Victoria because Vic understands the desire to be a Hero, she ends the story with her and Parian quitting the Undersiders to go be superheros because Lily wants to. There was that time Parian turned out to be a skin demon and Lily immediately ditched her and found old Wards coworkers and hung out with them instead while her girlfriend had the worst day of her life. And I think it's actually a really well written character beat that I like. Lily mentions how most of her teenage years she was promised a future of being one of the goodest most best specialist heroes ever, on the basis that her powers could actually harm endbringers on top of all her publicity and regular crime fighting. And that really comfortable and happy future she was promised was taken away from her through her disillusionment to the PRT( and also the Apocalypse maybe) but she seems like she's still looking for someone to blame for loosing that future and that comes across in how she treats self identified villains and self identified heroes.

Like it's really just classic Wards behavior you can see in Victoria, Amy when she's being written like herself, Vista, Clockblocker, all of them. Lily just gets special taffy puller status alongside Vic because she is the one of the Wards Lisa Rachel and Aisha have to deal with most frequently. Like they get along, but Lily is usually willing to at least make the occasional Bitter Rude comment at them which actually brings a lovely addition to the WardSiders dynamic but also means I have to put her in the taffy puller

*Coughing Piteously* my final message to this world .. Undersiders as Unicornos.....

[lexosaurus]

If you're only commenting on a fic to ask for an update or worse, to be passive-aggressive about wanting an update, then please do both yourself and the writer a favor and don't comment at all.

Saying things like "Can't wait for the next update!" as part of a comment about how you enjoyed the chapter is one thing, but just going into the comments and being like "Where's the update?" or "You haven't finished writing the next chapter yet?" or something similar is not only rude, but also I ASSURE you it only serves to make the writer anxious about writing at all.

Fic writers are not content creators. We're not robots. We're real people with careers, families, and other irl responsibilities. Writing is something I do in my thirty minutes before I go to bed to wind down from the day. Whatever I want to write that evening is what ends up getting written.

So by making me anxious and putting pressure on me to update a fic, especially in that passive-aggressive way that so many people do, all you've ensured is that when I open up my folder that evening to see what I feel like writing, my eyes will completely skip over that WIP that I got the rude comment on that day because I Feel Bad about it and now I don't want to even look at it.

So please, just follow the golden rule of "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..

[eikichi-supremacy]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[ai-the-broccoli]

enemies to lovers / but you'll never own my heart

@luzon-dove happy birthday, Quinn!! As a present, I decided to draw a piece fanart of your "blood in the walls of the yagami house" AU fic series, since I found it very well-written and full of super interesting ideas and concepts. I hope you like it!